I awoke to the welcome of a high beamed timber ceiling. This was not my usual broad, white, popcorn textured ceiling. I didn't recognize this place. This wasn't my bed. I traced my memory back as far as I could. The last thing I remember was feeling like a breath of fresh air might help my drowsy aching head. I looked around in search of answers. I could only imagine that this was someone's abandoned hunting cabin, except it wasn't abandoned. He sat holding his head in his hands, a mass of ebony black curls encircling his face. He looked up, surprised by a slight movement of my hot achy foot. He jumped up straight away and came over to check on me.
"Shh, don't speak," he murmured as he gently placed his hand on my forehead. He looked relieved for a moment and gave a small Thank You to some higher being, and then quickly set to work on getting me a bowl of what looked like broth.
That was strange, I thought as I tried to move a sore hand above the scratchy patchwork quilt. It took a great effort but I managed to get the quilt off of me just enough so I could breathe. I felt exceedingly weaker than usual. I wondered why. The man placed the bowl on the bedside table. I did not recognize this man. Who was he? Until this point I had not thought to be concerned about this stranger; after all, something about him seemed familiar. He pulled a stethoscope from a kit with a bunch of other medical supplies and instruments. He looked at me with a concerned and sympathetic face.
"I'm going to have to roll you on your side so I can listen to your breathing. This may hurt a little," he said with all the care he could muster.
He was right. Every ounce of my being felt as though it had been crushed between two boulders. I felt as though someone had given me a straw to breathe though while an elephant sat on my chest. The man gently rolled me back over.
His face was covered in stubble, and while he had a young disposition, his hazel eyes looked aged as though he had not rested in a long time. His blue hoodie and jeans gave him a relaxed look, too relaxed to be a doctor, I deduced. The man grabbed his nearby chair and scooted closer to the bed. He propped me up on a pillow and began slowly, and carefully spoon feeding me broth. The broth was warm and felt good on my parched lips.
"Easy now. Not too fast. You'll need your strength," he said as he wiped a bit of broth that managed to dribble down my chin.
"Who are you? Where am I?" I was surprised at the weakness of my voice. Once loud and bubbly, it was now fragile and strained.
"I told you not to speak," the man said. He sighed, giving up on trying to keep the mess on my face minimal. "My name is Josiah. I rescued you from the hospital per my father's request. He noticed your improvement out of the other quarantined patients and told me to bring you to his cabin in the woods by Crossbow Lake. He said he didn't want them to exterminate someone who was actually improving, despite the order to clear the failed test subjects."
Quarantine? Patient? I began to open my mouth, hungry not for broth but information.
"No! I told you no talking. You will use all your strength and you will only be disappointed when you can't do anything except lie in that bed," Josiah warned.
He was right. I already felt weak from the few sips of broth I managed to take. Josiah seemed to understand my growing concern.
"I guess you have been in a feverish state for a few weeks now. I bet you don't remember much, do you?"
Josiah paused, as if pondering whether he trusted me enough not to panic.
"I guess you have a right to know."
A right to know what? Why was I here? What was Josiah talking about?
"Juliet, you have been terribly sick for a while now and since you have been out of it, the world has become a different place. You suffered from a massive virus known as the Exophoric virus. It started out as a government experiment that somehow went haywire. There were times when I was not sure you would make it. It's a deadly virus and up until you I haven't heard of any survivors. The virus is so bad that its wiped out most of the world's population and as far as I know, you and I could very well be the last two survivors on Earth. My father told me to wait here with you, but that was three weeks ago. I fear he may be dead and we may be all that is left."
My mind raced, as my heart pounded, and I slowly succumbed to the dark oblivion of my unconscious.