Deep in her throat, Alexa could feel the scratching sensation of a cough wanting to claw its way out.  That was how the Tears started. With the coughing. After that came the nose bleeds. Those had begun a few days ago, and the warped, black-red tissues were there to prove it.  Finally the eyes would bleed, streams of red for which the virus had earned its name. But that didn’t happen until you were dead. At least that was what Alexa had heard. She was not dead.  Not yet.

Except for the tissues nearly overflowing from the trash bin, Alexa’s room was immaculate, everything straight and ordered, in its proper place.  For the last couple weeks she had lived in constant apprehension, knowing that it was only a matter of time before they came to take her away. Somehow it had seemed wrong to leave her room any less than perfect, the last place in the outside world that she would really touch.

So she had cleaned and organized, obsessively, erratically.  It had felt good. A distraction from the souring taste of sickness in her mouth, the blood hardening to clog her nose.  A distraction from the fear. She had worked constantly, for days, adjusting to perfection, then re-adjusting, and adjusting again, until finally her rational mind had won over, and made her stop.

Now as she sat on her bed and looked around, she had a somewhat calming thought, which felt almost foreign in a mind so thick with emotion.  The posters on the walls, the toys, the stuffed animals, even some of the books-- they all suddenly seemed to her like remnants of a person who had been fading away for quite some time, a child which remained only at the edges of her teenage personality.  For a moment, she felt better. Maybe she wasn’t leaving, not really. Maybe, she had already left.

Then, Alexa heard a faint murmur of a voice from downstairs. The broadcast.  The calm that had filled her briefly was gone, familiar fear and anxiety once again pushing their way up her chest.  The broadcast had played everyday for the past six months. It played every three hours, on every television, cell phone, and radio in the country.  It didn’t matter that she couldn’t hear the words, by now, she knew what it said.

Upon knowledge of infection, all those who contract the virus known as the Tears must report their condition to nearest treatment center, where they will remain until the sickness has passed or a cure has been found and administered.  

It was a constant reminder of what was going to happen to her.  Or more specifically, that she wasn’t sure what was going to happen to her-- or if she would even live long enough for it to matter.

A sudden wave of apprehension rushed at her.  She could feel her heart racing, a bubble of nausea pushing at her throat.  It was like she had, for a brief moment, lost control, unable to contain either her mind or her body.  The buttons had already been pushed, and now there was no turning back from what lay ahead. She lay back on her bed, trying to reel herself back in.  She stared up at the ceiling, trying not to think, trying not to feel.

Then, just as she began to feel she had regained an uneasy sort of calm, the doorbell rang.  She heard the door swish across the floor as it opened, followed by the sounds of heavy footsteps.  

“Where is she?” The voice was hollow and staticy, like someone speaking softly through a megaphone.  

For moment there was silence, and when her father spoke his voice was shaky and quiet.  “She’s upstairs. But please--”

Whoever it was didn’t wait for him to finish, footsteps getting louder as they went up the stairs and came closer.  Alexa could feel her heart pulsing in her chest, her teeth clenched tightly together.

The door swung open.

The man standing in the doorway was immense in his bulky, bright blue hazmat suit, his head almost touching the top of the frame.  A black box on his chest emitted croaky breaths which came in and out at regular intervals, too loud and forceful to be natural. She could not see his face through the glare in his tinted visor, and for some reason that made it all the more frightening.

“Alexa Graham?”

Her voice stuck in her throat.  She was trembling uncontrollably.  She had known this was coming, but she found herself feeling hopelessly unprepared, about to fall down a rabbit hole which provided no way back.  She began to feel bizarrely detached, unable to do anything but stare and let events unfold.

“Come with us please,” the man’s voice echoed.  He walked briskly across the room and seized her by the arm with a gloved hand, pulling her from the bed and out the door.  Numb and frightened, she did not resist, matching the speed of her footsteps with his own.

Her father was waiting for them on the landing.  He was pale, but his cheeks were tipped with a bright pink, and his eyes were clouded with frustration and fear.

“You can’t do this!” he said planting himself in front of their path.  “She’ll get better. I won’t let you do this!”

Alexa felt the grip around her arm tighten.  “Sir, please step aside.”

Her father lunged out at the man, forcing him to release Alexa as the weight of the suit forced him to tumble awkwardly to the ground.  As they fell, a leg swung into Alexa’s calf, sweeping her feet out from under her and slamming her onto her back. At the sudden stab of pain, something snapped inside her, and her emotions which had pressed so close to the edge came bursting out.

“Stop!  Stop it!” she screamed, sobbing

Two other men in hazmat suits rushed up the stairs, the bulky equipment forcing them to awkwardly swing their legs out to the sides as they ran.  Unlike the first man, their suits were bright red, indicating their lower rank.

As Alexa sobbed and screamed, the red men clenched her father by the shoulders and tore him from their blue companion.  Her father flailed his arms, swinging his elbow into one of the men’s faces, causing him to stumble backwards. But before he could do more, his arms were pinned behind his back and he was shoved to the ground.

The blue man got up.  “Hold him until I get the girl into the transport.”

The red men nodded.  Then once again, a blue glove gripped Alexa’s arm, yanking her the rest of the way down the stairs.