his hangover daze.
“Zan, don't do that. Don't dismiss me out of hand. Do I need to remind you I was picked for University Challenge not you—”
Zan groaned. “Really? This again? Here we go; your answer to every debate … Jack the intellectual master of the universe and yet somehow, he still can't handle his fucking drink. Why don't you have something to eat and get over your hangover and stop being such a fucking … evil genius douche-bag. Or maybe just buy a white cat to stroke and be done with it. In fact just go have a stroke full stop. If it stops you ending up with another swamp monster it can’t be bad. I’m going to archery. See you later.”
“…” Jack began but stopped. Zan felt a cruel sense of spite that Jack, whilst by far the smartest guy he had ever known - including every hot-shot researcher in the science faculty - was still waylaid by a jibe about his drinking or his ability with girls. There was no way he was thinking his way through those two brick walls. It felt good seeing his ego knocked down to size.
Zan smirked as he started to walk way. He turned at the doorway to look back and the smirk quickly faded from his lips. Jack now looked serene; not all puffed up and frustrated like usual. His eyes had a calmness that he didn't much like …
Zan’s eyes closed as he remembered how he looked back then and opened them to return to the present day. He gazed at the array of electronic lights scattered around his otherwise pitch-dark bedroom and the call waiting symbol on his arm with Jack’s name next to it.
With the thoughts of their last meaningful interaction years ago still filling his head he looked at the ceiling, eyes refocusing on the drone-cam. The riot had become more like a human banquet. He peered at the name buzzing on his wrist, Jack’s third call in a row. He tried to steel himself to answer and face the awkwardness. Was that last hangover-inspired argument after their finals really the last time they talked? Some stupid blow-out fuelled by binge drinking and a bad taste in women. It had been nearly thirteen years since they’d spoke a word. Well, here he was again. This had better be good …
“Yes, hello Jack.”
“Hey Zan.”
Silence.
“Long time eh?”
Chapter 6: Too Close to Home
Just as Zan began his long, fraught, emotional call with Jack a postgraduate medical student named Tanja had wrapped her bitten fingers in medical gauze and near the end of her rushed taxi journey from the outskirts of Kamnik to Ljubljana Airport.
The airport was only fifteen klicks away and, as usual, she’d been late in booking a cab. By the time it arrived - also late - she was nursing the fresh wound. She collapsed heavily onto the back seat of the car and hurriedly slammed the door. The taxi-driver looked round in concern.
“What hap—”
THUMP!
A large man in overalls banged awkwardly against the back window where Tanja had just got in. She looked panic-stricken and the blood was trickling down the arm which cradled her bitten hand.
“What’s going on? Did he do that?” said the now-panicked taxi-driver.
“Yes! Right outside my front door, crazy bastard came from nowhere! I didn’t want to miss my cab or the flight so I ran round the block. Lazy bastard didn’t even run, just creepily walked after me. Anyway, I’m already late; take me straight to the airport.” She appeared calm, maybe in shock.
“Surely the hospital first my dear, no?”
“No, I will miss my graduation in London tomorrow, I’m a medic, I’ll fix this. Just hurry please!”
“OK, OK.” He shook his head, thinking about blood stains on his carpet. They accelerated away, spinning gravel on to the face of the still pursuing man in overalls.
“What time is your flight?”
She looked at her watch. “In just under thirty minutes. The security gate closes in ten.”
The taxi-driver smiled. “You’ll be there in seven”
Despite the intense pain from her two bitten fingers she smiled at him in the rear view mirror and started to dress the wound to avoid delay at the airport.
She eventually made it through security in a rush of smiles and pleases and thanks, and sighed in relief as she boarded the plane to London; the last person to take her seat. As she sat down she overheard whispers about the town square riots. Passengers around her were watching live footage on their glasses or clothes. From their whispers she surmised that the army was being called in and flights cancelled in and out the region.
“NO!” she groaned to herself, “Not this one please! I can’t miss my graduation.”
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, we are about to commence our one hour five minute flight to London Heathrow airport. Weather’s clear all the way to London so we should be landing as planned at 10.45pm local time. By all accounts, due to events in Kamnik, we’re the last flight to leave Slovenia tonight, so let's get you safely to the UK. Enjoy the flight.”
Tanja sighed in relief. I couldn’t have had a more stressful start to my graduation trip. Thank God the worst is over. She cradled her bandaged right hand. The pain was intensifying.
The plane landed at Heathrow Terminal Six airport with a bump that shook Tanja awake. Her head felt woozy from the four painkillers she’d taken for the growing ache up her whole arm. After a mercifully small passport queue and seamless transition to Crossrail she hurtled towards Farringdon in Central London to stay with her sister. At 11.07pm precisely she left the Underground train and staggered over to the first set of escalators. People got out her way thinking she was drunk but her vision was completely blurred and she barely saw them. By the time she reached the top of the first escalator her whole right side felt stiff and heavy.
After the escalator she staggered even more slowly along the station tunnels. A couple looked pityingly at her and said something as they walked past but it sounded muffled and far away. Tanja finally made it to the bottom of the second escalator and immediately vomited, causing howls of complaint from the group of teenagers above her. Midway up she was losing vision and struggling to breathe. As she reached the top she felt like crying with relief when her sister’s distinctive bright red hair came into view at the station exit. She stumbled forward against the exit barriers. A station attendant saw she was covered in sick and swiped her through. Her sister caught her as she collapsed just outside the exit. The pain, numbness and infection finally reached her heart and brain-stem simultaneously.
“Rebeka I …” were Tanja’s last words. Her sister screamed for help while cradling her. My poor baby sister, what’s happened! A passer-by spoke briefly out loud to call an ambulance. Rebeka hugged her tight as she died and, overcome with panic and grief, wouldn't let go. Four minutes later Tanja suddenly opened her eyes, growled and ripped a chunk out of her sister’s neck. Rebeka fell back holding the wound, blood gushing, eyes filled with confusion. Bystanders saw the blood and ran in every direction, simultaneously shouting out loud to call the police. But a concerned elderly onlooker stopped to offer help. Before he knew what was happening, Tanja grabbed and pulled his ankle and he fell back onto the cobbles, knocking himself out cold.
He came-to moments later. The young woman he thought was ill was now snapping ferociously at his
