Another snarl followed. What was up with Nash? He hadn’t uttered a word the entire time, only those animalistic noises.
Arlo tried to pull in fresh air, but thick, oily darkness was pouring into his lungs making it impossible. He gagged.
He hated this.
More and more of the sluggish wrongness filled his being, pushing aside everything that was him. Everything beautiful in the world was dyed in greasy black.
“Arlo?” Strong hands shook him, but all Arlo could do was fight for air and try not to gag. It was all in vain, the retching would start as soon as the sickness and hurt had filled him.
He might have screamed, it wouldn’t be the first time if he did, but it was a waste of air to do so.
* * * *