turnsheet_bureau:5:devin [Contagion]

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=====Carrier=====

Remus knows better than to bark by now, but he is only a scared animal, after all. His loud noises alert you and you go sprinting after him, trusting in whatever scent he's caught. You slow down with confusion as he leads you, not out of the Bastion's boundaries, but further within, towards its most densely populated area. Luckily for you, the most dense the Bastion can be right now is as sparse as it's ever been before. Even luckier for you, no one else seems to be around the substation, at least not when viewed from the back. You turn the corner, aiming for its door, before stopping short.

A body lying in a splatter of blood. It glistens red-hot, and the smell of its automatic decay is faint when it reaches your nose. Remus growls, then whimpers. It must not have been dead for long. Whoever killed it must still be out here, must still be-- you turn a full circle with your gun to scout the area. Nothing. Not even a breeze. You approach the body as slowly as possible while not staying still, finger shaking on your trigger, biting your lip so hard it draws blood with your attempt to stay focused, to keep your eye on the creature, to not look away--

--it's Dr. Chambers. Kathleen. Her pink blazer is stained the russet of her insides. Your eyes dart to Remus, and you jump forward to stop him, but too late -- he leaps forth and sniffs at her, then starts up a storm of barking. You prod her with your gun. She shifts, just barely, before re-settling, with an involuntary groan. Alive. Alive, and knocked out. Uninjured-- well, mostly. The blood that stains her can't be hers.

You steel yourself before calling Remus to heel and venturing into the substation.
----
It's dark. You dare not turn a light on. You swivel silently, your gun at the ready, grateful that Remus has the sense not to make a sound. No signs of life. You enter the next room and a warm body lurches drunkenly forth from a corner. Immediately, you fire a round. Remus barks a storm. The dust subsides, and when it does, the body is collapsed on the floor. Upon closer inspection, it stirs. //He// stirs. Medic Guneir, still alive, eyes bloodshot, glasses askew, labcoat stained... still with enough brain activity to recognise a threat and duck in time.

He looks... worse for wear. But he looks //normal.// About as normal as you've ever seen a bitten one look. You kneel and help him into a sitting position.

He rasps. You shush him.

"I've got you." You try to sound firm, but reassuring.

//"Chris..."//

"It's okay," you say, voice shaking so hard you're glad he's too ill to notice. "It's okay. I've got you."

//"He's... where did..."//

You think at the speed of light. Maybe faster. "I'll take you to him. I'll take you to Chris. He's okay, I saved-- I got-- I know where he is, and I'll take you to him. Okay? Can you understand? Can you walk?"

He's too heavy for one arm; you have to holster your gun, though you don't want to. You keep your face turned away except to look over when he keels, only able to support his own weight half the time. He gurgles something, squeezing your arm tighter than you can handle. You stay silent, not muttering a word. Remus, miraculously, follows you in remarkable quietness.

Heavier than you, but shorter, just about. 

You've carried someone like this before. Someone who you were closer to. Someone who needed your protection.

Eric's voice floods your mind.

You hobble, side by side, toward the exit of the substation. As you take him to the border, crossing the dead electric fence, you have to half-lift, half push him through. Guneir falls over. You help him up. He does not say a word.

Whether he knows what is happening, or doesn't, it's impossible to be sure.
----

You embark on a trip to get more clean water. Unfortunately, other people have the same idea. Led by Salithra, and flanked on either side by I, Colby, and the forebodingly silent Saint, you leave the Bastion and walk to the nearby river. It looks worse than you remember, or maybe it was cleaner upstream; you look sideways at The Saint to see if its expression agrees with you. Of course, it shows nothing.

It could be thinking anything, and you'd never know.

Bile rises in your throat as you get to work, your mind racing. You try to focus on the task at hand, dislodging chunks of flesh-ridden riverbed soil and shovelling the biggest chunks of human remains out of the water into a pile at your side. You left The Saint early, so for all it knows, the only thing you had in your pockets was Contaminated water. But you doubled back, didn't you? You had fresh drinking water, you distributed it among the Bastion, right? Surely The Saint noticed that. Surely, surely, it doesn't think you //really// went all the way back with Contaminated water, and nothing else. It barely talks, let alone gossips. It wouldn't tell anyone if it suspected anything, would it? You're safe, aren't you?

The pile of remains grows bigger as you shovel -- a greyish, skin-toned sludge oozing reddish flood-water and studded with glinting fingernails and loose, rotten teeth. Soon enough, the water at your feet runs clear -- well, not exactly, but as good as you'll get. You brought your rucksack of bottles, ready to be re-filled; the ground underfoot is wet and unstable, so you plant your feet firmly under some deep-set roots for stability before handing the bottles out. A couple for Salithra, a couple for Colby -- you look around, realise Colby and The Saint have both taken off back for the Bastion, shrug, and hand the pair in your hands to I instead. Unfortunately, distracted as you are, you slip, barely saving yourself from landing face-forward into frankly disgusting mud. Sadly, this means you land on your rucksack, full of the same bottles as last time you collected water. Salithra and I tug you up by the arms, and after inspecting you for glass shards, deem you fine. You scramble for your rucksack.

"Easy," cautions I, putting a free hand out in case you fall over again. Salithra leans down to inspect the damage.

"It's fine," she says, relieved. "We have enough bottles left for now, and waterskins back at camp. Let me see..."

She pulls them out in twos, setting them neatly aside as she counts. The clear leftover droplets of water catch the measly sunlight, and the bottles glitter. It dawns on you a moment too late that you didn't have the chance to rinse them clean.

Salithra stops counting. She draws a single bottle from the rucksack, containing, instead of clear droplets, the murky grey residue of contamination.

Slowly, Salithra and I raise their heads to look at you. Salithra's face is a storm, all emotions you can't tell apart. I's face is a show of pure, unbridled rage.

{[]}{{tag>writeup5 gm_tara complete}}