A minute becomes an hour becomes a day. Sickness and hunger put the mind in a fog just as thick as what slithers on the floors and walls of the Narwhal. Within this fog, there are only brief glimpses of time and place. Waking and sleeping hours meld together.

  Charlie stumbles into the bunk room. She can’t remember where she came from, what she was doing before she arrived here. She remembers being in the mess hall, she saw someone there. But the mess hall is too dark to see in without the light of the stove. She can’t remember their face, or what they were wearing. Maybe they were just one of the shadows. But when that was, she cannot be sure. It might have been where she last was, but a dozen other glimpses of memory crowd around it, occupying the same moment in her head. Some are dreams, she’s sure, but which ones?

  She feels a pinching sensation on her scalp and scratches at it. There’s nothing there. Some of her hair falls out. She feels a cold breath on her neck and turns around. It’s too dark to see, but when she reaches out, she swears something solid and wet brushes the tips of her fingers, then vanishes.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Shaking her head, Charlie tries to clear her thoughts. She came here for a reason. What was it?

  The sick. Charlie is one of the only ones left still trying to care for those who are too sick to move. The others have either given up or fallen gravely ill themselves. It’s hard to tell which is which. Those who have fallen into abject depression lay in bed the same as those who suffer from physical ailments. Of the researchers, she is the only one still up and about. Even Bill, stalwart and strong, has stopped leaving his bed other than to relieve himself. Many of the others can’t even do that much. Bill still speaks to her when she visits his side, but even his sharp mind is fractured and slow now.

  Kneeling alongside Elina’s bed, Charlie puts a bottle of water to her friend’s lips, forcing her to drink. Elina is silent. She feels her breath, hot and shallow, rhythmless. She feels her clothes and bedsheets. Dry for now.

  Charlie moves to the others. She does the same for each person. Dribbling water in their mouths, checking to make sure they’re breathing, and ensuring they haven’t soiled themselves. It’s exhausting, and by the time she’s finished, she barely has the strength to climb into her own bunk to rest. The air seems to be colder in her bed as she slips under the covers, but it vanishes as her head hits the pillow and she falls asleep.