Tunnels 04, Closer

sympathetically. He spoke to his men again before running back toward the lorry.
    Rebecca Two smiled. "It's always good to get together with old friends again, isn't it?" she said to the Limiter General.

    * * * * *

    Chester hadn't been asleep long when he was woken by violent stomach cramps. At first he just lay there, telling himself they would pass, but they didn't. The pain became progressively worse until he was forced to crawl out from under his shelter and run into the trees where he threw up. And he kept throwing up until there was nothing left in his stomach, but the dreadful retching continued, making his throat raw.
    When he finally staggered back to his shelter, ashen-faced and sweating, Martha was waiting for him.
    "Tummy troubles?" Me too. Do you want something for it?" she said. Without waiting for him to answer she continued, "I'll brew up some tea -- that should help."
    As they sat around the fire, Chester was forcing himself to sip his tepid tea when the cramps flared up again. He rushed off, but this time it was chronic diarrhea in addition to the vomiting.
    Martha was still by the fire when he returned, almost without the energy to walk.
    "I feel really grotty," he said to her.
    "Go and get some sleep -- you've probably just caught a germule," she replied. "Lots of rest and warm fluids will do the trick."
    In the end it took Chester nearly two days to get over it. All thoughts of escaping were abandoned -- in the state he was in he wouldn't get very far. As he flitted between feverish sleep and a waking deliriousness, he loathed being completely dependent on Martha, but he had no alternative. When he was finally able to keep solid food down and felt his strength beginning to return, they got ready to resume their aimless trek.
    "Martha, we can't just keep trogging around like this. What are we going to do?" Chester said. "And I've really had enough of eating those bloody birds you're trapping. In fact, I reckon that's what's making me so ill."
    "Beggars can't be choosers," she retorted. "And they made me ill too."
    Chester looked at her askance. Contrary to her claims that she'd been similarly afflicted, he had no recollection of her rushing off to the trees, or even once complaining that she'd had stomach pains. But then again, he hadn't been noticing very much lately.
    As dusk fell, they went on their way again, but Chester was still weak and unable to walk for a full night. So, after entering another wood some hours before dawn, they set up camp. And he just couldn't believe it when, less than half an hour after they'd eaten, his stomach began to gurgle and the cramps returned. This time it was even worse, and Martha had to help him away from the campfire and to a clump of trees where he had some privacy while he was violently ill yet again.
    Over the ensuing days she was even forced to spoon-feed him because his hands were so shaky he couldn't manage it himself. He lost track of time, growing lethargic from his lack of nutrition, until Martha woke him one night. She was in a flap, jabbering something about how they had to move on. He attempted to ask her the reason for this, but she offered none. He wondered perhaps if she'd heard her imaginary Bright again.
    However, he found he'd recovered sufficiently to walk for a couple of hours. In the drizzling rain they made their way around the edges of field after field, until they came upon a ramshackle barn. Although there were tiles missing from the roof and the interior was heaped with rusty agricultural equipment, Martha cleared one of the corners for them. At least it meant they were protected from the elements and had an opportunity to dry themselves out.
    Aside from his persistent illness, Chester had had enough of being permanently damp -- his legs were chafing against his trousers, and the skin between his toes had turned a rather alarming white color and peeled off in chunks when he picked at it. Both he and Martha didn't seem to be quite so smelly, probably because his own body odor was masking hers.
    As they huddled up in there sleeping bags in the corner of the barn, Chester was at the end of his tether.
    "I've had all I can take," he said to her, his eyes vacant as he gripped the sleeping bag around his neck with his filthy hands. "I've never felt this ill, and I'm terrified it's going to get worse. Martha, I can't take much more." He stopped to swallow back his tears -- he was telling the truth when he said he couldn't continue like