I always assumed that we died the moment our hearts stopped beating. I didn’t believe in souls, or heaven, or any afterlife at all. When my heart froze, my essence would fade. There’d be peace—a comfortable darkness at the end of it all. I was wrong.
My heart stopped beating this morning in the humid, shadowy bedroom where I’d decided to spend my last days in. I lay under the quilt my mom made for me before it all happened. I trembled even though my sheets were soaked in sweat. God, I was so tired. A splitting headache whispered that it was almost time to go.
My death didn’t last long. A half an hour at most. The edges of my vision became dark. The infected, engorged bite on my leg finally stopped hurting. My eyelids were heavy and my heart was fluttering against my ribcage, weak but working harder than ever. I took one final, ragged breath and opened myself up to emptiness. I’m ready. Darkness ebbed over my vision.
For a moment, it was over.
“Nina!” Soft footsteps sounded down the hall and into my room. My eyes moved as though they lay in a pool of molasses. I pulled my gaze to the window beside my bed. It had turned dark outside. My fingers twitched, but my body had settled into a kind of motionlessness I’d never felt before. No blood rushing, no air in my lungs—I was still, and I was still here. Why was I still here?
I was Cold. I had died, but I could still see everything around me. I moved as though I were in a dream, wading through thick, syrupy air. I couldn’t feel my heartbeat. I couldn’t feel much of anything.
I struggled to resurface memories of my family turned Cold. I thought of my mom, skin graying and hair falling out, charging at me and my little sister with the bloodlust of a wild animal. Was she still conscious? Did she know what she was doing?
The Cold Ones were supposed to be dead. I was one of them now, but I was still aware. I reached down to feel the bite on my leg. It had sealed over and was now one large, thick scab. I remembered the blood, the pus, and the shooting pain through the rest of my body. That was all gone now.
A small hand patted my shoulder. “Nina, I’m hungry.”
I twisted my head to look at my little sister. I tried to speak, but all that came out was a ragged groan. A deep, aching famine swelled in the pit of my stomach at the sight of the little girl in front of me. I was starving.
“Nina,” Claire whined, rubbing her eyes.
I could only stare. Her olive skin glowed, cheeks pink and oily brown hair still in the ponytail I put it in a couple days ago. She grew bored with me within a few minutes and wobbled out of my room, huffing. There were beans in the kitchen. We didn’t have a lot of food left, but Claire hadn’t eaten since I gave her those old cookies yesterday. My legs fell off side of the bed. My quilt fell to the floor as I sat up.
Is this how the Mutation happened for everyone? I’d forced a knife through my father’s temple just minutes after he stopped breathing. He hadn’t even had the chance to Mutate. “Never let me become one of them,” he’d commanded from his deathbed. Maybe Claire and I could have had more time with him if I’d just waited a couple more hours. A risk, yes, but the end is here all the same. We fought so hard. It was all a waste.
I walked like I had never used my legs before. I couldn’t feel my feet on the floor. Every sense had become dulled as my body began to fall apart. It wouldn’t be long before I started to stink.
Claire was in the kitchen rummaging through one of the cabinets. She wouldn’t find any food there. I stumbled forward and extended an arm up to where we kept the last of it. The cabinet door hung off of its bottom hinge; Dad never got around to fixing it. My fist closed around some canned pears with a pull-and-peel top.
Claire giggled. “You peed your pants.”
I had—a while ago. Probably when my heart stopped beating.
I jammed my fingers under the tab. I fumbled for a minute while Claire watched me intently. It was partially open when I handed it to her. She’d be able to get the rest. It would just take her a few minutes.
Her fingers brushed against mine when she took the can. Fueled by instinct and a ravenous craving, I gripped her wrist. Claire screamed. The ache in my stomach returned with a vengeance. My vision blurred. My lips parted.
“Nina, stop!” she cried.
My fingers jerked, loosening my grip. I focused on my sister’s face. Big, brown eyes and a trembling bottom lip. Claire pulled her arm away and ran into the living room, cradling her wrist. I moaned, jaw hanging open. I wanted to apologize, to help her, but I stayed where I was. Amidst my horror, I wondered where that strength had come from. A minute ago, I could barely get a grip on a can of fruit, but I’d grabbed Claire hard enough to leave bruises.
I raised my arms stiffly and looked at my hands. My bloated fingertips blushed a rich purple hue. Blisters were popping up along my arm, shaded with the same purple hue as my fingers. These didn’t look like my hands anymore. They looked like weapons.
There was a sign on the wall in front of me. “Bless this house,” it said. Mom found it at the farmer’s market two summers ago. I was irritable that day, wondering why, why, they thought bringing Claire out in the hot weather was a good idea. She was on the edge of a fit for the entire day. I was pretending to be interested in a display of honey when my mom approached me excitedly, a fussy baby in one arm and a tacky wooden sign in the other.
“Don’t you think this is perfect?” she asked.
I read the sign. It was cute, sure, but the look of amazement on my mom’s face made me laugh. “Sure, why not?”
I don’t know how long I stood there in the kitchen. Hungry. It filled me with dread to know that I had no desire to eat the food in the cupboard. Behind my eyelids, I saw flashes of the artery throbbing in my little sister’s neck. If I could feel anything, I would be sick with hunger, but the numbness was spreading. I couldn’t even close my eyes anymore. There would be no one to stop me when I become lost—when I turn Cold. It’s just been Claire and I for weeks now. Mom was bitten first, then Dad. I was the only one left to take care of her.
I stood there until light streamed into the kitchen window. Another day. I barely felt the time passing.
Claire tip-toed back into the kitchen. Her eyes were puffy from a night of sleep. She furrowed her eyebrows at me and pursed her lips.
“You have booboos.” She pointed at the blisters on my arm, which were starting to break open. My skin glowed with a sheen of pus. I knew I looked bad now. I wanted Claire to run, to leave me behind, to go find someone to help her, but it was too late. She didn’t know I was dead.
She disappeared for a few moments and returned with a bandage in her hand. She took it out carefully and placed it over one of the bigger blisters.
“There,” she said, satisfied with her work. She started toward the living room, then looked back at me. “Come with me.”
I didn’t.
Hours passed. Claire would check on me occasionally, but gave up trying to get me to talk.
There was a sign in front of me. It was made of wood. It took some squinting to see the words on it. “Bless this house,” I think it said. I wondered if Claire had picked that out.
I felt like I was falling asleep.
“Nina, it’s bed time,” Claire said, uneasy now. Amidst my daze, I felt hope. Maybe she’d figure it out. She could run. I stayed where I was. My tired, stiff body had slumped forward.
The night hours passed like a thick fog. I wasn’t in pain anymore—just trapped. I reached for a knife in the sink, wanting more than anything to plunge it into the roof of my mouth, but it clattered on the floor. My grip was weak again. I was so tired.
The sun rose. Claire wandered back into the kitchen, shuffling around in the cabinets she could reach. I could hear her heartbeat. The arteries in her neck, the veins in her wrist, pulsing, throbbing. It was unbearable, fighting the Mutation. I was losing. I was almost Cold.
There was something on the wall, a board with words on it. I didn’t bother looking closer.
I could hear Claire’s footsteps just around the corner. The Mutation picked away at my consciousness, and I was going to slip away.
I got one last glimpse at my sister’s face before everything became nothing.