A/N: Welcome back, everyone! I was so excited to finally get back into Gis' headspace and write for her! Honestly, she's such a unique character when it comes to types of voices in writing! I hope you all enjoy reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it!

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05 - 28 - 2089

G I S

I force myself to stay outside for a while after Cade leaves. It took everything inside me to not jump up and run after him. I feel like the dead leaves covering the forest floor beneath me; even the lightest footstep could tear me in half or crush me. In my case, it's the guilt that is threatening to rip into me.

Why do relationships have to be so difficult? If only I could read his mind. In fact, that would solve just about every problem. He walked away, but if I had the ability to know his thoughts then it wouldn't matter. I would know exactly what to say in order to get him to understand.

He needs to understand. I can't just let this go. Not now; especially not now. I've been living in a bubble my entire life, and it's only begun to dissolve now that I'm free to make my own choices. I've never had the privilege of choosing what I wanted to do with my life. It had always been decided for me.

Part of understands Cade's frustration, despite my attempts at silencing those thoughts. I want to be angry at him, but how can I? He all but gave his life to buy me freedom, and now he believes I want to throw it all away. But when I see the suffering and pain all those people are going through...

I lean forward, pressing my hands against my eyes, trying to rub the images from my mind. My sleep is filled with images of suffering and dying people. There is something to be said about knowing too much, in that you can no longer find peace. In a way, that is my struggle. How do I forget about the suffering and enjoy this freedom?

Part of me knows I cannot. The other part, half of my brain split down the center, argues that I can. I do not want to die. I do not want to subject myself to anymore of Ilene Lestat's tortures. But if that is the only way to save those suffering, then how can I not agree to such a thing?

A breeze blows through the forest and wraps itself around me, cool despite the warm sunshine. It flutters the papers, lifting them off the ground, only to float back down once it fades. I lean back on my legs, considering what to do now. The desire to draw has left me; I can almost see it floating away on the wind, waving goodbye.

With a sigh, I pick up the scattered charcoal sticks and brushes, before compiling it all into a canvas bag along with the pad. I stand, brushing off my legs and heading back towards the house. I squint as I leave the shade of the trees behind, the sun shining down on me with all its intensity.

I breathe in the deep, heady scent of earth and grass, wondering how so much beauty can still exist when so much suffering is also occurring. That small part of me agrees, reminding myself of the guilt and anxiety I'm desperately trying to keep hidden just beneath the surface.

The scent of baking bread fills my nose as I step inside the backdoor, pulling it shut behind me. Since Cade and I have been staying here, Mrs. Tate has baked all sorts of delicious items that I never knew existed. I've had the privilege to expand my taste buds in the most amazing ways. And her homemade bread is my favorite, by far.

I wipe my feet on the rug before padding through the hallway and into the kitchen, passing by the stairs on one side and the living room on the other. Both are silent, the majority of the noise coming from the brightly lit and colorfully decorated baking room.

"Hello, Gis dear!" Mrs. Tate says, her expression almost as bright as the room around her. I smile, skirting around her before setting my art supplies down on the kitchen table.

"That smells so wonderful," I say, allowing myself to indulge in another deep breath filled with the scent of yeast and flour.

"Thank you. I thought it would be a nice addition to tonight's meal." She leans over the counter, pressing down on a pile dough with arms covered in flour. Her hair is piled on the top of her head, several strands falling down and dancing around her.

"Would it be alright if I get something to drink?" I lean against the opposite side of the counter to Mrs. Tate, avoiding the flour that clings to everything like a fine mist of snow.

Mrs. Tate glances up, then back to her task. "Of course. You know you don't need to ask; help yourself. I'm fairly certain there is some orange juice or lemonade in the fridge, and there's always milk available."

"Water will be fine." I grab a glass from the cabinet to Mrs. Tate's right, then pull a pitcher from the fridge and fill the cup.

After draining the glass, I retrieve my art supplies and head upstairs to the bedroom Cade and I share. The door is shut, so I stop to listen for a moment. I can't detect any movement, so I enter cautiously.

Part of me is relieved to find it empty, not ready to face Cade again. But the other part of my brain that forces my heart to thud every time I'm around him is disappointed. I'm still not sure which side is the rational one, to be honest.

I sink down onto the bed, setting the supplies next to me. I know I need to talk to him, but maybe he needs time to think through things on his own. Perhaps wherever he's gone is a place to contemplate what I said to him. Maybe, just maybe, he'll be more understanding of how I feel when he returns.

With that in mind, I return downstairs and sit on the couch in the living room, grabbing the remote along the way. The memory of Cade teaching me how to use the television for the first time comes to mind, along with the laughter and teasing that accompanied that moment. I suck in a breath, trying to loosen the tightness in my chest as the memory fades.

With a flick of my wrist, the screen across the room lights up and sound spews forth. A woman in a blue suit is speaking urgently, words hovering near her head. I lean forward, squinting to read what they say. I found out not long after Cade and I arrived here that I have a reading problem. Something called dyslexia. According to Mr. Tate, the problem is mild, but makes it difficult for me to occasionally read words or sentences, especially when I am nervous or really emotional. Books and the television are usually easy for me to read, but I find myself having difficulty focusing on the words plastered across the screen. Instead, I focus on the woman's words.

"The Council has ruled towards mandating federal guidelines for quarantine zones in all provinces throughout the states affected the most. This includes quarantines for the west coast region. The Council has also voted to place curfews for the provinces hit the hardest, in an attempt to minimize the spread of the diseases."

Cade explained that The Council is what governs the Federal Reservation of America now, and those who are a part of it are responsible for finding a solution to all these diseases. He also explained that Ilene Lestat used to be on the council, and was one of the founders for the facility program I came from. The official name for it is GIADA, but I forget what it stands for. 

"GIADA has also issued a formal report regarding their attempts at locating the GIS development. In a report issued by Director Lestat, she informed the public that although they had not retrieved the experiment, they were making every stride towards locating it and replicating the necessary data. It is unclear if they have been successful on any fronts since this report was issued sometime last week. Nevertheless, they encourage the public to continue using N95 masks, which are now available in every public office and medical facility. The transmission of several diseases is unknown at this time, but they recommend taking every precaution."

Cade told me that most of the FRA outside of what I had seen was struggling to get by. The southern states and provinces had been hit really hard by these diseases, especially Province Eight and Eleven in Texas. Apparently, everyone wears masks similar to what the people back at the facility wore when performing tests on me. They're supposed to protect them from getting sick. But if this lady on the television is right, then no one really seems to know if the masks help.

I also asked him why we didn't see everyone wearing masks while in Alaska and on the run, because I distinctly recalled it feeling almost normal around there, despite seeing the sick houses on multiple occasions. Apparently, the colder climates had been more protected in some ways from the airborne diseases, and overall had managed the disease rate from spiking as quickly as other provinces. Perhaps that was why Ilene Lestat decided to build the facility in Alaska.

You could help, Gis. Ilene Lestat knows you have the answer. You could stop this.

"Be quiet," I mutter, trying to tell myself to shut up.

"Gis, turn this off, for goodness' sake." Mrs. Tate picks up the remote and shuts off the screen, the sound of the woman's voice fading, along with the depressing news being delivered. She sits down next to me, folding her hands in her lap. "The news is never a good thing to listen to anymore," she says, her tone regretful. "Why don't I put on something more cheerful for you?"

"I need to hear it, Mrs. Tate," I whisper. "As much as it hurts to hear, I live in this world too. I don't want to be blind to what's going on around me."

"You've done enough for this world. Let someone else care for a while." She rests a comforting hand on my arm, and I lean into her. In some ways, she's provided the comfort of a mother that I never had. 

I let her wrap me in a hug, breathing in the scent of bread that clings to her clothing. I also smell the faintest hint of lemon, something I've noticed about her since Cade and I came to live here. It's a nice smell, and one that I've come to associate with safety and comfort.

Mrs. Tate and I remain quiet for several minutes, and I enjoy the solace that comes from it. When she finally lets go, I lean back and smile at her. "Thank you," I mumble, feeling emotional although I don't quite know why. "And thank you for everything. For the food, and the place to stay, and... and everything." I bite my lip, trying to keep from crying. I have no idea why, but suddenly my emotions are threatening to overwhelm me.

"Nothing to thank us for, dear. You both have earned a spot in our house and in our lives. For as long as you'd like, I should add. Please don't feel like we are doing you a favor. On the contrary, it has been such a pleasure to have you."

I nod, wiping my eyes several times before finally meeting her gaze. "Still, I know Cade really appreciates it, and so do I. For my entire life, I had only one understanding of what it meant to live. And you both have really changed that for me. You and Cade, of course." I blink, then look around the room, suddenly realizing I haven't seen Cade since the argument. "Mrs. Tate, do you know where Cade went? I haven't seen him since..." I trail off, not wanting to verbalize my thoughts in their entirety.

"I believe he went on a walk or something along those lines," Mrs. Tate says immediately, forcing a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "He should be back soon."

"He went by himself?"

"Oh, no... no, I suppose not," Mrs. Tate hesitates as she must realize my confusion. "You know, now that I think about it, he went with Mr. Tate. Yes, that's right. He didn't go alone. They should be back shortly."

I nod, but I can't shake the feeling of unease in my stomach. Cade has never been reckless, and has always been overly careful about my whereabouts. But then again, I can't recall ever having an argument to this magnitude. Perhaps his anger at me drove him to leave. But as long as Mr. Tate is with him, I'm sure he'll be fine. He has to be.

Mrs. Tate stands and turns to go, then stops herself. I look up at her questioningly, then when she doesn't speak, I ask her if everything is alright.

"Of course, dear," she says after a moment. Then she turns and hurries out of the room, leaving me alone with all my doubts and worries.

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