Hayes's vision blurred in and out. Halos of light swam before his eyes. Albert's face, so close to his own, shifted between clarity and haze, as if veiled by drifting mist.
Albert's eyes were wet as well. Those eyes—usually like a still, deep lake, bright and steady—were now clouded and unfocused.
A fresh surge of pain tore through the snow leopard, forcing sharp breaths from his throat. His whiskers trembled. His thick, plush paws twitched uncontrollably.
It felt as though his wounds were being seared by open flame—or scalded with boiling water. The scorching agony no longer lingered on the surface; it burrowed inward, drilling into his organs.
Would he die?
Truthfully, Hayes didn't know. He had suffered many injuries before—some even worse than this. In the old world, advanced medical care would have saved him.
But in the apocalypse?
Perhaps Yannie had been right. The venom might already be spreading deep into his abdomen, corroding his internal organs.
And then what?
