In which the infection is suddenly a far more personal issue.
"Damn, my throat is dry as dust," Ellis moaned, rubbing at his neck with a pained grimace. Nick ignored him initially, but shot him a suspicious glance when the kid started coughing. It was a dry, ragged hacking sound that made the conman cringe a little to imagine how it must be hurting the boy. Thankfully, it seemed a far cry different from the wet murky sounds that usually signaled Green Flu. Nick didn't even want to entertain a notion like that, especially after what happened with Coach. He shook his head to knock that thought out of the way and crouched to dig through his backpack, carefully keeping his gaze away from Rochelle. The woman was hunched in the same corner she had been all of last night and all of the day, curled in on herself and staring dead ahead with haunted eyes.
Poor girl had been practically catatonic since Coach had turned the previous night.
The two had been on watch together when it happened; Nick and Ellis had woken to her screaming hysterically and desperately shoving back the zombie she couldn't bring herself to kill. Nick had taken him out without batting an eyelid and dragged the body outside. After that Rochelle had shut down almost completely, despite Ellis doing his best to coax her into drinking, eating, speaking - but she wouldn't so much as move. Nick was seriously considering leaving her behind if she wasn't back on her feet pretty soon. Ellis had pleaded with him to wait til the next day, see if she got any better, but the conman wasn't holding his breath.