I rolled my eyes. Probably the neighbors again. I turned up my music and returned to my drawing. 

 Crash! "AAAHHHHHH!"

 I huffed, slamming my pencil onto my desk. I got up and opened the curtains. Nothing. There was no movement. No passing cars. Not so much as a leaf shaken from the trees outside my room. I took off my headphones.

 "Please... Stop please!" The familiar voice snuck in from underneath my bedroom door.

 I grabbed the baseball bat from under my bed. I opened the door. The hallway was dark, with the only light glowing faintly from around the corner. I followed the light. Soft carpet crunched underneath my feet as I skulked down the hallway. 

 "Shut up! You'll only make it worse."

 My dad's whisper-shout slithered down the hallway. He had always been stern, but his voice dripped with an unusual venom. I gripped the bat tighter before I rounded the corner. 

 The TV bathed the scene in bright blue light. My brother's room was messy, but not the normal I'm-a-sixteen-year-old-boy-who-can't-be-bothered-to-clean kind of way it normally was. The figurines that normally sat on his wall were strewn across the floor, some were even broken. Clothes spilled out from overturned dresser drawers and created a small corner where my brother sat. He clutched his baseball bat with shaking hands as a trickle of blood fell from his forehead. His eyes shook in their sockets. His breathing was labored. The fading blue light sunk into the fresh cuts on his forearms.

 Then, there was Dad. His body shook violently. Beads of sweat dripped from his brow. His once jet black hair bore a brand new white streak. The light illuminating his back bathed his face in shadow. 

 "Maya..." Dad cooed, "You're just in time."

 My breath hitched in my throat. He spoke without looking at me, his face still obscured.

 I swallowed, hard. 

 "How did you know it was me?"

 "You smell like graphite. Have you been drawing?"

 I took one hand off my bat. He was right, I had graphite smudged all over my fingers. But no normal person could detect that from so far away.

 "Maya, go get Mom–" My brother was cut off by a broken figurine whizzing by his face. 

 Dad howled with laughter, throwing his head back. The glow of the TV illuminated his large sharp teeth. 

 "Shut the fuck up Lukas!" Dad swore. He never swore.

 "W-What are you doing?" My voice warbled.

 Dad sighed, "Well, I got a bit hungry and decided to grab a snack. I woke up your brother, thinking he would want to go on one of our late night snack runs, and he said no." Dad smiled, turning his attention to me. "I was hoping you wouldn't be a buzz kill."

 Even in the blue TV light I could tell his skin had gone pale. His lips were chapped beyond belief. His eyes were empty black pools threatening to absorb me. Sweat continued to pool on his upper lip. His right hand twitched around a sharp butcher's knife.

 "You're sick." I breathed.

 "I wouldn't call it illness. It's more like a boon, one that Lukas refuses to accept." The venom returned to his speech.

Lukas remained in the corner, breathing heavily as he rocked back and forth.

 "Is that why your service ended early? Is that why the CDC sent you home?" Tears welled up behind my eyes.

 "I was so focused on finding a cure for so long, so convinced I could stop the world from going to shit, I lost myself. The infection, this "disease," is liberating."

 Dad sent us letters while he was away. He told us about soldiers stricken with disease, spending days incapacitated before making a "miraculous recovery". That was when the murders began. Dad worked with other geneticists to find a cure, quarantining to keep us safe. Three nights ago, when he showed up at our door, I didn't know what to think. They only let people out early once every blue moon.

 "Last night I killed the neighbors. I know they used to annoy you during your drawing time, and they tasted so delicious."

 "Are you trying to kill Lukas?"

 "I'm trying to save him." Dad's smile never reached his eyes. 

 "From what?"

 "His inhibitions, his pain, his weakness, I can fix it all. He just refuses to cooperate." Dad turned to me, "I can save you too–make you like me. You'll never fear anything ever again." 

 Tears began streaming down my face. Dad was at the final stage of infection. There was no hope of saving him, and almost no way of stopping him. 

 "Don't cry," Dad flipped the blade of his knife towards himself, extending the handle towards me, "I'll let you fix him. Will that cheer you up?"

 There was a silent plea in Lukas' eyes. 

 I took a hesitant step towards Dad.

 "Please," Lukas warbled, "don't do this."

 I gave Lukas a look. We always thought it would be the other way around. My palms were sweaty. I peeled a shaking hand off the bat. 

 I closed the distance between Dad and I. Staring into his eyes, I disappeared into their abyssal depths. Blackened veins spiderwebbed across his damp forehead. The knife shook in his twitching hands. I wrapped my fingers around the wooden handle. He released the blade. His eye twitched and his smile bloomed rows and rows of razor sharp teeth slick with drool. One bite from him and I would be infected.

 He patted me on the head, just like he used to do when I was little. I sniffled, sucking up tears and mucus. It took all my strength to keep steady.

 Dad's hand rested gently atop my head, "I knew you'd make the right choice–"

 I plunged the knife into Dad's stomach, twisting as hard as I could. He barely reacted to the bloody stain blooming on his shirt as his hand slowly slipped off my scalp. Despite my blurry vision, my bat found its way into his knee. Dad fell halfway to the ground, bracing himself against the edge of Lukas' bed. Lukas climbed over the dresser in an instant, and knocked out some teeth with a well placed smack. Lukas landed a hit on the clavicle, then the sternum, then the head. Dad hit the ground, but Lukas didn't stop hitting him. 

 I dropped my bat, wrestling Lukas off the brutalized corpse. He strained against me, stronger than I remembered, but I held steady. My hands climbed up his arm, trying to pry his fingers from around the bat. I slammed my heel onto his toes. He didn't yelp or cry out, but something within him seemed to reset. His bloodshot eyes made frenzied attempts to avoid my gaze. Desperate ragged breaths shook through his body. He looked down at his bloody hands, and smiled.

 "That felt really good."