"I had to get out of there. No, you don't understand. I HAD to get out of there.

Arrowdale wasn't the same. It changed. It changed so much since the fire.

I didn't know why. But I was the only one immune to it. It seemed like no one else realized it had changed at all. That it didn't even resemble the Arrowdale I knew.

Maybe it was grief. At all the souls lost in that dreadful inferno. Maybe it was the toxins that came from the burning chemicals. Maybe it was simply the fact that Arrowdale had been in the same loop for sixty years and we were due for a change.

Sorry, they.

I'm not one of them anymore.

They used to be happy. WE used to be happy. In our little Stars Hollow-esque world, with our small town gossip and a movie theatre, grocery store, and three different restaurants all within walking distance.

But then it changed.

The people were less friendly. They almost seemed... Paranoid. They walked around with shifty eyes and fidgeting fingers. And when I passed by the town square, where the old ladies usually went to catch up and gossip, no one was there.

When I bought my groceries at the market, I was no longer greatest by a smiling cashier, asking me if I was going to the town campfire that night. I was no longer bombarded with 'hello's and 'how are you?'s as I grabbed my favorite cereal from the shelf.

And then the deaths began.

The paper, the Arrowdale Reporter, flooded with headlines and articles describing the deaths of my fellow townspeople. Tales of people going mad and killing friends and family were whispered through the media. People with wild eyes were dragged off to asylums as they screamed their world's of nonsense.

The only people on the street were the appocolypse preparers, preaching of the end times and warning people to stock up. No one took them seriously. They should have.

As more and more bodies came to the county morgue, more police arrived. They patrolled the streets at night. They arrested any suspicious looking citizen. Anything to stop the deaths.

People were rioting. Taking to the streets with pitchforks and torches, shouting for this to be over. They seemed to think that one party was to blame for this chaos. They knocked on doors and raided homes on their witch-hunt, not caring who or what they hurt in the process.

Then the demons arrived.

I suppose they weren't really demons. They were people. They were infected. Their eyes turned black, a midnight colored liquid dripping from their sockets and mouth. Their skin cracked and black veins were suddenly visible through the thin layers of skin.

The death count rose.

Soon, the cops were gone. We were a lost cause. The only way to contain us was to block us off.

Fences started appearing on the borders of town. The people started looking once more for someone to blame. And their eyes fell on me. The single woman living alone on the border of town. And as the rumors arose, so did my realization that if I were to survive, I had to leave. It was a miracle that I hadn't been infected already.

The fence was almost finished. Three layers of thick, electrified metal with barbed wire on top. And if I didn't leave then, I would be at the mercy of the manic townspeople who were out for blood, red and black alike.

The night I snuck out, I realized how much of a ghost town Arrowdale had turned into. I halfway expected a tumble weed to roll across the street.

I made my way to the first of town, the only place the fence hadn't reached. Yet.

And I left.

And that's how I made it here," I finish, sitting back in the seat.

The officer leans back against the wall, crossing his arms and looking me up and down. His black hair is shaved close to his head, his brown eyes kind. He wears a typical police uniform. "That's quite a tale."

"A true one," I say, agreeing with him.

"I have no doubt it's true. I'm just amazed you lasted that long without getting infected," he shrugs.

I open my mouth to say something, but close it again, hesitating.

"Yes?" He asks.

"Do you... Know what it was? The virus?"

He shakes his head. "I don't know the specifics. Just that it's called "The Murder Virus". An inspired name."

I chuckle. "Yeah. Very original."

The door opens and another cop steps in. He's wearing a hospital mask. He looks for the cop in front of me, to me. And when his eyes land in my direction, they widen, and his motions suddenly become stuff and squirrelly. He quickly hands the cop a clipboard with a mask attached to it and leaves.

When the cop reads the contents of the paper, his eyes widen as well. He hurries to put a mask on.

"What?" I ask, worry seeping into my voice. "Why are you putting on a mask?"

"Uh, we got your blood work back. I'll um, be right back. I have to check something."

He sets the clipboard on the ledge by the big mirror, and exits, his pace fast and hurried.

When he leaves, confusion crosses me face. I stand up and walk towards the ledge where the clipboard is and pick it up.

My eyes widen.

The clipboard clatters to the floor.

POSITIVE.