Page 107 of After the Burn

“The CDC believed blood type was one of the key factors influencing how the pathogen behaved in different people.” He shook his head. “I think blood type only determines compatibility.” He picked up another slide. “The meteor exposure created something… different.” He searched for the right word. “A balance. The pathogen isn’t winning. But your bodies aren’t winning either.” He met my eyes. “They’re coexisting.”

Adrian folded his arms. “A symbiotic relationship.”

Finley nodded once. “Exactly.” He pointed to each of us. “Our immune systems aren’t destroying the pathogen. They’ve adapted to it.” He swallowed. “Harper never had that chance.”

My gaze drifted to her pale face.

“The bite introduced the pathogen all at once,” Adrian surmised. “Her body is losing the fight.”

Finley inhaled slowly. “I’m going to give Harper what her body never had.” He paused so long that we thought he had finished speaking. “Time,” he said it so quietly we almost missed it.

Confusion crossed Beck’s face. “How?”

Finley continued. “I’m going to transfuse enhanced blood into her.”

Lucas frowned. “You think our blood will fight it?”

“No,” Finley shook his head. “I don’t think fighting it is the answer.”

He looked toward Harper. Her skin had taken on a grayish cast beneath the fever, and the lines spreading from the bite had already crept beyond the mark he’d drawn on her arm.

When he looked at us this time, there were tears in his eyes. “Our bodies learned to live with it,” he continued. “Harper’s is trying to destroy something it can’t beat. Every defense she has is turning against her while the pathogen spreads.”

Lucas glanced at the equipment covering the stainless-steel table. “So, what exactly are you doing?”

“I’m going to remove a portion of Harper’s blood and replace it with compatible enhanced blood.”

I swallowed. “What’s the catch?”

“Blood types. Enhanced blood still follows every normal transfusion rule. If I give Harper incompatible blood…” His jaw tightened. “I’ll kill her before the infection does.”

“Whose blood?” Beck asked, rolling up his sleeves.

Finley turned to grab his backpack. He unzipped the largest pocket and carefully pulled out a thick black binder.

The edges were worn soft, several tabs were bent, and dried blood stained one corner.

He set it on the stainless-steel table as if it were fragile. “I have it all here.” Finley opened the binder, flipping through pages of cramped handwriting until he reached a section marked with colored tabs. “When new survivors arrived at the settlement, I ran basic blood work on everyone and more extensive testing on every enhanced person willing to let me.” His fingers paused on a page. “Blood type. Healing response. Cell counts. Anything I could measure.” He glanced up. “I wasn’t about to leave months of research behind.”

I looked down as he turned another page.

Names filled the binder. Some I recognized, others I’d never met during our short time in town.

Too many had a single word scrawled across the top in red ink.

Deceased.

My chest tightened.

Finley closed the binder and rested both hands on the stainless-steel table. “After months of studying enhanced survivors, I don’t think blood type causes enhancement. I think certain blood types make a person more compatible with whatever came down in those meteors. But blood type isn’t the only factor. Something deeper in the body still determines the organism's acceptance—or whether it takes control.”

“Whose blood?” Lucas repeated Beck’s question.

Finley’s gaze found mine. “Taryn’s.”

Beck’s body went rigid beside me. “Why hers?”

“They’re compatible. Harper is AB negative.” Finley turned to Beck. “So is Taryn.”