XIX - Josh
The smell
was getting worse. The viscous fluid
was sloshing around his ankles and Josh was struggling to keep himself steady. Nausea was making him feel faint, his
extremities were tingling slightly and his legs were increasingly comparable to
jelly. The corridor seemed to sway
slightly from left to right as he moved, the walls swimming away from him as he
tried to find his balance. His joints
ached and he was starting to feel very cold.
It was like he was coming down with a severe case of the flu, but
falling to the floor and drowning alone in the darkness beneath the blood and
pus and disease – it didn’t bare thinking about, so he kept moving.
He
found the going easier if he made sure that one hand kept contact with the wall
the whole time, so he leaned slightly to his right and felt his way along,
hoping desperately that he would find another door, or window, or anything that
meant he could leave the corridor and find some fresh air and a place to lie
down in safety. Each step felt heavier
than the last. The fluid was thickening
around him and the corridor seemed to stretch on into an eternity of pustulent
darkness.
How
did I end up here?
The sound
of his own breathing was becoming alien, distant and hollow, like waves lapping
a far off shore,. He tried to focus his
mind on the events of the evening so far, but the heat in his head and the
chill in his body were becoming too distracting and it already seemed like
forever ago since he was speaking to Paige outside the apartments.
This is
stupid. I’m going to die in a
nightmare.
It was almost like a dream. He was finding it hard to distinguish
between internal and external reality and although he could trace the actions
that led to the present moment, even his argument with Henry felt like another
life. Reality was losing all meaning
whatsoever.
He stumbled, sending a wave of lumpy fluid splashing
against the wall, and quickly grabbed the concrete surface with both hands to
stop himself falling. He was
panting. He heard the echo of something
sloshing back into the blood. Burning
in the back of his throat. He retched.
Doubled over, heaving out the last remnants of a
meal eaten hours ago, he could feel his final reserves of energy flowing out
with it.
I think…
It was too hard to think.
I think I really am…
Too hard by far.
…going
to die.
He could hear voices.
There were lights.
Then he collapsed.
No comments:
Post a Comment