The silence in the basement was broken only by the sound of Quinn's own ragged breathing. He knelt by the couch, watching the last vestiges of life drain from his sister's face. He felt a helplessness so profound it was like drowning. He could fight the monsters outside. He could barricade doors and smash windows. But he could not fight this. He could not fight the poison that was methodically shutting down her body, cell by cell.
Lily was huddled at the far end of the couch, as far from her mother as she could get, her small body curled into a ball. She watched Quinn, her eyes wide and dark in the gloom, looking for a cue, for some sign that everything was not as terrible as it seemed. Quinn had nothing to offer her.
He reached out and brushed a strand of damp hair from Sarah's forehead. Her skin was cold. He was about to pull his hand away when her fingers twitched, then suddenly clamped down on his wrist.
Her grip was surprisingly strong. Her eyes, which had been glassy and unfocused, blinked slowly. The fog of the fever seemed to clear from them for a moment, replaced by a shocking, terrible clarity. She saw him. She knew him.
"Quinn," she whispered. Her voice was a dry, rasping sound, a ghost of her real voice.
"I'm here, Sarah," he said, his own voice thick with emotion. He leaned closer. "I'm right here."
"It's… bad, isn't it?" she asked. It was not a real question. She knew the answer. He could see the knowledge in her eyes, the calm, heartbreaking acceptance of a person looking at their own end.
He could not bring himself to lie to her. Not now. He just squeezed her hand and gave a slight, solemn nod.
A single tear traced a path through the grime on her cheek. She turned her head slightly, her gaze falling on the small, huddled shape of her daughter at the end of the couch. A wave of pain, deeper than any physical agony, washed over her features.
"Lily…" she breathed. Her grip on Quinn's wrist tightened. It was a desperate, anchoring hold. She pulled his hand closer, forcing him to look directly at her.
"Promise me, Quinn," she said, her voice gaining a sudden, fierce intensity. Every last ounce of her remaining strength was being poured into these words. "Promise me you'll protect her. You'll get her out of this. No matter what."
The weight of her words, of her desperate plea, settled on him. It was more than a request. It was a transfer of responsibility. A sacred trust. It was the same promise he had made to Mark, a promise he felt he had already failed. He looked from Sarah's pleading eyes to Lily's terrified ones.
"I promise, Sarah," he choked out, the words feeling heavy and inadequate in his mouth. "I promise. I will protect her. I swear it."
A small measure of peace seemed to settle over Sarah's features. She had done the last thing she could do as a mother. She had secured her child's future. She let go of his wrist, her hand falling limply to her side.
She tried to push herself up, to say something to her daughter. "Lily-bug…" she started, her voice already fading, the effort too much. "Mommy… Mommy loves…"
Her strength failed her. Her eyes lost their focus, the brief moment of lucidity gone as quickly as it had come. The fever, the infection, rushed back in to reclaim her. Her head fell back against the dusty cushions. Her back arched, her body stiffening. A low sound rumbled in her chest, a guttural growl that was not human. Her limbs began to jerk in a violent, uncontrollable convulsion.
The transformation was horrific. It was fast. The woman he knew, his sister, was being erased before his eyes, replaced by the same twitching, mindless thing that had taken their neighbor, that had swarmed their car, that was now roaming the world outside.
Lily, who had been watching in silent horror, finally broke.
A small, terrified whimper escaped her lips. "Mommy?"
The sound of her voice seemed to reach the thing on the couch. Its head snapped in her direction. Its eyes, now milky and white, fixed on the small child. The low growl in its chest intensified, turning into a hungry, wet snarl. It tried to push itself up, its jerking limbs fighting to obey a new, terrible command.
Lily scrambled backward off the couch, crab-walking away until her back hit the cold concrete wall. She started to cry, not the loud wails of a child wanting comfort, but the thin, terrified sobs of a creature who knows it is being hunted. She understood. She did not know what was happening, not really, but she knew that the thing on the couch was not her mother anymore. She knew it wanted to hurt her.
Quinn moved without thinking. He put himself between Lily and the couch, shielding her small body with his own. He picked up the iron poker from the floor. Its weight felt familiar in his hand, a cold, grim comfort.
He looked at the creature that wore his sister's face. It was still fighting to get up, its muscles spasming, its teeth bared. He saw the unicorn-patterned blanket from Lily's bed, still tangled around its legs. He saw the faint scar above her eyebrow from when she had fallen off a swing as a kid. These small, heartbreaking details were all that was left of the person she had been.
He had made a promise. Two promises. Save my family. Protect her.
He knew what he had to do. It was the hardest thing he had ever had to face, harder than combat, harder than any loss.
He raised the poker, his arms trembling. He looked down at the monster that had been his sister, took a deep, shuddering breath, and prepared to keep his promise.