Seventy-two. Ebola. They'd given him fucking Ebola. Bleeding from everywhere a person could bleed from, and places you didn't think you ever could. Tear ducts, pores, under his fingernails. His fucking fingernails could bleed. Float in blood and fall off one by one. Just bits of him, flaking away.
Alex let the thought flash through his mind and let it go. Don't linger, do anything but linger. That's why he was here in the first place. "You're welcome, dude," he said, and thought yeah, he overused that word but what the hell else did you call strangers? "Blue, seventy-two." Based on what he thought he knew of the layout of the Park, it could be...that way? Well, walking toward other trailers was at least a step in the right direction. His was number forty-eight asphyxiation...don't. so he'd watch out for numbers. For the ones that had numbers.
"'m Alex," he said, and after a moment tried to herd Klaus in what he at least thought was the right direction without actually touching him. Tweakers could freak out at that shit. "What's your name?"