the morning of the fourth day, they perceived the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. They had awakened to discove r the sun shining, the fever breaking and their lungs clearing. Rita’s strength had returned to her limbs, somewhat faster than Nathan’s, and given another day’s rest they were sure they’d be able to hike out to safety. Ten hours later, Rita had lain comatose, as Nathan felt his own, vexing headache building. Believing her death to be only minutes or hours away, he finally ventured from the tent in search of help. The venture had proven hopeless, as he’d wandered from the camp, lost to the virus’ attack.
Childhood memories had passed randomly in and out of his consciousness, sparking abstract ideas to ebb and flow through his mind in no coherent or logical order. Nathan felt the world closing in around him. His vision, although still clear, seemed restricted, as if wearing blinders on either side of his head and his hearing was all but gone except for the occasional guttural tone that found its way through. Rita, I’ve got to get back to Rita , he thought. He’d staggered, unsure of his footing and tried to make sense of his surroundings, given his new perception of the world. The pain in his head had been intense and unrelenting, making it almost impossible to focus or think of anything else. The highly toned athlete, in his weakened condition, ultimately crawled below a rock shelter and gave way to the savage beating inflicted by the viral invader. His last sane thought was of Rita and the love he knew existed. Exasperated, he had desperately tried to express himself, shouting in a garbled slur, “Dear God, what is happening to me?”
A new, marginalized but otherwise healthy Nathan awoke a day later to find the headache gone, along with his personality and higher thought processes. His stomach ached to be filled and somewhere deep within his soul he sensed a battle being waged for control of his body. Innate, animalistic urges were boiling up from somewhere inside him, overpowering what little remnant of reason remained. Unsure of where he was or why he was there, yet something drove him in the direction of their camp and Rita. By now, the accumulated crystalline moisture was to his knees; dense packing snow that would have made a remarkable snowman had his world not changed so dramatically.
His puffy, down-filled parka, though filthy, continued to provide adequate warmth as he marched up the trail, following the obscure impressions he’d left in the snow the day before. Ahead, the sun burst through the forest’s canopy creating a crosshatch of shadows, shapes and bright patches of white. Droplets of water dripped from overhead leaves and branches that created rivulets of fresh water, gliding over the earth’s contour and trickling to a stream somewhere below. He felt no panic or sense of dread or loss, just an overwhelming need to satiate his inner desire for survival.
Rounding a bend he previously would have recognized as being near their camp, a series of low, barely audible, deep growls reached out to him and warned him of an impending danger. Not deterred, he moved on and encountered a tent in disarray and two wolves, one black and the other grey, tugging at and fighting over an apparent carcass. Not content to share the meal, the brutal creatures ripped and chewed as they competed for the remains in a grisly tug-of-war.
Something deeply ingrained and visceral drove Nathan to act. What should have been paralyzing fear and disgust, brought about by the death of his fiancée and the desecration of her body, was overshadowed by a barbaric, all-consuming compulsion to kill and consu me. He waded into the fray, a small hatchet retrieved from his belt held high over his head as he surprised the devouring wolves. The assault had been quick enough to give Nathan the upper hand, allowing him to strike the first blow. Like a hammer of
Childhood memories had passed randomly in and out of his consciousness, sparking abstract ideas to ebb and flow through his mind in no coherent or logical order. Nathan felt the world closing in around him. His vision, although still clear, seemed restricted, as if wearing blinders on either side of his head and his hearing was all but gone except for the occasional guttural tone that found its way through. Rita, I’ve got to get back to Rita , he thought. He’d staggered, unsure of his footing and tried to make sense of his surroundings, given his new perception of the world. The pain in his head had been intense and unrelenting, making it almost impossible to focus or think of anything else. The highly toned athlete, in his weakened condition, ultimately crawled below a rock shelter and gave way to the savage beating inflicted by the viral invader. His last sane thought was of Rita and the love he knew existed. Exasperated, he had desperately tried to express himself, shouting in a garbled slur, “Dear God, what is happening to me?”
A new, marginalized but otherwise healthy Nathan awoke a day later to find the headache gone, along with his personality and higher thought processes. His stomach ached to be filled and somewhere deep within his soul he sensed a battle being waged for control of his body. Innate, animalistic urges were boiling up from somewhere inside him, overpowering what little remnant of reason remained. Unsure of where he was or why he was there, yet something drove him in the direction of their camp and Rita. By now, the accumulated crystalline moisture was to his knees; dense packing snow that would have made a remarkable snowman had his world not changed so dramatically.
His puffy, down-filled parka, though filthy, continued to provide adequate warmth as he marched up the trail, following the obscure impressions he’d left in the snow the day before. Ahead, the sun burst through the forest’s canopy creating a crosshatch of shadows, shapes and bright patches of white. Droplets of water dripped from overhead leaves and branches that created rivulets of fresh water, gliding over the earth’s contour and trickling to a stream somewhere below. He felt no panic or sense of dread or loss, just an overwhelming need to satiate his inner desire for survival.
Rounding a bend he previously would have recognized as being near their camp, a series of low, barely audible, deep growls reached out to him and warned him of an impending danger. Not deterred, he moved on and encountered a tent in disarray and two wolves, one black and the other grey, tugging at and fighting over an apparent carcass. Not content to share the meal, the brutal creatures ripped and chewed as they competed for the remains in a grisly tug-of-war.
Something deeply ingrained and visceral drove Nathan to act. What should have been paralyzing fear and disgust, brought about by the death of his fiancée and the desecration of her body, was overshadowed by a barbaric, all-consuming compulsion to kill and consu me. He waded into the fray, a small hatchet retrieved from his belt held high over his head as he surprised the devouring wolves. The assault had been quick enough to give Nathan the upper hand, allowing him to strike the first blow. Like a hammer of
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