Claustrophobic | Skephalo

Thoughtless Experimentation

i hope everyone liked the previous chapter! i know it was surprising, but that was the point. love u all, thank you so much for 20k. <3

if anyone wants to see anything specific just comment what it is and i'll try to include it! i love having your inputs i feel like it makes this story so much better

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Vincent

What did I just walk in on?

Closing the door behind him, Vincent can't bring himself to go to sleep. His mind was racing, replaying the events of what had just happened.

Dave told me his biggest secret. Darryl and Zak are... Drunk out of their minds, I'm assuming. Otherwise, I have no explanation for myself at the moment. Wait, Darryl wasn't drinking before, was he? No, Zak must have brought alcohol into his room or something. At least Clay is acting normal, as far as I'm aware.

God... Why does everything have to be so complicated? And why do I feel like I'm in the middle of everything?

Whatever, it will all be fine as long as I figure out what I'm doing.

I don't want to leave. I'm probably crazy for saying that, but I really don't. It's nice here. There's plenty of food, water, and I think I'm finally getting on to Darryl's good side for the first time in what feels like forever. How would it roll over with him if I left? Probably not well, especially since I just walked in on him and Zak and he'll probably be petty about it.

On the other hand, I don't want to keep Dave in a situation that he's not comfortable with. He doesn't trust Darryl or Zak, and I'm judging by him only telling me his secret that he doesn't trust Clay either. Dave is a good friend to me, and I would hate to leave him in his darkest times alone.

Would I choose Dave over Darryl?

Vincent flops onto the bed in the room, taking note of the softness in the pillows. The alcohol coursing through his body brings on heavyset exhaustion, and it isn't long until he's asleep, his worries bubbling around him, clouding his dreams with anxiety.

Hours passed, with Vincent lying fast asleep, until he awoke with a start from a crashing noise coming from below him. A headache had formed at the base of his temples, pounding and threatening to burst as he sat up, attempting to regain awareness of his surroundings.

It's probably Zak and Darryl moving their 'fun' downstairs and not watching where they're going.

Vincent rolls his eyes at his own thoughts, straightening the leg of his pants. He desperately wanted water, and despised the fact that he would have to go down to the stream to get some. Walking past Darryl and Zak wouldn't be fun either, but deciding to suck it up, Vincent made his way out of his room and down the stairs.

"Vincent? What are you doing?" Clay's voice asks from the darkness, taking Vincent by surprise.

"I was going to head down to get some water."

"Oh, you don't have to go to the stream to get water. Earlier, I found a bunch of cups and pots that were set out during the storm to collect rain, and brought them inside. It's not much, since I accidentally dropped one or two glass cups, but it's enough for today."

"Really?" Vincent pours a small cup of water into his mouth from above, feeling instant satisfaction. "Thanks, Clay. Wait a minute... What are you doing up so late?"

"Late? No, it's just super early."

"It's dark outside."

"My watch says it's five. I just have a stupid routine that I do every day." Clay's speech turns into mumbling by the end of his sentence, spiking Vincent's curiosity.

"What is it?"

"Well, after the apocalypse started, when I lived in big cities, I would go out a lot and... I'd search around the area for anyone who was infected by zombies. I never found any, except for one time. I figured that the only way to make a cure, or even a vaccine, was to get a sample of the disease before it killed the host. Dumb, I know. Almost got me killed. But I just can't get it out of my mind, that there could be a cure out there, in someone's blood, and I'm not out finding it. So I walk around for an hour or so each morning when I have the time, just to make sure."

Vincent's face pales, and he places his cup of water that he had gulped down before onto the counter.

Clay notices his silence, and shifts uncomfortably. "It's not that weird, right? I'm a doctor; it's my nature to want to heal people."

"No! It's not weird, I promise. Sorry," Vincent chuckles nervously. "I'm just a little hungover."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, I'm positive. So you think the blood of an infected could be used in harnessing a cure for this whole thing?"

"I mean, that's how it is in the movies- I never learned anything during my brief time in medical school about curing zombies. I don't even know if it's possible to turn someone back once they've been taken by the infection."

"But...?"

"But, with nearly every deadly disease, there's a possibility of a vaccine, which is what I was talking about before. Say we get a sample of a human's blood after they've been bitten. I could find a way to genetically mutate that very sample to- instead of kill off the human cells- to wipe out the zombie-fied cells instead. Then, we inject ourselves, and boom. We're immune."

Vincent shakes his head in disbelief. "It can't be that simple. Wouldn't other doctors or scientists have figured that out?"

"Maybe, if they weren't all dead." Clay jokes.

A thought dawns over Vincent then, causing him discomfort in levels he hadn't ever experienced. He sways, only resisting falling to the ground by the touch of Clay's hand on his back. Vincent rushes outside, the cold air acting as a kickstart back into reality- a reality where he felt like he couldn't breathe. He thought: how could, in only one night, could everything become so intensely horrible? Vincent's mind ran crazy, trembling with a combination of nervous fever and stress.

"Vincent?" Clay shook Vincent's shoulders, bringing the back of his hand to his friend's cheek harshly. "What's wrong?"

"Clay, did you end up getting that infected person's blood?"

"I don't really remember, it was a long time ago... I think so."

"And... Did you ever try to inject it into someone? Looking for a cure?"

Clay falls silent. His answer, or lack thereof, answers Vincent's question. They both stand quietly, Vincent's cheek stinging from the slap previously delivered against the freezing wind. He could tell that Clay was deep in thought, calculations seemingly stretched across his eyes, his forehead crinkled in the slightest from apparent frustration. Bad memories were resurfacing in Clay's mind, and Vincent couldn't help but wince at his prediction.

"Clay," Vincent breathes out, thinking back to Darryl's suspicions of their friend. "Tell me... How well do you really know Dave?"