Yesterday's Gone: Season One

okay?” Brent asked.
    He shook his head, no he was not alright.
    He raced up the stairs to the dark, windowless bathroom, then fell to his knees, just making it as his insides flew up and out his throat, then exploded into the toilet. He slammed the door, then reached out and grabbed the flashlight from the sink. He clicked it on, then set it back on the sink, light pointed at the ceiling.
    He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, hoping that was all he had in him. The invisible blades twisted in his stomach another time. He cried out then let loose another explosion into the toilet. The liquid came out thick, like black ropes. He grabbed the flashlight and pointed it into the toilet bowl to see what he’d evacuated. The vomit actually looked like rope. No, not rope. It was moving.  
    Like worms.
    He slammed down the metal toilet handle to flush the mess, then glanced at his arm again. The worms beneath his skin had multiplied. On a whim, he looked at his left arm, which hadn’t been bitten. Worms were racing under his skin there, too. It was spreading throughout his entire body. Infected!
    What the hell is in me?!
    Outside, Brent knocked on the bathroom door. “Are you okay?”
    “Go away!” Luis snapped, reaching out and locking the door.
    He puked again, then stood and swung open the mirrored medicine cabinet so hard the mirror shattered.
    He scanned the shelves until he found what he was looking for — an old fashioned razor blade.
    Brent banged on the door. “You okay?”
    Jesus, this guy is annoying.
    “I’ll be out in a bit,” Luis growled, “Go away.”
    He grabbed the razor, looked back down at his arm, at the damned fucking worms , and ran the blade across his right forearm.  
    He clenched through the pain, as blood poured into the sink. His blood was dark amber, almost the color of liquid rust. He set the blade down, and dug two fingers into the open wound, fished for two of the bastard worms, wet and white with streaks of blood, and circled his fingers around them, and pulled. Rather than breaking apart as he feared they would, the worms held as he pulled them like slick noodles from his arm. He pulled six inches, twelve, and finally a full fifteen inches in length until he’d pulled two entire worms from his body.
    He held them up, inspected the heads: a tiny open mouth, with several needle-like teeth. The worms slithered in his hand, slippery and coated in a mix of blood and black liquid.
    Jesus Christ.
    He threw the worms into the sink in disgust. They smacked the sink like wet spaghetti, then darted toward the open drain and vanished down into the plumbing.
    His mind was in full panic mode, wanting, no, needing to yank every last one of the fuckers from his body. He was about to dig back into his arm when he noticed the wound had begun to heal itself.  
    Panic receded, replaced by awe as he watched his skin stitch itself together, leaving the wound a memory.
    What the fuck am I?
    He stared into the mirror, and saw something moving beneath the skin just under his left eye. He closed his lids and leaned forward, letting the top of his head press against the cold mirror.
    A knock at the door. Again.
    He unlocked the door, yanked it open, and saw Brent.
    “What?!” he yelled.
    Brent stepped back, eyes wide. Luis realized he was losing his temper, something he rarely did. He prided himself on remaining calm under any stress. But this was something else. Stress, anger, and fear were dueling for control of his mind… likely along with whatever had invaded his body.
    “I’m sorry,” he said. He wasn’t feeling sorry, but knew what he was supposed say. In reality, he felt a sudden urge to hit Brent. Hard. He swallowed it.
    Brent said, “We’ve gotta get going. I don’t wanna take a chance that the ferry will leave without us.”
    “I’m not going,” Luis said.
    “Why not?” Brent’s eyes scanned the bathroom; broken glass, blood, black liquid, and a razor blade. No fooling this reporter. “Oh my God, what happened?”
    “Just go; get on the ferry with the girls, and leave.”
    “I’m not going without you,” Brent said. “Come on, these people at Black Island can help you.”
    “Really? And how do you know that, Mr. Reporter Guy? Is that something your fucking paper wrote about?”
    Even though Luis knew he was completely overreacting, he couldn’t help himself. He was getting increasingly pissed each time Brent opened his mouth and didn’t just leave him be. He