Alec said it for him. “It’s Darnell in there, isn’t it.”
Trina nodded, and a fresh wave of tears poured down her face. Mark wanted nothing else but to hug her, hold her for the rest of the day and night. But all he had were his words now.
“It’s okay, Trina. It’s okay. You both did the right thing. Like Lana said, Darnell knew they might’ve infected him with something. We all need to be careful until we know whatever this thing is has stopped spreading.”
Fresh screams erupted from the hut, seeping through the cracks. It sounded like Darnell was tearing his throat apart and Mark wanted nothing more than to cover his ears.
“My head!”
Mark turned sharply, eyeing the hut. It was the first time Darnell had used actual words. Mark couldn’t help himself; he hurried over to a boarded-up window with a gap about two inches wide running across the middle.
“Mark!” Alec yelled. “Get back here!”
“It’s fine!” Mark replied. “I’m not gonna touch anything.”
“I won’t be a bit happy if you catch some nasty disease. Not a bit.”
Mark tried to give him a reassuring look. “I just want to see my friend.” He pressed the cloth tightly against his nose and raised his eyebrows dramatically at Alec.
The man grunted and looked away. But Trina was staring him down, obviously torn between stopping Mark and joining him.
“Just stay there,” he called to her before she could make a move. His voice was muffled through the mask, but she heard him clearly enough. She gave a slight nod; then her gaze fell to the ground.
Mark faced the gap between the two boards of the window. The screaming had stopped inside, but he could hear Darnell whimpering softly now, moaning those same two words every few seconds.
“My head, my head, my head.”
Mark took another step forward, then another. The slit was just a few inches from his face now. He cinched the strip of cloth behind his neck, making sure his mouth and nose were entirely covered. Then he leaned forward and peeked in.
Broken beams of the fading sunlight arrowed across the dirt floor, but it was mostly dark. He saw Darnell’s feet and legs in one spot of light, tucked up tightly to his body, but his face was hidden. He had his head buried in his arms, by the looks of it.
Still the whimpering and the muttering. And he was shivering from top to bottom, as if he were caught outside in a blizzard.
“Darnell?” Mark asked. “Hey … it’s Mark. I know you’ve been put through the wringer, man. I’m … I’m really sorry.… Hey, we got the suckers who did this to you. Crashed their Berg and everything.”
His friend didn’t respond, just lay there, half in shadow, shaking and moaning. Muttering those two words.
“My head, my head, my head.”
Mark’s insides plummeted to some dark place and he felt hollow inside. He’d seen so much of terror and death, but looking at his friend, suffering alone … it killed Mark. Especially because it was so pointless. Needless. Why would someone do this to others after all the hell that happened to the world? Weren’t things bad enough?
A sudden rage came over him. Mark punched the rough wood of the shack, bloodying his knuckles. He hoped somebody paid for all this one day.
“Darnell?” Mark called again. He had to say something, make it better. “Maybe … maybe you’re stronger than the others—that’s why you haven’t died. Just hang tough, man. Wait it out. You’ll …” Empty words. That was what it felt like. As if he were lying to his friend.
“Anyway, the sergeant and I, Trina, Lana, whoever—we’re gonna make it right, somehow. You just—”
Darnell’s body suddenly stiffened, his legs shooting straight out and his arms going rigid at his sides. Another scream, worse than before, erupted from his ravaged throat—it came out sounding like the roar of an enraged animal. Mark jumped back in surprise but quickly leaned in again, his eye as close as possible to the opening without touching it. Darnell had rolled out into the middle of the floor, his face now in full view under a shaft of sunlight as he shook and shook.
Blood covered his forehead, his cheeks, his chin, his neck. Matted his hair. It was seeping from his eyes and ears, dripping off his lips. The boy finally got control of his arms and pressed them against the sides of his head, twisting this way and that as if he were trying to screw the thing right off his neck. And the screams kept coming, broken up by the only two words he seemed to know.
“My head! My head! My head!”
“Darnell,” Mark whispered, knowing there was no way he could talk to his friend now. And despite how guilty and sick it made him feel, Mark also knew he couldn’t possibly go in there to try and help. It would be beyond stupid.
“My heeeeeeaaaaaad!” Darnell shouted in one long, drawn-out wail of such ferocity that Mark stepped back again. He didn’t know if he could bear to look anymore.
There was the sound of movement inside, the shuffling of feet. Then a loud thunk against the door. Then another. And another.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.