Craving
“And yet I’m here as living proof.” Ilo kept his tone reasonable but could feel his patience start to wear. Doctor Kaufman wasn’t the only one at the end of a hard stretch.
“You’re here,” Kaufman said, putting a hand to his head and closing one eye briefly. “But that doesn’t prove you survived the Craving. For all I know you’re another liar or another desperate fool.”
“I’m not, you moron!” Ilo immediately regretted the outburst when he saw the doctor frown and the muscles in his face tense up. The man’s caution was understandable – since the outbreak there had been supposed “survivors” all across the planet who claimed they could provide a cure for the Craving so long as they were given millions of dollars and asked no questions. The first few were indulged until their blood was shown to be free of any evidence that they’d ever endured the Craving, and then governments had become more selective. A month ago two men had demonstrated at least a partial resistance to the effects of the outbreak, but nothing useful could be synthesized from their DNA.
“Doctor, please,” he went on in a more reasonable tone. “Just test my blood. You’ll see that I’m telling the truth.”
“I don’t have time for this!” Kaufman exploded, slamming his fist down on a dirty counter. “Do you have any idea how many people I see in a day, all hoping I can help them, all hoping I can cure theim?”
“I-“ There was a long enough pause that Ilo started to fill in the gap, but Kaufman cut him off.
“Hundreds! And I have to tell them all the same thing: go home, get some rest and hope it passes! They know the statistics, they know that no one survives but they thank me anyway and leave, false hope in their eyes because a doctor told them they might have a chance!” The taller man was fuming now, stained lab coat moving in counterpoint to furious gestures. “Now you’re in here, wasting my time and I just want to go home. I need food, I need rest, and I need to pray I don’t come down with the Craving – if I do, who will be there to give me hope?”
Instead of answering, Ilo pulled his shirt off and turned his back, giving Kaufman a full view of the deep scars lining his ribcage. The last stages of the Craving demanded flesh so desperately that sufferers were willing to scour their own bodies for it; if they weren’t killed by others with the disease they were often found lying bloodied and broken, their own skin hanging from limp mouths and caught under blackened fingernails. When the desperate end of the Craving had taken him he’d still been lucid enough to throw himself out an apartment window and when he regained consciousness his maddened desire was gone.
No one had ever taken credit for moving him from the street into a windowless room complete with only a single cot and change of clothes, and Ilo had found no one to ask once he was mobile again. Though he found himself ravenous for actual food, the thought of flesh sickened him as it should have, and in time he came to realize the Craving had somehow been stopped – no thanks to his own efforts.
Kaufman sucked in a quick breath but Ilo didn’t speak. Such scars could be the work of a truly dedicated con man, but if the doctor was half as good as he pretended to be he’d know what to do in order to confirm their origin.
Ilo smiled when he felt the cold metal of a stethoscope against his back.
“Breathe.” He sucked in two slow breaths, then a few shallow ones for good measure. His own research into the Craving showed it left behind a large amount of lung scar tissue – part of the reason many of those in its late stages could no longer speak. While his own voice had weathered the storm fairly well, breaths of any magnitude produced a distinct rattling sound in his chest.
“My god,” Kaufman said, “you were telling the truth. You’ve actually beaten it. How?”
Turning, Ilo met the doctor’s gaze. “I have no idea. I took an eight-story fall when the Craving finally overwhelmed me, and I should be dead. Someone cured me but didn’t stick around to let me in on the secret.”
“We’ll need to run tests!” The other man’s eyes were bright. “Let me get the clinic chief on the phone –“
“No,” Ilo said softly, and Kaufman ground to a halt. “At least not without meeting my demands.
“You bastard!” Excitement swung into anger again, and the tall doctor came forward, fists clenched. “What is it you want – money, fame? You’ll get them, but let’s help people first! Others are suffering!”
“You’re damn right they are,” Ilo stood and pulled his shirt back on. “Others like my wife. She contracted the Craving three months ago, but I’ve kept her sane with daily injections of my own blood. I’ll help you – and everyone else – but not until my wife is guaranteed to be the first patient receiving the cure.”
“Your wife?” Kaufman’s face was confused for a moment and then he smiled. “Yes, of course – how noble. I’ll make sure that I notify the chief of your request.”
“No.”
“But I don’t understand –“
“We’re going to get her, doctor – you and I.” Ilo reached out and clapped a hand on the doctor’s shoulder. “I hardly trust your assurances, and so long as you’re with me none of your colleagues will try anything rash.”
“Well, I, you see,” Kaufman stuttered as Ilo led him to the door.
“Everything will be fine, doctor – so long as you do as you're told.”
- D
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