The Infected: Fogo Island (1)

one: piecing the puzzle

The tide is low at this time of year. There's a thin coat of snow covering the rocks that separate the ocean from the forest. I'm rummaging through the box of clothes in the Jeep and my heart stops when I pull out a leather jacket. The embroidery around the collar. I recognize this. The leather jacket belongs to my mother. I drop it back in the box and sit down on the rear bumper.

I lookout at the ocean, the vaste body of water that seperates me from Felix. I miss his touch even though he's only been gone for a few hours. My thoughts drift back to my discovery.

Why is her jacket there?

I contemplate the scenarios that could explain this, every situation imaginable running through my mind like some freak slideshow. How did David end up with my mother's jacket? I could put my hand in fire that she was wearing it when she returned to Tokyo.

She was in a hurry that day, couldn't even take a minute to kiss me goodbye. She was in town for only a week, all in the name of business though. Grams was just about to make me supper when mom had rushed back inside the house, claiming she had forgotten something upstairs. I remember thinking how beautiful she was with her hair loose. How stunning she looked in that leather jacket.

I turn around and pull the jacket out of the box. I hug it, smell mom's perfume that still lingers on the fabric. I forget about the carnage, the death, and the bastards that lurk the cities. I can't supress the fact that she may have something to do with everything that is happening. But still, she's my mom. I miss her.

I can lie and say I'm not crying but that would serve no purpose in telling my story. I'm crying for many different reasons. Because grams and David are dead; because I'm alone on a shore, uncertain about my future; because I'm fucking pregnant.

In a fit of anger I throw the jacket to the ground and hear something clatter against the rocks. I kneel down and look in the side pockets but find nothing. I'm about to throw it back in the Jeep when I remember the hidden pocket in the inside of the jacket, just at the lower back. Mom would always keep a photo of her mom there. She said it protected her.

The breeze picks up and a sudden chill invades me. I jump inside the Jeep and fire it up. I finally take a peak in the hidden pocket and my fingers touch something cold and metallic. Not what I was expecting. I pull out the object and the sight of it baffles me.

A GPS.

"What the fuck..." I whisper, contemplating the tracking device. It's a touch screen and out of curiousity I press the menu icon. The screen goes black and then two new icons appear. One labelled Robert Scott and the other one is...

Charlie.

Oh my God. My mother is alive.