No Dogs Allowed

Hellish Blood Makes Scarlet Fever

"You can't," I pleaded. Mercy would kill me if I ever went on a record that wasn't her own doing. I'd be announcing my status to an open line, a footprint on a path littered with bones. Mercy wouldn't have my head. She'd take me apart from the toe up until I was nothing but dust. In a last ditch effort, I rasped, "The files. They'll find me."

Ramos blinked. She opened her mouth, closed it, tried to see the meaning of that in my eyes. When she found something she seemed alarmed by, she pursed her lips. "All right," she whispered. "All right, I won't. Then stay still."

I thought I was. But the snake in my bones rattled and slithered, shaking my body against my will. I bit the inside of my cheek, but I bit into torn flesh. I hissed.

"Hey, hey, here." Ramos placed something past my lips, then something cold after. "Drink. Go slow."

I tried. The burn was immediate. I coughed, gagged on the acrid taste of water. I doubled over, but the wounds were too fierce, and I gasped, clawing at the cotton covering me as pain ricocheted through my body. Hands grabbed me but it only made the sensation worse, and I mustered enough strength to swat them away, only to succeed in sending fire down my arm.

"Breathe, Echo, you have to breathe," Ramos hurried. "It's all right. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's okay."

Nothing was a crueler lie than that.

It felt like eons before I could sit up again. Ramos sat at the bedside. Even through my fever, I saw the exhaustion dripping over her frame like a waning candle. "Rest, okay? Just rest. I'll come in to check on you. The medicine should kick in soon. Just sleep for now."

She gathered her things. She didn't leave, but rather sat somewhere out of my limited view in silence.

I closed my eyes. The heat devoured me.

Like a fool, I tried to walk.

I'd been in the same pants since the weeks had begun, and I knew in the small fraction of my rational mind that I desperately needed new ones. I figured the fever and shakes, the dizziness and numbness, would suddenly render themselves negligible in the face of enough vigor.

I never said I was the sharpest tool in the shed, you know.

I pushed myself upright. It took two tries to get the sheets off of me. My bandages were fresh, but still wound me up like a dilapidated mummy. I reeked of stale sweat, filth, pure bloody iron, and acidic rot. I clamped my hand around the edge of the bed, the side of the table, and pushed.

I made it slightly upright before I was wobbling to the side, although the tilt looked relatively normal for much of my spotty vision. I didn't realize I was upright until I realized I was falling, and by that time, well, I was already halfway to the ground. I figured the ground was probably nice and warm, singed by the morning sunlight. If anything, maybe I'd stay there instead. Nothing but a rug for the empty room and the next sub to replace me to eventually replace Kane. As if I was never there. A breath, a gust, there and gone again.

A body prevented all such things. Then arms. Then hands. A chest with a solid heartbeat and a cotton shirt, the scent of it mingling with the faintest air of lavender soap. I clutched at my chest like I could claw my lungs out and dunk it right into it.

The world spun where it remained. I watched it go around, and around, and around, and around. Someone said, "If you fall into me one more time, I'm gonna get you some goddamn knee pads and a 'steer clear' sign, for Christ's sake."

I'd take it to my grave and further down, the ease that drenched me to my bones.

I curled my fingers into the cotton hem, my cheek to his chest. I said, "'M sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm just sorry." I wanted to shake my head but it'd rattle my brain right out of my skull.