Starfall (Starflight #2)(72)
A while later, he closed his eyes and drifted to sleep, thinking how backward it was that he hoped to wake up sick.
The next morning he awoke with the room alarm. Yawning, he blinked against the early rays of dawn filtering through the windows. He noticed right away the air smelled sweeter than last night, similar to the fragrance of candied almonds at the harvest fair. He checked himself for symptoms, but if anything, he felt better than the day before. His head was clear and alert, and his muscles practically coiled with energy when he jumped down from his bunk. He bounded toward the community washroom on springy toes, feeling like he could leap over the moon if he pushed hard enough.
And he wasn’t the only one.
All around him, men chattered and laughed, high-fiving each other with hands that were steady and strong. Their foreheads were dry, their eyes bright. The mood was more like a party than the beginning of a workday, and several of the miners who’d ignored Kane now ruffled his hair and delivered welcoming slaps on the back.
If this was the sickness, bring it on.
After a breakfast of protein biscuits, he spent the day hauling boulders of ore from the cave to pallets outside, where they were lifted by hovercraft and carried to a refinery about a mile away. His boots dragged by the end of his shift, but returning to the dorm to scrub his face and hands gave him an energy boost that carried him through a night of gambling and arm wrestling with the men.
The next morning he felt even stronger, so vigorous that he awoke before the alarm and decided to sneak outside and check in with Cassia. Once he’d reached a safe distance from the dorm, he pulled the com-button from his pocket and held it to his lips.
“Cassy? Are you up?”
A moment later, she replied with a groan. “It’s the ass crack of dawn.”
“I know! Isn’t it awesome?” He faced east to watch the sky awake with smudges of crimson and marigold. “When was the last time you saw a sunrise?”
“I don’t know, but it hasn’t been long enough.”
“Go outside. It’s spectacular!”
“You’re awfully peppy for someone who’s not a morning person.”
He smiled because it was true. “I only slept for two hours last night, and I feel amazing. I don’t know what these guys were complaining about. There’s no outbreak here.”
“Are you sure? The reports said—”
“Maybe they looked rough at first, but not anymore.”
“Kane, that’s part of the pattern.” Her voice took on a note of concern. “People get better and worse, remember?”
He wanted to reassure her, to make Cassia feel as happy as he did. “I promise I’m fine. Just keep your head down for a few more days, and we’ll have what we need.” A carefree sensation swept over him, making his limbs go light and airy. He started to laugh because he knew everything would be okay. They would cure their people, Cassia would forgive him, and they’d live together in simple bliss. Their future was as clear to him as the hand at the end of his arm. “I love you, Cassy.” He imagined the stunned look on her face and he laughed again, twice as hard. “I love you so much.”
She didn’t answer, but that was all right. She loved him, too.
“Talk to you soon,” he said, and disconnected.
By the next sunrise, Kane was eating his words.
Metaphorically, of course. Because the thought of eating anything—even words—was enough to send him stumbling to the toilet, where he puked so hard his stomach nearly turned inside out. Then he did it again. When there was nothing left inside him, he groaned, hanging his head over the rim while every pore in his face opened up and oozed sweat. He couldn’t tell if his skin was hot or cold, but he shivered and ached all over like he had a fever.
Had he actually wished this on himself?
He dragged over to the sink to rinse out his mouth, which left him with barely enough strength to return to his bunk. The lower cot was empty, so he collapsed there instead of climbing up to his bed. His muscles seemed to have decayed overnight. He knew he should replace the fluid he’d lost, but he didn’t want to drink. Besides, he didn’t think he could make it to the toilet if he threw up again.
The alarm sounded, and he gripped his head, cringing as the noise sliced a white-hot trail through his brain. No one’s feet hit the floor, except those running to the washroom to lose the contents of their own stomachs.
From nearby, the foreman slurred, “Outta bed, men,” while lying limp in his cot.
Kane didn’t know why, but the order made his anger erupt. In the time it took for him to draw a breath, his head was hot with fury. “You get out of bed, *!”
“Shut your face!” came the response. “Or I’ll feed you my fist, you little pissant!”
But neither of them moved. They were too weak to fight.
It went on like that for days.
Tempers flared; no one could sleep. Anything Kane managed to swallow came right back up again. He stopped urinating because there was no water left in his body. He wanted to call Cassia for help, but he didn’t have the strength to reach inside his pocket, let alone find a private place to talk. The aches and fatigue were awful, but not half as crushing as the feeling of despair that settled over him by slow degrees, as if a pillow were descending from the upper bunk to suffocate him.