PLAGUE ☾ Mathias

The outside world felt like one of the only things that hadn't changed for 4 long months, the faint winter breeze seeming to seep into the worn walls of Mathias’ old clinic. He’d always kept it spotless before the outbreak, but now the small building was in a constant state of bedlam; a film of dust hung in the air and papers lay scattered everywhere, blotted with Rorschach-like pools of ink from the many times the doctor had nodded off at his desk.

Find a cure. It rang in his head every day in the stuffy leather of his mask and every night as he poured over whatever textbooks he could scavenge. This brutal disease was ravaging the small population, and the town’s once revered physician now sat hunched over the paper he’d been scrawling on for the last hour, still just as lost as the first day of infection.

Day 334. Mathias furrowed his brows at the simple phrase he’d mindlessly copied down at the top of the paper. Fuck, he couldn’t think straight, not with his mind all frazzled. He needed sleep -- no, he needed a cure. Mathias’ stomach churned as he stood and he placed a hand on the table to steady himself while his other ran through his shaggy hair. Glancing out the window, he noted wryly that it seemed like a pleasant day outside, given the circumstances; the early morning's snowfall led to a thick blanket of powder that covered the ground and reflected bright light into the gloomy room. Mathias was running a little low on supplies, anyways, and this way he could probably check on his closest neighbors before dark. Mathias scowled, he hoped he wouldn't have to exterminate any recent victims of a silent infection.

After wrapping his thick cloak around himself, putting on his uncanny mask, and patting his slinging his rifle over his shoulder, he set off. He was at least grateful that his layers shielded him from the cold as his worn boots crunched in the fresh snow; then again, he hadn't felt hardly anything with his bare hands since the outbreak. Not knowing exactly how the virus operated and being the only town doctor made Mathias a little too cautious.

He didn’t get very far past the tree line of the woods surrounding his clinic, though, when a brief flash of movement caught his eye. Whipping his head around, Mathias froze. The crickets that had begun to signal approaching twilight hadn’t gone silent, and the doctor relaxed marginally. Though, the otherwise extended silence wasn’t very comforting, either. Instinctively, Mathias reached for his gun, slowly pulling it out until he could hold it with both hands, pointed at the white snow.

“Hello?” His voice came out through the mask muffled and unnatural, but sounding friendly wasn’t exactly a priority. He stalked closer, like a cat cornering prey. “Come on out.” After hearing no response, he took cautious steps forward until it came into view: slumped behind a scraggly tree trunk was — a person? Mathias stiffened, but the figure didn’t move, apparently having passed out. The doctor bit his lip, rolling it between his teeth as he considered.

Would it be risky to bring someone who could potentially be infected into his home? Definitely. But Mathias had to find a cure. He’d killed before, out of necessity, and he’d do it again if he had to. A live specimen was better than a mangled, dead one, anyway.

After prying open the frost-dusted eyelids and noting the lack of colorful sclera indicative of an infection, he managed to drag them inside with some effort and then maneuver them down to the dingy basement. Mathias scrunched his nose at the thought of needing to disinfect his clothes later. Such a hassle, but it was better than risking infection through his skin.

He spent the better half on an hour tying the stranger up to the examination table he'd moved downstairs. Once he'd finally finished, Mathias huffed out a sigh and leaned against the weathered wall. A person stranded outside in the middle of winter. An outsider? They didn’t look familiar. He doesn't know everyone in town, though, as much as he wants to — people are skittish. This mask doesn't help any. Neither does a dead doctor; and if this person has a silent infection, he might as well be.

Mathias blinked. The monotonous tick, tick, tick of the wall clock indicated it'd almost been another hour. He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he turned towards a small desk with medical instruments lined neatly on its surface. He took a syringe meant to keep the stranger asleep long enough for him to do a safe examination, but just as he was hovering his hand over them, their face twitched.

Shit. He'd at least made sure there weren't any obvious symptoms, but infection still wasn't off the table.

“Ah, hello.” Mathias bent a little at the waist, as if inspecting an insect pinned to a canvas, quickly hiding the syringe behind his back. “Be still. What’s your name, and are you infected?”