When a virus sweeps through North America, killing over 75% of the population, those left behind have to make do however they can. Many are stuck in place: on trains, at work, at airports. Some move around, scavenging and doing their best to stay al...
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SOMEONE almost puked blood on Devon.
He managed to jerk backwards in time, holding their Blizzard above his head, staring wide-eyed at them. The person was on the ground a second later, fucking convulsing as their blood-spit-puke started to dry on the counter, and Devon swallowed. He was pretty sure they didn't want that Blizzard anymore.
He put down the cup, stepped backwards as calmly as he could, and said, "I'll be back," to the couple standing in line waiting. Then Devon turned around and darted through the doorway into the back room. Where he promptly started to hyperventilate.
Devon wasn't one for panic attacks. They'd gotten lucky and avoided the two-for-one special of ADHD and anxiety. But this was too much.
Martine, the manager, stared at him from her place over the vats of ice cream, looking caught off-guard. "What-" she started, then took a deep breath. "What the hell, Devon?"
They sank to the floor against the door, pulling their knees to their chest and their arms over their face, shaking their head. "It's that virus, I think," they mumbled. "People are sick out there, and I'm- I'm not leaving this room. Nope. Can't make me." He kept shaking his head, feeling his hair move across his forehead and shoulders. The sensation was somewhat calming.
Martine put down the ice cream scoop she'd been holding and walked over to Devon. "Can you at least move a little so I can figure out what's going on?" she asked. She was a pretty good boss, some part of Devon's brain that was clinging to normalcy said. She respected their pronouns even though she didn't really get it, and was cool with letting Devon do whatever he needed in order to keep himself calm, which was normally just stimming a little.
So Devon shuffled out of the way, huddling against the cabinet where they kept extra cups and spoons instead of the door. They tugged on a little bunch of hair hanging past their ear; the sensation wasn't their favorite, but the light pulling at their scalp grounded them even more.
Martine tugged the door open, and both she and Devon flinched at the sheer noise echoing from the other side. Martine stared for a moment, eyes wide and jaw slack, and then turned back to Devon. "I see what you mean," she said. Her voice was more gentle now, softer. Devon nodded before crossing his arms on top of his knees and burying his face in the space created between them. The sound was a little more muffled that way.
"Stay here," Martine said. "It's probably safer." She was quiet for a moment, in which all Devon could hear was the slightly-muffled screams, and then said. "Maybe call someone? I'll come back for you, okay?" Devon hummed, not looking up at her, and waited until the door closed again.
