THE NIGHT OF THE MONSTROUS STORM

By Andamogirl

Author's notes: season one, because there's a reference to "The Night of the Howling Light", one of my favorite episodes and because the first season was filmed in black & white and it accentuates the dramatic effect of the hurricane.

Reference to my story called "The Night of the First Mission" and reference to the season 1 episodes "The Night of the Howling Light" & "The Night of the Fatal Trap."

I did my best to be medically accurate regarding the yellow fever virus.

Jim: Course. A lighthouse.

Dr. Arcularis: A poor thing, but my own.

Jim: I thought the government owned lighthouses.

Dr. Arcularis: Ah, but you see, I own the lighthouse keeper.

The Night of the Howling Light

Warning: sickfic. Vomiting. Hurt / comfort.

Many thanks to my beta reader Tripidydoodah.

WWW

TEASER

Mobile, Alabama, January 18, 1873

Silver Star hotel, at night

He didn't look good.

Glancing at his reflection in the cracked mirror hanging above the dressing table, Artemus Gordon let out a tired sigh. He was sick and his condition had deteriorated in a matter of hours. It wasn't a small cold anymore, he thought, his brow furrowed with concern.

He continued to muse: his headache had turned into a pounding, painful, splitting migraine and his sniffles into sneezes. His running nose had stopped dripping and now was stuffy and paralyzed by numbness like the rest of his face. His coughs had morphed into wet coughing fits. Plus his throat was dry, itchy and sore and swallowing saliva or anything else was literally torture. He wasn't as cold before, but now his hands and feet felt like ice cubes. His body felt heavier than before a few hours ago and he was harassed by muscle and joint aches. He had a light fever since this morning, nothing to worry about, but it had increased and he was unhealthily flushed beneath his stubbled cheeks. Heat was radiating from his face and body now and droplets had formed on his forehead.

He narrowed his eyes shadowed with dark circles, the result of lack of sleep, haunted by nightmares that plagued his nights.

He sighed. Each time he closed his eyes, he could see people with yellow fever dying around him, children and babies among them. The streets of Lafayette were covered with dozens of buckboards with dead bodies piled high lined up along the boardwalks. The air was unbreathable because of the black smoke rising above the gigantic fires where the dead were being burned. The dreadful odor of the charred flesh had made him sick and he had left the city in tears and vomiting on his horse.

He chased away those terrible images from his mind and rubbed his wet, reddened eyes as the light of the oil lamp was too bright.

He dimmed it and moaned in relief. "Oh… much better," he whispered.

He was fatigued, no he was more than that. He was exhausted. He felt like he was 100 and he would be only 43 in just over two months, he added in his mind.

He rubbed his temples tiredly, suppressing a huge yawn. "Artie, old boy, you need a long, long leave, like a forever-long one," he said realizing how congested he sounded now. He realized too that he was thirsty, more like dehydrated. Taking the chipped pitcher he poured water into the glass which was sitting in front of him, up to the brim.

Holding the fingerprint-covered glass in one hand, he used the other hand to touch his brow, finding the skin there feverish. "Let's hope it's only the influenza," he added. Then he sneezed twice then shivered. "And not the yellow fever…"

He shivered with dread thinking again about what happened in Lafayette, surrounded by mosquitos-infested bayous where Jim and he had broken up a counterfeiters ring, less than one week ago. They had been exposed too to the incurable disease. Since that time he had been feeling sick. But he was suffering from the first telltale signs of influenza before leaving the Wanderer to head to Lafayette. He had lied to Jim, telling him it was a bad cold, that 'fresh air' would do him good, that it would vanish enroute to Louisiana – but the truth was he didn't want to let his best friend go to Lafayette, to face those dangerous people alone. His best friend was a trouble magnet, and he had to be at his side to be able, if needed, to help him and save him.

He shook his head, dismissing the idea of having the yellow fever as the symptoms matched those of the flu and regretted it, as pain flared in his poor fuzzy brain. He winced. 'No… no, it's the flu, it's just the flu, nothing else, and it's already serious enough," he continued to talk to himself. But he had doubt as he remembered that the initial symptoms of the yellow fever were similar to those of the influenza virus. "Let's hope it's just the flu," he added and coughed heavily.

He lowered his sweaty face in his hands and grunted. His pounding headache was getting worse. He rubbed his temples in an attempt to ease it and groaned. It didn't work.

Looking again at his reflection in the mirror, with reddened eyes, he traced his hairy jawline with a fingertip. "You seriously need to see a barber," he rasped out.

He took a sip of water and then downed the cool liquid thirstily. Immediately afterward the nausea he had been fighting for a couple of hours now surged up again. "Oh boy…" He hiccupped queasily, closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, swallowing. Then, feeling just a bit better he re-opened his eyes and the world spun a little. "That was a good idea, but also a bad idea…" He croaked out.

He touched his feverish brow again. He was now burning up. He started to really worry when his vision began to black out at the edges. The flu had reached its maximum intensity.

He coughed hard a couple of times, then took in a deep breath and his lungs rattled alarmingly. "Artemus, old boy, you need to see a doctor, now," he said to himself and stood on shaky legs, bracing against the worn out chair on which he had been sitting. He yelped as his knees and back hurt so much that he could barely move. Ow! That was new, he thought.

Gritting his teeth, feeling his weak strength abandon him, he took a wobbly step forward toward the door of his low-end hotel room. But he didn't reach it.

He grabbed the foot of the bed and held on to it like a lifeline while he waited for his vision to stop spinning. He suddenly gagged and vomited at his feet.

Black spots danced before his eyes as his legs gave out from underneath him, and everything faded to black. His body went limp and he toppled to the mattress, on his back.

WWW

Later

Half an hour later James West entered the small and cheap hotel room, holding what he had purchased in the hardware at the end of the street: a couple of long, fat, cigars (for Artie), a box of cigarillos (for him), three dime novels and a bottle of whiskey (for both Artie and him).

He gasped in surprise and worry, and dropped everything at his feet on the threadbare carpet when he discovered Artemus sprawled on the bed, unconscious.

Then the smell of vomit reached his nostrils.

He rushed over to Artie and sat beside his body. He placed his hand on his neck and took the other man's pulse beating at top speed – then moved it to his forehead. He found it warm and wet. "Oh Artie…" He frowned and, feeling guilty he said, "I should have forced you to stay on board the Wanderer… instead of accepting that you come with me. Your bad cold has turned into flu, buddy and you're now very sick. Next time, I won't listen to you."

But Artemus was still passed out didn't reply with a single word.

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Later

His brow furrowed in deep concern, Jim was pressing a damp cloth on Artemus's flushed face when the older man's eyes fluttered open.

Seeing Jim above him, settled into the bed next to him, he croaked out, "Wha' zappen'd?" Then he grimaced as his rough, scratchy throat hurt. He groaned as his best friend helped him sit up – all his muscles and joints hurting and gritted his teeth as he fought off a sudden onset of vertigo.

Grabbing a dusty spare blanket Jim wrapped it then around his partner's shaking shoulders. "You passed out. I found you unconscious on the bed about ten minutes ago," he said his voice tight with worry. "You should have stayed in the train instead of coming with me! now you're very sick and stuck in bed for at least a week. You have the flu, Artie. It wasn't a bad cold you had, but the first signs of influenza." Noticing that Artie looked embarrassed, he narrowed his eyes in suspicion and added, "But you knew that, right?"

Looking at his trembling hands, rather than at his now irritated partner, Artie nodded. "Yes. I wanted to go with you. I was very worried that something would happen to you and that I would not be with you to help you, or save your life."

He broke into another set of wet coughs.

Frowning, upset, but understanding too why Artie had lied to him, he said, "I thought you and I had a deal Artie. No secrets between us, ever." He took the glass of water he had set down on the bedside table for his best friend and brought it to Artemus's pale and dry lips. "And not telling me about you being sick was a secret." He watched the other man nod and then taking a few sips of water, slowly, wincing. He softened and asked, "How are you feeling?"

Licking his lips to hydrate them, Artemus slumped limply against a couple of pillows and let out a grunt. "Oooh… I feel awful," he said blinking dazedly. His eyes being very sensitive to the light Jim had increased, he groaned and croaked out, "Jim… Dim the light please… eyes, hurt. "

Placing the now half-empty glass back on the bedside table, Jim said, "I sent the hotel clerk to fetch the local doctor; he should be here within minutes. I'm sorry for the light hurting your eyes, but it has to stay like this. The doctor will need to see you to be able to examine you."

Artemus nodded, listing in his mind the symptoms of the flu: fatigue, body aches and chills, cough, sore throat, high fever, nausea – check! Because there was always a doubt in his mind. Did he have the flu? Or had it been replaced by yellow fever after his stay in Lafayette?

Then he made another list, not related to the 'simple' flu, but to the yellow fever: rapid pulse, check. Backache, check. Aching knees, check. Eyes being sensitive to light, check, retinal migraine, check.

He buried his damp face in his hands. "Oh dear God…" He trailed off, devastated. Lowering his hands to his lap, he looked at Jim and said, his voice hoarse, "It's not the flu, Jim. It's the yellow fever. I was contaminated in Lafayette during our latest mission there, probably because I was already weakened by the flu." He let out a long sigh. "I should have stayed on board our train."

Feeling the hair on the back of his neck standing on end, Jim asked, "You sure?"

Swallowing hard, grimacing in pain, Artie nodded. "Yes, I'm sure. I have all the symptoms of the yellow fever." He huddled in the dark brown blanket, a series of shivers wracking his body. "Let's hope I'm gonna stay in the 'acute' phase… and not move to the second – usually fatal – phase, called the toxic phase, if it happens, I will die like all those people in Lafayette."

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Jim said, "Come in!" then he added, "I think we're going to have to stay here quarantined until you feel fine."

Two seconds later the door opened and an old man with long, white hair, dressed in black clothes and holding a black bag entered the room.

He immediately stared at Artemus noticing the sweat and fever clinging to his flushed skin, seeing him shiver and heard him cough.

He made a quick and easy first prognosis. "I'm Sam Brown, Mobile's only doctor, and you seem to have the flu, son." Then he sat down on the edge of the bed.

Raising a limp hand in a 'hello' gesture, Artie said, "Good evening, My name is Artemus Gordon… and my friend here is James West. Nice to meet you and thank you for coming so fast, especially at dinner time." Then he nearly choked as a coughing fit hit him hard.

Curious, the doctor asked, "Are you here on business?"

Shaking his head, Jim said, "No, Artemus and I just stopped there for the night. We're enroute to Birmingham, doctor."

Unbuttoning his white shirt saturated with sweat so that the physician could hear his heart with his stethoscope, he said, "I think it's worse than a simple influenza case, I'm afraid."

Dr. Brown pulled out his stethoscope from his bag, pressed his hand to his patient's forehead and asked, "What could be worse than that? Influenza can be fatal if not treated correctly." He paused and all the color had drained from his face. "Oh no… You mean the yellow fever."

Closing his teary eyes tiredly, Artie whispered, "Yes, it's the yellow fever. I have all the symptoms. Jim and I were in the south of Louisiana last week, in the Cajun territory when there was an outbreak." Reopening his eyes, he looked at his healthy best friend and offered him a weak smile. "I'm sick, he's not. Jim's never sick. He never had a single cold since I've known him. He is a force of nature."

Sam Brown eyed his patient warily and placed a thermometer between his teeth. "I had the yellow fever myself a few years ago, and had the good luck to survive it, so I can't catch it a second time. I will help you, son, but you have to stay here and your friend too, even if he doesn't look sick, for now. The disease could be delayed. It happens sometimes when people are more resistant to sicknesses than others. He's probably contaminated too. It's necessary to be very, very careful because the yellow fever spreads very quickly and is fatal in most cases. Symptoms typically improve within four of five days… We'll see at the end of the week how you feel. I hope you'll still be alive." He pulled the thermometer from Artemus's mouth and read the gauge with a frown. "Let's see what we got… 105 point 5. Good God!"

His face strained, panicking a bit inside, Jim said, "It's a high fever… it's dangerously high."

Curling in on himself, pain lancing up and out from his stomach and feeling miserable, Artie broke into a fit of coughing and struggled to catch his breath.

He buried his face in a pillow as his stomach lurched uncomfortably and he started breathing deeply, rapidly to avoid vomiting all over the bed, his fingers clutching weakly at the blankets.

Sam Brown stood and said, "Yes, and his fever is going to spike up." He sadly sighed and looked down at the shivering form of Artemus. "There's no cure for yellow fever, but the symptoms can be treated while your body fights off the infection. I'm going to give you painkillers to lower your temperature and of course relieve aches and pains."

Looking at Jim he placed his stethoscope and thermometer back in his black bag thinking that as soon as he returned home, or rather in the yard of his house, he would burn his bag and its contents, as well as all his clothes and then he would take a long bath after that to avoid contamination.

He recommended, "Make your friend drink a lot of water to keep him hydrated, Mr. West, force him if you have to, because he's going to vomit, a lot, and keep him warm too, wrapped in blankets even if he feels hot." Placing his hand on the door handle he added, "I'll bring you painkillers in half an hour when I come back. See you later, gentlemen." Then he left, closing the door behind him.

Once the old man was gone, Jim maneuvered Artemus into a sitting position eliciting bear-like growls. "In that position, you won't vomit again," he just said, ignoring his partner's glare.

Seing Artie relaxing as he drifted off to sleep, but taking heavy and quick breaths, he added, "Dr. Brown will bring some painkillers in a moment. You can sleep in the meantime," then he moved toward the dressing table, took the pitcher and set it on the bedside table, next to the glass.

Outside, the rain started splattering against the dirty window in dull thuds and thunder rumbled in the distance, promising a storm.

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Later

There was a knock at the door and Jim said, "Come in!" and smiled as he saw Sam Brown enter the hotel room, holding a brown doctor's bag. He had changed his clothes too, Jim noticed.

But his smile faded on his lips when he noticed that the physician was followed by two men wearing a silver star each and holding guns: the sheriff and his deputy. They had gloves on and scarves were covering the lower part of their faces. The upper parts were hidden under wide brimmed hats. If they had not worn insignia on their jackets, he would have mistaken them for highwaymen, he thought.

Puzzled Jim asked, "What it is doctor?"

Stepping inside, but not moving farther, the too lawmen ignored Jim and looked down at Artie sleeping, curled up under several blankets and shivering. "It's him?" The sheriff asked.

Dr. Brown nodded. "Yes, it's him, Andy," he responded, his shoulders sagging, looking guilty. Then glancing at Jim, embarrassed, he added, "My wife, very surprised to see me burn my bag and all my belongings, and all my clothes in the yard of our house, asked me why I was doing that. She thought I had suddenly gone crazy, I must say that I was naked… So I told her about your sick friend having the yellow fever and she was so scared about a mortal disease spreading around in town that she rushed straight to the sheriff's office, my best friend Andrew Garfield… I did all that, and I took a bath to avoid any contamination, of course," he explained then.

Pointing his gun at Artemus the sheriff let out, "You can't stay here! It's too dangerous for the population, but you can't leave either, as you could contaminate people in another town."

Looking up at Garfield, Jim asked, "So, what do you propose sheriff? You can't keep us here and you can't let us go." He lowered his hand toward his holster holding his beloved 45. Long Colt Single Action Army in a very visible way, to signal that he would not let the two men murder Artie and him without a fight. "Oh, I know. You're going to kill us and bury us in a deep hole…"

The sheriff tensed, his deputy too, then Garfield's eyes went cold. "I'm not a murderer, I respect the law, but I have to protect the population here, it's my duty," he said. He added then, "So I asked Sam here, who is the most intelligent man in Mobile, to find another solution that could satisfy everyone, and he did."

Hearing voices, Artie woke and struggled to sit upright in his bed. He watched Sam Brown with tired eyes. "H'lo doctor… did you bring… me… some painkillers? I could use one now, b'cause I feel like a herd of wild horses trampled me, twice," He mumbled, before coughing weakly into his sleeve.

Dr. Brown nodded. He opened his bag and pulled out a dozen small paper bags which he placed at the end of the bed. "It's a powder to dilute in water, it is very effective."

Finally noticing the armed sheriff and his armed deputy through his blurred vision, slipping in and out of focus, Artie croaked out, his voice rough and scratchy, "Whaa's happening here?"

His hand still resting in the 'Rattlesnake Grip' of his revolver, curious to hear about Sam Brown's solution, Jim asked. "So what's your solution, doctor?"

Dr. Brown sighed, visibly chagrined by his solution, "You will be alone, without medical help, because I will not be able to come with you, nor come to see you from time to time, because I am the only doctor in town, and I can't be absent. I am sorry…" He explained, "I proposed that you both be deported to Sand Island Lighthouse, until Mr. Gordon is alright, and until, if you get sick too, you are alright as well. Symptoms usually improve within four of five days. So you'll stay there for a whole week, just to be careful. Then we'll bring you back here and you can leave the town."

The sheriff nodded. "If you're still alive of course. If we find your bodies, we'll burn them there before scattering your ashes in the Atlantic Ocean."

Blinking, his mind fuzzy, Artie rasped, "And if we don't want to… end up on that island?" He had a reply when the two lawmen cocked the hammers of their Colts. He nodded. "No other choice… 'kay… I don't want to… to contaminate anyone. Neither does Jim."

Not enthusiastic at the idea but it was the only safe solution, Jim asked, "What about the keeper of the lighthouse? He's not going to be happy to have guests like us."

Sam Brown shook his head sadly. "Poor Alvin Burnett died two weeks ago, of old age. No one has taken the post yet. Several men are taking care of the lighthouse until the government appoints a replacement. But they won't go there for a week, now. You will do the job of warning ships approaching the hazardous shoals and reefs. Don't worry; it's going to be easy. The Sand Island Lighthouse is the first lighthouse in the US to use an electric light. It has a manual activation so you will have to climb to the top of the tower to turn it on and off. There's only one lever. There's a second one, in case there's bad weather, for the fog bell."

His teeth chattering, Artie mumbled, "I'm c-c-cold," crossing his arms over his chest before covering himself with the blanket.

Glancing at Artie, Jim said, "The last time I was in a lighthouse, I was prisoner there and Artemus too – it's a long story."

From beneath the blanket, Artemus added, "And hypnotized. Dr. Arcularis wanted me to kill you, and I almost did… But I didn't recall anything about it. You had to tell me the whole thing…" His vision tunneled, blackened and he passed out.

WWW

Much later

On the rock of the Sand Island Lighthouse

Keeper's house

Day 1

His eyes fluttering open, Artemus moaned and then pressed the warm palm of his hand against his clammy forehead. "Hot… so hot," he whispered.

He was looking up at the ceiling, covered with old, dusty spider-less spider webs dangling from the beams supporting the roof. "Jim?"

Entering the bedroom, a mug of coffee in his hand, Jim said, "I'm here, I was in the kitchen making coffee. Here's some for you." Sitting beside his best friend, on the edge of the small bed, he placed the steaming mug on the bedside table and then pulled the blankets up higher around his partner's shoulders. "How are you feeling buddy?"

Closing his reddened and bleary eyes, Artie grimaced in pain. His head hurt, his throat hurt, his chest hurt, his stomach hurt and his head hurt. "It hurts," He said. "I know and it's just the beginning… It's just the first phase of the yellow fever… worse's coming," he slurred. Opening his eyes again, he glanced around him and was surprised to discover that he wasn't in the hotel room anymore. "Want… to sit," he croaked.

Helping his best friend to a sitting position, Jim then piled two lumpy pillows up against Artemus's back for support. "Comfortable?"

Nodding, Artie let out a slow, tired, "Yessss it's okayyyy…" then he glanced around him, observing the small bedroom with curiosity.

It had thick yellowish stone walls and there were old, colorless rugs on the floorboards. A big fire was crackling in a fireplace beneath a solid oak mantel and a window with half-closed shutters let the daylight enter the room. He spotted a wardrobe placed on the back wall, a round cracked mirror hanging beside it, a chair and table in a corner on which was sitting a lit oil lamp. There was a second one, lit too, on the bedside table. Disoriented, he asked, "Where are we?"

Taking back the mug of hot coffee in his hand, Jim responded, "We're in the lighthouse keeper's house which is separated from the tower. We sailed from Mobile all night long and you spent that time sleeping soundly, or passed out, I don't know which. They kept us in the cargo hold until we arrived here, to be on the safe side." he placed the mug between Artemus's fingers. He continued, "There's everything we need here, I checked the kitchen." He frowned, upset. "But in the rush to send us away, they didn't bring our belongings with them; they left them at the hotel. They promised me they would take care of them and of our horses too." pointing a finger at the mug, he added, "It's not good coffee, I'm afraid. And it's hot, be careful."

Smiling weakly Artie rasped out, "Why am I not surprised?" He eyed the dark liquid in the mug dubiously, his nose wrinkling at the scent. He sniffed it, took a sip then grunted in disgust. "Gaah! I concur. It's awful!" He slowly lifted the thick beverage to his lips, took another sip and grimaced at the bitterness. "God, that's abominable! You know Jim coffee would be better with water. Think of it." He took another sip of molasses-like coffee. "I really need to be desperate for a drink to swallow this filth… " He brought the mug to his pale lips again and croaked out, "Gaah! This horrible stuff is going to kill me before the yellow fever can do it."

Paling on hearing that Jim said, "You're not going to die, Artie, I mean not before your time, in a long time, not before you're very old and you'll die in your bed, peacefully, in your sleep."

Drinking a new mouthful of awful coffee, Artie closed his eyes with fatigue. "I wish…" He reopened them, puffy and wet. "But there's little chance that I'll survive the yellow fever." He finally noticed that he was dressed only in his short, tight, black underwear – even half naked he was too hot.

Placing a comforting hand on Artie's arm Jim said, "Who are you? Where is the optimistic Artemus Gordon I know?"

Placing the now empty mug on his lap, Artie scoffed. "James my boy, I think you have us confused. You're the optimistic one, I'm the realistic one. There's a subtle difference."He was shaken by chills and let out a weary sigh. "I don't want to be burnt and my ashes scattered off the coast. After I'm dead, you must ask Colonel Richmond for a lead coffin so I can be quarantined on my way back to Washington. Then, I'll be buried in Arlington Cemetery, again, but for good this time."

Upset to hear that, Jim frowned. "You're not going to die from the yellow fever. Period," he growled. He calmed down and cringed. "But I'm afraid, you're going to hurt, badly… I forgot to pick up the painkillers in the hotel room before we were escorted from the hotel and then forced to board that sailboat at gunpoint. I'm really sorry, Artemus."

Blinking sleepily, Artie chuckled softly. "Don't be. Not your fault… was a hectic night. Okay… Then I'll be suffering in my bed… and there's not even a beautiful nurse here to take care of me… that's too bad."

Raising his hand, Jim replied, "I'm here. I'll be your nurse… but I'm not beautiful, and not curvy, and not blond, sorry."

Artie chuckled softly. "I know that, and let me tell you that if I have a preference for blondes, I like brunettes, sandy and red-haired nurses too. As for you, not 'being beautiful', well… Maybe you should ask the whole female population of the US… I bet all those women would have a different opinion on that…" Then he closed his eyes and fell fast asleep.

Gently, Jim pushed Artie's dark, curly hair away from his sweaty forehead and whispered, "You won't die, Artie. I forbid it." Then he shook the older man's shoulder, saw him open his eyes half-mast and said, "Don't fall asleep buddy, you need to eat something," and heard a half-suppressed curse. Smiling he took the empty mug resting on Artie's lap, from his best friend's limp hand. "Stay awake!"

He headed toward the door and entered the small sparsely furnished kitchen ten seconds later. The galley of the Wanderer looked like a well-equipped kitchen in comparison. But fortunately it was pretty well stocked with the basics (flour, rice, oatmeal, potatoes, canned meat…) kept in a cupboard and in a mini cold room filled with ice (butter, vegetables and fish), and on a shelf there were two bottles of red wine, one of bourbon and in a corner was sitting a barrel containing a few gallons of fresh drinking water.

Opening the right cupboard of the sideboard he pulled out a battered pan and said, "Okay, let's prepare some soup for Artie, without burning it, and the whole house with it," talking to himself.

WWW

Later

He came back to the bedroom a half an hour later holding a steaming bowl filled with vegetable soup where in which a table spoon was half immersed.

Once again he took his place on the bed side, next to his 'patient', then he shook Artie's shoulder. "I'm sorry to have to wake you buddy, but I brought you a bowl of soup."

Forcing his eyes open Artemus whimpered. "Lemme sleep…go 'way." He suddenly coughed violently into his balled fist, grimacing as his chest hurt.

Jim shook his head. "I can't. I'm your nurse, you have to follow my orders. I prepared a bowl of soup for you and you're going to eat it."

Half-smiling, Artie stiffened at attention and raised his hand to salute. "Yes, Sir." Then he collapsed back against the pillows and then he groaned when he inhaled the scent of the orangey soup and instantly regretted that his (crinkling) nose wasn't – temporarily – stuffy anymore. A wave of nausea started and he hiccupped. He gave the soup a disgusted glance then looked up at Jim blearily and shook his head. "Don't wanna," he said his voice croaky and he added, "Can't eat this… being sick."

Dipping the spoon into the thick liquid, Jim said, "You have to eat something if you want to be strong enough to fight that yellow fever.

Reluctantly, Artemus struggled into a sitting position then said, "You can't complain if I vomit all over you," he menaced.

Ignoring that menace, Jim lifted a spoonful of soup to his best friend's pale and cracked lips. "Okay, be a good boy and open your mouth. One for President Grant…"

Feeling offended Artie scowled. He took the soup-filled spoon and said, "I'm not a baby! I can eat soup all by myself." He ate the offered spoonful of soup, said, "not bad", then started to swallow small mouthfuls of the hot liquid. Then, he paused, and he pouted childishly, playfully. "Why is it not chicken soup? I'm so disappointed, I expected it as I'm sick."

His face serious, Jim replied, "Because there's no chicken on this island, some rabbits maybe… Do you like rabbit soup?"

He grinned. When Artie was joking, everything was fine, he thought.

Placing the still half-filled bowl of soup on his lap, Artemus said, "I can't eat any more soup… I'm full and I'm not sure to 'keep it' in my stomach…"

Taking the bowl back, Jim asked, "Try to keep it down, because you didn't eat a single thing since… well, I don't remember when."

Exhausted, his eyes drifting shut again, Artemus mumbled, "Not bad soup… very tired… sleep now… See ya." He curled into a small, shivering ball and drifted off to sleep within seconds, not hearing the thunder which growled in the distance.

Tbc.