The blueberry effect - Chapter 2

Chapter 2 - DUKE WEASELTON

Contagion: the communication of disease from one person or organism to another by close contact



Duke munched happily on his newly acquired treasure. A full box of donuts, freshly stolen from the car of that bunny officer.


When he had seen the fox putting them in the vehicle, run away and forgetting the door open he initially suspected a trap. The weasel had cautiously approached the car, being acutely aware of his surroundings, the padded paws barely making any kind of noise on the sidewalk.
He looked around one last time before touching the white and red box: no one in sight (like it should be at this hour in this part of the city). Perfect. One swift movement and the weasel was gone, leaving behind an empty seat.


It was really the jackpot: almost a dozen, glazed, filled with chocolate or cream, a true treasure glistening in the pale light of the moonlight. And they were all intact, except for one that was half-eaten. Duke shrugged and took a big bite from said donut: certainly he could not be called a picky weasel.
In the space of five minutes all the sweets had already disappeared behind the little mustelid maw, the now empty box dumped in the closest bin.


And a few minutes later Duke was again jumping for joy, the skinny paws clutching an extremely fat wallet, pickpocketed just moments ago from a tired, unsuspecting antelope. Today was a good day.


He took a moment in order to reach a bridge in Otterdam before opening his most recent conquest. The running water was sparkling, not a single cloud in the sky obstructing the light shining from above. A perfect place to celebrate. Taking a deep breath, Duke opened the wallet.
The vision he saw made his head spin: no less than a thousand bucks were crammed in the small envelope, packed so tightly that they seemed to able to burst with a single touch.
"Duke Weaselton, you damn weasel, you did it!" screamed the small mammal at the top of his lungs.
Was this the day? Finally, no more selling bootleg movies to make just enough money to buy a piece of bread, no more nights in the cold, no more...
Finally life was taking a turn for the better for the poor mustelid.
Still feeling a little dizzy he looked again at the amount of notes he was holding.
That was when he noticed something strange. The face of the buck on the paper, did it change expression? No, it was not possible...
Duke watched horrified as the money moved in the windless night. He saw the notes wrapping around his fingers, enveloping his paws...
"Gah!"
He threw the whole package in the water below.
Duke saw the bucks fluttering harmlessly in the air, before disappearing the roaring river.
What happened? What was THAT? And did he just threw away a ridiculous amount of money?
He felt his legs become weak, trying his best to maintain the equilibrium. He had it. He had the opportunity of his life in his paws and he just threw it away. Why? Those notes were just moving a little, a movement maybe caused by his excited, trembling body and he immediately thought instead that they were possessed or something...
He looked at the noisy current below. There was no trace of either the wallet and the money, all disappeared in the pitch black liquid.
He took a deep breath. Duke Weaselton was used to this. He knew how to handle it. Just look at the good things that happened, at least he had a satisfying meal with all those donu-
A sudden spasm traversed his whole, long body, from the whiskers to the tip of his tail.
Duke watched helpless as the sweets he ingested not too much time ago forced their way back, falling in the running stream, lost forever.
He sat down on the cold pavement. Empty wallet and empty stomach. Today was a normal day.


The weasel angrily kicked a pebble in the middle of the street, sending it straight into the lamp of a parked car, breaking the glass. He swiftly moved away from the middle of the road, slinking away in a narrow alley. The day wasn't getting any better, and this furious headache was splitting his head in two...
He slumped backward, his back resting against a wall. His breath was getting shorter. There was something wrong...


The small mustelid felt himself getting weaker and weaker. He wandered aimlessly through the streets of Zootopia. At the edge of his vision the building were distorting in grotesque shapes, contorting like tentacles all around him, like a nightmare from a mad mind made reality.
He began running, for how much his weak legs and ragged breath allowed him. He tried to escape, but he wasn't able to. So he continued running.


Turning the corner of a street he was able to stop himself just in time before crushing into another mammal.
"You damn weasel!"
Duke looked at the distorted figure in front of him. From the two big splotches near the head he was able to recognize the small mammal: it was that damn fox cop's ex-partner.
"...-running-...-stupid tube-..."
He was shouting something at him...
Weaselton's sight was becoming more and more blurred, the chain of thoughts in his head was broken and slow, like it was submerged in treacle.
He felt a tug. The fennec (Fen-Fin-Finnick? Was it his name?) had closed the distance between them and was pulling his shirt. His body was losing equilibrium. Duke was using all his forces trying not to fall, the strain resulting in sudden coughing fit.
"The hell!?" Finnick reeled back, looking at the weasel.
Duke looked down.
His paws, his shirt, they were stained red, a metallic taste setting on his tongue.
The corners of his vision began to darken as he fell to the ground, the image of an horrified fennec the last thing he saw.
Today was a bad day.