F*** Cancer, This One Did Us All In.

31

  I don't want to talk about it. What happened next. While we were in the car. You don't need to know. Well, you would need to know if I want to continue telling this story. But - but - just promise me one thing.

  Promise me you won't judge me. I'm - oh god. I'm so sorry, Jacob.

×  × ×

  I waited for the shouts, telling me how incompetent I was, and how close to death I'd taken everybody in the bakkie. I waited to be told by the two people sitting in the front about how useless I was and what a huge mistake it was to bring me.

  But . . . nothing.

  No, instead there was a sickly silence in the front. Well, save for the breathing. The heavy, guttural breathing that was filled with wet pain and withheld frustration.

Jacob was the one breathing heavily, and I could see him leaning against his chair, his head resting as far back against it as possible. There was a thin film of sweat over his body and I could see something dark that stained his arm, something sticky . . .

Oh no. Don't react. Don't react. Don't react.
 
  "What happened?" I asked but - Don't speak out either you idiot!

  Pierre was as still as a statue, I would have thought he was one if not for the vehicle moving.

  "He's been bitten." Pierre said in answer to my question.

  I didn't know if my city, or South Africa was the only place to get the virus. I didn't know if the entire world was plagued with this disease and it was the end. However, looking at the bite mark on Jacob's arm my own personal world couldn't help but end. A deathly chill froze my veins and arteries, slowing down my heartbeat to a crawl as I  looked at the bite mark.
 
  It was less of a mark and more like a cavity. Like - can you do me a favour? Bite your arm. I don't care where you do it, just bite hard enough for you to see the imprints your teeth left. Do you see them? Now trace a line, connecting all of them, and imagine that entire oval of flesh is missing. No, not missing. Torn out. Ripped from your body.

  It looked painful, ragged strands of broken meat lined his bite cavity. Blood poured out in a constant, steady flow and Jacob had his hand pressed tight against it in his pitiful attempt to stem the flow.

  "Bitten?" I asked. " What do you mean?"

  "I mean he's going to become like those cannibal bastards, Theodore!" Pierre yelled. I had never heard him sound so serious.

  "Pierre." Jacob had a nice, deep voice that always resonated in my bones when he spoke, but at that moment it sounded weak and frail. "Pull over. Let me out."

  "Belay that." Pierre said. "I'm not letting you walk out of this car. I will drive us to the hospital as fast as I can and  -"

  "Stop. The car." Was all Jacob said. He didn't look back at me but I could feel his words slice through me like a hot knife through . . . um, water.

  It was my fault. It was my fault that Jacob got bit. Me and my stupid, stupid pride! I couldn't have let it go, could I? I couldn't have just run back to the bakkie, abandoning my gas canister but not getting anybody bitten. He was the one who got out of the car to save me. Even though I was dead weight.

  Useless.

  Exactly.

  The street we were driving on was relatively empty, and Pierre tried to use that as an excuse to not stop the car. But Jacob looked at him and with hardened words said, "If you do not stop this car I will jump out."