[Day 2]
“Please Valentina, not there...” Lance mumbled.
His eyes fluttered open. His shaggy-haired, medium-sized dog was licking his face, tongue slobbering over Lance’s mouth. He pushed the dog away and wiped his lips with the back of his hand.
“Jiro! Come on, what the hell…”
The morning sunlight streamed through the curtains and stabbed into his skull like a hot poker. He groaned, rolling over and burying his face back in the pillow, his head pounding with a fierce intensity that made his stomach churn.
What the hell happened last night?
He fumbled through his nightstand, where his phone lay face down. He reached for it, his fingers clumsy and uncoordinated, and nearly knocked it to the floor before managing to grab hold.
He blinked the screen into focus.
[10:39 AM]
Shit. His eyes flew wide as the realization hit him like a freight train. He was supposed to be at the office hours ago for the staff meeting. He’d slept through his alarm, something that never happened. Not even after the wildest of nights out, or the longest of gaming sessions.
Groaning, Lance tried to push himself upright and sharp pain sailed through his skull. He braced his pounding head in his hands, taking slow, deep breaths until the worst of it passed.
Coffee! I need coffee, he thought, then immediately regretted it.
The room spun violently. A fresh wave of nausea rushed through him. His palm covered his mouth. He clenched his jaw. He fought back the urge to vomit.
What the hell? I didn’t even drink that much.
Lance forced himself to sit up even though his body felt like it had been run over by a truck. Every muscle ached, and his head throbbed with a vengeance. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his feet hitting the cool hardwood floor.
Okay, let’s think this through, he ran a hand over his face, I thought I had this figured out. Eat a big meal, drink water, have some coffee. It’s never failed me before.
I haven’t had a hangover this bad since high school using that trick. How the hell did it fail me now?
Lance pushed himself to his feet, swaying slightly as yet another wave of dizziness assaulted him. He stumbled to the bathroom, grabbed the sink for support, and stared at his reflection in the mirror. A haggard face stared back at him—bloodshot eyes, ashen skin, hair sticking up at odd angles.
At least now, my look matches my new existential crisis, he joked. Oh, right… I was supposed to reevaluate my life or something like that today… He looked at himself in the mirror again. But not today. Too tired.
Lance splashed cold water on his face, but it did little to revive him.
And screw work, too, he realized. Jiro whined and pawed at Lance’s leg. But first, let’s get you some breakfast.
Lance stumbled to the kitchen, his head pounding. He filled Jiro’s bowl with kibble. The dog dove in, crunching loudly behind him as he made his way back to the bedroom and grabbed his phone.
His fingers struggled over the keys as he typed out a message to his boss.
Lance: Hey Alex, I’m not feeling well today. I think I caught that bug that’s been going around. I need to take a sick day. Sorry for the short notice.
Lance hit send and collapsed back onto the bed, his phone clutched to his chest. A moment later, it buzzed with a reply.
Alex (Boss): No problem. I hope you feel better soon. Get some rest and thanks for letting me know. 👍
He let out a sigh of relief—one less thing to worry about. He tossed his phone aside and pulled the covers back over his head, blocking out the harsh sunlight.
Maybe a few more hours of sleep will help, he thought, closing his eyes and willing the pounding in his head to subside.
But it didn’t.
I’m getting too old for this. Exactly why I had my pre/post drinking checklist.
Lance tossed and turned in bed, the covers tangled around his legs as he tried to find a comfortable position. But no matter how he shifted, the pounding in his head persisted, and a sickly sheen of sweat coated his skin.
Damn. Just... damn, it’s like I’m in a sauna. This can’t be normal. I’m burning up.
He kicked the covers off, his shirt clinging to his chest, damp and uncomfortable. He ran a hand through his hair, grimacing at the slick feel of sweat.
He dragged himself out of bed, his joints protesting with every little action. His knees, elbows, shoulders, hips, all ached like he’d just finished a three-hour full-body workout and immediately set out to run five miles. He limped himself to the bathroom again. Then, rummaged through the medicine cabinet until he found the thermometer.
It was a sleek white plastic digital thermometer with a small LCD screen that displayed the temperature in bold black numbers which you simply point at your forehead to get a reading.
Lance pressed the button and aimed.
[99.8°F.] It announced after a beep. Damn, that’s a fever, right?
He leaned against the sink and stared at his reflection, noting he hadn’t gotten any better—if anything, he looked worse.
I look like someone from a TV show right before they turn into a zombie, he chuckled weakly.
Lance popped a couple of Excedrin, washing them down with a handful of water from the sink. He waited for the relief to kick in, but the pain continued to throb behind his eyes, relentless and unyielding.
With no respite in sight, he shuffled back to the bedroom. He lowered himself onto the bed, wincing as now, even his back screamed with each movement.
What the hell is wrong with me? This can’t just be a hangover.
Jiro jumped onto the bed, tail wagging. He curled up next to Lance, resting his head on Lance’s arm. He absently scratched behind the dog’s ears.
His mind raced with possibilities—tainted alcohol, flu, mono, some weird virus he’d picked up from god knows where. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this miserable.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
He thought back to the last time he’d had a hangover this bad—his senior year in high school, after a night of cheap tequila and bad decisions. He’d spent the entire next day hugging the toilet, swearing he’d never touch alcohol again.
And yet, here I am, I’m screwed.
Lance squeezed his eyes shut, willing away the pain and the sickening feeling in his stomach, and hoping that whatever this was, it would pass soon. He couldn’t take much more of this misery. Please, just let me feel better. I swear, I’ll never do this to myself again.
Lance steeled himself for yet another trip to the bathroom, mind set on a hot shower to ease his discomfort.
He turned the water on full blast and began to peel off his damp shirt, grimacing at the effort it took. As the water heated up, steam filled the room, fogging the mirrors.
Once his shower was scalding hot, he stepped under the spray, hoping the heat would soothe his aching body.
The water pounded against his skin, but it brought no relief; instead, it intensified the pulsing in his head.
He finished his shower quickly, not having the energy to linger. Then grabbed a towel and dried off haphazardly, not even bothering to wrap it around his waist as he staggered back into the bedroom, where he pulled on a clean t-shirt and sweatpants.
His breath came in ragged gasps, each inhale feeling like shards of glass scraping down his throat. He coughed, a harsh, hacking sound that made his chest ache.
There’s no way this is only a hangover from a few Guinnesses—
A thought crept into his mind—what if he had the flu, too? He vaguely remembered reading about them going through a very contagious flu season.
With my luck, I probably caught it. A hangover and the flu, just what I need, he thought, collapsing onto his bed and curling into a fetal position. He winced with each creak of his mattress, and even the soft sheets felt like sandpaper at this point. But that makes more sense.
With his phone in hand and shaking fingers, he typed out another message to his boss.
Lance: Hey Alex, I’m still not feeling great. I think I need to take tomorrow off too. Sorry for the short notice, again.
He hit send and let the phone drop onto the bed beside him, closing his eyes as another wave of pain washed over him. Jiro started whimpering.
Remembering Jiro, Lance forced himself up. He shuffled to the back door, each step an effort. Lance opened the door. Jiro trotted outside to the yard. Lance waited, leaning against the doorframe, as Jiro sniffed around and did his business. The dog came back inside, and Lance shut the door.
The phone buzzed almost immediately. He fished it out of his sweatpants pocket and glanced at the screen.
Alex: Lance, everyone is sick. Turn on the news.
Everyone is sick? What the hell does that mean?
Lance frowned, confusion mixing with the throbbing pain in his head. He moved to the couch in his living room and reached for the remote on his coffee table, his arm feeling like lead as he pointed it at the TV and pressed the power button.
The screen blared the opening theme of his favorite anime, making him flinch and bringing tears of pain to his eyes. Damn it, not HDMI 1. When Lance figured out his technology, he was greeted by the somber face of a news anchor. Her usually perfectly coiffed hair was slightly disheveled, and her eyes were ringed with dark circles.
“...the WHO has declared a global health emergency as the mysterious illness continues to spread at an alarming rate,” she said, her voice grave. “Hospitals around the world are overwhelmed with patients displaying flu-like symptoms, but doctors are struggling to identify the cause.”
Lance sat up straighter, ignoring his muscles’ protest. A global health emergency? What the fuck?
The camera cut to footage of empty streets and abandoned storefronts before switching to images of overcrowded hospitals, with patients on gurneys lining the hallways and exhausted-looking healthcare workers rushing about in full protective gear.
“Symptoms of the illness include low-grade fever, severe body aches, and extreme fatigue,” the anchor continued. “Health officials are urging anyone experiencing these symptoms to stay home and self-isolate to prevent further spread.”
Lance’s heart raced as he listened, each symptom making him swallow hard. Fever, body aches, fatigue...that’s exactly what I’ve been feeling.
“At this time, the cause of the illness remains unknown,” the anchor said. “Scientists around the globe are working tirelessly to identify the source and develop a cure, but so far, they have been unsuccessful.”
A worldwide pandemic...and I’ve got the same symptoms as everyone else. How is this even possible?
He thought back to the happy hour, trying to remember if anyone there had seemed sick. But nothing noteworthy came to mind.
So, I could have caught it from anyone.
He turned his attention back to the TV, where the anchor was now listing off the countries that had been affected. “The United States, Canada, the United Kingdom, France, Germany, Italy, Spain, China, Japan, Australia...” she rattled off, the list seeming to go on and on.
It’s everywhere...nowhere is safe.
Lance’s chest tightened with fear, and he felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead, but as he clenched and unclenched his fists, his racing heart began to steady.
Okay, okay… if it’s hit this many countries already, we could be looking at the end of the world as we know it. But if everyone’s going down with this thing, what’s the point in panicking? It’s not like freaking out will change anything.
He slumped back on his couch. The news continued to play in the background, but he barely heard it over the roaring in his ears.
So, what am I supposed to do now, then? Just sit here and wait to get better? Or worse?
Lance massaged his temples, maybe this is just a bad dream.
On the television, the camera had cut to a live press conference, where a group of grim-faced scientists and health officials stood behind a podium, all donning the same somber and drawn expressions.
One woman, her graying hair unkempt and her eyes rimmed with fatigue, gripped the edges of the podium to steady the slight tremors in her hands as she stepped forward to address the throng of reporters.
“Our teams are working around the clock, We have the brightest minds from every corner of the globe collaborating to find a cure. While we can’t confirm the exact cause of this pandemic yet, we have several promising leads and are working tirelessly to gather more data.”
A reporter’s voice rang out, demanding to know how they could possibly continue their vital work while suffering from the same debilitating symptoms plaguing the rest of the world.
The scientist paused, dabbing at the perspiration on her forehead with a handkerchief. “It’s true, we are not immune,” she said. “We, too, are battling this terrible illness.”
“We are using a combination of antivirals, anti-inflammatories, and other medications under strict medical supervision to manage our symptoms,” the woman continued. “This is a temporary measure to help us continue our work and should not be attempted without professional guidance. However, even with this set of medications, we struggle to function, and we are certain that it will worsen our symptoms in the long run. I must emphasize that this is not a treatment plan for the general public. Please, do not attempt to replicate this at home. These medications can be dangerous without proper medical oversight and may even exacerbate the illness. Our team is taking this risk because we believe it’s our duty to find a solution for everyone.”
Lance bent forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and watched as the scientist’s face grew even more somber, her brow furrowing as she fielded another question from the press.
“Can you tell us anything about the cause of this pandemic?” a reporter asked.
The scientist hesitated, her eyes darting to her colleagues before she spoke. “There is a strong theory circulating within the scientific community,” she said carefully, “but we can’t reveal anything just yet. We need further confirmation, and we don’t want to cause any unnecessary panic.”
Lance scoffed, rolling his eyes. The whole damn world is falling apart, and they’re worried about causing a stir? Nice.
Lance’s frustration mounted as the scientist droned on about the importance of social distancing and hygiene measures. Like that’s gonna do anything against a global pandemic.
“Our priority right now is finding a cure and containing the spread of the illness,” the scientist continued, her voice firm. “We urge everyone to stay indoors, keep their eyes on the news, and follow instructions closely once a solution has been found.”
Sooo, what I’ve been doing the whole day?
“Remember to look out for each other during these…these…challen…ging—
The scientist’s eyelids drooped. She swayed on her feet. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed, her body crumpling to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut. The room erupted into chaos as doctors and scientists in white lab coats and suits rushed to her side, their faces etched with panic.
What. The. Fuck.
A male scientist with an askew tie leaped to the podium, his voice trembling as he addressed the stunned audience.
“Stay indoors, rest, and keep your eyes on the news. A cure will be available soon.”
The broadcast abruptly cut to a “technical difficulties” screen, then went dark.