Seventh 2 Survive (WAYHAUGHT)

7-19522514

The right side of the wallet had what appeared to be writing Waverly had not seen before, a mess of squiggly lines and numbers. Without the ability to read what it said, she had little clue as to what the plastic wallet, with her less-than-flattering photo, was meant to be. Although, if she had to make a guess, it vaguely resembled a membership card, or something a person might get from a fan club. She needed answers.

Why would you have this Haught? Okay, think this through, perhaps these are your instructions, but you have that tattoo on your arm, or maybe it's your mission papers. I had a normal life less than twelve hours ago and now I'm staring at myself on my way to some place, for whatever reason to save a lot of people. And, I can't even google it which sucks.

Tempted to take photos of the contents in Haught's bag, she returned the items knowing that was a step too far, even for her. Those yellows, however, were calling her name. Extracting one she pocketed it for future research, remembering how long it took for the initial buzz to wear off, wary of the repeated aftershocks she experienced. The multi-coloured waves radiating from her companion remained imprinted on her mind.

There was no way of telling what, or who this Haught future person might be into. And, whoever, or whatever she was into, presumably it came with no touching. No touching, a concept so alien to Waverly as to be unable to process it fully. It then occurred to her, Haught had leaned her body closer, attempting to touch her knee when they met in Wheeler's room, when Haught first told her of the fate of the future. She'd actually touched her at Euston Square station, grabbing her hand and again on the crowded train. How can you say you don't touch when you seem perfectly capable of touching me? And, what's with those neurals, and putting things in baby's eyes, and mountains in space? I so need answers.

The last item to be returned to the satchel was the container with the purple liquid. It took her a few moments to work out how to open it, a deep metallic smell hitting her nose instantly, holding the container away not sure whether she should try some. Curiosity got the better, holding her nose, taking a small sip. The bitterness was overwhelming, like way too strong coffee, leaning over the sink to spit it out, desperate to remove the taste from her mouth. That's disgusting. How can you drink that stuff Haught? And you say our water is polluted. Haught your stuff is gross.

Pulling out her phone she googled purple water, eyebrows raising as it returned a result. Potassium permanganate, interesting. Disinfectant, only to be used topically. Toxic if ingested. You're telling me. This is poison. Why? Why would you drink it?

Container returned to Haught's bag, she opened her own, rummaging through it for a tee shirt. Haught was still out cold as she clambered up the ladder to her bunk, finding it amusing her space buddy couldn't hold her drink, even a small frothy purple beer. Turning off the light, she checked her phone, no more messages from Wynonna, unsure whether to tell her what was going on, deciding it best not to worry her for now.

She had been asleep no more than a few minutes when a loud thud from under her bed woke her, followed by a string of unrecognisable words. "You okay down there?"

"My head. Ouch, ouch, I'm dying down here."

"Who would have thought space people were so fragile. It's a hangover that's all. Get some rest."

"I can't, my head hurts too much."

"Do you need me to get your water?"

"Where's my things? No, no, I left them. No, no, no."

"Haught, calm down, they're on the side. I'm turning the light on, ready."

As the light went on Haught let out another string of strange sounding words before switching languages. "Off, off, too bright. I'm never drinking again."