Dog Days: Book One

20

Steam billowed behind the glass door of the shower. The sound of running water hitting the floor filled the guest bathroom. Damp heat washed over towards Arryn, settling on her skin in droplets.

After a quick bite to eat, her father introduced a few other people he had picked up along the way. Her doctor from childhood, Dr. Martin, had taken all she could from her clinic and hit the road. Arryn's father found her walking on the side of the road after she totaled her car. Daniel Wiggins, an old family friend, had shown up at the house before her father left, wanting to keep him company. His wife, Ellen, had fallen victim to the rabids.

After introductions were finished, her father gave her friends a tour of the residence. Deciding she desperately needed to rinse off, she excused herself and headed towards the guest bathroom.

She removed her shirt and tossed the soaked garment on the floor. Her eyes shifted towards her reflection in the mirror. Fog crept inward from the edges of the glass. Reflected in the glass was someone she hardly recognized anymore. Mud and grime stained her pale skin. Yellowish bruises surrounded her nose, cheek, and arm. She found it hard to believe the deer incident and Lincoln's turning had merely happened days ago. It seemed like ages had passed since the start of everything.

On top her head lay a tangled red mess. Dried, caked on mud left her hair hard and matted onto her scalp.

This should be fun, she thought, reaching her fingers up to meet the crusted hair. A stinging pain cried from her arm. Her eyes quickly trailed down her skin, resting on the blackened patch of flesh.

Her heart plummeted.

No. I can't turn. Dad. He can't lose me. No, no, no. Tears welled up in her eyes as she shook her head.

She lowered her shaking hand towards the wound. A grimace passed her lips as she brushed the tender skin. The feeling in her fingers faded. Her chest heaved as numbness crept up her arm. The world around her spun. She moved her hand out towards the sink to support herself, but she missed the sink and collapsed hard on the tiled floor. Nausea overtook her as the brief meal she ate churned in her stomach before rushing up. The foul aftertaste lingered on her tongue.

Weakness washed over her and she found it difficult to keep her eyes open. She must have lost the battle. The last thing she remembered hearing was a knock on the door.