Page 21 of Doomsdate

Gemma: CALL ME IMMEDIATELY! It’s extremely important!!!

Before I can think of a single thing to write back, my phone screen darkens, out of battery, and I groan. What the hell is going on?

Is it the virus? Does my family know something I don’t?

From my perch up high, I can just make out the top of Sandeep’s condo the next block over. I’m close.

I just have to get to Sandeep’s. Avoid the goblin-people. Charge my phone. That’s it.

Terror follows me like a cloud as I slink through the shadows the last of the way to his condo. I nearly weep with relief as I retrieve the spare key from the flowerpot and let myself in.

“Sandeep?” I call up the stairs. The living room is the same as it ever was, save for the pile of blankets and puke bucket by the couch. Judging by the smell, it’s been used. I cover my nose with my arm. “It’s me, Everett.” My desire not to wake him if he’s sleeping is countered by my stronger desire to tell him everything that’s happened.

I check the bottom floor, but he’s not in the kitchen, hall bath, or living room. I shrug off my peacoat and settle down in an armchair to untie my oxfords, wincing as my socks pull off sticky bits of me with them. His first aid kit is probably upstairs, in the big bathroom off his bedroom. I pad lightly up the stairs, the wood sighing with each footstep.

“Sandeep?” I call again, softer this time. The door to his bedroom is open, the last of the moonlight filtering in through the big windows. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust. It takes another second to see the bare leg lying halfway out of his bathroom.

“Sandeep!” I rush to his side and drop to my knees. “Wake up, buddy!” I shake him by the shoulders, but the bones move too willingly, the muscles slack beneath the T-shirt. His skin feels oddly cool to the touch, and I shrink back in horror. His eyes are closed, lips parted. A thin line of vomit is dried on his cheek, but still wet on the floor.

My heart beats hard in my chest. I lift a tentative finger and press it gently against his throat.

Nothing. I try again, moving around his neck faster and faster, looking for the jugular, for something, for any sign of life. I don’t even realize I’m hyperventilating until the room begins to tilt and shift around me.

“Sandeep, no, no, no, no!” I cradle his face in my hands, trying to breathe through this moment. Trying to breathe at all. My heart breaks all over again, splintering along the preestablished cracks that Sandeep’s tried so hard to patch together these last few years. And now he’s dead. Dead! My best friend. My only friend, really. I used to have dozens of people I considered close, but grief has a way of making you unpalatable. Your presence hangs heavy and thick in a room, overwhelming others’ attempts at conversation just by being there. Reminding them all that sadness is real, death exists, and that it could come for any of them, at any minute.

I haven’t been invited to a party in a long time.

But Sandeep didn’t care. He was there for Louise and me. Visiting, bringing us food, hugs, and the laughter that was so hard to come by toward the end. After Louise’s three short months battling colon cancer ended, he was still there for me, and has been ever since.

Sandeep liked me when I was fun and loved me when I wasn’t.

And now he’s gone.

Tears spill down my cheeks, trickling paths into my growing beard, as I rock back and forth on my knees, moaning. I don’t know what to do. I need to call someone—911. I need to—shit, my phone is dead.

Sandeep’s phone lies in one of his hands, his fingers grasping it loosely. I reach for it, hand jerking back at the feel of his cold skin against mine, until I can make myself reach for it again. Sobbing, I pry it from his fingers and hit the emergency call button.

The call connects, but nobody answers.

“Hello? Hello?! My friend was sick, and he—he died. Hello?”

A low, rattling exhalation sounds into the receiver.

“Hello?”

Something growls on the other end, and the line disconnects. I pull the phone away from my ear slowly, and a twitch catches the corner of my eye. My gaze cuts back to Sandeep, who twitches again.

“Buddy!” I chuck his phone aside and lean over him once more. His chest convulses, his head flopping against the floor. He was dead. Wasn’t he? He’s not breathing, but he’s moving, and oh, god, is he choking? Without hesitating, I fall over him, pinch his nose, and press my mouth to his crusty lips, blowing deeply in. The stench of vomit and something else, something far worse, buffets me in the face, and I reel back, gagging as I perform the compressions to his chest.

Sandeep continues to jerk, the tremors racking his entire body now, but then goes completely still. His eyelids peel open, and his head twists to the side. Twin full moons gleam up at me.

I gasp, and his arms rocket up, fingers grabbing me around the throat.

“Sandeep! Stop it, stop it, it’s me,” I wheeze, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing stares back at me from beyond the silver light veiling his eyes. Not Sandeep. Not my best friend. Not even a human. The room darkens at the edges, each attempted breath like knives in my chest.

He’s going to kill me.

With a last burst of effort, I yank backward, my hands around his wrists, pulling with every bit of life I have left. His grip breaks, air rushes in, and somehow that’s more painful than the suffocation. I scrabble backward on my palms and bare feet until I can leverage myself up to standing. Sandeep rolls onto his shoulder, the movement unnatural and harsh, as if it didn’t hurt.