[ WP ] Cancer is now a transmissible disease .

“ Oh shit. Shitshitshitshitshit ” 
 
 I stared at the broken petri dish, the cut in my hazmat suit, the blood on my shaking fingers. 
 
 I looked up at James, my co-worker here at the CDC Deadly Communicable Diseases branch for the past 3 years. We were friends. We ’ d gone out for drinks. I went to his birthday last week. 
 
 He was backing away slowly, his hand mashing the emergency alert on the radio attached to his shoulder. 
 
 “ Ian ’ s suit has been breached. I say again, Ian ’ s suit has been breached. Get a clean-up team in here NOW! ” 
 
 I glanced back down at the cut. It had healed. Scar tissue had grown over the cut. And then it kept growing and growing. It had only been a minute since I ’ d dropped the damn sample and cut my finger, but already my entire hand was covered in scar tissue. I think I even saw a tooth. 
 
 Goddamn super-cancer. It showed up a year ago, in a 30 year old man in Mexico. In a week, every patient in the cancer ward was infected. The CDC had quarantined it, but they were too late. 
 
 Cancer, right? Horrible, detestable, but not contagious. Just a body ’ s cells going haywire, replicating endlessly. Messed up DNA code, hard to fix, but at least it couldn ’ t spread. 
 
 Until now. Something about that man, Patient Zero, had changed his cancer worked. His cancer hijacked his respiratory system, forcing his lungs to pump out cancer cells that attached onto any living tissue, and immediately begin replicating, sucking up all nutrients. 
 
 It was as hard to cure as any regular cancer, but it spread faster than the common cold. In a week, the hospital in Mexico was shut down. In a month, Mexico was nuked to try and stop the spread. No, not a town. The whole damn country. 
 
 A month after that, a case was reported in Amsterdam. 
 
 Then Belgium, then Germany, Poland, Denmark, the Czech Republic. 
 
 It was everywhere, and it was unstoppable. 
 
 All that information ran through my panicked mind as I watched the scar tissue spread down my arm. I knew I was dead. I knew there was no hope. But still I ran through everything I knew, desperately looking for a way to cure it, or even to slow it down. 
 
 The sound of boots running into the room made me look up. 
 
 James was gone. In his place was a team of men in Hazmat suits, but these weren ’ t scientists. 
 
 The holstered pistols at their waists conveyed that message clearly. 
 
 One man stepped up, pulling out his gun. 
 
 “ Sorry Doc. ” 
 
 I closed my eyes. 
 
 
 First post! Have n't written for leisure in YEARS. Tell me what you think! Constructive criticism appreciated. Thanks guys!
