Deadland's Harvest (part 2 of the Deadland Saga)

Sloth (Chapter 18)

The day was a horrifying blur of dry heaves, chills, high fever, and bizarre dreams. All around me, people moaned and cried. They lay in bed, the slightest move causing them to retch.

Jase and Clutch took turns at my bedside. They helped me and the others without rest. Since neither had eaten the catfish, they hadn't gotten sick. They were in the minority. Thirty-three residents had eaten the tainted meat. They kept all of us in barge Number One and had opened the bay door to let in fresh air.

By night, I finally regained some semblance of myself. I felt like I had one foot solidly in the grave, but I'd lived to see another day. Others weren't so fortunate. I'd seen Mrs. Corrington covered with a sheet and carried out. What a miserable way to die.

Clutch squeezed water from a rag into my mouth. The other healthy people, like Jase and him, constantly moved about, checking on the sick. Meanwhile, others filled in as scouts above deck to keep watch for the herds or any signs of trouble from the riverboat. Deb was the only person who hadn't eaten the fish that Tyler wouldn't allow to help. Her pregnancy had come to represent the hope of Camp Fox. Tyler didn't want her around anything that could pose a risk to her pregnancy. After Tyler's adamant orders, she'd reluctantly stayed in the crew quarters on the towboat.

I rolled my head to see Jase still with Benji, who was up to eating crackers already. That kid had a cast iron stomach. If only I'd remembered to tell the cooks what Sorenson had said about the fish, then none of this would've happened. I felt so stupid, but was too weak to stay angry at myself. No one had remembered to tell the cooks. Jase blamed himself, and I'd seen Tyler's face when he walked through. He blamed himself the hardest of all.

Twenty-four hours later, I could finally hold down small amounts of water, and Clutch was relentless at sponging drops into my mouth every couple minutes.

The poor man looked utterly exhausted, with dark circles and bags under his bloodshot eyes. I licked my chapped lips. Sometimes, a pessimistic devil sitting in my soul would make me wonder if all of this running and work was in vain, that all we were doing was delaying our inevitable doom.

I lifted my fingers, though they weighed a ton, and touched his hand that was holding the rag. "You should get some rest."

"I'm fine," he said rather tersely, making it clear he wasn't going anywhere.

"Can't believe I ate catfish," I said on an exhale.

He shook his head and dribbled more water into my mouth. "You couldn't have known."

I closed my eyes.

"You're going to get better," he said. "You don't give up. That's why I brought you with me to my farm at the outbreak. I knew you were a fighter."

When I reopened my eyes, I saw Clutch watching me, taking his eyes off me only to soak the rag again. Sitting there, his broad shoulders cast a shadow over me. His quiet strength showed through his gaze. When he looked at me, I always knew I'd be safe.

I grinned, weakly. "You're an oak."

His confused expression tightened into a look of consternation. He pressed a hand against my forehead, and I treasured his touch.

I needed him to know the truth. "I love you," I said, but my words slurred. My eyes grew heavy.

"What's wrong?" Jase asked, sounding distant.

"Get Doc. She's got a fever."

"Mary Corrington had a fever right before—"

"I know. Get Doc now."