I awoke on a comfy, grey sofa with a furry white blanket covering the lower half of my body and a pillow supporting my head and feet on each side. I seemed to have been inside a living room, but it was one that I had never seen before. On the opposite side, there was a set of chest of drawers, with a bookshelf positioned on either side of it and three plants cluttered together, perching on the top. A much larger plant stood next to them, proudly displaying its beauty. A beautifully crafted dream catcher was centred in the middle of the wall, with beige feathers hanging down in a graceful manner. At the end of the sofa, an array of vines in pots attached to the ceiling swayed gently. Actually, now that I had a proper view of the room, I realised that there were plants everywhere - on top of shelves, hanging on ceilings, anywhere that you could possibly imagine. Books surrounded the place as well. There was a stack on the armchair next to me, on the table in the middle of the room, on a stool, everywhere. I sat up straight, only to be greeted by a wind chime dangling above my head and singing its soft tune. Just then, Mrs. Smith rushed into the room, with Angela trailing behind.

‘Oh! You’re finally up, dear!’ she smiled. I stared into her eyes. They looked as if they were a forest surrounded by nature. It easened the butterflies flying around my stomach, with a pleasant warmth glinting inside them.

Without warning,  Angela ran up towards the sofa and hugged me tight, like she never wanted to let go, interrupting my thoughts. My eyes were wide with surprise. She never hugged me. But she was. Exactly like she did with Mum.

But Mum was dead.

So she had chosen me as a substitute.

I felt dizzy all over again.

Mrs. Smith just smiled. That comforting smile she passed on to others, warmer than any baked good that she could have given you. ‘I don’t mean to be a pain,’ she said, ‘but I need to tell you some news, darling.’ 

Angela loosened her grip, before releasing me altogether. She watched me nervously, stepping from foot to foot as Mrs. Smith progressed towards me. 

‘You see, because of the terrible passing of your mother, and since you have no other relatives willing to take care of you two, the police have asked that me and Evan - Mr Smith, if you like - looked after you instead.’

My heart sank. I can understand what she meant - we only had Uncle Ryan and Aunt Penny left, but they hated children. Uncle Ryan was a drug dealer and a heavy alcoholic, while Aunt Penny had been responsible for strange activity in the past, including purposely crashing her Ford Mustang into a SUV in front of her, almost setting fire to her local pub, punching a young woman in the face when she wouldn’t give her money for cigarettes and opening her neighbours’ wooden gate, freeing their beagle. She had caused quite a lot of chaos that day - missing posters were hung up all over the place, until the dog came back two weeks later, incredibly skinny and making a horrible whining noise. Eventually, she was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, and sometimes ‘forgot’ to take her daily pills. While Uncle Ryan never gave a damn. He never checked in with her. In fact, he encouraged it in a way. They were quite popular on the news, their smug faces plastered all over televisions at least twice per month. They had caused a huge amount of trouble with the police, so I understood why they didn’t want us under their care. But Mr and Mrs. Smith? Yes, they were well-known for being one of the most friendliest and generous couples in our town, but they were getting older. They were at least in their late sixties - surprisingly enough -  despite their young looks. It would just be too depressing for Angela and me to grow such a strong connection with them, and then one day, they’re just gone. Poof. Plus, I didn’t want me and Angela to be such an unexpected burden suddenly welcomed into their home. And they’re sometimes low on money, meaning it could be hard to afford things for us, let alone them. 

I didn’t want to live in the same household as Uncle Ryan and Aunt Penny, but I certainly didn’t want to be under the care of Mr and Mrs. Smith. 

I just wanted Mum. 

I wanted her. Even if she had an odd obsession with those pills and that she locked herself in her room. Even if, weirdly enough, she had shot that guy in our basement one year ago. I wanted her. Because I knew that beneath that uncaring exterior, locked deep inside, her heart was beating. Beating strong with love. For us. I wanted her. I needed her.

Because deep down inside, I knew that the old Mum was there.

‘No.’ I muttered firmly.

Mrs. Smith stared at me in disbelief and furrowed her brow. 

‘What do you mean?’ she asked with a saddened tone in her voice. I almost felt bad, but I quickly shook it off. ‘I thought this would be splendid news for you!’

‘I’m sorry, Mrs. Smith. I just don’t want me and Angela to be a pain. I mean, you guys are struggling with money from time to time and . . . well. No offence, but are also getting older. And it would just be too depressing for me and Angela to suffer a loss like yours. I don’t know what we’ll do, but I won’t stand to cause distress for you and Mr Smith. It’s stupid, I know; I’m just trying so hard to protect Angela from anymore grief. Yes, she needs to face the “real world”, but she’s twelve. She has time for that when she’s older. One thing’s for sure though - I will never end up crawling on over to Uncle Ryan and Aunt Penny’s house. Those assholes,’ Mrs. Smith flinched, ‘don’t deserve mine or Angela’s presence when they can’t even look after themselves.’

Mrs. Smith hesitated, obviously searching for the right words. Finally, she responded, ‘Listen, I know this is having quite an impact on you right now, but you need someone to take care of you. I don’t care about whatever “burden”,’ she made air quotes, ‘you bring on us. I will not let you nor Angela starve on the streets when me and Mr Smith could have taken charge and brought you in!’ Her emerald eyes began glittering, a wave of guilt crashing down on me like a tsunami. ‘We will fight to stay alive. I don’t care what those damn people do to us-’ she stopped abruptly. What people? What the hell was she talking about?

‘What people?’ I asked, curiosity rising in my voice. She didn’t respond. Anger swallowed me whole as I repeated, ‘What people?’

She opened her mouth, and closed it again. She looked like a helpless fish, determined to answer, but couldn’t. She grabbed the neck of her top and pulled at it. ‘Hot, isn’t it?’ she chuckled, anxiety smeared all across her face.

Through gritted teeth, I repeated again, ‘What people?’

It wasn’t until I had said this that I noticed Angela was still standing there, watching us, obvious confusion bubbling up inside of her. 

Finally, Mrs. Smith sighed. ‘Angela, why don’t you grab a snack and sit in the kitchen? We have a good choice to choose from!’ she smiled weakly.

‘But-’ Angela began, ‘but what about you guys? What will you do?’ Before Mrs. Smith could reply, she said hastily, ‘Well, I don’t want to go! I’m not a baby! I can handle it! Give me anything. I won’t start crying or whining like a baby, I promise. I’m brave enough!’ She puffed out her chest as if that would make all the difference, and I couldn’t help but smirk.

‘Don’t worry. It’s not anything to worry about.’ I answered. ‘Just planning something, that’s all.’

‘Well-’ she started again, but I cut her off.

‘It’s fine, Angela. You won’t be left out. I promise.’

She stood there for a few seconds before mumbling under her breath, ‘Fine. I’ll go get a snack then. But don’t take too long.’

Angela dragged her feet across the floor - probably to annoy me - and eventually walked out the door. Mrs. Smith closed and locked it. I don’t blame her. With Angela’s nosiness, it was for the best. 

‘Well.’ she began. ‘I guess I should start from the beginning.’

‘Seven years ago, when you were only nine, a man walked through these streets. He searched inside houses - turned them upside down! - and no one bothered to stop him. Everyone just let him do it. I didn’t understand it at the time, but then Miss Nightingale, the lovely cashier from the local shop, told me when I was buying bread for mine and Evans’ soup. She said he was looking for an object. Like it meant the world to him. Like it was some sort of precious artefact.’ She rolled her eyes before continuing. ‘A few months later, it was reported on the news that a pregnant woman died two hours before birth. I originally thought it was just some regular, every-day type of thing, because people die every day, especially pregnant women, unfortunately. But then, they were discussing that five hours previously, she had begun twitching. She had claimed that she couldn’t control it, so doctors just thought it was nerves for when the baby came. Two hours later, they came to check on her again. She was staring into the distance, and her pupils were completely white. Still, she continued to twitch. Now, everyone was becoming concerned. Around sixteen doctors were in the same room as hers that day, running tests and doing all sorts of crap that they’ve been trained to do.’ She waved her hand carelessly, as if it were the most common thing ever. Then, she gulped and pulled at the neck of her top again. ‘Two doctors had said that they would stay in the room with her, to keep her safe, I guess. An hour later, a nurse came in, only to start screaming so loud that the whole hospital could probably hear. It turns out that the two doctors who had stayed in that room were dead, their eyes wide open. I won’t go into detail. Don’t want to cause trauma.’ She chuckled nervously. ‘They had to keep her contained in that room. After half an hour, she died. Imagine that. Dying with no one by your side and just trapped inside an empty room. It must have been torture.’ She looked like she was going to cry, but she resisted. ‘Turns out that she had some sort of virus. They called it “The Third Contagion”. For a bunch of well-educated people, the name sounds kind of stupid.’

For someone in their sixties, Mrs. Smith was feisty and complained like a seven year old.

‘Anyways, the aftermath of that woman’s death caused others to catch the same virus in the hospital. More than thirty people died that day. It’s strange how fast a virus can spread, really. I mean, the plague came from some damn fleas and look how that turned out.

‘Over the years, these men have been trained to kill anyone who holds any traces of the sickness. I had made a promise with your mother that I wouldn’t share this information with you until I absolutely had to, like when you’re older. I actually made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t share any of this with you until you were eighteen, but now you know. And you have always been a respectful, mature young girl, so I trust you.’

I sat in silence, attempting to understand what she had just told me. A man. A pregnant woman. A virus. Death. That word consistently echoed around my mind.

Death.

People are dying.

All because of a virus.

How did it start? Why did it spread to the pregnant woman? Why her? Then, an unexpected rage made my cheeks sting and turn a bright colour of red.

Mum didn’t tell me. 

Yes, I was a literal nine year old, so I have to give myself some credit for that, but what about when I was older? Before she died, maybe? To warn me about the real world? You'd think she would, but she didn’t. Didn’t she trust me? Wasn’t I her eldest daughter? Wasn’t it my responsibility now? To worry about the real world? But nothing. No advice. Nothing. 

Did she even care? 

‘I can’t believe this.’ I managed to whisper. ‘After all this time, she never told me. She just locked them up inside. Just her and a couple of untold secrets.’

‘Well.’ Mrs. Smith stuttered. ‘You were only young. Your mother wouldn’t have wanted you to worry, dear. At least you know now.’

I sighed and lied back on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. Until I realised something. ‘Ohhh. That explains why our school is shut!’

She couldn’t help but smile. ‘Yes. Indeed. I heard that they actually wanted to stay open, saying that their education was far more important.’ Then, she added, muttering under her breath, ‘Stupid people. Anyways, Mr Burke was able to petition against keeping them closed, thankfully.

‘Well, that explains an awful lot, I must admit.’

She chuckled lightly.

Someone knocked on the living room door. ‘Hey! It’s been more than twenty minutes, people! Open up!’ called a familiar voice.

Mrs. Smith unlocked the door, only to find a furious Angela eating a bag of doritos. I couldn’t help but smile. Angela always found a way to make me laugh.

‘So?’ Mrs. Smith asked, turning to me. ‘Are you willing to stay here?’

Oh yeah. We still had to decide that. I pondered for a moment, suddenly realising how idiotic my thoughts were before. Some homeless people would give their lives for food and shelter, and I was here, declining the offer, as if it meant nothing to me.

‘I guess we could stay here for a while. It’s better than Uncle Ryan and Aunt Penny’s place.’ I murmured.

Mrs. Smith just smiled.