David carried CJ's body through the sand.
The beach was grey. The sky was grey. The water was grey. CJ's burnt flesh flaked off in his arms, leaving black streaks on David's shirt, his hands, his face.
"Jane," he called. His voice was hoarse. "Jane!"
She appeared ahead of him, walking slowly through the surf. Her white-tipped hair caught the grey light. Her blue scarf—the one he'd given her—trailed behind her in the wind.
They walked toward each other.
The distance shrank. Five meters. Three. One.
He reached for her.
And vomited green liquid onto her face.
It poured from his mouth—thick, glowing, wrong—splashing across her eyes, her nose, her lips. She didn't react. She just stood there, covered in it, still reaching for him.
"David."
His vision blurred.
"David!"
The beach dissolved.
"What the heck, David!"
Joy stood over him, drenched in green vomit. It dripped from her hair, her suit, her face. Her eyes were wide with disgust and confusion.
Praise lay on the floor beside him, unconscious. Jonathan was a few feet away, also unconscious. David was on his hands and knees, heaving, empty.
"I'm sorry," he gasped. "I'm sorry—"
Then he collapsed.
COVENANT BASE — MEDICAL WARD — 2 DAYS LATER
David woke up to a white ceiling.
The smell was familiar—antiseptic, herbal tea, clean sheets. He was in the medical ward. Again.
He sat up slowly. His head throbbed. His stomach churned.
Praise lay in the bed to his left, still unconscious, her face peaceful. Jonathan lay to his right, also unconscious, his chest rising and falling steadily.
David swung his legs over the side of the bed.
His body felt heavy. Wrong. Like he was wearing clothes made of wet sand.
He stood.
His stomach lurched.
Green vomit splashed onto the floor. He doubled over, heaving, empty again.
The door opened. Lyric walked in, followed by Joy. Lyric's face was calm, professional. Joy's was still slightly stained green around the edges.
"You're awake," Lyric said. She looked at the vomit on the floor, then back at David. "That's the sure-hit. From the crusade. I healed you to a respectable level, but your body needs to finish the rest on its own."
"How long?" David's voice was hoarse.
"Depends. Think of it like malaria. Rest. Fluids. Time."
"And them?" He nodded at Praise and Jonathan.
"I've healed them to their own respectable levels. But Eloghosa would be faster. He's still out of the country."
David nodded. Stood. His legs held.
"I need to go home."
Joy stepped forward. Her eyes were sharp.
"You vomited on me."
"I know. I'm sorry."
"You owe me."
"I know."
He sneezed. Green spray caught Joy in the face.
She didn't move. Didn't blink. Just stood there, covered in a fresh layer of David's sickness, her expression frozen somewhere between murder and resignation.
"Can you take me home?" David asked.
Joy turned and walked out of the room.
David followed.
Jaron was waiting in the hallway.
He stood by the exit, arms crossed, his face unreadable. His eyes tracked David's slow, unsteady approach.
"What did you fight?"
David stopped. Leaned against the wall.
"She didn't seem like a host," he said. "Or Phobias. More like... a hybrid. Something in between."
Jaron's expression didn't change, but something behind his eyes shifted.
"Noted."
He stepped aside.
"Get home. Get some rest. You might be needed for another mission soon."
"Already?"
"The world doesn't stop because you're sick."
David pushed off the wall and walked past him.
1 HOUR LATER
The familiar smell of his mother's perfume hit him first—new fabric, peppermint tea, the faint sweetness of her perfume. She was at the dining table, folding children's clothes, her back to the parlour.
"David." She didn't turn. "You look terrible."
"Thanks, Mom."
"Are you sick?"
"A little."
She turned. Looked at him. Her eyes were worried, but she didn't push.
"Go to your room. I'll bring you drugs."
"Thanks."
He walked down the hallway, passed the family photos, passed his father's empty chair, and collapsed onto his bed.
The ceiling was white.
The ceiling was always white.
He closed his eyes.
CJ was still in his arms. Jane was still walking toward him. The green vomit was still pouring from his mouth.
He slept.