“What?”

“Maggots, insects, things. They freaked me out. I could see them on me, feel them chewing on my skin. It was so real.”

I nod. “We’re both going to have to try to ignore them, try to remember it’s all part of the Flu.

Tawni sighs. “I’ll try.”

“We have to keep moving.”

“I know.”

Standing up again is torture. In the few minutes we’ve been on the ground, it seems every muscle in my body has frozen. My right arm is better off, so I use it to straighten my left arm, flex it, massage it. I feel a spurt of warmth as some blood rushes back into my arms. Next I work on my legs. Tawni is doing the same thing. Then we use the wall and each other to pull ourselves up. It probably takes us ten minutes to get to our feet.

Ten precious minutes.

I am dreading my first hallucination.

We continue walking, Tawni dragging a foot while I manage to lift both feet off the ground far enough to take real steps. At some point we switch from holding hands to huddling against each other, arms around each other’s shoulders. She is my crutch and I am hers.

My fever is out of control. When the sweat isn’t pouring down my face, I am shivering uncontrollably, shaking from head to toe. We are a mess. First Tawni shakes for a few minutes and then stops just in time for me to start convulsing. Soon our shaking begins starting and stopping at the same time. It’s weird, almost like how they say girls who spend a lot of time with each other somehow synchronize their periods—we’ve synchronized our shaking.

I hear a sound. A thunder, of sorts. It sounds like a train is heading our way, moving down the tunnel. But there is no train station, no tracks. It’s no train, of that I am certain.

I see what is making the noise, but it’s too late. The water is moving too fast, charging toward us, a deluge of power, bubbling and raging and bursting. I scream, loud and long, and try to pull Tawni in the other direction, back the way we came.

She resists my pull and I don’t know why. Perhaps she has given up; perhaps it is all too much for her; perhaps she just doesn’t have the strength. Whatever the case, my hand pulls free from hers and I run alone, but not fast enough. The torrent sweeps me off my feet with the power of a mining machine, lifting me up and slamming me on the rocky floor. I roll and bounce, battered by the white bubbly rapids.

My only hope is that the force of the water will sweep me all the way back to the contaminated lake, where it will exit the tunnel, washing me up on dry land before I drown.

Tawni is already lost.

But the flood doesn’t push me along. Instead, it encompasses me, leaving me churning on the tunnel floor, desperately straining to hold my breath for another second, another ten, another minute. It’s like all my childhood nightmares about drowning—brought on by my near-drowning when I fell down a well as a young girl—are muddled into one horrible reality. My lungs are on fire, setting my chest ablaze with pain. Agony. Somehow I’m crying underwater, blubbering and sputtering, my lips parted and my eyes closed. The water should enter my mouth, suffocate me as I take one last breath.

It doesn’t.

Tawni is by my side, holding me. The water swirls over and around her. It’s as if she’s in an air bubble, protected from the current. Not even her hair is wet. Her eyes are soft. Still red, but soft. Her lips move.

“Not real, honey,” she says softly. “Hush—not real.”

I realize I’m yelling something amidst my blubbering. I’m not sure what I’m saying, but I stop. The water looks strange. Almost too blue to be real. Too perfect.

Before it begins to ebb away, I know it’s a hallucination. The waters subside and I’m left in Tawni’s arms, much like she was in mine not that long ago. I’m soaking wet and shivering.

“So cold,” I murmur between blue lips.

“No,” Tawni says, shaking her head. “Not cold. Not real.”

“But I’m all wet,” I say, hugging myself, trying to get warm.

“Not wet. Completely dry.”

Even as her words sink in, warmth returns to my body and I watch as my clothes stop sticking to me, the slickness on my skin vanishes, and the soggy, dripping locks of my black hair are replaced by soft, loose locks around my face.

I take a deep breath, trying to fight off the surreal memories of the life-taking water. “I’m okay,” I say, wiping the unwanted tears from my face. I’m embarrassed, even though I know the hallucination was so real. I knew it was coming, but couldn’t combat it. I need to do better with the next one. “We need to go.”

“Maybe we should just stay here and ride it out,” Tawni says. Her face is shining with sweat, her white hair tight and knotted, twisted together from the sweat on her neck and cheeks. Her words are a temptation. I can feel my face flushed with the fever and my muscles are battered and bruised. I couldn’t handle the hallucination, but I can handle a little pain.

“No,” I say, pushing myself up, biting back a groan as my muscles and bones scream at me. “That would be suicide.”

Tawni knows I’m right so she lets me help her up without complaining. “I’m scared, Adele.”

“We will make it,” I say. Won’t we?

With the Flu, things just keep getting worse. Thirty minutes later, Tawni is a ghost, pale and gaunt. She looks like she’s sweated off ten pounds that she can’t afford to lose. Her bony hands are clutching me at the elbow, depending on me to stay on her feet. I’m not much better off, but am coping with the achy muscles better than she is. I’ve been grinding my teeth in determination for so long I can feel the enamel flaking off on my tongue, gritty and dry.

Thankfully, neither of us has hallucinated for a while, and, despite the pain we’re in, we are making steady progress, although I don’t know if we’re minutes, hours, or days from our destination. Nor do I know what to expect when we arrive. For all I know, the star dwellers might kill us on the spot. They are not the friendliest of people at the moment.

My mind is becoming a problem. One minute it is sharp and clear, and then the next it’s hazy and groggy, like I’m sleepwalking through a deep fog. The foggy times are fast becoming the majority. I want to slap myself, but I can’t get my hand up to my face; nor can I move it with the speed required to hurt enough to snap me out of my numbed state.

Tawni’s fingernails dig into my arm and I know something is wrong. I slowly turn my head toward her to see what’s going on, but it’s too late. My face swivels right into her punch, and I feel a dull impact when her clenched knuckles collide with my cheekbone. It doesn’t hurt exactly, but does force me off balance, and my legs are in no position to correct my momentum.

I tumble hard to the earth and try to roll away from my friend, who is now my attacker. My body disobeys me once more and I remain pinned to the ground. All I can do is hope that whatever hallucination is clutching Tawni will release her.

It doesn’t.

Tawni leaps on top of me, grapples with my outstretched arms, tries to get the tips of her fingers into my eyes. She is screaming at me, shouting horrible things, obscenities, things I’ve never heard come from her mouth. Disgusting, vile things.

I try to remember that she’s hallucinating, but she’s trying to hurt me, and I have to defend myself. When she tries to hit me again, I grab one of her hands and get it under control. “You’re hallucinating, Tawni, get off me!” I cry, but she doesn’t listen, just keeps fighting with me.

A knife flashes, shiny and deadly. I can barely make it out in the dim light provided by our flashlights, which we have cast aside haphazardly during our fight. Where did she get a knife from? Why would she even have a knife? Tawni is the least violent person I know—more prone to run or hide than fight back. And yet she has a knife—and is trying to cut me open.