Chapter Text
Pontypridd, Wales
March 21, CY 1, 2012 AD
Orla Fallon was glad it was March. Otherwise, her feet would surely have blistered by now. She didn't have any callus tissue on her feet and they would have burned badly on hot asphalt in mid-summer and that would have been in the first hour. She'd have been forced to walk on the gravel of the road verge, which would have torn up her soft feet, even without blistering. It would have been the next worst thing to a no-win scenario. She didn't really believe in them anyway, though that was rapidly catching up to her.
The group had been on the move more or less non-stop for three days, the sunrise of a fourth just a couple of hours away. They'd stopped for rest and water and food—which had mainly involved pulling up and eating weeds like dandelions, chicory, salsify, and Queen Anne's lace--a few times. Tap water had ceased to flow two days before as all the pumps had stopped and pressure in the pipes had been depleted. They were forced to drink surface water, which they all knew was contaminated by livestock. Orla had convinced them that the risk, extreme though it was, of contracting things like Giardia and E. coli was better, more easily treated, and more readily endured than dehydration.
Orla and Marido had indeed contracted whatever seasonal virus the man in Treorci had sneezed all over them. As she'd feared, it had hit them both very hard and very quickly. She marveled at how effective it was, given the inconsistencies between human DNA and her own.
The disease had slowed them both down as much as Chloe's and David's broken bones had slowed them, if not more. The previous hour had been particularly disturbing for Orla. She'd gone from feeling warm and icky to barely being able to stand, even with the help of her staff. Marido had acquired a stick and she was likewise using it to keep herself upright. Neither of them knew how much time they had left, but Orla wouldn't have bet on more than a few more hours. They'd both lose consciousness well before that.
They were just passing through the middle of Pondypridd where several roads came together. The signs were potentially confusing. Not that she was following the signs, though. She and Marido, with the others in tow, had been staggering along all night, the moon lighting their way. She'd refused to stop for rest. She knew she was on death's door. She also knew that the magic she'd been following was close...very close and very strong. It gave her a great deal of hope and that hope kept her moving. Whoever wielded that magic was also moving and on an intercept course.
The others had initially wanted to head right toward the Dewi St. Hospital, but Orla had ignored it. So the others had followed wordlessly. Chloe had been crying on and off from the pain, the others grunting and groaning. She had to admit they even sounded like zombies! Hayley had long before gone dry herself from both the sorrow and her empathy with her surviving friends. Orla's vision was beginning to blur.
This is it, she thought. With a force of will, she continued to put one food sluggishly in front of the other. Each step was increasingly difficult. She saw motion out of the corner of her eye and heard a female voice grunt and the thump of something hard hitting the road. She knew Marido had gone down. Footsteps rushed up from behind, probably Andreja rushing to help.
She saw motion ahead of her. Her eyesight continued to blur and she could no longer make out anything but vague shapes. The shapes came toward her. She took another step, but her legs gave out and she felt her knees hit the road. It should have hurt, but her awareness had already slipped too far. The shapes blurred further and grew larger as they approached. She was vaguely aware of animated voices, sounding distant and echoey, but she couldn't understand them through the fog clouding her mind. She watched the world tip sideways and she knew she was falling over. She felt something soft under her, as though hands were catching her. Then everything went dark.