The Mindless Man's Paradise

Chapter Forty-eight

  Cyrus and I fell asleep, shortly after stashing our daggers into the upturn of padding in the corner of the floor.

  We were in a corner, cuddled up, using one another’s body heat to keep us warm since we had no blankets.

  It had to be either very late into the night, or very early in the morning, because Cyrus was sleeping soundly. A faint snore escaped his lips, and in his sleeping state, he seemed so peaceful; so… zen.

  I wanted to kiss his lips, which flat lined for once instead of their usual residual frown. But I stopped myself, taking in the beautiful soundtrack of his breathing, and didn’t want to wake him.

  After a while, I noticed that I was shaking violently. I realized that I was insanely cold, so I pulled Cyrus’s arm around me tighter, hoping to shroud the chilliness.

  As I shifted, my stomach heaved.

  Oh god, was I going to throw up?

  Yes, yes I was, I realized as I dashed to the opposite corner of the room, violently barfing everywhere.

  Cyrus began to stir, as I had begun to cough. Each cough felt like my throat was being ripped apart, each cough more aggressive than the first.

  Whatever illness I had been catching, it had come over me with suddenness like no other.

  I could taste the pestilence on my tongue, and knew immediately that this sickness would be unlike any I had ever encountered.

  The moment that I thought maybe I had stopped coughing, my body wracked with coughs once more, only interrupted by a brief episode of vomiting.

  I began to cry, unable to withstand such unbearable pain so quickly. My bones were starting to ache, and it hurt to stand. With each step I took, it felt like my joints were creaking under my weight, like they were merely paper. I shivered crazily again, and I felt my forehead, and found that it was burning. Not only that, but my face was wet with sweat and tears.

  I tried to quiet my ailments, trying not to wake Cyrus so that he wouldn’t have to see me in such a state, but suddenly, I heard him cough.

  It was a single, lonesome cough, but wasn’t that how it had started for me as well.

  As much as it pained me to do so, I made my way to Cyrus, placing the back of my hand to his forehead. Just as I had assumed, it was burning, yet his body was convulsing with the cold.

  At my touch, his eyes flitted open.

  “My body…” he said, his voice shaky and weak. “I think I’m sick…”

  “Me too.” I said wearily. “I’ve already designated the throw-up corner.” I pointed to the far corner.

  This made him smile faintly, and a similar smile played across my face as well.

  I sat down next to him again, in out sweaty, disgusting state, and looked him in his blue eyes, which seemed to be my only salvation.

  They seemed to be thinking exactly what I was thinking: HQ did this, too.

  I coughed into my elbow, trying not to spew Cyrus any more than I had to.

  When I pulled my elbow away, I was frightened to see blood spattered like paint against the canvas that was my arm.

  I wiped it on the wall, causing it to smear gruesomely.

  I groaned just from this movement, and knew that this was going to be the worst phase out of them all.