Disease

January 25, 2020

8:12 A.M.

Harold just woke up, feeling no different from the previous night. He felt rather stiff, but thought nothing of it. Being the only one up at his desert camp in Zimbabwe, Africa, he had the camp to himself. He walked to the water at the lake and took a sip. He noticed that he started to feel a sense of weakness.

He was an attractive, young, and adventurous man. Soon after feeling the sense of weakness, he got a slight chill. He woke up his partner. She, Ella Whitefield, woke up ready to go on a morning run. Nearly five minutes later, they sat down by the lake. Harold began getting more chills. He never thought anything of it. He casually laid down, feeling weak. He closed his eyes.

"Howard?", Ella said. No response. "Howard?", again, no response. She shook him. "Howard?!", she awoke the rest of the crew. "Everyone get up! Something's wrong with Howard!", she screamed. He now had blood running down his face, streaming from his nose. They rushed him into the truck. They arrived at the local clinic 5 minutes later. The medical staff tried everything they could, which was CPR and natural medicine due to the shortage of supplies at the clinic. Howard was pronounced dead on arrival.

Ella called Howard's family. They were devastated to here the news. Unsure if the unnamed disease had made it to the crew, the medical staff sterilized everything including the truck. They asked the crew to stay at the camp and not to leave, as law enforcement officers would be there soon to ask some questions. After questioning, the crew went off to bed later in the day.

All Ella wanted to do that night was lay with all of Howard's things and weep. The next day, Albert Zingletanger, another member awoke to find himself on a medical plane, unable to move. He saw all of his other crew members being whisked off, none moving. He could only move his head. Albert never saw light after that moment.