I wiped the tears from my my eyes. Then I laughed. What else could I do? Dressed in their white biohazard suits from head to toe. Gas masks on. Couldn’t tell male from female. Sounded like Darth Vader. (I expected one to tell me they were my Father.)

They all stared at me as if I was the alien. Here I was in my ratty jeans, stained t-shirt, denim jacket I had taken off a corpse sometime after the first wave, boots I had cut the laces because they refuse to stay tied, breathing in natural air and they stared at me. I couldn’t even remember the last time I had showered and shaved.

Now they were asking me which one of them had the infection. They were the scientists, with all their fancy gadgets that I couldn’t even begin to pronounce the names of, all I had was a nose. A nose that could smell the bug.

The bug that would transform a person into a shell of a human, walk among the humans, never know he or she wasn’t a human, if it weren’t for humans like me.

Just call me the control group.