The Journal and the Ghosts
Lila had sworn she'd never go back.
The house stood at the end of Maple Street like a tombstone, its porch sagging, its garden strangled by thorns. Four months ago, it had been hers. Four months ago, her father had kissed her forehead, promised he'd "fix everything," and vanished into the storm of his own making. Now, as she crouched in the husk of Mrs. Calloway's minivan across the street, Lila wondered if the ghosts inside would recognize her.
Ash's house. Her house.
---
**Three Days Before Outbreak**
*"Why can't I visit the lab anymore?"*
Twelve-year-old Lila hovered in the doorway of her father's study, clutching her cat Mittens to her chest. Dr. Elias Voss didn't look up from his microscope.
*"It's not safe,"* he said, the way he always did—like "safe" was a word for children, not virologists.
*"You said Subject 9A was special. Let me see her!"*
A flinch. His pen stilled. *"She's not a pet, Lila."*
*"But you *named* her. You never name the others."*
Her father finally met her gaze. His eyes were red-rimmed, his beard flecked with coffee grounds. *"Go to bed."*
That night, Lila heard him arguing on the phone. *"—mutating too fast. If it breaches containment—… No, I won't euthanize her. She's immune, damn it! She's the key—"*
The next morning, the lab went into lockdown.
---
**Present Day**
Lila's boots crunched over broken glass as she approached the house. Ash trailed her, his gray fur bristling. He'd been restless since they'd neared the neighborhood, his meows sharp with recognition.
*He knows this place*, Lila realized. *He was born here.*
The front door hung open, swaying on its hinges. Inside, the air reeked of mildew and something sweetly rotten. Lila's pulse throbbed in her throat as she stepped into the foyer.
*Her mother's piano*, now gutted, its keys strewn across the floor.
*Her school photos*, glass cracked, smiles sliced by shadows.
*The closet.*
Ash froze, hissing at the closet door. Lila's flashlight beam trembled as it swept over claw marks, dried blood, and tufts of calico fur.
And there lies ash's mother rotted...
"This is where it happened, huh?" she whispered.
Ash yowled, slashing at a crumpled lab coat half-buried under debris. *Her father's* lab coat.
---
The journal wasn't upstairs.
Lila knew where it would be. Her father's *sanctum*—the basement lab he'd built after the government cut his funding. "For emergencies," he'd said.
The basement door was barred with a chair. Fresh barricades.
"Someone's been here," Lila muttered. Ash sniffed the stairs, growling.
The lab was a nightmare of broken glass and toppled equipment. Centrifuges lay upended, their contents spilled like neon vomit. A freezer hummed in the corner, its door sealed with duct tape. And there, on a scorched desk: the journal.
Lila reached for it—
—and froze.
A shadow loomed in the doorway.
---
He was still wearing his wedding ring.
Dr. Voss's skin had turned the color of storm clouds, his left arm mangled to the bone, but Lila would know him anywhere. The way he tilted his head when confused. The scar on his chin from her childhood skateboard mishap.
*"Dad?"*
The monster that had been her father snarled, black saliva dripping from his jaws. Ash leapt onto the desk, fur on end, but Lila stood paralyzed.
*He doesn't recognize me.*
*He's gone.*
*I have to run.*
But her feet were roots.
The monster lunged. Ash intercepted, sinking teeth into its ankle. The creature stumbled, giving Lila time to duck behind the freezer.
"Ash, *no*!" she screamed as the cat swiped at the monster's face.
Her father's journal lay open on the desk, pages splayed like wings.
**Entry – 11/23:**
*Subject 9A's blood neutralizes the virus in vitro. But human trials… God, what have I done? Lila, if you're reading this, the lab's east wing is sealed. 9A is there. Save her.*
---
Ash was losing.
The monster slammed him against the wall, pinning him with a rotting hand. Lila's knife was in her grip before she could think.
*Don't look at his face.*
*Don't think.*
*Just move.*
She plunged the blade into the monster's temple. It crumpled, lifeless, atop Ash.
"No no no—" Lila shoved the corpse aside. Ash lay still, his ribs fluttering. Blood matted his fur, but it was red, not black. *Not infected.*
"You idiot," she sobbed, cradling him. "Why'd you fight him?"
Ash's green eyes narrowed. *Because he hurt you*, they seemed to say. *Because you're mine.*
---
The freezer held more than journals.
Lila pried the duct tape loose, steeling herself for corpses. Instead, vials glinted in the light—blood samples labeled **SUBJECT 9A**.
**Entry – 12/1:**
*They'll come for her. The resistance, the scavengers—they'll dissect her, weaponize her. I moved her to the east wing, but if they trace her to this house…*
Her father had hidden 9A's blood here. For her.
Ash nosed a crumpled photo under the desk—Lila, age 10, holding Mittens. *Her* cat. Her father had saved the photo, the edges worn from touch.
"He loved me," she whispered. "Even at the end."
Ash headbutted her hand. *I know.*
---
They burned the house at dawn.
Lila tossed the match, watching flames devour the curtains, the piano, her father's body. Ash sat beside her, his tail flicking.
"He wanted me to save 9A," she said. "But how? The lab's a death trap. The resistance are hunting her. I'm just… me."
Ash stared at the fire, his eyes reflecting the blaze. *You're Lila Voss. Daughter of the man who ended the world. Sister of the cat who'll fix it.*
She slid the journal into her backpack, vials clinking against her ribs. "Let's go, Ash."
They walked east, toward the lab, as the sun rose behind them.
---
**End of Chapter 4**
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