A devious fire of brutality burning within it, the Adapted screeches. Rosaline lets her anger flow forth from her and screams back at it in return. It lunges at her again, but she jumps back and swings her hammer cracking it in the head. Momentarily stunned, the Adapted drops to one knee. Rosaline leaps forward and swings, connecting with its head once more. The Adapted falls limp, plummeting down on its face.
She puts her foot on its back, "FUCK YOU!" she screams.
She grips her hammer as tight as she can and swings away again. She smashes its head repeatedly, screaming in a frenzy of anger and unhinged emotion. Her hammer barrels down upon the decaying head, crunching and crushing until all the bone and brain have mixed into a morose slushy soup.
Hawaii and Sweetie, still trembling with fear, watch on as the newest member of their family exhibits a level of violence and rage they've yet to see from a person. For as relentless as the diseased are, it appears that Rosaline's fury matches in equal measure. They share looks of concern, not quite sure what this showing of force from Rosaline means.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“He’s awake.” Daisy says.
The three have spent the last few days in a secluded house they happened upon in the country. Previously, before happening upon the boy, they were moving from house to house in a small town.
They’d been there about two months with no sign of diseased. When the first one appeared, and attacked them, they decided to move on.
The boy has been recovering well, Norman has observed. They’re not sure if he will talk them, or if he’s even capable. He’s managed to survive this far, so they expect he’s able bodied to some extent.
Norman and Jack are in the downstairs living room of the decent sized two story house when Daisy comes to alert them. They’ve made sure to have one person always watching over the boy. Due to the scars on his forearms Norman has been anxious about leaving the boy alone.
“Has he said anything?” Norman asks.
“No, he’s only been awake for a few minutes. He’s had some water, and he’s sitting up now.” Daisy replies.
Norman’s gaze returns to Jack, a somber hope resting in his eyes. Jack places his hand on his husband’s leg, squeezes lightly, and forces a smile. He’s not as hopeful as Norman about the boy.
The three trek up the stairs and to the room the teen has been resting in. They find him pushed up against the wall, in the corner of the bed, sheets covering him. His left eye is still bloodshot. Norman has been concerned that it may be a previously sustained injury that has turned permanent. It’s possible he's partially blind.
Upon their entry into the room the boy tenses up, and his eyes bulge with fear. Norman shows his palms to him and approaches him slowly. He pulls the chair that Daisy has been using closer to the bed, and sits next to the teenager. Norman flashes a warm smile and speaks softly.
“Hello.” he says, “My name is Norman, and I’m a doctor.”
He motions to Jack.
“This is my husband, Jack.”
Then to Daisy.
“And our friend Daisy.”
He observes the boy, trying to figure out if he understands his words. The boys eyes followed Norman’s hand as he spoke. They didn’t move erratically. He appears cognizant.
“I would like to speak with you for a bit to make sure your recovery is going well. Does that sound alright?” he asks, a soothing ease to his tone.
The boy does not respond, audibly or otherwise. He remains with his back pressed against the wall and the sheet pulled up to his neck.
“Are you able to understand me?”
The boy slowly nods his head. Norman’s elation breaks though, his face puffs, he sharply inhales, and his lips curve joyously.
“That’s good, that’s good. What is your name? Can you tell me that?”
The frightful teen allows the sheets to slip down a bit, and his legs loosen from their position against his chest. His mouth opens, but he hesitates.
“It’s alright. We want to help you, but I need you to tell me how I can do that. It’ll be much easier if we know each other’s names.”
The boy’s tongue gently runs along his cracked bottom lip.
“Patrick.” he whispers.
Norman peers back to Jack and Daisy, whom return his relieved look.
“Hi Patrick, it's nice to meet you. Can you tell me if you're in any pain?”
Patrick nods.
"Are you in pain often?"
He nods again.
"Is this pain new?"
He nods a third time.
"Can you point to where it hurts?"
Patrick points to his gut and his foot.
"Your stomach and your foot?"
Patrick bobs his head.
"You were quite ill when we found you. Did you eat a raw animal?"
"Rabbit." Patrick softly mutters.
"That's what made you sick. I think you had salmonella poisoning. Nothing serious, and you'll recover fine. As for your foot, I believe you sprained your ankle in your weakened, sickly state."
No words come from Patrick, but Norman gets the impression that he understands.
"Can you tell me where the pain you have often is located?"
One by one Patrick points to his head, his chest, his arms, his shoulders, and his calf.
"I see. What kind of pain do you feel in your head? Is it sharp, dull, a stabbing, or a burning?"
The teen holds up two fingers.
"The second one? Dull?”
The boy nods, his eyes darting back and forth between Norman, Jack, and Daisy.
“Does it often seem like things do not feel as they should?"
Patrick nods.
"Do you get sad a lot? Feel like it's difficult to move, maybe hard to breathe? Do you get mad sometimes and you don't know why?"
He nods again.
"You don't like loud noises, or the bright sun, do you?"
Patrick shakes his head.
"The cuts on your arms, did you do that?"
Patrick tenses up again, his neck becoming rigid and straight.
"It's alright, but I do need to know. Do you do that when you feel sad?"
Patrick nods, but only slightly, clearly not wanting to answer this question.
"Okay,
