End of the world -- Fiction; Epidemics -- Fiction; Science fiction; Twenty-first century -- Fiction
Quickened by the encreasing storm, we had hastened our return, our
little charge was placed before Adrian on his horse. There was an
assemblage of persons under the portico of our house, in whose gestures
I instinctively read some heavy change, some new misfortune. With swift
alarm, afraid to ask a single question, I leapt from my horse; the
spectators saw me, knew me, and in awful silence divided to make way
for me. I snatched a light, and rushing up stairs, and hearing a groan,
without reflection I threw open the door of the first room that
presented itself. It was quite dark; but, as I stept within, a
pernicious scent assailed my senses, producing sickening qualms, which
made their way to my very heart, while I felt my leg clasped, and a
groan repeated by the person that held me. I lowered my lamp, and saw a
negro half clad, writhing under the agony of disease, while he held me
with a convulsive grasp. With mixed horror and impatience I strove to
disengage myself, and fell on the sufferer; he wound his naked
festering arms round me, his face was close to mine, and his breath,
death-laden, entered my vitals. For a moment I was overcome, my head
was bowed by aching nausea; till, reflection returning, I sprung up,
threw the wretch from me, and darting up the staircase, entered the
chamber usually inhabited by my family. A dim light shewed me Alfred on
a couch; Clara trembling, and paler than whitest snow, had raised him
on her arm, holding a cup of water to his lips. I saw full well that no
spark of life existed in that ruined form, his features were rigid, his
eyes glazed, his head had fallen back. I took him from her, I laid him
softly down, kissed his cold little mouth, and turned to speak in a
vain whisper, when loudest sound of thunderlike cannon could not have
reached him in his immaterial abode.
And where was Idris? That she had gone out to seek me, and had not
returned, were fearful tidings, while the rain and driving wind
clattered against the window, and roared round the house. Added to
this, the sickening sensation of disease gained upon me; no time was to
be lost, if ever I would see her again. I mounted my horse and rode out
to seek her, fancying that I heard her voice in every gust, oppressed
by fever and aching pain.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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