When someone grabs my elbow and hoists me up I nearly punch them. I only stop when I realize that it is not a soldier at all, but actually a young kid. His has big, innocent brown eyes. He has curly brown hair and adorable dimples. I gasp, a strangled sound that startles the child. I blink. I was wrong.

Not Thomas, not Thomas, not Thomas.

"We're here." The little boy appears to be shaking in his boots as he stares at me. I start to wonder why and realize it's because my face is bruised and bloody from my fight in the gas station before I met up with Parker. "We need to get off the bus."

I glance down and realize that there is a makeshift tourniquet wrapped around my leg, tight. I let out a shaky breath. "Okay. Okay, kid. Go ahead of me."

I don't let myself get attached to the kid, so I tell him to leave even though he helped me. He seems scared shitless as his legs begin shaking and he runs off of the bus as quick as he can. I roll my eyes. That boy will never make it in this world. I know he won't because, in a way, I see my old and powerless self inside of him.

I force the thought away. Who cares? She's useless. I can't think of her anymore.

I stumble down the steps of the bus after him. Parker is there still, directing people where to go. His eyes lock on mine and he calls for another medic.

I don't get a good look at the medic when they approach me. Every single kid stares like I'm the scariest thing they've seen in years, which can't possibly be true. I roll my eyes at them and trudge forward. They can go fuck themselves for all I care.

I raise my chin up and follow the medic in front of me. He tells me he is taking me to a place called the Convalescent Ward so that Dr. Pam can take care of me. I almost want to run. Maybe scream in his face that I can take care of myself, I had for months. But I don't. Only because I know I need to follow through with this. I need the medical care they can provide.

I pay attention to everything that I see on the way there. I notice how the second I pass anybody, they stop speaking. It makes me wonder what they're trying to hide from me and the kids waiting to be brought in. Do any of them even know where they are or had the soldiers kept that from them?

I'm pulled from my thoughts when the medic nods towards a door in the back. He tells me Dr. Pam will be there in just a moment. I nod and take a seat on the metal table in the back. It's surprisingly cold, though I'm not sure why it shocks me. The temperature in the room must have been in the negatives with how cold it was.

Blood has soaked through the cloth wrapped around my leg. I wince at the thought of having to peel the fabric of my jeans off of it and decide it would be better if I did it before Dr. Pam came in. The less she touched me the better. I don't let people I don't trust touch me.

I unbutton the top of my pants and pull them down over my waist with heavy grunts. The smell of sweat lingers in the air and I almost gag at the smell. Showers were a luxury nowadays. I hadn't had one in a while. In other words: I smelt like shit.

I close my mouth as I begin tugging the pants off. My nostrils flare as I breathe in as much air as possible and try to ignore the pain that ignites in my entire leg when I pull the pants from the incision. Once it is off, the rest is easy.

When Dr. Pam enters the room she seems to be surprised to find me sitting half naked on her table. I raise a brow at her and gesture to my wound. This seems to knock her out of her thoughts as she closes the door behind her and stalks towards me.

"How did you manage to get your pants off without any assistance?" Dr. Pam asks me as she slips blue gloves over her thin fingers. I squint at her. Who cares how I did it? I did and now they're off. Let's move on.

When I don't answer her she chuckles lightly. "Can you at least tell me your name?"

"Why?" I ask immediately. Who cares what it is. Whatever my name was before the waves, that's the girl I used to be. I am not that useless bitch anymore. I'm much stronger. I'm a survivor.

"Why not?" Dr. Pam challenges. I furrow my brows in slight confusion. "Is it because you are not who you once were? Or is it because you don't want to admit that she is still in there somewhere?"

I lick my chapped lips. "Maybe it's both. What would you say then?"

Dr. Pam sends me a smile. "I'd say you are a survivor."

I stare into her gentle eyes for a long moment. She's nice. Her hands are unbearably cold against my thigh, but she is nice. The wrinkles along the sides of her eyes tell me that maybe she is younger than she appears to me. I hate myself for even listening to her opinion of me. I shouldn't care.

Trust no one, remember?

I roll my eyes. Who cares what I am anymore? Sure, I might be a survivor but I haven't felt alive since my family died. Dr. Pam seems to understand that I don't want to talk about it anymore because she helps me stand up and directs me to the corner of the room. I hadn't noticed it before but it's a small shower. I quirk a brow at Dr. Pam.

"You have to be clean so I can patch you up." Is what she tells me. I have a feeling it's because she is sick of staring at my bruised and bloodied face but I don't comment on it. "I can give you some privacy, if you would like."

I squint at her. "Yep." No thank you. That's not who I am. Saying thank you means I have to care about what she thinks. And a survivor doesn't do that. They only think of themselves. That is what I do. That is what I have to do.

Dr. Pam leaves and I strip down. I let the water run down my back. I take five minutes. I only let myself have five minutes. If I stay in longer, I'll be accustomed to having the feeling of safety and I am tired of being disappointed when it turns out it was false. Dr. Pam is surprised when I step out completely naked.

"That wasn't long," she says, seeming to taunt me. "You could stay in a while longer."

"Why?" I ask. "What's the point? You're going to patch me up and kick me out, right? So who cares how long I stay in."

Dr. Pam crosses the room in three long, quick strides. She presses a thin hospital gown into my arms and I use it to cover my breasts as much as possible. The fabric is itchy and clean and new. I don't let myself enjoy the feeling. I let Dr. Pam help me put it on and ignore how great it feels to wear something I know someone else hasn't.

"We're not kicking you out." She tells me as she ties the string at the back of my neck. "We're going to need you."

"For what?"

"For the war. We need you to fight the Others."

I sit in silence as she sits me back on the table and begins stitching my leg. I barely notice. I have been through much more than this little thing. I once had to sew a gun shot with dental floss. Not fun but, hey, I did it. This felt like the best thing in the entire world in comparison to that.

When Dr. Pam finishes she grabs something from a desk. It's a small silver looking tablet and it's smaller than my pinkie nail. She tells me it is a tracker that will have tabs on me at all times. To keep me safe, she says. Safety is the only reason.

I don't believe her. I don't ask what else it does. She won't tell me. I know she won't.

Dr. Pam gives me something to numb the back of my neck. She inserts the tablet just beneath the skin, close to the back of my skull. She's right. It doesn't hurt. She instructs me to follow her to another room. When we enter I realize that this one is much, much smaller than the last one. I become thankful that I am not claustrophobic.

There is a chair in the very middle with restraints. I can't move my eyes away from it.

"What is this?" I tilt my head to the side and stay with my feet planted on the floor in front of the door. I keep telling myself that I won't care what they do to me. I feel dead. So goddammit, feel fucking dead!

"This is Wonderland."

I send her an unimpressed look that practically screams 'awesome! but what the fuck does it do?'. She chuckles at my expression and the sound relaxes my limbs.

She orders me to lay back and get comfortable. I do as I'm told. She moves to strap me in and I grab her wrist in my hand. Gently, of course. Because she had been gentle with me. "Are they necessary?"

"Afraid so," she replies instantly. "But it can wait. I need you to start answering my questions, okay? I have to finish the report before I can let you rest."

I nod and release her wrist. "Only if I can ask some questions, too."

She smiles. "Of course. First question: what is your name?"

I chuckle. "Oh, no. You've crossed the line." Dr. Pam raises a brow but I can see the corner of her lips quirk up. "It's Sofia."

"Just Sofia?"

I sigh. My fingers begin tapping restlessly against my thigh, a nervous habit I've learned I have. "Sofia Rogers."

"Well, Sofia is a lovely name." Fuck off.

"How old are you?"

"Sixteen."

"Were your parents in the compound we found you?"

"Nope. Both dead. I also have a little brother. He's dead, too. Anything else?" I snap. I don't like talking about myself. I want her to stop being nice to me and then asking me questions I'm not sure I can answer yet. I just want her to fuck off and leave me alone like everyone else.

Dr. Pam gives off a sympathetic smile that I want to smack off of her pale face. Noticing my sudden hostility, she proceeds carefully. "How did they die, Sofia?"

"Dad died in the second wave. Mom and Thomas died in the third."

"Did you catch the plague?"

I cross my arms over my chest and look anywhere but her face. The gargling sounds of my mother and brother choking to death fills my brain but I keep my face emotionless. "Yeah, not sure how long, though. It was a while ago. Irrelevant, now."

"No," Dr. Pam insists. "Completely relevant. Had you not gone through that, would you be the survivor you are today?"

I quirk a brow. "Is the doctor in your name in medicine or psychology?"

Dr. Pam bites her lip to stop herself from cracking a grin. She places the notes she had been making down and moves back to the black leather my hands would soon be strapped in. I suck in a shaky breath and allow her to strap me in.

On instinct, I begin to struggle against the bonds. My biggest fear was this; being in bonds with no control over what happens to me. I like control. I like power. I like knowing I have a say.

I don't like being restrained.

Dr. Pam presses a hand against my forearm. It's cold against my warm skin so it catches my attention immediately. She sends me a comforting smile. "It's going to be okay, Sofia. This thing is called Wonderland. It is a sort of mapping system that we managed to take from the Others."

"You got technology from the Others?" I lick my lips. That was impossible. Right? "And what the hell does it map?"

"Yes, it was on the device of an infested. We managed to get it when they infiltrated Wright-Patterson. As for what it maps..." She pauses. That's a sure sign that she is going to lie. But the weariness that crosses her face after what she says next proves that she decided against it. "It maps you."

"How?" I'm nervous now. My fingers tap the chair in different patterns. I let out shaky breaths through my nose.

"We don't know yet." Dr. Pam pushes my shoulders back so that I am lying completely straight. I strain my neck to look up at her and she pushes that back, too. "Don't worry, Sofia. It is completely harmless. Now, close your eyes. Take a big, deep breath. Three... Two..."

Reality bends in on itself.

I'm there, two years old, screeching for father because I had a nightmare about something I'm not sure about. I clutch Carl the purple octopus in my tiny arms. I forgot about him. It's not just a memory. This is actually happening.

I'm four now, passing my father nails so he can attach the boards to the tree house I begged for.

Seven, learning to ride my bike. Ms. Abbott teaches me because my parents are busy working. Typical.

Next thing I know I'm ten years old and I am holding baby Thomas in my arms. I start thrashing in the restraints, silently begging it to be over. Don't think about him. You'll break, Sofia.

Fourteen, crying at home because my best friend decided her boyfriend was more important than me. Thomas gave me Carl the octopus because he wanted to help me calm down. Too close, now. Too close to the present. Stop it, Pam! Stop it!

The flashes of memories start to slow. I become hysterical. Too close. Too close.

Teaching Thomas to ride a bike. Ms. Abbott taking care of us for days because Mom and Dad are too tired. Mr. Abbott letting me drive his new car when I get my permit. Mom and Dad asking if I'm okay with them splitting up.

Green orb in the sky. Courtney calling to make sure everything is okay. Holding my brother while my father paces the floor behind us.

Then holding my father as the current threatens to take both of us into its eternal abyss. Determined expression as he lets go. Fingers skim my head. Ms. Abbott touching my foot. Dead.

Mom is dead behind me. Thomas is dying in front of me. I'm stuck in between and wishing I could be the next one dead because I can't watch him die, too.

Now I'm standing in a gas station. I fought off a guy three minutes earlier for a can of spam and I am already injured. Then there are three guys on top of me. Pulling my hair, lifting my shirt, unbuttoning my jeans.

Their blood drips down my fingers as I slam my knife into the neck of the one directly above me. His friends scream and land punches on my face and I stab them, too. One in the stomach and one in the chest.

One left. He holds my knife. He'd pulled it from his friends neck. He stabs me in my leg. I slit his throat with the knife stashed in my bra. My shirt is torn.

I am covered in blood and weeping and then I am running and then I am falling and then I am rescued.

"Everything is okay, Sofia... everything is okay... everything is--"

I take Dr. Pam's voice in my trembling fist and use it to pull myself from the dark abyss I had fallen into. I sob and shake and scream and try to pull my wrists and ankles from the restraint because I need her to stop doing what she is doing and let me breathe.

"What the fuck was that?" My lip cracks open and my head still spins. "What did you do? Why did you do that?"

Her cold hands push my hair from my eyes and I resist the urge to cower away because I need some form of physical contact to keep me from slipping back into Wonderland. Not again. "It's a way for us to see what's really going on inside of you."

My head lulls to the side and I try to focus on what is and what is not. I bite my lip and press my forehead against the palm of her hand. Don't leave me, Mom.

No, not Mom. Mom's dead. Gone. No longer living. Make her leave your thoughts like you have so many times.

"Why did you do that? You didn't have to do that."

Dr. Pam cups my cheeks in her hands. She smiles gently. "The Others are inside of us. They attacked us from the inside using infested personnel who had been embedded in the military."

"You had to?" I ask, feeling betrayed. "To make sure that I wasn't one?"

"Yes, Sofia." Dr. Pam smiles sadly. "I had too."

"Okay," I whisper, wanting to fall asleep. I feel high, not that I have ever been high before. But I imagine this is what it feels like. "Okay, Dr. Pam. Okay."

Dr. Pam waits for me to calm down before she takes the leather off of my damp skin— not with water from the shower, but sweat. She tucks a wet strand of hair behind my ear and sends me another one of those incredible smile. "We have an infested here. Would you like to see it?"

Fuck yeah. No freaking way.

Okay.

__

Dr. Pam allows me to limp to the elevator down the hall. We go down several floors and then we stop. The doors open. My hands shake. I begin tapping them against the outside of my thighs so that they will stop.

Dr. Pam tells me that it's an old bomb shelter that we're in. I tell her it won't stop the Others. She laughs.

"Yeah, I guess that's true."

We enter a room in the middle of the hall after she swipes a key card along the locking mechanism. It's small and white and looks almost exactly like the one upstairs except instead of a shower along the wall, it's a mirror.

I let out a gasp the second I see my reflection. My brown eyes are dull and lifeless. Dead. My hair is damp from the shower and pressed against my shoulders and neck, ugly waves that can never be tamed.

The malnutrition must have gotten to me. My cheeks look hollow, making my cheekbones more prominent. My jawline looks almost square now, though it just made my face look like a chubby oval before.

The thing that gets me the most is the scratches and bruises. My eye is slightly swollen and purple. There's a small cut just curving around the bone of my cheek. There are bruises along my temple and jaw.

"Jesus Christ, Dr. Pam. You could've warned me." I roll my eyes. "I look like I just crawled out of a Night of the Living Dead movie. I mean— wow."

Dr. Pam chuckles halfheartedly. "It's not that bad, Sofia. I've seen much worse."

Before I can ask what much worse is, Dr. Pam presses a button that makes the lights in the room on the other side turn on. A man—boy, maybe— is sitting in the chair with his chin practically touching his neck from being unable to hold the weight of his head. Multiple wires run from his temples to a large console behind him.

I blink. "Who is he?"

"Not important."

I don't look back at her. I just nod my head like I understand, my eyes never leaving the person in front of me. "What is he?"

Dr. Pam seems impressed by my question though I'm not entirely sure why. She's nodding her head like she's proud of who I've become, an action so alike my mother that I feel my heart squeeze in my chest, and then pressing another button. "He's an Infected."

I'm able to see inside of his head, now. His brain is glowing a disgustingly yellow-green colour. I squint at it, quirking a brow. "That's what's taking over the human race? That thing? It looks like a booger."

Dr. Pam's nose wrinkles in disgust. "That's an interesting analogy but, yes." She presses another button and the camera zooms in on an area to reveal an egg no bigger than the pellet she tucked into the back of my neck a mere twenty minutes ago. Little tendrils fan out in every direction, engulfing the brain almost entirely. "This is the prefrontal cortex, the thinking part of the brain— the part that makes us human."

"Does he know?" I ask, feeling a hint of remorse for the man being used as a puppet right now. I shove it away as quickly as possible. Be selfish, Sofia. Survive.

"We're not sure," she admits. "They could have been puppets their entire lives or they could never have known."

I glance back at her for a quick second. "We don't really know anything at all, do we?"

Dr. Pam sighs but her lips spread into a tiny grin. "We know more than they think, which is good. As for him—" She points to the man sitting in the chair, slumped. "We do know that the only way to kill them is to kill the host."

She points to a large button. EXECUTE is on the front in big, bold letters. I turn to look at Dr. Pam, raising a brow. "And, what? You're letting me do it?"

Dr. Pam nods. "It lasts less than a second. The host doesn't feel a thing."

I hate myself for hesitating but I'm not surprised in the slightest. Almost all of the people I've killed have been defenceless but had the intention of hurting me. This person is just defenceless.

I have to tell myself that it's not a person. It's an Other. It's what killed Mom and Dad and Thomas. It killed Mr. and Ms. Abbott. It killed Ozzie. It killed everyone.

I press down on the button with as much strength as I can muster up before Dr. Pam can even offer up some information that would help me go for the kill. I don't need it.

The Others killed my entire family. They even killed me, the girl I used to be. They deserve everything they get for that.