Page 65 of The Last Man on Earth
There it is again.
It’s water trickling.
My heart thumps so hard, I start coughing. Then I start jogging, or trying to. My legs ain’t workin’ right, but I press on. I trip. Catch myself. Keep going. The sound gets louder until I break through a patch of brush.
And there it is.
A stream.
Clear and running.
I fall to my knees in the mud and scoop a handful up before I can think. It’s cold and perfect and I can’t stop. I drink until my stomach cramps, then I pull out the empty water bottles from my backpack. One by one, I fill them, my hands shaking the whole time.
After all the caps are screwed on tight, I sit there for a minute, dizzy with relief. My energy is recharging like God just plugged me back in.
When I finally stand, I’m a little shaky still, but it’s faster going back than it was coming.
My stomach cramps harder, twisting and turning so much, I stumble again. Fuck. I guess I drank too fast.
Maybe.
Unless…
Yeah, I don’t know.
Somethin’ ain’t right.
I pass the shirt scraps. I’m moving faster now, because I have a feeling I know what’s coming. Sweat’s pouring down my face and back. Hands shaking. Stomach twisting itself inside out.
By the time I see the outline of the shelter through the trees, my whole body is shaking.
“Ari,” I try to call out, but it comes out cracked, like her name broke in half on its way out of my mouth.
I step into the clearing, sunlight illuminating my path. She’s there, lying in the shade, arm draped over her eyes.
“I got it,” I manage to say. “I got…water…”
Before I can take another step, my stomach flips and all the water I drank surges up my throat. I barely have time to bend over before it all comes shooting out.
I drop to my knees, gasping, head spinning as the world tilts again, and this time, I can’t tell which way is up.
Chapter 30
Ari
My body feels tooheavy. My bones are full of sand. My brain, too cloudy. I could be dying, I don’t know. But when I hear Vincent retching, the sound yanks me upright. My body doesn’t care that its weak once my brain realizes he’s in trouble.
He’s hunched over near the fire pit, gasping and sweating, his brown face somehow pale and ashen. I crawl out of the shelter and approach him, scared of what I’ll find.
I manage to peel his backpack off of him just before he vomits again. After, he tries to speak, but ends up shaking his head.
“What?” I ask.
“Don’t…don’t drink…” he trails off, vomiting a third time.
“Vincent,” I say, but it comes out like a whisper. He shakes his head and waves me off, his mouth open like he wants to speak. But all that comes out is a low groan. I hear his stomach as he stumbles away, rumbling like it’s full of rocks. I watch as he crawls slowly through the brush, desperate to make it…somewhere.
I follow, just barely making it to the tree line before I see him collapse onto the sand, flat on his back, his chest rising and falling way faster than it should.
