Apprentice Chapter 3:

Things

"You don't think they'll believe him?"

"We live in a world full of flesh-eating monsters. He could tell them we're mermaids and they wouldn't bat an eye." Marie replies. She slams down a card.

"Uno." She says.

Misty throws her cards down in a huff.

"You ain't no fair!" Misty pouts. Marie chews on a piece of alligator meat.

"No one likes a sore loser, sweetheart."

Hotel Cortez

Los Angeles,

Five Years Ago

"Breaking news, I'm Gloria Sandoval, reporting to you live at Ground Zero of the aggressive virus sweeping the nation. At the one, the only, the infamous Hotel Cortez."

Click.

"For the past eight months, the Halloween Massacre at a local middle school is linked to the virus, along a large string of disappearances and murders that ranged from the 1920s to now."

Click.

"Hotel Cortez has been the breeding ground of controversy and is rumored to have cultivated the virus and spread it to countless victims, including the children involved in the Halloween Massacre."

Click.

"The virus, coined as Hotel Cortez, is a bloodborne virus, passed on by blood. Here's how you can protect yourself from this disease."

Click.

"Victims of the Hotel Cortez virus are being crammed into treatment centers across the country with no hope for progress. Centers are overflowing with the infected with no means of containment. Many are dying off in high numbers—here's footage of the infected being gunned down by military to keep the numbers down. I must warn you, this is graphic."

Click.

"The search for the Hotel Cortez' cure is nowhere in sight; CDC is issuing a state of emergency that the virus is getting more resilient and more aggressive with its victims, despite efforts to treat it. This is now a widespread epidemic."

"Fuck, this is not good. Not good at all." Iris runs her fingers through her hair.

They're coming for her. It's only a matter of time. They already got to Ramona Royale; gunned her down like a dog on the street. The whole street was bathed in her blood. Took Iris at least an hour to hose it down. All that remained of her was a chunk of skull fragment that imbedded itself into the concrete sidewalk like a macabre Walk of Fame.

They've been cracking down on the infected; everywhere you turn there's a blood testing center. Getting the positive diagnosis meant a death sentence. People ran from it, of course, but it always caught up to them in the end. The military would round you up, blood test you on the spot, and if you were tested positive, in The Van you'd go. The Van reeked of death, disease, and feces from the people scared shitless. Sometimes, or almost always depending on who's telling it, The Van because the place you died in and they'd leave your body to rot. No one wanted to go to The Van. No one.

They haven't caught up to Iris; she'd made it her mission to keep staying mobile, living under the radar. She spent a time in the woods, feeding off the woodland animals until people caught on and she's forced to run.

Iris sits in the dark, trying to hold herself together as her and a few stragglers who slipped through the cracks keep quiet.

Footsteps.

The floorboards of the abandoned house creak and groan.

No one would know about their whereabouts unless they were infected too; who sold them out?

The footsteps get closer to their hiding place.

"Please, God. Don't find us." Iris hears someone whispers. Iris mentally swears. She knows God will sell them out as fast as he could save them.

"I think I heard something. It's coming…from the attic."

Iris sobs quietly.

Within seconds, her ears are popped from the loud smoke cannisters and military men firing off their guns and spraying the attic in bullets.

Bodies fall to the floor, hers included; she'd gotten shot in the leg.

She lies on her stomach, hands forced behind her back. Crying, she begs them to please, please…shoot her. She doesn't want to go in The Van. Anything but The Van…

She finds herself being dragged away like a feral animal, her fingernails splitting from digging into the hardwood floor, her voice scraped raw from begging for mercy.

"Subject CDC-93801. Iris. Age…unknown."

White light. The strong smell of sterility and death. A gaunt ghost of who she used to be, lying in a hospital bed with drugs she can't even pinpoint, staring back at her in the mirror.

"Hello CDC-93801. How are you feeling today?"

She sluggishly turns her head.

A "doctor", sits across from her, scribbling away.

"We've given subject CDC-93801 a concoction of chemicals that are intended to stabilize the virus enough to cease its side effects, but the search for the cure is null in void. Today, we are trying a new strain of the virus concocted by our engineers on subject CDC-93801 today at 7:36 AM Pacific Time."

Iris' eyes scan the pristine clock on the wall mocking her with bright blue numbers. 7:30 AM.

"CDC-93801, I'd like to thank you for your volunteering to be Ground Zero for our search for the cure. Your sacrifice will be a monumental step in medicine."

The doctor walks towards her, needle in his hand. When he stabs the IV bag and slides the liquid in, she eyes the clock again.

7:35 AM.

She dies a minute later.

"State of Emergency: Hotel Cortez virus has evolved into a more dangerous and lethal strain. If you see someone with flu-like symptoms, run. If you've been bitten, please notify your local CDC agent that'll be stationed in your city by zip code."

"The virus has claimed millions of lives in not just the US, but across the globe. This is no longer a nationwide epidemic, it's worldwide. Fatalities are high and there's no cure in sight."

"This is officially the end of days. This is Franklin Gallagher, signing off. For good." BANG.

Marie Laveau stabs another fork in the eye of Lalaurie when Papa Legba strolls in. Instead of his jovial and mocking tone he's pacing back and forth, puffing on a cigar.

"My oh my, the humans have done it again. Caused a plague that's taken so many lives I don't have enough room for them all. I've never worked this hard in my life."

"What's this got to do with me?" Marie asks, before ripping out Lalaurie's tongue without batting an eye.

"I need your…expertise."

"You need me to do your dirty work yet again." Marie adds dryly.

"Don't backtalk me, child. I gave you those powers and I can take them away. Never forget that."

He gave her some of the powers she has, but she's not going to tell him that.

"What do you want me to do."

"Eradicate the infected. Stop the overflowing of purgatory. And when you're finished, you will be free of my rule for good."

"What's the catch?"

"At this point. No catch. I'm hard at work. No time to play games. No fun."

"I'll do it. Anything to be free of you."

"So, we have a deal?"

His hand, the hand that held so many evils, is in her face yet again. Sighing, she takes it.

"Deal. Anything to be rid of this Hell."

A tortured scream makes the two turn. It's Misty, crying over a dying frog.

"Take her with you. Her screams were lovely the first…eight million times. Now, it's irritating at this point."

"Agreed."

"Misty, take Upper. Cordelia, Lower. Queenie—"

Marie breaks out into a coughing fit. Pulling back her hand, she sees blood.

"That son of a bitch." She mutters.

"I knew there was a catch."

Present Day

"You think he's the right candidate?"

Marie snaps out of her thoughts. Misty is stroking her back, eyeing her with worry.

"Has to be. He needs to be. There's no one left. Not enough time."

"There has to be another way—"

"—there is no other way. Papa Legba made sure of that."

Misty holds her head down. She grabs her hand, kisses it, and sobs.