The Carriers

Matias

I grew up in a little suburb not far from Chicago. As a young boy, I remember being fast asleep in my bed, when the blast of a nearby train horn would startle me awake. The roar of the engines caused me many sleepless nights. Until one day, they didn’t. It’s amazing how we become so accustomed to sounds, to sights, to smells. We learn, we adapt, we anticipate. I feel the same way about the screams. For the longest time, the screams would wake me, in a cold-sweated panic. My hands would shake, I could feel my stomach twist. “Where am I?!” “Who are you?!” “Help me!” But it was the blood-curdling screams that would haunt my soul. The pain in them; the fear. Until one day, just like when I was a boy, they didn’t. Now a new arrival feels more like a fly buzzing around your head at night. It forces you to open your eyes, but is just a minor inconvenience until you drift back to sleep. I must admit, in my own fucked up way, I miss it. I miss feeling human, feeling something. Now I sit here, in my small, padded box, cut-off from what is left of the world, and I am numb. My only human contact is from the men in white lab coats that stick me with needles, and yet, I don’t even feel that anymore.

My name is Matias. I know what you are thinking; it is not a common name. It means “gift from God.” My mother was told she could never have children, yet I was brought into this world. My parents weren’t the super religious type, but they felt God played a role in my coming. God? I was always a skeptic in regards to religion when I was growing up, but now I know, after everything I have seen, everything I have been through. There is no God. And there is such great irony in my name. My parents gave it to me because I was their miracle child, but after the outbreak, people viewed me as a literal gift from God; they even spoke those words to me on the street, and even as I sit here, wasting away in this cell, I am constantly reminded, I am not just a gift, I am a savior. We are all saviors. It’s bullshit.

The Outbreak

When the outbreak hit, the world stopped. The virus was spreading out of control with no chance of survival and no cure in sight. Hundreds of millions, if not more died, but I was lucky enough to survive. Lucky? More like cursed. I had to watch the love my life, my parents, and my friends all die around me, but I remained unaffected. It was months before scientists finally realized; it was the blood. Only about 0.6% of the population has AB blood, and for some reason, the virus could not infect it. Soon after, hospitals called upon all AB blood carriers so that we could be studied and eventually they figured out a way to use our blood to create a cure, but the damage had been done. The population had been decimated, governments were destroyed, and chaos ensued.

As the cure was mass produced and distributed across the world, survivors began to come out of hiding. New nations were formed. People began to live again, and no one lived better than us; the Carriers. We lived like rock stars; we were untouchable. We could have anything we wanted; money, sex, cars, drugs. The world was rebuilding and it was rebuilding around us. Our blood was the key to mankind’s survival and the world thanked us for it. I met a group of Carriers in Chicago. There were twelve of us that became very close, like a family. We did everything together. I must admit, for a short period of time, I was happy. As most of the world suffered, I felt normal. But it was not long before everything changed. While the cure was able killed the virus and prolong death, it did not create an immunity. Scientists needed a ready supply of our blood, making it the most valuable commodity in the world, and soon, some people realized that there was a lot of money and power to the ones to supply it.

The Woman with the Heart-Shaped Locket

One night, we were invited to a gala at the Donaldson Hotel. It was our night, celebrating our role in the rebuilding of the world. Some of the most important and influential people still alive were in attendance. Some of our group was hesitant to attend. We had heard rumors of Carriers disappearing without a trace, but I convinced the group that rumors were all they were. I could not have been more wrong. The night began perfectly, lots of drinks and dancing and laughter, and then I saw her. The most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes on. Her long, dark hair flowed seamlessly into her black dress. She wore a small, gold heart-shaped locket around her neck. Our eyes met and she smiled, but it was not until later in the night, when she approached me at the bar. We talked for a while. My eyes kept wandering down her neck to the heart-shaped locket that set elegantly atop of her perfect breasts. I am embarrassed to admit that she took notice. “So, uh, what’s inside the locket?” I asked.

She smiled and said, “why don’t we go up to my room and you can find out.”

My body tingled. I had never been with a woman of such beauty. “I don’t even know your name,” I said.

“Isn’t it more fun that way?” she replied. I smiled and against my better judgement, against my agreement with the other Carriers to stick together, followed the woman in the heart-shaped locket to her room. I sat on down on the bed, she poured us a drink, and slid her black dress to the floor. She was more beautiful than I even imagined. As I finished my drink, she straddled my legs and kissed me. Unfortunately, I don’t recall much after that. I admit my lust had gotten the best of me, forcing me to let my guard down. When I finally awoke, I was here, locked inside this cell. I often dream of her, the woman in the heart-shaped locket, but not of our night of passion, but of escaping this place, finding her, and making her pay for putting me in here.

The Process

Almost twenty years have passed since my abduction and new arrivals are still being brought in and processed, and I’m not talking thumbprints and mugshots. You are taken into a dark room, stripped of your clothes, and your body is strapped down to a cold, metal table. They give you the sedative to make the process easier. You can’t move, you feel no pain, but you are well aware of what is happening. I can always tell when the drug takes effect on a new arrival; it’s when the screams finally stop. Your nails are trimmed and tight-fitting gloves and socks are placed over your hands and feet that lock at the wrist and ankle. The material is strong, yet breathable. In the early days, they used chains to bind us, but some decided to use their chains to end their misery, and we are of no value to them dead. Next, the table rises and flips so you are staring face down into a large, empty vat. Then, a man with a large pair of pliers, one by one, rips every single tooth from your mouth. All you can do is watch in horror, and the listen to the sound of your teeth cracking from your jaw, as blood pours into the vat below. They don’t waste a single drop. The empty sockets of your mouth are then cauterized and treated with a foul-tasting ointment. Just like the gloves, this treatment wasn’t used in the early days, but it’s all precautionary now. Chains were removed because we killing ourselves. The gloves keep us from scratching, wasting blood. And the teeth, that is thanks to Andrew.

I don’t think the people here at the Donaldson Institute know exactly the lengths we would go to end our misery, until Andrew. I can’t tell you if I envy that he was able to escape this place, or if I despise him for how we have been punished for his actions, but he is the reason why our teeth are taken. He is the reason that every meal I eat is through a straw. It wasn’t long after we arrived that Andrew began to spiral. Being trapped and alone will take its toll on anyone, but Andrew had it bad. With no chains to hang himself, and no nails to scratch or slice, he did the only thing he could think of; he used his teeth. I don’t know the full details of Andrew’s death, only what I heard from the men that work here discussing, but they say he bit large chunks from his arms and legs, tearing through the skin, ripping through veins, and shredding through muscle. I don’t know how he found it in himself to do it, but he succeeded. By the time they did their rounds, the blood loss was too severe and he could not be saved. The next day, we were taken and their problem was solved.

No Escape

I know there are still millions of us out there. Carriers living in fear, being hunted. I hold on to hope that somewhere on this Earth, we are still treated like kings, valued for our efforts to save mankind, to restore some order to this fucked up world, but my hope wanes. I used to dream about a Carrier uprising, storming this place and liberating us, but I have come to terms with the fact that there is no escape but death, and even that eludes me. So, I will sit here, in my padded cell, drink my meals, and continue to be a slave to the system, until one day I won’t wake up. I beg for that day every night before I close my eyes, yet deep down inside, I hope that one day I will feel the sunshine down upon me one more time and be able take revenge against those that put us through this misery.