Hey. I am so happy that all of you have continued to read this book! The parts that are in italics are parts of a flashback!

Hope you like it!

The beautiful trailer was made by VisualGraphics and it is amazing!

***

1 month earlier

The static echoing from the radio is deafening. I turn the dial, in attempts to hear something, anything, about the world outside. The world I hadn't been in, for three years. The world no one had been in for three years.

My hands shake as I turn it. I feel the clicks and clacks of the dial, under my soft fingertips. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Like a repeated symphony, the static and the dial, harmoniously they make music together. Music that deafens me, and fills the silence encasing me. I continue to spin the dial. It makes a soft whirring sound, barely audible over the annoying static.

Click. Clack. The click's and clack's are all I had heard for those 3 years. It is hard to hear the melodious voices of your family and friends when you have none. It is hard to listen to the television when the only thing it plays are reruns of old shows, over and over. Click. Clack.

Maybe I have gone insane. All I can bear to hear are the rhythmic sound of the static and dial, in tune. Click. Clack. Yup, I suppose that makes me insane. That and the fact that I haven't talked to another human since the start of The Isolation Phase.

I stand up from the radio and stare at its large oak frame. It belongs to my mother. Or rather, it belonged to her. The radio was the only thing I could recover from the ruins that I used to call a home. I couldn't recover her or my father, all I could recover was that stupid radio that somehow survived the 'accident'.

The attic, where I sit on the old wooden floor, is full of cobwebs. Funny. Spiders have been my only companions these past few years.

Sometimes I wish I could have died with them, in that terrible fire. With my poor mother and father. Click. Clack. That day is forever burned into my memory. I remember those wretched flames rise up, surrounding me. I remember my mother's blood curdling screams, shouting for me to run. And so I ran. I regret it everyday. I am a coward. I ran from the danger. I ran from the flames that burned down my house and murdered my mother.

I am an insane coward. I deserve to succumb to the spiders.

The attic is empty, except for me and the handheld radio. Oh, and the spiders; Bessy, John, and Milo.

The rough hard wood floor is old, and I fear that if I make a single misstep, I will fall through the floor. So I gently pick up my mother's radio and tip toe over to the entrance way to the staircase that leads to the ground floor.

I tuck the wooden radio under my arm and scurry down the stairs, careful not to make a noise. Of course, there is no reason for my journey to be embarked in silence, but after years of only hearing my own breath, and that of the radio, I couldn't tolerate more noise.

Once my feet are back on the solid flooring, covering the house I was given at the start of The Isolation Phase, I pad softly over to the sofa and plop down. I allow myself to sink into the soft cushioning of the chair, and feel the rough fabric scratch my back and bottom, through my black leggings. I turn the dial on the radio again, until the static is a low and distant hum, then set it on the glass coffee table in front of me.

Leaning back, I listen to the gentle hum, and try a smile. It doesn't work. My memory is good, but not good enough to remember the last time I smiled.

My green jacket, with fading golden zippers, and pockets covering its every inch, is draped over the arm of the sofa. Pulling it off, I drape it around me, trying to make myself feel snug.

Then I close my eyes and listen to the hum of the radio until I fall gently to sleep.

***

"Mommy, Beth Ann and Sarah are going to shop tomorrow, and they invited me with them. Can I go?" I ask my mother. People always tell me I am the spitting image of her. With our hazel eyes, dark caramel skin, and frizzy dark hair. But not just in a physical sense either.

My father always tells me I laugh like her, smile like her, and light up a room just with my presence, just like her.

Oh, my mother is beautiful. And here she sits before me, with her battered old copy of Moby Dick, pondering whether I, a 13 year old girl, am capable of wandering off to shop with some friends.

"Will there be boys?" my father asks, over his newspaper.

"Nope," I lie, straight through my teeth. "Just me, Beth Ann, and Sarah."

"Well then, I suppose you can go," my mother sighs. Happily, I leap up the grand staircase, to my room, ready to call Beth Ann and Sarah to tell them I can go.

When I reach my room, however, I remember that I left my phone downstairs, next to my mother. Quietly, I head to the staircase, intent to sneak down and grab it, but the odd remarks make me pause.

"Annalise, have you seen the news?" my father asks. I hear him ruffle the paper in his hands, probably handing it to my mother.

"Yes I have, Martin. Quiet down, or Beatrix may hear," she responds, flustered. I edge nearer to them, intent on hearing what I am, apparently, not supposed to hear.

"It is getting worse. Out of hand, even," father's voice is quiet, but clearly panic-stricken.

"How much longer do you think we have? Everyone has?"

"Before it reaches us?" My father sighs, "Not long. Not long at all. In fact, it is probably already here. My boss was gone today. No sign of him. Gone without a trace. Didn't say he was leaving. Called his wife. She told me he just wasn't feeling well. But I heard screams in the background. Sounded a lot like him when he yells at his assistants.

"You know of the screams and the symptoms, right Annalise?" My mother grumbles a quick 'kind of'. "Well first it's the sweat. Hospital man, doctor, or nurse perhaps, was found lying on the ground, covered in his own sweat. Head to toe, he was soaking. Nurse had to pry his wet shirt off him with a ruler to be able to get his heart beat.

"Then it is blood. All of a sudden, people start to cough up their own blood. But not just that. It is as if their skin becomes much more delicate, and the slightest touch makes them bleed." My mother whimpers a bit.

"And if you think that is bad, the next part is worse. The blood turns green."

"Green?!" My mother exclaims from surprise.

"Yes, green! And it becomes denser. Solidifying inside a man, before it bursts out."

"Or woman." I say out loud, before clasping a hand to my mouth, hoping they didn't hear me. A moment of silence, before my father continues. I assume they didn't hear me.

"And after that, come the seizures. That is where the screams come from. They aren't like normal seizures, which a simple dose of AntiCorrodones can stop. They don't paralyze a person. They allow him to feel every moment of pain, and allow the relatives to relive those moments. Nothing can stop those seizures.

"And the worst comes last. The Infected will off themselves," my father finishes, clearly expecting a gasp of denial from mother.

"What do you mean by 'off themselves'?" her voice trembles. My breath lags, fearing the answer my father is about to give.

"Kill themselves, the crazy folk. But it isn't really by choice. Some choke themselves with their own bare hands. I heard of a psychotic woman that went into some sort of daze, and got up from bed in the middle of her seizure, got into her car, and drove off a bridge. Baby was in the back seat. Didn't even try to save the baby, that idiot. Don't blame her though, I suppose. The Ultimate Death of Humanity virus does insane things to a person. Unearthly things."

My mother's breath's tremble, and I can only assume she has begun to cry. I don't understand what they are talking about. What virus? I haven't heard of any virus.

"Wh-what are the risk groups? Beatrix can't catch it, can she? And how long before you know you have it? Is it contagious?" my mother stutters.

"Beatrix can have it. Crazy thing about the UDH, and not the only crazy thing as I have told you about it, is that everyone is at risk. Even the birds and dogs are at risk. It affects everyone the same, crazy thing. And you can have it for weeks before you know it's in you. But once these symptoms show up, they don't stop. You can go through the first few stages in a matter of hours, and complete the process in a week tops. And of course it is contagious. Sad part is, you can spread it to the whole town before your symptoms show up. So far, it isn't in DC. London, parts of Asia, France, Germany, and of course all the third world countries, poor people, have it. DC closed late, though. Someone who didn't know they had it could have brought it in by now. It's just a matter of weeks before we have it. A matter of weeks until it's our green blood covering the floor in solidified lumps and until we have come up with some creative way to off ourselves."

I turn and run from the staircase to the bathroom, feeling sick to my stomache at the gory details my father so openly described. I throw open the lid to the toilet and retch into it, allowing the contents of my dinner and lunch to spill into the porcelain bowl.

Once I am sure I got all of it out, I flush it down and wipe my mouth. Taking my toothbrush, I brush harder than usual and allow all traces of my reaction, and knowledge, to the conversation downstairs, to be wiped away.

Then I scurry to my room and lie under the covers, knowing I won't fall asleep. So instead I focus on the one thing in the world that always calms me. Fire.

I imagine the flames dance before me, and hug me in their warm embrace. Almost automatically, I am soothed.

***

Almost a week later, the 'accident' happens. I knew it was coming, thanks to my father's conversation with my mother. I knew that once the symptoms came, they would try to find a way to kill themselves.

Funny thing is, or not that funny, my parents didn't show any other symptoms. In fact, I didn't see either of them light the house on fire. I know neither of them did. But I am sure someone did. It wasn't an unlucky accident. Something, or someone, is telling me that it isn't an unlucky coincidence.

I sit on the couch when it happens. My mother is upstairs with my father, when the shouts happen. "Beatrix, run!" My mother screams at me, from upstairs. So I do. I run out the door and into the street in time to see the massive flames escape the top floor of my house. And the rest is a blur.

***

A day or two have passed since I lost both my parents in that 'accident'. Honestly, I have lost track of time. And now I stand in the ruins, knee deep in ashes, looking for any remains. I find the charred remains of Moby Dick, my mother's favorite novel. I open it to see that the first page is still mostly intact. Ripping it out, gently, I stuff it into the pocket of my green jacket.

Then I look around some more. A sudden gleam of light catches my eye, and I head to the source, to find my mother's old radio. It is made of wood, so I don't understand how it survived the accident. But nonetheless, I grab it, and tuck it under my arm.

"Time to go to your new house," the child service agent in the mask tells me. I am being located into a private home, as are all the orphans, and homeless, so as not to spread the virus.

And so I walk away from the charred remains of my house, after the lady, and away from the life that used to belong to me.

***

I am awakened from my dream by a noise.

The same old stupid dream, that forces me to relive the last moments of my so-called life.

I shrug my jacket onto my arms and sit up. "A bad dream, that's all it was," I mutter to myself. Reaching into one of my many pockets, I feel around for the page from my mother's book. Then I pull it out.

Blankly, I stare at the page in front of me. The edges are burned to the crisp, and several of the words are charred, making them impossible to make out. I fold the page and shove it back in my pocket, where I have a few tampons and a granola bar that may or may not have expired.

I head to the bathroom, where I splash my face with cool water, trying to wake myself up even more.

Thump. I hear a sound that automatically triggers an aggressive response in me. Without thinking, I pick up the plunger next to the toilet, and throw open the bathroom door, expecting to see someone there.

But instead, all I see is a pair of tennis shoes, white, with a light pink rim, that seem to be my size, that most definitely weren't there before.

***

Hey, what did you think of the chapter?

Any thoughts on what is going to happen next?

I know I am excited to write it!

Love you guys! Bye.