Free Fear My Mortality by Everly Frost

that. No. They told us what it was … ” Dad frowned toward Mom. “What did they call it?”
    Mom said, “I don’t remember. One of those drugs.”
    Hallucinations? The green light, the leather straps, the cut on my forehead that healed as soon as they injected the nectar … the terrible heat that filled my body after the second dose, the terrible strength. My parents shook their heads, the certainty on their faces irrefutable, brushing away the possibility that anything had been done to me other than a harmless blood test.
    I started to speak, to tell them that they were wrong, but Mom’s hand touched mine, trembling like a butterfly. She said, “The results came in, sweetheart. And it’s … ” She sobbed and covered her mouth.
    Dad took over, his face grim. “It’s not good news, Ava. You and Josh, they told us you have a gene they’ve never seen before. It’s one in a million. It’s really unlucky, but, sweetie, it inhibits regeneration.”
    I thought it through. I went over it in my head—a gene, regeneration. I had a gene that nobody else had, except for Josh, he had it too. And it killed him. Whichever way I looked at it, it led to only one question. “So if I’m killed … I’ll die?”
    “Yes.” He dropped his head into his hands. “You’ll die.”
    The room filled with silence the way that the last rays of the setting sun wink out when the light is gone and all that’s left is heavy quiet.
    I’d die. I wouldn’t regenerate like other people. I wouldn’t heal. If I were shot, I’d bleed out. If I were strangled, I’d suffocate. If I dropped to the bottom of a pool and never came up, I’d drown.
    I was drowning right then. “How long have I been here?”
    “Just the night,” Dad answered. “They said we can take you home this afternoon.”
    “All right.” I had a gene that meant I would die. Just like Josh had died.
    Josh was right—I was a freak.
     
     

     
     
    I woke to the sound of Mom screaming.
    I tried to sit up as movement blurred in front of me. I caught sight of Mom’s blue cardigan, flung across the top of her chair. Then Dad’s brown hair flying as he dashed across the room to where Mom grappled with Reid. She grabbed him by the shoulder and tried to gouge out his eyes.
    The sheets tangled around me as I scrambled to get to my feet. As I sat up, the room swam, sunlit windows slid across my view, the white light angled. I skidded across and touched my feet to the floor, pressing back against the bed to steady myself as the room stopped slipping, the threatening speckled dark receded, and I righted myself.
    By then, Dad pulled Mom back and blood trickled from Reid’s cheek and nose, dripping onto his uniform.
    Mom’s voice grated in the sudden silence. “You promised we could bury him.”
    I tried to breathe as Mom’s words sank in. They weren’t going to release Josh’s body. There wouldn’t be a wake. We wouldn’t be able to say good-bye …
    Reid touched a finger to his cheek and frowned at the blood. “Mrs. Holland. It’s an offense to strike a Hazard Officer.” As he spoke, tiny blue blood vessels became visible on his cheek and the side of his nose. In another moment, the wound zipped itself up, the skin sealed and the bleeding stopped.
    “Where’s my son?”
    Reid’s hand went to the tranquilizer gun at his waist and I waited for the wasp to arrive, but he just looked past Mom to Dad. “Mr. Holland?”
    Dad pulled Mom further away, talking quietly into her ear. She struggled and tears streamed down her cheeks, grief pouring from her words. “But they said we could bury him. I need to bury him.” She pulled away from Dad, who struggled to restrain her.
    “Mrs. Holland,” Reid said. “I won’t forgive you twice.”
    Dad yanked Mom back and she howled like a wounded animal. She collapsed against him, submerging her face in his shirt.
    It was Dad’s turn to become angry. “You said there was no biological hazard. You said it was genetic.