𝒑𝒆𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒓 ᖭི༏ᖫྀ 𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚖𝚜

chapter three: the immovable object

[III]

IT STARED AT ME.

Fuck, Fuck, Fuck. Come on Amelia, you can do this.

But it stared at me, two rows of teeth marks on my shin that resembled both a grin and a frown in its halves.

I clutched the axe. I felt like myself; I didn't feel crazy or like mushrooms were growing out of my brain, so I figured there was still time.

There's still a chance for you. What the fuck are you waiting for?

But even at the precipice of death, it's pretty hard to stick an axe into your leg.

I had managed to find it, luckily, wedged in the rotted, and thankfully unconscious, corpse of a runner. I made sure to wash it over three times in a stream within the forest, the best I could anyways. It was stuck in its head fairly tight, tight enough apparently for its previous owner to leave it behind. But it had so graciously provided me with a solution to my impending doom, that I couldn't not take it. I seemed elated at the time, but now I sat, looking between the axe and the bite mark, wishing to be anyone else in the world.

It would have to be a clean chop, a swing with all my might; I doubt I would be able to withstand multiple hits. This would be a lot easier if I wasn't the one who had to do it.

Fuck you, Abby. And all you Salt Lake Crew trash. Leaving me there like some kind of used toy.

I raised the axe above my leg, closed my eyes, and sucked my breath in, ready for it to fall down. But I couldn't.

Was I a coward? I had this opportunity for life again which was dwindling every second the blade wasn't cutting through the wound, but my arms just couldn't inflict that kind of pain upon myself, even to save my life. How ironic.

I collapsed against a tree, letting the axe fall through my hands, and cried. I cried for the life I had lost, for the coward I was, for the fear of the axe and the bite, the betrayal of my feelings and the sheer and utter loneliness I felt. I cried and cried until my exhaustion could no longer sustain my sobbing, and the wrecked sobbing gradually drifted into sleep. Somehow I had decided that if the disease was going to take me, it might as well do it while I was asleep. When I woke up, maybe I'd be a whole new person. I was so frightened, but so fatigued, and the latter won on this occasion.

When I awoke, the first thing I felt was the sun. It felt warm on my face. The sort of midday warm that you can feel over your whole body, even under the canopy. I smelt sweet sap, and most of the snow from the day before last had now melted into muddy, lukewarm puddles. I missed the rain of Washington.

I looked down at my hands, half expecting a mushroom to be growing out of one. But they looked decidedly...normal. I felt my face, then my head. Nothing. I finally checked the bite, knowing if anything would look bad by now, it would be that. But it was scabbing over. I couldn't believe my eyes. I half expected this to be some simulation designed by the Cordyceps fungus to keep me in a lulled state of being. But I, in my infinite wisdom, decided this was in fact real after pinching myself and grumbling when it did in fact hurt.

So the bite mark had scabbed over. I felt sane, albeit a little vengeful, and no strange protrusions or discolouring could be found on my skin.

Maybe this was a gift from some higher being or deity. I couldn't believe my luck with the axe, but this was a whole new level of biblical.

If it had been almost two days...and I didn't even have a cough...I could very well be...

I didn't even want to say the word in my head. The idea was too unfathomable, too unutterable, but as the day continued and I stared at the beautiful, wonderful scab on my shin, I could reach no other conclusion.