PSL Antidote

By J. M. Allison

I panted, clutching my side as I pressed my back into the parking garage wall. I stared down at the bloody gash across my forearm. Dark veins branched from the cut.

My head spun. I was infected. I studied the progression of the dark veins. Veining became obvious in Stage Two? Stage Three?

Focus, Mallory. Focus! Loss of coordination and rational thought occurred at Stage Four. At Stage Five, a swift end was the best you could hope for. In rapid cases, progression through all stages occurred in under an hour.

I glanced down at the crumpled paper in my fist and prayed Duke was right. I shrugged out of my lab coat and wound it around my injured arm. If I kept moving, I might make it home before my cut bled through the white fabric and invited unwanted questions.

I glanced around for lab security. If they discovered this loss of containment, there’d be no hope of making a cure. I’d be quarantined or terminated, without pause. Just like Duke.

I raced for the bus stop at the edge of the property, focusing on my feet. Thank God I hadn’t chosen to wear heels or a skirt today.

A hedge of sticker bushes lay between me and the bus stop. They rose only four feet high but stretched the entire perimeter.

I plunged into the bushes, pushing past their thorns, using my purse to help break my trail. The branches snagged at my clothes, trying to slow me down. Keep moving! I was almost there.

The city bus pulled up just as I reached the stop, and I rushed aboard, sliding into a seat at the back and sagging against the vinyl upholstery.

I smoothed out Duke’s note with trembling fingers and squinted at his instructions. A list of ingredients and “PSL for emergencies,” scrawled up the edge of the page. He’d promised this cure would save all the infected, but it didn’t look like any vaccine I’d ever seen.

PSL? Paid sick leave? Permanent seat license? Physical science lab? Please sip lemonade?

I wanted to scream. The dark veins crept out the edges of my makeshift bandage.

Keep it together! My life depended on me figuring this out. All the infected depended on me figuring this out.

I hopped off at my usual stop and staggered the half-block to my apartment. I pushed open the door, praying my roommate wasn’t home from work yet, and squinted against the bright lights. Photosensitivity. A Stage Four symptom. I cringed as a pulsing K-pop beat blasted from every speaker.

“Oh good, you’re home!” Felisha’s voice echoed from the kitchen. “The guys are throwing a Halloween party, and you’re coming with me!” Her face appeared around the corner and she flashed a smile. “Wow, you look terrible. In a good way. That’s a perfect costume for tonight! Very zombie business chic. Love’n the makeup touches!”

I grunted. Felisha never required a response once she started a conversation.

Dropping everything, I stumbled into the bathroom and locked the door. It was hard to catch my breath. A chill reached deep into my bones. With heavy gasps, I ditched the lab coat bandage and gripped the sides of the sink.

I clumsily redressed the wound with gauze and med tape from the first aid box. A wan face stared back at me from the mirror, her lips formed something between a gasp and a snarl.

My skin held a purplish hue, and the dark veins now created a web up the side of my neck to my jaw. Scratches from the sticker bush added a ripped and worn authenticity to the zombie look. No wonder Felisha hadn’t been concerned.

A knock on the door made me jump.

“You in there, Mallory? You might want to turn on the light. This recipe yours? I’ve never tried this variation before, but we have all the ingredients. It’s perfect! I’ll make some to keep us from freezing on the walk over.”

A sweet scent caught my attention. My mouth watered and my brain began to buzz with the need to find the source of the delicious smell. Felisha continued her chatter.

I wrenched the door open and squinted into the living room. My vision no longer seemed affected by the light. The world now registered in black-and-white. A trail of pink haze drifted across the room.

I staggered toward the kitchen, then paused in the doorway. The whole room was filled with the sweet haze.

Felisha flitted from cupboard to cupboard, her words an endless string of babble. Her body produced a slight red glow. The smell. It came from her. I moaned, my mouth lapping at the air and excess saliva splashing down my chin.

She looked up and more unintelligible sounds flowed from her lips. She darted past and I lunged forward, missing her and stumbling into the fridge. I growled and readied for another attempt. The buzzing in my brain intensified.

Felisha spun and thrust a mug into my hands, jabbering and gesturing. The tangy scent of nutmeg and pumpkin drifted up from the glass. I grunted. She rolled her eyes, helped lift the mug to my lips, then tipped the warm liquid down my throat.

My stomach roiled as the hot drink coated my insides. The buzz in my brain eased.

“Well?” She gave me an expectant stare.

I met her gaze and lowered the mug. The pink haze was gone—she no longer glowed—and color returned to my vision.

“That’s…” My throat felt swollen and dry. “That’s pretty good.”

She grinned. “Told you pumpkin spice lattes are the best.” She pushed Duke’s note into my hands. “I’ve copied the recipe so you can chuck that if you want.”

“Thanks.” I glanced down to see the dark veins on my arm fading away.

“All right.” Felisha beamed. “I’ll don my Wonder Woman costume and we can go save the world.” She bounced out of the kitchen.

I smiled. If only she knew….

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

J. M. Allison, more commonly addressed as Lisa, or Mommommommom, grew up captivated by the magic and wonder of fairy tales. She finds daily adventure in raising four rambunctious younglings, teaching musical theatre and dance, sewing, drawing, cosplaying, writing, and reading. Stories can communicate so many things, and she hopes her stories will bring a smile and inspire others to courageously live their own adventures.

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