The scent in the air was incredible even beneath the netted hoods that covered their faces. Tiny particles of indigo began to gather around the nostril areas, ears, mouth and eyes, over everyone’s nets. Crell brushed his off with quick flicks as if he were batting away a spider.
Rosie watched him curiously. She had journeyed with the man for several weeks now, and never once had she seen him so much as flinch. But floating slowly across the sea of Blooms, merely waiting on the edge of it, had converted the man into a nervous wreak.
She made her way towards him and raised her hand to touch him before she thought better of it. Crell had already accused her of near abuse. “Crell,” She said his name quietly.
Pulling his net slightly off of his sweaty face, he turned towards her.
“You know if you keep on frowning like that, your face will stay that way forever.” She smiled. Crell only stared at her. Rosie moved past the unreceived joke. “How much longer until we reach the North End from here? Will the sea carry us all the way?”
Crell shook his head. “We don’t have much lon,” His words were cut off. The boat tipped slightly, as if it had bumped something from beneath. Crell caught his balance, the worried look in his eyes intensified. He grabbed Rosie’s arm, his voice coming out as a pained hiss as he dragged her towards the crank of the ship again, prepared to crank it another 18 times. “We don’t have much longer but we need to move faster! We need to move faster, or,”
The boat was jolted again, this time with more force. The sharp sound of scraping metal funneled upward from beneath them. “Everybody get down!” Crell shouted, pushing Rosie to her knees. “They are following us! The are trying to get us!”
“Who is trying to get us? What are you talking about?” Rosie managed to say before the boat lurched again. She looked around her, suddenly as nervous as Crell, but could so nothing and no one, only blooms for miles and miles. Not even a single bird was in the air.
This time Crell fell forward towards the boat’s crank. He managed not to hit his head or face but his net was not so lucky. The hand of the crank hooked into the fine netting and pulled away with an angry snagging sound. Crell clutched the torn fabric with trembling hands, but he could already feel the bits of pollen itching at his eyes, nose, ears and mouth. The sky was also beginning to appear as brewing blood. Letting out a terrified cry, he pushed himself towards the wall of the deck, all the while whispering, “Please, God. No.” But there was no use.
Crell had been infected.
THE END OF PART 2
To read part 1 follow the LINK.