The Peeling: Book 1 (Jeremy's Choice) by Iain Rob Wright Page B

manner.  Jeremy
couldn’t help but notice that the young girl didn’t seem as calm as she usually
did.
    There
was a pause on the other end of the line, followed by a muffled sound that
could only have been sobbing.  Eventually, Keith came back on the line. 
“Yes…I have it.  I’ve had it three days…since Wednesday.”
    “I’m
really sorry to hear that, mate,” Tom said.  “It’s truly terrible what
this virus is doing to people.  Absolutely horrifying.”  The reporter
took a deep breath and suddenly seemed very tired, as though he’d dropped a
mask that had been hiding his true face all along.  Jeremy sympathised
from over by the studio’s door.  Tom wasn’t much more than a lad, really,
and he had suddenly found himself responsible for consoling an entire nation.
    Sarah
sat forward on her chair and clasped her hands together on top of the
desk.  “Keith?  If it’s not too hard for you, could you tell our
viewers what it’s been like since you got ill?  Could you tell us about
your symptoms?”
    After
another short pause, Keith replied that he would.  “I got home from work
at about six on the night – I’m a mig-welder.  Anyway, Man U were playing
Chelsea, and I wanted to see them get their arses hammered by the blues, so I
got some beers in and plonked myself down in front of the telly.  I was
happy, you know?”
    “We
know,” Sarah confirmed.
    “Well,
I’d been feeling a bit under-the-weather all day and my nose had been running
like a tap.  I thought it was just a cold.  I mean, no one really knew
what was going on then – it was all just rumours.”  Keith seemed to lose
his voice then to a croaking onslaught of tears.
     
“Just go on when you’re ready, Keith,” Sarah told the man.  “We’re here
for you.”
    “Right,
okay…anyway,” Keith gathered himself.  “I was sat watching the game – that
mug, Rooney, had just put one in the back of the net – and I couldn’t help but
scratch at my feet the whole time.  Was a bit like pins and needles, but
no matter how much I itched or walked around the living room it just wouldn’t
go away.  Thankfully it got a little better after a couple beers and I
managed to ignore it.”
    “What
happened next?” asked Tom, filling a brief moment of dead air.
    “Then
I fell asleep on the sofa.  Do most evenings if I have a drink.  I
woke up later in the middle of the night.  I knew it was late because the
shopping channel had come on, selling their usual junk – some kind of steam
cleaner, I think.  So I sit there for a few minutes, trying to wake up a
bit so I can get up and go to bed, but, as soon as I lean forward to stand up,
I feel this sharp stab of pain.”
    Jeremy
rubbed at his eyes in the doorway.  He’d heard enough reports to know where
this was heading.
    “I
look down at my feet,” said Keith, fighting back sobs, “and I can hardly…I can
hardly believe what I’m seeing.”
    “Tell
us, Keith.”
    “My
feet, they were…oh God…they were like raw steak.  They had no skin. 
I could see all the gristle and bone and blood.   They looked like
those anatomical dummy things they have in school, you know?  Anyway, like
a fool I grab down at them, like I needed to make sure my eyes weren’t still
half-asleep and seeing nonsense.  When I touched my feet it was bloody
agony.  I almost passed out it was so bad.  Worst pain I’d ever
felt…but I would give anything to feel that way now – it was heaven compared to
the blinding pain that was to come.  The skin from my ankles started
peeling away next, blistering up and peppering the floor like dandruff. 
Then it kept going, moving further and further up my legs.  Then it….then
it…”  Keith finally allowed himself to sob openly after minutes of
fighting it back.  “My dick is gone!  It fell onto the carpet like a
goddamn sausage.”
    Keith
began to wail inhumanely and the phone line went dead.  Jeremy didn’t know
if it was the caller or