Chapter 3

Meanwhile in another part of the ship Tim was attempting, desperately, to remember the way to the library. He tried several doors at random before thankfully stumbling upon a vast room lined with bookshelves.

He went through closing the door behind him but had only gone a couple of paces before he was stopped dead by the sight of Bob looming out of the shadows.

"Hi soldier, you've got a problem?" he said, noting the distracted look in Tim's eyes.

Tim pressed on trying to ignore him. "Not today Bob, I haven't got time for your nonsense." He scanned the shelves searching for anything that appeared even remotely medical.

"Oh really, what are you looking for?"

"Look, don't try to sidetrack me; I'm trying to find a way to save my friend's life! He's been bitten by some bug and…"

Bob's eyes flashed with suspiciously keen interest as he cut him off, "What are his symptoms? Has he got terrible chills, ashen skin, blisters?"

Tim rounded on him angrily, "What do you know about this?!"

He gave an evil grin, "He has, oh good, someone's found my little pet."

Without warning Tim picked him up by the front of his khaki T-shirt and backed him hard against a bookcase.

"You did this?! If you are responsible for Richard's condition you are going to help me cure him! Give me the antidote!"

Bob just stared back into Tim's furious eyes and licked his lips excitedly; finally he had pushed the right button. Tim had only ever fought in self defence before; he'd never instigated these little games of theirs. He had meant for Tim to be the one laid up in agony but he liked this much better, if only he'd realised the key sooner.

"Antidote? Oh, there's no antidote. Even the entry wound itself won't stop bleeding unless you burn it."

"Damn you!" Tim yelled, thumping him against the shelving so forcefully he dislodged several books.

He shoved Bob away, "I don't believe you," he growled as he resumed his search, pulling out various promising looking books and dumping them on a nearby table.

"Don't you want me to tell you what I know?" taunted Bob getting to his feet. "About the fire that'll rage through his nerves even while he slowly freezes to death, about the convulsions and creeping paralysis, about how he's got maybe five more days left to live, a week at the outside."

"SHUT UP!" Tim turned round abruptly and punched him in the face sending him stumbling backwards, but he quickly steadied himself, blood streaming from his nose. He gave another mad grin, this was more like it. He lunged for Tim and soon the two were grappling, trading blows, knocking over tables and chairs and piles of books as they fought. However it wasn't long before Tim got the upper hand, consumed as he was with a true blind fury unlike anything he'd ever felt before. He caught Bob under the chin sending him sprawling on the floor, spitting blood.

Tim stood over him. He grabbed him up in a chokehold and squeezed. "I'm going to make you pay for this you sick, twisted, sadistic bastard!" he snarled in Bob's ear before stopping short; he saw no fear in Bob's eyes, just a perverted sadomasochistic glee. No! That was what Bob wanted, that was what this had all been about from the very beginning; to make Tim become just as murderous and bloodthirsty as him.

He left Bob to helplessly gasp for air a moment more before dropping him to the floor in disgust; there was no way he was going to give him that satisfaction. Tim gave his prone body one final kick and turned away.

Bob got painfully to his feet wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he knew when he was beat. He slunk away disappointed into the shadows, he had been so close. "I'm Bob and I'll be back."

Tim was still seething as he carried a huge armful of books back to Richard's room but felt the tension rapidly drain from his body and he couldn't help but smile at the ever so endearing sight that greeted him. Paul was curled up sleeping soundly next to Richard, his head pillowed on Rich's chest, rising and falling unevenly with his laboured breathing. He wished he had a camera to capture this cute tableau.

He deposited the books carelessly on the floor and reached out a hand to gently shake Paul's shoulder. It seemed almost a shame to wake him but they still had much work to do if they were to have any hope of saving Richard's life.

Paul woke with a start and toppled from the bed with a cry. "I was just sharing my body heat with him... a recognized treatment for hypothermia," he gabbled; wanting to get his explanations in early before Tim could tease him for finding them in bed together. Tim smirked at him but said nothing.

"Hey! What happened to you?!" Paul asked as he clocked the black eye and bruising marring Tim's usually perfect features.

"That's not important right now," Tim said as he picked a book at random off the pile and handed it to Paul. "We've got to find some way to help Richard."

Paul flicked through it uncertainly, unsure quite where to start.

"I don't know how relevant they are, I just took whatever I could find that looked even vaguely useful."

"Let's take them to the table, it'll be easier to read them out there," suggested Paul, though he noted that Tim looked even more hesitant to leave Richard's side than he had before, a look of horrified realisation in his eyes. "What is it? What did you find out?"

Tim didn't hear him; Bob's voice was echoing around his head as he gazed down at the sickly, ashen face of one of his closest friends. What if Bob was right and there was really nothing they could do to save him? Richard faced a long, drawn out death and they would have to watch as he was slowly taken away from them in agony.

He shook himself to dispel the appalling images arresting his mind. No, he refused to let Bob win; there had to be a cure and he didn't propose to stop until they found it. Even if Bob was right about how long Rich had left that still meant they had at least five days to come up with an antidote. Plenty of time.

Paul watched all this pass across Tim's face until his features settled into a mask of grim resolve that scared Paul more than any doom-laden prognosis ever could. It seemed that Richard was as good as dead but Tim wasn't going to let a little thing like that stop him from healing him.

He tentatively put a hand on Tim's arm, hoping to drive away the black clouds that hovered over him. "I said why don't we take the books into the living room? The light's better out there, we'll keep the door open so we can hear him if he needs us."

Tim started in surprise, as though he'd forgotten Paul was there. The words filtering slowly into his distracted mind he nodded, picking up the scattered books from the floor.

He put them on the dining table, opened one at random and tried to read but the words just danced in front of his eyes without making any sense. He furiously wiped his eyes and tried again, he couldn't let mere tiredness prevent him from doing what he could, Richard was counting on him whether he knew it or not.

Paul was starting to get almost as worried for Tim as he was for Richard.

"Look Tim, why don't you go and get some rest while I make a start on these books? You're not going to be any use to Richard if you exhaust yourself."

Tim opened his mouth to protest and was overtaken by a huge yawn.

"There you are you see, go and have a lie down, I've already had enough of a sleep for now, I'll be fine. I'll wake you if there's any change in his condition."

Very reluctantly, Tim admitted defeat and trudged off to his room although even as he went he was finding it increasingly hard to keep his eyes open. Maybe Paul was right.