The light in the stairwell flickered off-beat with the already flashing lights, the piercing sound of the alarm sharper in the confined space. Phillip gripped Brenda’s hand, pulling her as he rushed down the many flights of stairs to what he hoped was safety. He hadn’t stopped moving since his sickening confrontation with Dr. Stanley Pearce--or what used to be Dr. Stanley Pearce. Calling whatever that thing was “Stanley” seemed wrong. It’d never be Stanley again.

Somehow the bioengineered parasites weaseled their way into Stanley’s Central Nervous System, leaving behind nothing but a puppet to do their bidding, like Bobby Welding. With everything Phillip had seen, a horrific question came to light: How many more of his colleagues were infected?

Brenda yanked Phillip back. “Phillip! Answer me!”

Phillip stumbled, then stared at Brenda, dumbfounded.

She furrowed her brow, saying, “What was that?” Her words reverberated off the walls in time with a lull in the alarm.

Phillip swallowed hard, glancing up and down the stairwell, anxiousness creeping into his nerves. “Brenda, we have to keep moving!”

Brenda’s brooding eyes pleaded to Phillip. She slowly shook her head.

Clenching a fist, Phillip worried his bottom lip between his teeth, stepping closer to his wife. He was foolish to think he could keep it from her for long; he thought they’d escape first. At least then they’d have time.

He squeezed her hand, shame keeping his eyes from meeting hers. “My experiment,” he said as the alarm dropped, then wailed not a second later. “I don’t know how, but Stanley...the parasites...they’re inside him.”

Brenda said nothing, forcing Phillip to look at her. Her mouth was a thin line, her gaze miles away. “How do you know?”

Shaking his head, Phillip said, “We don’t have time for this! We can’t just--We need to go!”

Brenda blinked, her expression hard as stone. “We need to call Jackie.”

Phillip straightened. He scrutinized the soft creases of Brenda’s face. She didn’t seem scared anymore. She didn’t seem angry. Phillip couldn’t tell how she felt, but it neared a frightening apathy, as if she accepted a fate not yet sealed.

Phillip pulled out Brenda’s cell phone and stared at it. Jackie was with her friends at the mall. He knew she’d pick up, but was it fair? She wouldn’t be able to help them. Telling her would only worry her. It wouldn’t be fair.

Brenda cupped Phillip’s hand in hers. They made eye contact, Phillip’s eyes trembling with uncertainty, Brenda’s still with intent. She took the phone and dialed a number, then brought the device to her ear. Phillip counted to ten before she spoke. “Jackie?” She stuck a finger in her free ear. “No--no! Everything’s okay! It’s just…” Her gaze met Phillip’s; the lie she would tell burned his tongue. “It was a rioter,” she said. “Yes--yes, your father’s okay. Jackie--Jackie, listen! We might be late coming home tonight.” Brenda struggled to smile. “Of course, yes, you can stay at Mel’s. Yes. We love you, too, Jackie.” She paused; a tear glistened in her eye. “We love you so, so much.” The moment lingered before she hung up. She handed the phone to Phillip.

Phillip’s chest ached. He yearned for his daughter. He knew Brenda wouldn’t tell Jackie the truth. The truth wasn’t what Jackie needed.

Brenda nodded, a small smile appearing on her lips.

Phillip couldn’t help but frown. He loved her. He fell in love with her more and more every day. How could she still love him? His mistakes were unforgivable, yet Brenda never blamed him. She stayed with him--stood by him. She was everything he could ever ask for and more. And her life was in danger because of him.

He spent years saving his daughter; his wife spent years supporting him, even when everything fell to pieces. Brenda saved him.

His grip tightened on the phone. Brenda might have accepted a fate not yet sealed, but Phillip refused.

Stuffing the phone back into his pocket, Phillip took Brenda’s hand and continued leading her down the stairs. Stepping onto the final platform, Phillip threw himself around the railing, ready to charge the last set. He halted so suddenly Brenda stumbled into him.

Blood marked the shape of a handprint on the exit door. At the bottom of the staircase, a body sat slumped against the wall.

The woman wasn’t moving. Red coated her hands. Brown stained the chest of her white blouse. Her head lay limp, bloodied blond hair like a veil over her face.

Phillip turned around, pushing Brenda back the way they came.

Brenda refused Phillip’s advances, spying the door. “Phillip!”

Phillip twisted around as the woman wobbled to her feet. He recognized her: the intern he saw when the alarm first sounded. Her arms hung without posture. Her spine stood crooked.

Phillip scrambled to push Brenda back, shouting, “Go!”

The woman perked up, her hair peeling away from her face. Phillip caught a glimpse of the former intern’s clamped jaw and wide eyes before the staircase obscured his view. Remorse choked him. She was hired a month ago, unpaid. He didn’t even know her name.

When they rounded the second floor platform, Phillip snagged Brenda’s arm, yanking her to a stop. They couldn’t go back to the third floor; whatever was left of Dr. Stanley Pearce was still there, and Phillip had no intention of reuniting. He eyed the second floor door. It was clean, displaced among the carnage they witnessed thus far.

The sound of the intern struggling to climb the stairs echoed through the well.

Phillip reached for the door’s handle, hesitation shaking his grip. He opened the door and peered down the hall. A clear path sent relief pouring through his veins. He gestured at Brenda to follow, and the two ventured into territory once friendly, now unknown.

They passed walls smeared with red; they passed puddles of vomit; they passed empty labs left in ruin. Every step demanded Phillip turn and run, to lock himself and his wife in a room and wait, only he didn’t know who or what they’d wait for.

As they neared halfway down the hall, Phillip picked up his pace, closing in on their destination.

A woman in a white lab coat shuffled from a room, into the hall, her movements stilted.

Phillip stopped, thrusting his arms behind himself to catch Brenda.

Dr. Lynn Wong, lead chemist in the facility’s Pharmaceutical Department. She was turned the opposite way and hadn’t noticed Phillip or Brenda.

Phillip stared after his parasite-ridden colleague as she headed the way he and Brenda desperately needed to go. Before he could come up with a plan, he felt a tug on his coat sleeve. He turned, sucking in a breath at Brenda’s gaped mouth, wide eyes, and pointing finger. His heart stopped.

Bodies--dozens of them--sat against the walls of a bisecting hall, their heads bowed, their limbs limp. None of them flinched. Blood and vomit trailed the floors. Phillip didn’t dare move until Brenda’s nails dug into his arm. He redirected his gaze to Lynn who was still none the wiser to their presence. An idea sparked. It was dangerous. It was stupid. It was the only thing he could do.

Turning to his wife, he put a finger to his mouth, then flicked his head in Lynn’s direction. Facing one was easier than facing dozens. They locked hands and tiptoed out of the T-junction, toward the former chemist.

Closing in on Lynn, Phillip jerked himself from Brenda’s grasp and sped up, gaining distance from his wife, gaining momentum for what needed to be done.

He launched himself at Lynn and they crashed to the floor.

Pushing himself up, Phillip groaned in pain. He spotted a horrified Brenda as the consequences of his actions struck him. He froze. Lynn twitched. Slapping his hands around Lynn’s wrists, Phillip shifted his weight to hold her down. “Go!” he shouted to Brenda. Lynn struggled for freedom, writhing, flailing her legs. “Now!”

Brenda winced, hesitating before she fled.

Lynn shrieked, the height of the sound lost within the alarm. She thrashed and kicked and squirmed.

Phillip tightened his grip, forcing more of his weight, keeping Lynn as tamed as he could. He watched his wife flee, waiting, counting.

Brenda was over fifty feet away. It was now or never.

In one fluid motion, Phillip pushed himself off Lynn and darted after Brenda. He looked behind himself; Lynn attempted to stand, and the first of the staff from the bisecting hall lurched around the corner.

Phillip caught up to Brenda when she stopped at the stairwell’s entrance. He yanked the door open, and Brenda ran through. Phillip watched as more people flooded the corridor from the neighboring hall. Lynn was on her feet.

Phillip’s stomach hardened. All these people...They didn’t deserve this. They were innocent.

“Phillip!” Brenda cried, snapping him from his spell. “Come on!”

After a final glance at the wobbling, stumbling stampede of bodies, Phillip rushed through the doorway, ensuring the door closed behind him.

His colleagues were gone. There was no time to mourn.