The Questions Begin
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I remember dying.

It was fast, but it was brutally painful, like every organ in my body was being dissolved in acid. It felt like my bones were melting, like my blood was on fire. The pain took my breath away. The pain stopped my heart.

 The last thing I remember was a red haze settling over my vision like some sort of special effect as all the little veins in my eyes bulged and burst and bled out.

And then it went dark.

I woke up inside a refrigerated truck that had been brought in to warehouse bodies when the morgues got overwhelmed. That was a lucky break. If I’d died a week sooner, I’d have been cremated like Ryan and that would have been the end of me.

If I’d been on the bottom of the pile of body bags instead of near the top...

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