It wasn't supposed to happen like that. We were supposed to make it to the rooftop, signal the chopper, get out. That kiss was where it all ended. And maybe where it all began. Mara and I had survived things that would've killed most couples. The infected twins in the school basement. But somehow, we always made it out—bruised, bleeding, laughing like fools in the wreckage. We had a rule: Don't fall in love. Because love gets you killed. Love makes you hesitate. And hope… is a trap. For a smo-other& rea%d#in@g exp%er^i%e&nce, v&i&s^it M+V&L!E+M&P.YR+. The night before the extraction, we camped in the old elevator shaft of Tower 16. Rain slipping in from a broken hatch above us. We took turns keeping watch, as always. But she didn't sleep. She just stared at me like I was something she'd already lost. "I have to tell you something," she said. "No," I told her. "Whatever it is—tell me after we get out of here." But she leaned forward, close enough for me to smell the peppermint gum we traded for two cans of beans last week. Not because I was afraid. But because I didn't want to believe it. She pulled up her sleeve. Just below the elbow. A clean puncture. No rot yet, but the veins were already turning gray. "I needed to believe I could still get you out." I stood up. My head hit the pipe above. I didn't care. "You should've told me—" And then she kissed me. Like it was the last breath she'd ever take, and she wanted it to be mine. When she pulled back, her eyes were wet. "I didn't want you to carry it," she said. "But now you have to let me go." She handed me the pistol. "The chopper leaves at dawn. Take the stairs. I'll take the fire escape. One of us needs to make it." "You kissed me back." "Then make it mean something." I never saw her after that. Signaled the chopper. Left with her taste still on my lips—metallic, desperate, beautiful. They asked me if anyone else was coming. Said, "No. It was just me." Now, when I dream, it's that kiss. The one that ended the lies. They said the infection is passed through fluids. That a kiss could be death. Maybe that's why I've been waiting to turn. Maybe it wasn't a kiss of death after all. Maybe it was a kiss of release. She took it with her.