It’s been three years since Ambulans Mortuos syndrome (usually shortened to A.M syndrome) broke out across the world and tore it in two; at least from where I’m standing it seemed like that. It created The Isolation Unit and The Infected Fringe as everything surrounding The Isolation Unit was eventually infected by the disease.
When it first started to break out, we –the population of England were lead to believe that they had it under control, that was thrown to hell when “infected” patients were attacking doctors and nurses and in turn, infecting them. Hospitals became overrun and the disease spread, forcing them to create The Isolation Unit which was just a large fence with London bam-smack in the middle. They’ve upgraded it since; or so I’ve been told, I’ve never seen it in person or stepped foot inside it.
The day the army came knocking on our door to escort us and our neighbours there had been the day Dad, my brother Gary and I had left for a week long camping trip, unaware that this was going to happen; I haven’t seen my mum or sister since.
I’ve always lived and survived on the outside, been told time and time again that going to the Isolation Unit would take away any freedom we have and sure, it might be safer, but what happens when the fence fails and infected get in? You’re unprepared, defenceless, unexperienced and trapped.
I’m not defenceless, and I definitely have the experience thanks to Marie taking Gary and I under her wing, especially after what happened to dad.
No, I’m not a sardine in a can waiting to be eaten; I’m a tribe member, Marie’s faux daughter maybe, but a tribe member none the less.
They call us rebels, but we’re just survivors and good ones at that.
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