POPULATION chap. 12

CHAPTER 12

A day after his failed pickle jar conquering, Channing fell ill.

It wasn't your average run-of-the-mill nausea. No, this was extreme morning sickness. It was awful—every waking moment of the day, he felt like he was about to drop dead. He was convinced it was the little parasite. Maybe it was trying to slowly kill him off. It had him confined to his bed. Occasionally he would roll over onto his side, moaning, only to jerk back in the opposite direction to vomit into the trashcan by his bed. Dr. Leah had ordered him not to take a single step until he was without any nausea for at least an hour. So far, that had not happened. So he stayed curled up under the sheets like a dying animal.

Dr. Leah was scared to try any method of relief on the poor boy. She didn't know what would happen if she did. After all, there hadn't been a case in the world where the sex change drug was given to a male. Channing could have already developed some strange deformation before he even got pregnant. She had to be extra careful not to let any symptom go unnoticed. So she stayed by his bed every second she could—the only times she would leave was to go to the bathroom and to eat something. After coming back from the kitchen, she would usually bring something for Channing to eat, but he would usually vomit it back up as soon as he finished it. For the most part, though, she just let him sleep…or try to sleep.

That was one of those times. Dr. Leah had pulled up a chair next to Channing's bed, monitoring him quietly. He had finally fallen asleep after telling her that he was feeling a little better. It had been at least an hour and a half since then, which was a good sign, because him being asleep meant that he wasn't feeling nauseous. His condition was finally taking a turn for the better.

She exhaled through her nose, smiling as she gazed upon his sleeping face. He was quite adorable when he lay still that way; she wanted to pet him on the top of his head. She felt so motherly there before him, only if he was really her child that meant she would've given birth to him in her very, very early teens, and that wasn't something she took lightly. She had seen far too many pregnant teenagers in her time as a doctor—she kept it a secret, but she didn't feel even a hint of sorrow for any of them who were denied abortions, no matter ho much they begged for one. Teenagers were far too young to have children, and yet she didn't feel that way about Channing. Maybe it was because it was planned out, or that she got to watch over him, or even because he was originally a boy. There was something about that boy, something that changed her opinion. Changed her view of life itself.

She couldn't help but smile, drawing a soft line in her personal sketchbook. One of her things the liked to do when she wasn't working was draw. She felt like she was pretty good at it, because she could sketch out a correctly-proportioned human body in less than a minute. But humans weren't what she liked to draw—her colleagues had no idea, but she was completely infatuated with the fantasy world of mythical creatures. She was like a more obsessive version of Claude and his fantasy books. Her favorite thing to draw were dragons—rather, people with dragon wings. Oh, she adored drawing them. It was her second favorite thing to do. A few years prior to the outbreak, she contemplated selling them to earn some pocket money, but never really got around to it. It probably would have been very successful, too. They were always in black and white, because she never got the hang of using any color media, but they were beautiful even without it.

A sudden movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she turned her gaze towards the bed. Her little patient had his sleepy eyes open, staring at her and watching her draw.

"Channing," she said, a bit startled but not showing it. "You're awake."

He blinked once, still trying to wake himself up. He yawned, covering his mouth and closing one eye. Once he made eye contact once, he flopped onto his side and into a comfortable position. He smiled. "I see you're still with me." His voice was soft and sleepy-sounding.

"I'll stay as long as you're feeling sick."

He looked at her again, his gaze somewhat softer than it was before he fell asleep. "But you don't have to worry anymore, Dr, Leah. I'm feeling much better, now."

Her hand that was holding the pencil relaxed. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"No nausea? I know you were asleep, but you could still be sick." She closed her eyes. "I want to be sure that you're stable. I don't know how to treat you in your current state."

He knew what she was talking about, but for some reason he refused to acknowledge that she was right. Even he didn't know what he was feeling, and they were talking about his own body. He nuzzled his head into his pillow, comforting himself with the warmth. "I haven't felt sick since before I fell asleep," he said softly. "But I'm still a little tired."

She nodded. "It's okay to feel tired. You've been through a lot."

His face was concealed under his comforter, so she couldn't see him bite his lower lip. He wasn't too happy to be in his current situation, even if he didn't have any morning sickness. He closed his eyes, muffling a reply.

"What did you say? I didn't hear you."

"I said what are you drawing?"

He pointed to her sketchbook. She was a bit embarrassed that he noticed it, because she didn't like it when people stared over her when she drew. She was one of those artists that was very insecure and didn't like people to see their work. Maybe it was because she was afraid of criticism, or that she wouldn't live up to a standard—whatever that standard was, it was unknown to her. But at that moment, she decided to be nice and showed her drawing to him.

Channing looked closer. "Ooh." He stared at it. "That's pretty."

She smiled. "Thank you, Channing. That means a lot."

He smiled in return. Making people happy made him happy in turn. And right now, he felt like he needed all the happiness he could get his mind around. He was feeling depressed, but hey, at least it wasn't as bad as before. Though he still hadn't talked to Toby…

"Channing?"

He snapped himself out of his thoughts, turning his attention to the other person in the room with him. "Yes?"

Dr. Leah closed her sketchbook, slipping her pencil in her shirt breast pocket. "Since you're feeling better, would you mind if I left for a while?"

He nodded. "Of course not. Why, are you hungry?"

She nodded, sighing with a smile on her face. "I haven't eaten at all today. I need to feed myself or else I'll faint. I have a problem with that." She stood up, placing her sketchbook on the chair she was sitting in. When she turned around to walk towards the door, she was stopped suddenly as she heard the voice calling to her. She turned around. "What is it?"

Channing blushed, but he didn't know why. "Could you bring something for me…please?" He nuzzled his head further into his pillow. "Like some saltines, or something? I feel like I could eat today."

In response, she grinned, a bit pleased with what she heard. "Of course, Channing. I'm glad you're feeling better."

He smiled. "Thank you."

She turned back around, heading for the door with a spring in her step.

A few minutes after she left, Channing had to go to the bathroom again. He wanted to stay in bed like Dr. Leah told him to do, but the urge was too strong to be ignored.

He sat up, groaning. He felt heavy all of a sudden, but he figured that was normal because he hadn't sat up in 10 days, more or less. His neck hurt quite a bit from sleeping all that time, and when he tilted his head to the side, it gave a loud crack and caused him to yelp. Now the pain was unbalanced, and he had no choice but to crack the other side. He hesitated, but he finally did it. To his surprise, it felt a lot better, if not a bit tingly. He had never cracked anything on purpose, because he thought it would hurt, but now he kind of liked it. Still, he hoped it wouldn't become a habit, or else he would give himself arthritis when he got older.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, shivering, sitting up with his eyes closed.

The first time he tried to stand up, he couldn't do it. He remembered that he hadn't taken a step for 10 days, either, because he had been too nauseous to do so. Now that he was feeling better, he figured that he would take a crack at it. His second attempt was barely successful, and he almost fell to the floor. But he was determined, so he tried a third time, which was always the charm. He got up onto his feet, steadying himself before taking a step forward. He had to catch the wall a few times, and one of those times he realized that he really needed to take a shower. He didn't smell too nice…

He staggered into the bathroom to try and take a shower, even though he didn't exactly know how his body would handle it. Usually he made the water really hot, but for some reason, lately, he had become really sensitive to the water temperature. Though his skin had become surprisingly smooth and soft—along with his fingernails, and his hair was so silky—he couldn't help but worry about what was happening to him. It made him feel sort of helpless the way his body was treating him, because he couldn't do anything about it.

His hands were starting to shake, but he didn't know why. Maybe it was a new symptom. He could ask Dr. Leah about it later…right now she was having lunch, and he didn't want to interrupt the only time she gave to herself. She had given up so much of her time recently, and he hadn't given anything in return. It wasn't like he didn't want to, though; he couldn't because of how sick he felt. And then he thought, maybe a hot shower will solve all my problems.

He didn't even bother to examine himself this time—he was far too tired to be worrying about his growing waist measurement. There was a split second when he wanted to take a quick peek, but the moment soon passed as he stepped into the warm cascade of clean water. Ah, it felt so good. He was sighing out all his tensions, his symptoms, his worries. It felt great. If only he had done this earlier, maybe he wouldn't have such a problem with the way his life was going.

When he leaned down to reach for the shampoo, he kept his eyes closed so he wouldn't get dizzy or nauseated. He felt around for the bottle, grabbed it, and brought it up close to his chest. After squeezing out the right amount, he put the bottle back down and started massaging the shampoo into his scalp. His eyes stayed closed and he inhaled, enjoying the smell of mist and crisp cotton, his favorite smell. That heavy feeling he had was slowly fading away. He tilted his head upwards, exhaling slowly as the steam billowed up towards the ceiling. He didn't open his eyes for the rest of the time—the lather from his shampoo slid down his skin, which had become slick and shiny.

All of a sudden, he felt a swell of heat rush to his head, and his vision went fuzzy. He gasped, falling against the shower wall. His whole head, neck, and chest were throbbing dully and he was beginning to feel weak in the knees. He had suddenly gotten very dizzy, and he was heaving in breaths to try and make the feeling go away—it felt like his head was filled with helium gas. It was an awful feeling. Without thinking, he cranked the temperature down a couple dozen degrees.

The dizziness snapped away as the freezing cold water his hit back. He yelped, shutting off the water and leaping out of the shower and onto the rug. He shivered, tiny goose bumps blossoming over his arms and legs.

Quite a rude awakening, mind you. Especially when the nausea came back.

He lurched downwards, dry-heaving into the toilet because there was nothing left to purge. He gagged a couple times, his whole torso convulsing with each heave. He coughed, gasping in breaths before the next bout of gagging overtook him. Jesus Christ, not again…he pleaded with his own body. He was such a mess—everything about him was falling apart. It felt like he was about to vomit up his entire stomach. But while he was heaving, he thought to himself how much better this feeling was than when he actually vomited.

When the gagging stopped, he just stayed on his knees for a few more minutes, trying to get a hold of himself. He slowed down his breathing and dispelled his dizziness, and eventually he got up onto his feet. He was getting cold just standing there naked, so he snatched a folded towel off the towel rack and commenced drying himself off. He ran his hands all over his body to make sure he wouldn't get his clothes wet when he got dressed—

He was facing the mirror.

"…Huh…?"

While before he was feeling fine, that horrible heavy feeling once again overtook him, like he had somehow swallowed a dense chunk of lead. He tried to take in a gasp, but he couldn't breathe. His eyes were as wide as they could go, his gaze transfixed on the image in the mirror. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. His stomach…his stomach was…

Huge…!

He couldn't even form a single syllable. He began to panic, trembling weakly, clutching the bath towel wrapped around his hips. He didn't dare touch the bump—he didn't dare touch it, the damn thing…! It had been 10 days…10 days and it had already grown that much?! From…from the side, it stuck out 3 inches!

"…Wh…wha…?!"

His heartbeat caught in his throat. Then he blacked out for barely a second, staggering, grabbing his towel around his waist and bursting out the door.

"DOCTOR LEEAAAAAH!!!"

Screams ripped from his throat, water droplets flying from the tips of his hair. He thrust open the door leading into the hallway, crashing into the wall before twisting forward. He broke into an ungainly run, wailing, crying out for Dr. Leah but not forming the word. He was howling at the top of his lungs in horror, terrified and shocked, bursting out of his skin with terrible fright.

"DOC—DOCTOR!!! HELP MEEE!!!"

The door at the end of the hallway swung open. Dr. Leah came bursting into sight, her face frantic, trying to respond but was too shocked to say anything. Her eyes were wide, something that no one had ever seen her do. As the boy charged at her, screaming wildly, all the color drained from her face and she dropped the food she was bringing to him.

Channing was running so fast that he couldn't stop, and he crashed into her, grunting as he made head-on contact. She reacted in time to catch him, but she had to stagger a few feet backwards to keep her own balance. Her arms were thrown around the boy's shoulders, gripping him in place. She stood up straight, but was still shorter than him.

"Help me!!! Oh, god!!! Help me!!!" He half-choked on his screams, wailing in between wild sobs that shook his entire body. It felt like he was dissolving from the inside, like his frame would collapse into a pile of flesh before long. His sopping hair dripped onto her shoulders, wetting her shirt collar.

She was more than shocked to see him like this. He was crying his eyes out, and further more, he was near being fully naked. It felt like forever when she finally summoned the words from deep inside her chest. "Channing, what on earth is wrong with you?"

He gave a violent shiver before yelping, "My body!!! What's happening to my body?!"

He curled in on himself, shaking violently and whimpering pitifully. The hand clutching the towel around his hips had its knuckles turning white. His other arm was folded over his stomach, as if trying to press it flat.

Dr. Leah looked down at Channing's stomach, and to her surprise, felt dread.

"Oh my g—" She covered her mouth with one hand, trying not to express any negative emotion. She didn't want to make him any more nervous than he already was. It was her job to make her patients feel as comfortable as possible, which sometimes meant not showing any emotion at all. And yet…and yet, she was filled with this desire to cry out in shock as she saw something she had never predicted would happen. Instead, she looked up at him, trying to keep a straight face. "Channing…why didn't you tell me about this earlier?"

"I just saw it now! Please! Please, I swear!" He covered his mouth with his free hand, uncovering his recently rounded stomach. "I'm scared…I'm scared…! I'm scared, Dr. Leah…!"

She looked at him with pity. Then she noticed another presence in the hallway. The fellow survivors had burst out of their rooms, searching for the source of the noise, trying to find out what all the fuss was about. Claude was the first one to see the two of them, and as soon as he laid his eyes on Channing, he gasped. His face sunk into the deepest pity he had ever felt for another person.

"I'm scared…" He fell to his knees, holding his head in his hands. "…I'm scared…"

Claude turned and ran. He ran the opposite direction down the hallway and to the last bedroom, as if he was searching for something—or someone. Not everyone knew why he was running, but Dr. Leah had a pretty good idea.

Of all the people who came out to look, Toby was not one of them.