30 Days of Undead Summer

#20000FeetThursday

Daryl was a nervous flier.

He hated the entire flying experience - the crowded parking garages where his car would be sitting unattended for days, the stressful airport security, the uncomfortable terminal chairs, the crowded and stuffy airplanes...

So, all in all, Daryl would have much rather driven.

That wasn't really an option, however, when he had to be at his cousin's wedding in a day and she lived across the United States.

Daryl settled himself into his window seat, sighing deeply. He had already taken some medication to make him fall asleep, but the desired effects weren't kicking in yet. He was still awake and still very, very nervous.

A thin, wiry man sat himself next to Daryl. He looked pale and sickly, and was even sweating. He was trembling slightly.

Daryl hated to be judgmental, but this man looked exactly like every drug stereotype he had ever seen. Hoping to erase his unfair mentality, he tried on a friendly tone (as much of one as he could muster given the circumstances) and asked, "You a nervous flier, too?"

The man glanced over at Daryl. The latter couldn't help flinching away slightly. He looked even worse when faced directly. His eyes were bugging out slightly with his obvious pain or fear. Is he about to throw up? Daryl wondered suddenly.

"Hey, you okay?" he asked uncertainly.

The man took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and nodded, seeming to relax slightly. Daryl sighed in relief. His nerves weren't completely calmed, however, and he continued to hold onto his armrests with a death grip, inhaling sharply when the plane lifted off. Finally, however, they were smoothly soaring through the sky.

Determined to distract himself until his medicine kicked in, Daryl pulled out his laptop and began typing up a report for work.

The man sitting next to him had grown more and more labored in his breathing. It was worrying, but Daryl had already steeled himself for the possibility that the man's stomach might have a nervous reaction to flying. He only hoped that the man would have the good sense to grab an airsickness bag first.

Suddenly, the man turned to Daryl, starting to twitch violently. Daryl stared at him in shock. He hadn't thought it possible, but the man had grown paler, so that he had a tint of green to his complexion.

"A dog bit me," he told Daryl in words that the latter could barely hear. He still wondered if he had heard wrong until the man repeated himself.

"A dog bit me right before I left to drive here. It was that damn dog, I'm sure of it - musta had rabies or something - " The man broke off into muttering so quiet that Daryl couldn't understand him.

"Sir?" he asked nervously. Was he sitting next to a lunatic? Should he alert the approaching stewardess?

The man turned pain-filled eyes on Daryl. "I'm so sorry," he choked out, and then he unbuckled his seatbelt, snarled, and lunged at Daryl's throat.