#31

A Concrete Burial

The sound of my growling stomach awakens me, reminding me that I nor Danielle ate anything last night. A sudden itch appears in my throat, and I heave up a cough, covering my mouth with my elbow. A searing pain overwhelms me, and I feel as though I've inhaled bleach or some other cleaner. A raspy cough comes from the bunk next to mine, and I stand up to go kneel in front of it. Danielle's face is pale, and her eyes open. She looks miserable.
"Hey," I say as I feel her forehead. Immediately it heats my hand. "You're burning up." A look of concern flashes across my face; I don't know what to do. Tears roll down her face. "I don't feel good," she attempts, getting out a few scratchy words. "Don't talk." I go to pull the blanket off of her, when I'm overcome with an awful realization as it peels apart from her cold, wet pants, that are still covered in the ash paste. I had let her go to sleep like that. I couldn't take care of her for one day without getting her sick! "Let's get you out of these wet clothes." I try not to sound worried so I don't alarm her. I attempt to help her sit up, but she whines pitifully as I do.
My eyes sting as I try to fight back tears. I unzip her coat and slowly pull it off of her. Her neck and hands are bright red, and there are small red dots along her hairline. The ash. What little control I had over my emotions has fleeted, and my cheeks become riverbeds to salty tears. She coughs even more, apparently not noticing my pathetic state. As the coughing worsens, small whimpers begin to accompany them. Obviously she's in pain, but I don't understand why! The rash on her skin can't be bad enough to leave this kind of an effect.
I pull her damp pants off of her and cover her legs back up with the blanket, rubbing them. They're ice. The coughing continues, and I rush over to the stack of boxes against the wall. I begin to tear them down, in search for some sort of fluid, until finally I reach one filled with bottled water. Taking one in my hand, I rush back over to her bunk and see she has lain back down. Her eyes are only open slightly, and I uncap the water, bringing it to her mouth. She turns her head away, sobbing and coughing all the more. "Mouth.. Hurts," she sputters.
What? Why would her mouth hurt? She hadn't eaten the ash, had she? More tears stream my face. I don't understand. She raises a hand to her mouth, putting her thumb to her lips, before wincing and allowing it drop back to her side. Her thumb. She had touched the ash and sucked her thumb. All of this, it was because of the ash. It's radiation poisoning. My silent tears evolve into loud sobs, and I hold her head still as she silently cries. Her eyes are clenched shut from pain, and her fever has somehow worsened.
I burrow my face into the bed, allowing it to muffle my cries and absorb my tears. I stay still for what feels like years, until finally I raise my head to look at her. She lies still, her eyes closed and skin the color of milk. I feel her forehead once more and notice the fever has broken. A corner of my mouth turns, almost smiling. I place my hands on her shoulders and shake her gingerly. She doesn't move. My lips droop again, and a grim realization fills my body.
I lift her arm from the bed and feel her wrist, placing two fingers against her vein. My heart drops into my stomach and my body goes limp. I fall against the cold, concrete floor. Tears begin to pour from my eyes and I gasp for breath. No. Why? Why her? Why did this have to happen to her? My head falls against the floor and a puddle begins to form under it. I don't want to move. I can't move. Minutes pass by, and then hours. Finally, I pick up my head. What have I done? What awful thing have I done to deserve this? I pull myself to my knees and stare blankly at the floor. I can't stay here. Not like this. Not like this...