Lamashtu Read Online Free PDF Page A

John blinked in the growing sunlight. Another round of coughing broke from Steph's tent. John stretched and walked toward the sound.
    "Steph?" he called. "You okay?"
    The voice that answered him was filled with gravel and pain. "John? I think I need some help."
    He stepped quickly to her tent and unzipped the flap. He peered in and then took a step back. Steph lay atop her sleeping bag. Sweat poured off her ashen face. Pustules covered her cheeks and forehead. The red sores seemed to pulse.
    "Jesus, Steph." He entered the tent and grabbed a bottle of water near the tent's entrance. He spun off the clear plastic covering, popped the nipple, and raised it to her mouth. "Drink."
    Her withered lips contracted around the end and she gently sucked. After a long pull, she lay back on the sleeping bag. "Thank you."
    "What the hell is going on?"
    Steph scratched at her cheek and a dribble of bloody pus ran down her cheek. "I don't know," she said. "Woke up feeling like I'm in a furnace."
    He dropped to one knee and put the back of his hand against her forehead. "Christ," he said. "I need to get the medkit. You have a very high fever."
    "No shit," she croaked.
    "You're one tough bitch."
    Her face broke out in a wan smile. "Don't you forget it."
    He forced a smile. "Be right back."
    He walked out of the tent and headed for the crates beneath the tarp. John's big hands grasped the box marked with the red cross. As he started to leave the canopy, something clicked in his head. He turned toward the portable table set in the middle. The tarp that had covered the mummy was gone. And so was the mummy.
    He shivered in the cool morning air as his brain tried to process what wasn't there. A fresh round of coughing brought him back to the present. He hurried to Steph's tent.
    As he walked in, he saw her nails dragging across the pulsing sores on her cheeks. "No, Steph," he said. "Don't touch them."
    She lowered her hands and stared at the bloody skin beneath her short nails. "Won't stop itching."
    John dropped the medkit, unlocked its latches and opened it. Bandages, a tourniquet, plastic boxes of pills, and a few syringes stared back at him. He scanned through the labels until he found what he was looking for. He opened a plastic box and palmed three pills.
    "Okay, Steph. I need you to take these." She held out her palm and he dropped the three oblong, blue capsules into her hand. Steph placed them in her mouth with shaking hands. He handed her the water bottle and watched as she took a long gulp.
    Another cough escaped her lips sending spittle and water onto the side of the tent. John flinched away from her and turned back to the med kit. "Need to shoot you up. You're having an allergic reaction to something."
    She tried to take a deep breath and set off a fresh coughing spree.
    John picked up an EpiPen and turned to her. Steph's left hand was raised to her cheek again. John glared at her. "Leave it the fuck alone, Steph."
    "Right."
    He pulled off the EpiPen's cap. "This is going to hurt." He jabbed the short, sharp needle into her thigh.
    Steph hissed between her teeth. Her right arm started shaking. John watched as the pulsing sores paled to match her skin. He reached and held her right hand. "It's okay," he said. "Just let it do its thing."
    Tears slipped down beneath her scrunched eyes. Her fingers squeezed down. Her arm spasmed once more and then ceased. Steph's eyes fluttered open.
    "Better," she said.
    John nodded and forced a smile. "Rest for a sec. I need to go check on the others."
    She pulled him closer. Her breath smelled of rotted meat. "You'll come back?"
    He raised an eyebrow. "Of course." He squeezed her hand again before turning and exiting the tent.
    A gust of wind rippled the sides of the tents. The tarp flapped. He looked toward the canopy. The sheets and plastic that had covered the mummy were on the desert floor. A chill wracked him.
    "Alonso?" he called as he made his way to the next tent. There was no answer. Frowning, he