Disclaimer: Jericho is not mine.
It is early when she wakes. Her definition of early has changed drastically in the months since the bombs went off, but it is early even by her new definition when she becomes conscious. She had intended to be up extra early - the Mayor . . . Mr. Green (she has nearly as much trouble remembering that as Dale does) had said that they should leave as close to dawn as possible in order to take the route as safely as possible. She has no intention of being the reason that they are late to leave. She knows that Jake is less than pleased with her inclusion on this trip, and she is not about to give him any more reasons to object or resent her going.
She is solidly certain of the necessity of her inclusion. She is not about to let a man with a wife and kids to worry over make the trip when she can do it without anyone sitting around all day worrying over her safety. Besides, Mr. Carmichael has other work responsibilities in the course of the day, and her class has been suspended for the rest of the winter. There are just too many things that the children's families need them to do at home, and they don't have any way to heat the school even if they did try to continue holding sessions.
This trip isn't just for the town either. She wants to do something. This is something that she can do (although she finds it hard to believe that there is no one else in town who has ever done any hobby looking into these sorts of things). She feels like she is spinning her wheels in a lot of ways, but this is something concrete. She has never been good at sitting still. Her hands need an occupation, and she can only take apart pieces of Charlotte and put them back together again so many times before it has ceased to be anything she can even convince herself might be a constructive activity.
Her first thought when she registers that she is awake is that maybe she woke so suddenly because she is late. She realizes an instant later that it is still so pitch black that she cannot even read the little wind up travel alarm clock that is ticking away beside her bed. Then, she realizes that she is awake because her stomach hurts - badly. She is throwing herself in the general direction of her trash can about three seconds later. Her hands barely make contact with the outside edges to guide her head forward before she is retching. It is unpleasant (as throwing up always is), and she suffers in silence for several rounds of retching and gasping moments of attempting to catch her breath before she rocks back on her heels.
She cannot be sick today. She can't. She has to make this trip. She was so insistent and pushy about it that there is no way that she can back out (she is still desperate to go). Nothing has changed. She needs to go for all of the reasons that she voiced (and all of the ones that she kept to herself). She tells herself that she's not really sick. She tells herself that it must have been something that she had eaten (all of their diets are a little bit questionable these days). That reassurance to self only lasts as long as it takes for the next wave to hit her. She switches her hopes to concentrating on willing whatever virus she has picked up to move through her system quickly. It doesn't work.
She doesn't think that she has ever missed her phone more than she does as she stops on the side of the road as yet another wave of nausea brings her to her knees. She is just happy that she had the presence of mind to haul the mini trash can with her on her trip. She is sure that she looks completely ridiculous, but she is nothing if not practical. Hauling the trash can is gross, but it is better than having to explain to someone why she is throwing up in their yard. She isn't getting better. It's hitting her every half hour like clockwork, and all of her hopes of being able to pretend that she is fine and make the car trip anyway have been shattered. She wants to cry, and it is only slightly because of how awful the constant throwing up and only partial recovery periods are making her feel. She feels useless in a way that seems insurmountable in her current weakened state. She wants to help. She needs to help. She needs something to change in the only functioning one day at a time place that they have all been dropped into (she needs a break from the pitying glances from the gaggle of older women in the town who hush quickly when she approaches and whisper the words "Bailey's" and "dancing" and "kiss" after she has continued on her way). She needs this trip. She isn't going to get it and that just makes her feel worse.
She thinks that she might be running a fever, but she isn't sure whether the headache is from that or because of the pressure of trying to keep the tears inside. She is only aware enough to keep walking and to be happy that it is so early and so dark that there is no one around to notice her stumbling progress. She misses her phone and the ability to call in sick as it were, but there is a part of her that thinks it is better that she has to do this in person. There is a part of her that feels like she needs them to see (needs him to see) that she isn't making up an excuse because of the potential awkwardness (that is still there no matter what she had said in that conversation beside the car) or that she has gotten scared and is trying to get out of going. She needs him to know that she really does have a reason. She isn't even sure why; she just knows that she feels so miserable and out of it that she isn't going to try to think too hard about anything. She's going on impulse, so she is going to Jake to explain that she isn't coming and to get rid of the weight of the books and notebooks in the backpack that she is wearing in a final attempt to help.
She doesn't make it beyond the edge of the yard before the front door is opening and Jake is asking her something that she was too focused on walking to catch. She finds her mind flickering through some random thoughts about whether or not the man ever sleeps and why his eyes always look so dark. Then, there is a rushing sound in her ears as she tries (and fails) to focus on what it is that he is saying. She feels lightheaded and has the strangest compulsion to giggle at the thought that this is not the type of lightheaded that she usually associates with Jake. She thinks she says something about books in the backpack as she sets down her trash can and tries to shrug the straps off of her shoulders because she wants to make sure that he knows that he is supposed to take the notes and diagrams that she brought. She feels really strange though, and she isn't sure which words make it out and which do not. She feels like she is falling, and her last partially coherent thought is that she is happy that she isn't throwing up again.