Astaria’s lockdown had finally lifted, and Stan was working the phones like a man possessed, only to get slammed with the worst news: not a single plane ticket was left.
Desperate, he started hitting up anyone who might sell, tossing out cash like it was going out of style.
+15
But in a crisis this insane? Nobody was giving up their ticket to Astaria, no matter how much green he waved. Everyone knew getting back was their only shot at survival, and Stan’s hotshot CEO charm and main–character energy? Total flop.
He called in every favor, burned every bridge, and finally scored a deal with a shady private jet company. It cost him over 300 thousand for one freaking
seat.
One seat for a whole family? Yeah, that math wasn’t mathing.
After some gut–wrenching choices, Stan handed the ticket to Tabitha. She was the one who couldn’t wait.
Tabitha was already in rough shape–her eyes were red and angry, like she’d stepped out of a horror movie. Without treatment, and fast, she’d lose control of her body, and in a week, it’d be game over–brain–dead.
To get her past the airline’s health checks, Stan loaded her up with enough anti–inflammatory eye drops to stock a pharmacy. Her eyes cleared up just enough to pass muster, and she boarded the plane.
But when they hit the tarmac in Astaria? Absolute chaos. Tabitha, her fellow passengers, and every other soul pouring in from other flights were jammed into the airport like cattle.
Medics in hazmat suits were everywhere, poking, prodding, and sorting people into hospitals or sketchy hotel quarantines. Some folks had been stuck there for seven or eight hours, and the crowd was turning feral. Shouts bounced off the walls, and the air crackled with bad vibes.
“What’s the damn holdup? Where’s our hazmat suits? Just let us go already!” one guy bellowed, face red as a beet.
“We dragged our asses back from halfway across the world for this crap? I’m about to raise hell!” a woman snapped, clutching her phone like it was a grenade.
The medical staff were running on empty. They’d been at it for days without so much as a nap, slogging through high–stress hell, and now they were catching shade from ungrateful returnees who didn’t get it. A couple of nurses were so wiped they just dropped, collapsing right there in the terminal.
Tabitha stood in the middle of the madness, her heart jackhammering in her chest.
She’d been so sure that touching down in Astaria meant she was in the clear, that she’d made it. But now, trapped in this sweaty, screaming mob, panic sank its claws in deep. Maybe “safe” was just a cruel lie she’d told herself.
Her body was screaming warnings–something was way off. Desperate, she grabbed a medic’s arm and croaked, “Please, you gotta save me. I’m
infected!”
The medic nearly jumped out of his skin, locking eyes with her. Sure enough, her irises glowed an unsettling, blood–red.
“Clear out, now! We’ve got an infected–move!” he barked.
The crowd scattered like spooked cats, especially those who’d been shoulder–to–shoulder with her, their faces ghost–white with fear.
In a flash, Tabitha was hustled off to a hospital and sealed in isolation. Everyone from her flight, anyone she’d so much as breathed near, was rounded up
and quarantined too.
Meds were rarer than a winning lottery ticket, and Tabitha was left twisting in the wind, no drugs to slow the sickness tearing through her.
Trapped in a stark hospital room, she stared death in the face, utterly alone.
1/2
12:21 Thu, 22 May G G G
Chapter 11
ས3 65%
The fear and despair stacked up like bricks, and she couldn’t keep them bottled up. So, she spilled her guts on X, chronicling her harrowing return and her fight to cling to life.
But instead of a wave of support or even a shred of admiration, she got dragged through the mud. Hard.
[What’s your problem? They gave you instant noodles and plain water instead of a gourmet burger and Evian, and you’re screaming ‘human rights‘? Want a private chef to whip you up some caviar too?] one commenter snapped.
+15
[We’re in a damn apocalypse, princess. At the peak, people were dropping like flies without a bed or a pill. You’ve been waiting six hours–cry me a river.]
[What’d you bring to the table? A cure? A billion–dollar donation? Or are we supposed to throw you a ticker–tape parade just for showing up?]
The online vultures went digging and struck gold: old posts showing Tabitha and her family sipping cocktails abroad the second the virus hit home.
[Oh, so you hightailed it to some sunny resort when things got dicey here, and now that we’re finally getting a grip, you swagger back with a virus in tow? We busted our asses to stabilize this mess, and you’re out here tanking it, infecting half a plane. And you’ve got the gall to shade our rockstar medics online?]
[You’re gonna narc on the medics? You? They’re dodging death to help people like you, and you can’t even toss them a ‘thanks‘? Who died and made you queen? If your life’s so charmed, go back to your fancy estate and quit leeching off their care.]
[Moaning about how long a scan takes? What, you think it’s like snapping a TikTok? It’s not instant, genius.]
[Medics are running on empty, and you can’t even play nice? You got any clue how many people are sick? Or how few medics are out there, killing themselves to keep up?]
hining that we’re dragging our feet on a miracle drug, calling us useless? You think cures just fall from the sky? Experts are working themselves into the
- e. Just yesterday, the internet was lit up about a scientist who dropped dead from a heart attack after four days camped out in the lab.]
2/2
