Infected (Book 2): The Flight by Caleb Cleek Read Free Book Online Page B

first or it was preceded by the diarrhea didn’t matter.  Either way, one preceded and precipitated the explosive arrival of the other.
    After several minutes the attack subsided.  Zeke felt like every drop of energy had been wrung from his body. He stepped out of his clothes and left them to lie on the floor while he cleansed his defiled body in a cold shower.  By the time he was done, the combination of cold water and the rapid onset of a fever left him chilled to the core and shivering.
    His trembling hand reached around the shower door for the towel hanging limply from the wall.  Feebly, he struggled to sop the dripping water from his body.  He didn’t feel like making the effort; however, he knew the remaining water wouldn’t evaporate on its own in the high humidity.  Once he was dry, he staggered to bed, nestled his naked body between the sheets, and went to sleep. 
    He was roused from his sleep by a flash and explosion that rattled the windows as the thunder rumbled away into the distance.  Awakened, the turmoil within his bowls intensified and he rushed to the bathroom again.  The thunder awakened him several more times, providing just enough warning for him to make it to the safety of the bathroom.  Finally, the storm faded away in the cooling night and his innards, in response, seemed to relax for several hours.
    Tuesday was a sleep-induced blur punctuated with moments of wakeful terror as he raced for the toilet.  Fortunately, each time his body woke him in time to reach the safety of the bathroom.  After each desperate race against his body’s turmoil, he forced himself to drink as much Gatorade as his body would tolerate and then returned to bed. 
    Wednesday was more of the same, but by evening he felt he was beginning to recuperate. The vomiting and diarrhea had subsided.  His body was slowly winning the battle against the invading virus.  His appetite had returned and he considered eating something light. His body had expended a tremendous amount of energy by metabolically raising his temperature in an attempt to cook the besieging virus to death, and it was begging to have its stores replenished.   In the end, he decided against it.  As famished as he was, he sensed his body would revolt against anything solid he introduced to his digestive tract.  Better to wait another day. 
    He didn’t have the energy to do anything other than roll onto his left side and raise his right thigh perpendicular to his body in an attempt to alleviate the discomfort in his stomach.  With that laborious task completed, he closed his eyes.
    That was how he found himself when he awoke Thursday morning.  The difference was that, in spite of his fast-induced weakened state, he felt great.

Chapte r 8
    Zeke didn’t move for several minutes.  He lay beneath the covers, reveling in the fact that he wasn’t sick anymore. During the past two days, he had forgotten what it was like to feel well. 
      It was the persistent, gnawing hunger that finally drove him from his bed.  He hadn’t eaten for two and a half days and desperately needed sustenance. He tossed the blankets off and pushed himself off the mattress. His frame was grasped by the chill air in the room, and goose bumps sprouted all over his body while he fumbled to dress himself.  Although the fifty-eight degree air was invigorating, it was economically unfeasible to keep the temperature that cold, especially during the summer.  Bumping the thermostat back up to seventy-two degrees, Zeke shuddered as he pondered how much he was going to have to shell out in exchange for having dropped the temperature low enough to keep milk from spoiling. 
    Breakfast was basically the same every day: four eggs beaten and cooked into an omelet topped with cheddar cheese and served beside a piece of toast drenched in butter.  
    Zeke knew that his body had cannibalized a lot of muscle while he lay in bed without eating.   He was anxious to refuel with the