Dylan shrieked. “Mick! You asshole!”
“Bye!” Mick wiggled a wave and kept moving.
“Shit.” Dylan slipped trying to get out of the pool. “Sam, don’t look at that—”
“Holy fuck,” Sam said, his eyes widening as he unrolled the paper.
“Picture.” Dylan dropped into the pool in defeat. “I’m killing him.”
A chuckle, a shake of his head, then a relief-filled ‘whew’ came from Sam. “And here I thought it was Mick.”
Frustrated, Dylan sunk into the few inches of water.
Anchorage, Alaska
The loud sneeze that carried from the living room took Isabella’s attention away from the sandwiches she prepared. “Bill?” She snickered as she grabbed a towel to wipe her mayonnaise-laced fingertips. “What the heck was…” Her eyes widened when Bill did it again.
Thunderous, almost belly ripping, the sneeze reverberated up through his chest and sloppily exploded from his mouth.
Snickering again, Isabella, Bill’s girlfriend of three years, walked into the living room. “Fall allergies acting up already?”
He sat on the floor hooking up the camera to the television and he looked up. He rubbed under his nose with the back of his hand. “Yeah. Either that or the change of temperature has taken its toll.”
“Nah, it’s almost September. You get this way every September.”
“I suppose,” Bill sniffed. “Don’t feel real clogged. But heavy, you know, like I’ll be feeling the effect tonight.”
“I have some cold medication.” She pointed back toward the bathroom with her thumb.
“Green liquid?” Bill asked.
“Pills.”
“I prefer the green…” Bill paused to release the sneeze that shook his whole body off balance. “Whoa.”
Isabella chuckled again. “Bless you.”
“Thanks.” He sniffed and rubbed his nose. “Maybe I will take those cold pills. I’ll grab some of that green stuff for tonight. I wasted so much time lost in the damn Eskimo wilderness with Trevor that I’m back on a story tomorrow.” After finishing the hook-up, Bill started to stand as he sneezed again. “Holy Jesus.” He gave his head a quick shake.
Reaching out, Isabella laid her hand on the side of Bill’s face. “You’re a little warm.”
Bill took her hand, kissed it and smiled. “But I feel fine. And hungry… I’m hungry. So how about those sandwiches and we’ll kick back and watch my footage.”
“Sounds good.” After placing a kiss on his cheek, Isabella started to walk away.
“Could you grab me an ice tea if you—” Bill’s head flung forward with another violent sneeze. “Goddamn it!”
A slight chuckle came from Isabella as she walked to the kitchen. She’d get the ice tea for Bill, but she was also getting those cold pills. Even though it amused her at first, she knew it wouldn’t be long before that sneezing started working on her nerves.
Los Angeles, CA
His words were sluggish and a little slurred when Trevor spoke after splashing his face with cold water in the men’s washroom. “Happy fuckin’ birthday to me.” He grabbed a towel and dried his face. “Fuck.” He looked at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were dark, his face pale. He looked as bad as he felt.
He tried to take a deep breath, but the passage of air didn’t seem to make it past mid-chest before a deep cough occurred. It struggled, hard and thick, as if a barrier reef existed in his bronchial tube and Trevor had to break through. The only thing was, the sledgehammer he used was his cough, and Trevor wasn’t quite in control of that cough.
It caused a sharp dagger of pain at the base of his neck down through the left side of his chest. His face flushed, heating the overly clogged sinus passages and causing them to drain down the back of his throat, choking him. He coughed over and over, out of control. His body shook, his diaphragm fighting and pushing. After what seemed to be a minute of unproductive struggling, Trevor felt a little crack occur, a break through the thick obstacle in his chest. With another cough, the cracking increased and the violent cough ended when the barricade shot from his chest like a rocket, up his throat and into his mouth.
Trevor wanted to gag when the slimy thickness of it hit his tongue and he tasted the chlorine flavor. Instinctively he spit into the sink. He wouldn’t have bothered to look at it had he not noticed how heavy it landed against the porcelain basin. Turning on the faucet, he looked at the phlegm, so thick that it didn’t even budge in the force of the water that beat against it trying to wash it down the drain. It clung there like glue for the longest time, dark eerie green with a tinge of brown.
Trevor was concerned more with getting rid of the unsightly mucus than the odd appearance of it. Feeling victorious, he watched it thin out enough to swirl around before disappearing.
Mission accomplished.
Down in the washroom, Trevor grabbed his thick folder of material and left. The editor had waited long enough. As he walked across the newsroom, he knew that he had to get out of there. Each step through the warm room caused the tickle to start again in his throat, and he fought diligently not to be a hacking fool when he walked into his boss’ office. He wanted to breeze in and shoot out unnoticed.
“Just…” Trevor let out a slight cough, “wanted to drop this off. I… I have to go.” He turned to leave.
Greg Benson looked up from behind his desk. “Whoa, wait. You can’t talk about this?” he called out.
Trevor turned back around. “I’d rather not. Can we do it tomorrow?”
“Holy shit. Look at you,” Greg commented. “Um, yeah, sure.”
“Thanks. I just want to go home and go to bed,” Trevor said. “I feel like shit.”
“You look it.”
“Thanks.” Trevor moved back to the door.
“Get better. You don’t look well. I hope it’s nothing serious,” Greg stated.
“Nah.” Trevor shook his head before leaving. “Probably just… the flu.”
Deadhorse, Alaska
Eruptile. A new word and it rightfully earned its place and definition in Webster’s Dictionary when Liza Burke invented it. She didn’t mean to, but no other word could describe the action of the massive amount of vomit when it spewed forth from her mouth. It happened without hesitation the split second she flew out of the small hut. Involuntarily and violently, the regurgitation powered forth as soon as she ripped the protective hood from her face.
The loud splash caught Paul’s attention and he spun to see Liza slightly bent over her puddle, long strands of her stomach contents dangling from her mouth.
“Son of a bitch.” Paul snapped with a point at Liza. “Quarantine her!” He shook his head in deep disgust, not from the sight of the mess, but from Liza’s behavior. She was a trained professional. He marched to the hut to see what had caused her reaction.
Paul stepped inside. He wouldn’t give a repeat performance of Liza’s actions, but the sight made his stomach turn. Moving away, he took in a deep breath of the oxygen that fed into his suit. He expected to see virus victims, but what he saw in that hut was not what he expected.
The children of the village must have been gathered together, kept away from the adults for some obscure reason. Their dead caretaker was in there as well. But the unsecured hut was not only a final resting place for the young, it was an open dinner plate for the animals left to fend for and feed themselves.