The smell of vomit lingered in my nostrils and spitting the acidic taste from my mouth helped only a little. My stomach felt hollow, twisted like it was trying to devour itself.
It was hot. Too hot to think.
I ran a shaky hand through my hair stifling another urge to heave.
It was getting worse.
Anguish ripped through my insides at the thought of what would happen, what I would do to the others when I changed into one of them. Thank God for David, even if he hates my guts. It'll be easier that way… I hope.
Speaking of depressing, the memory of S.T.A.R.S wormed its way into my head again. Like I need that. Might as well indulge it while I have the time.
They had the right idea when they passed me over again. I still kind of regretted not being able to apply myself to the team, but I probably would have done something stupid and got myself killed. Well too late for that I guess, but compared to this alternative, the memories stung a little more.
The automatic door behind me slid open and I wiped my mouth quickly. I didn't need any one else finding out. I don't think I would be strong enough if I had to tell some one else.
"How are you feeling, Kevin?"
George. I could hear the concern dripping from the doctors' words. Under normal circumstances it would have been nice to see him at work at a real hospital.
I let my posture relax and leaned against the railing.
"Just peachy." He knew. It didn't matter that I lied. I didn't bother to act in front of him, he already knew that I was infected; I just hope he didn't think less of me with puke drying on my shoes.
He crossed the mesh walkway and his transformation from survivor to doctor was so subtle that I missed it. His hand was cool against my forehead and he studied my eyes in the dim light.
"It's slowed drastically, but it's still progressing. I'm sorry I can't do more-"
"Don't worry about it, Doc. The pills are working and they're better than nothing." Fake smile, friendly pat on the shoulder.
'Stay flippant', I told myself. 'He'll expect it.' Truthfully I felt like adding to the mess on my shoes.
George's smile was sad but I could tell he bought it. I hoped he thought, 'That's Kevin… just being Kevin.' God I hoped that was what he was thinking. I couldn't stand pity.
He slid a small metal case from his inside pocket and opened it, displaying the collection of medicinal herbs we found around this god forsaken facility. No matter how much I told him to keep it for the others, he still managed to produce a small handful of anti-viral pills for me. They weren't 'anti' per se, more like 'denying the inevitable' pills. They didn't kill the virus, nothing would, but it did stop their growth for a short while.
But it was better than nothing. Secretly I felt I was living off of those little white pills. He was like my personal drug dealer and yes, I knew the irony of that statement. Cop dependant on meds, that was good for a laugh. It'd make me laugh so hard that I'd puke... oh yeah, I did that already. Sarcasm. Sorry.
I watch as he pushes the crushed herbs around, compressing the loose powder into small capsules and setting them to the side. He ran out after making only three.
"I'm sorry there's not more but…" He never finished his sentence, but I could see the guilt in his eyes. He gathered them and dropped them into my hand.
"It's alright." I had something to confess anyway. "I've only been taking them when I feel it creepin' up on me anyway." Before he could intercede, and I knew he was going to, I continued, "And I know you told me to take them every half-hour, but they need to last."
The unspoken 'if I'm going to make it out of here.' impulse died somewhere between my brain and my mouth, but I didn't believe in it any way. George did, but I guess I didn't have the energy for hope.
"We should get back, the others are waiting." The doctors' case closed with a muted click and disappeared into his jacket.
I didn't object but I didn't feel like going just yet. I folded my arms across my chest, using the motion to hide the chills racing up my arms. My eyes focused on the automated door; behind it I could imagine the 6 other survivors reloading, talking, resting.
"Go on ahead, I'll be right in." That fake smile of mine was easy to plaster on, easy to cover the rot that I felt eating away at my body. "Just want to get a smoke. I'll be in right behind you."
He nodded once and I watched his eyes search over my face before he turned and walked away. Busted… Oh well.
"We'll be moving soon. Stay close, Kevin."
I mocked saluted and gave him my best 'yes sir!' as the door slid open. He smiled, but only for my sake rather than for some bad joke. Damn. That bastard could make a Saint feel guilty.
I let a few seconds pass before I glance at the pills in my hand. The tiny little white capsules looked insignificant. I wonder if these things are really worth the effort?
The bathrooms were just down the hall, ladies first, then men's. I guess it didn't matter which I used; zombies didn't care about privacy and that's all that was left around here anyway.
Men's room. Mental shrug. Force of habit.
My reflection looked like hell, or maybe more accurately like hell warmed over. My eyes were blood shot and rimmed with red, it made a pleasant contrast to the dark circles under my eyes. Skin was pale and sweaty, dirt smudged against my cheek. Don't remember any thing touching me though, must have done that myself.
Every other part of me has got something on it. Whether it's blood from zombies or dirt from climbing through vents, my uniform was covered in it. It's not like I'm the cleanest thing here. Hell, I haven't had the time to shave.
The faucet squeaked when I turned it on, some part of my brain found that funny. Umbrella the huge conglomerate-owns-the-market-on-bio-weapons-and-half-the-world, still has squeaky pipes. Heh, they should have called in David…
The gloves were off, tossed to the side of the basin, for the first time in hours. I still felt squeamish about touching anything with out them on. Infected or not I didn't want any more shit on me.
After splashing some cold water on my face (really lukewarm at best) I pulled out one of the pills. A handful of water and it was down, maybe not permanently, but still, I wouldn't have to lie to George when he asks me if I took one.
Damn. I wished I hadn't said anything about a cigarette… I could really go for one… and entertaining thoughts of ransacking moldering corpses for a pack was not something a healthy mind would think of.
I look into the mirror again, watching myself.
I don't know what I'm looking for, maybe hope or determination… but I don't see either. Maybe in these circumstances it worked like a mirror… The survivors' hopes and dreams of escaping this hellhole was their imagination playing tricks on them. They could only see their own emotions reflecting from the empty eyes of their fellow survivors.
I used the mirror to strengthen my resolve. I looked like hell and I was only going to get worse. I used that thought to push down the pain and despair threatening to spill over the edges. My resolve was to get these people out of here. This is what keeps me going. Even if I have to sacrifice myself, they were going to live.
So what if I wasn't going to make it out of here? There were seven other people who were looking up to me to get them out of here. I am not a failure. I will get them out of here. Fuck that 'even if it kills me' shit. It will kill me. And if I get the chance, I'll do it myself. I'm dead anyway.
As if to mock me, pain from my gut drops me to my knees, it wants me to curl up on the floor and embrace the darkness tinting the corners of my vision. 'Well fuck you,' I say, 'you can kiss my ass.'
One thing that's worked in my favor, well most times, is my stubbornness and I hope it won't fail me now. My bare hand hits the floor and somewhere in my mind is a moan of disgust as I use it to push myself up.
Nausea follows me and I might not be able to stand straight but I'm standing, even with the world spinning around me. Almost like riding a Ferris wheel, only ten times faster. The Ferris Wheel from Hell.
The urge to vomit is met with an equal need to vomit, even though I'm sure there's nothing left in my stomach.
Imagine my surprise when something comes up anyway.
Thick wet sounds of fluid spilling on the ground echo off the stalls around me. To hell with standing, I didn't pay for the ride anyway. Besides I figure when a person can puke blood and still be alive, they can do whatever the hell they want. I gagged, coughed and vomited again, coating the floor beneath me in crimson.
Damn! I felt the world grow dark and distant. This was one hell of a place to pass out…
A/N: Reviews? Please? The next chapter will be done soon, hopefully in the next week. But y'know the more reviews I get the faster I'll post them... smiles wickedly