LITMIR.BIZ

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I muttered. “They got sick when I was in the hospital, only they never recovered. I found out when I was released and planned to go home, only I didn’t have a home to go back to.”

      I thought of the little home in the suburbs, the place I’d spent my childhood, with its tiny front yard and single-car garage. My mom’s small but perfect flower garden, my dad’s ancient leather armchair. My old room. It had just been the three of us; I didn’t have any brothers or sisters, but I’d never been lonely. I’d had friends, and my parents had filled whatever void was left, encouraging me to chase my dreams. Dad had always said he knew I would become something big, either a doctor or an astronaut or a scientist, and pretty much let me do whatever I’d wanted. I’d left for college as soon as I’d graduated, eager to see what was out there, but had always come home for breaks and holidays. Both Mom and Dad had been so proud, so eager to hear of my life at school. It had never crossed my mind that one day they would just be...gone.

      When I’d returned to the house after my parents had died, I’d stood in the living room, with its empty armchair and ticking clock, and realized how much I had lost. Curling up in my Dad’s old chair, I’d cried for about an hour, but when it was over, I’d left the house with a new resolve. I couldn’t save my parents, but maybe I could save other people. Red Lung, the silent killer, was my enemy now. And I would do whatever I could to destroy it.

      Across from me, Ben was quiet. I kept my gaze on the table between us, so I was surprised when his rough, calloused hand covered my own. “I’m sorry,” he murmured as I looked up at him. I smiled shakily.

      “It’s okay. They went quickly, or at least that’s what the doctors said.” My throat closed, and I sniffled, taking a breath to open it. Ben squeezed my palm; his thick fingers were gentle, his skin warm. A shiver raced up my arm. “What about you?” I asked, as Ben pulled his hand back, cupping it around his mug again. “Where’s your family? If it’s not too personal?”

      “It’s not.” He sighed, his face going dark as he looked away. “My family owns a big farm out west,” he said in a flat voice. “Nathan and I were on our way there, to see if anyone survived. They’re pretty isolated, so we were hoping the outbreak hadn’t reached them yet. I don’t know, I haven’t seen them for a while.”

      A farm. That fit him, I thought, looking at his broad shoulders and calloused, work-toughened hands. I could imagine him slinging bales of hay and wrestling cows. But there was something else about him, too, something not quite so rough. “What were you doing in the city?” I asked, and his face darkened even more. “You said you haven’t seen them in a while. How long has it been?”

      “Four years.” He set his mug down and put his chin on his hands, brooding over them. “I moved to the city four years ago, and since then I haven’t even talked to my folks. They wanted me to take over the farm, like everyone before me, but I wanted to finish school at Illinois Tech.” He gave a bitter snort. “My dad and I got into a huge fight one day—I even threw a punch at him—and I walked out. Haven’t seen them since.”

      “I’m sorry, Ben.” I thought of my family, my dad who had been so proud I was going into medicine. My mom who always told me to dream big. “That has to suck.”

      He hung his head. “I haven’t spoken to them in years. Mom always sent me Christmas cards, telling me how the farm is doing, that they miss me, but I never answered. Not once. And now...” His voice broke a little, and he hunched his shoulders. “With the plague and the virus and everything going to hell, I don’t know how they’re doing. I don’t...I don’t even know if they’re alive.”

      He covered his eyes with a hand. I stood, quietly walked around the table to sit beside him, and put my arm around his shoulders. They trembled, though Ben didn’t move or make a sound otherwise. How many times had I done this; comforted a family member who had lost someone dear? More times then I cared to remember, especially with the rapid spread of the plague. But it felt different this time. Before, I had been there to offer support when someone needed it, not caring if it was from a virtual stranger. With Ben Archer, I truly wanted to be there for him, let him know there was someone he could lean on.

      I still didn’t know where this was coming from. The man was a virtual stranger himself; I’d known him only a few hours. But I stayed there, holding him and saying nothing, as he succumbed to his grief in the small, dirty break room of the clinic. I had the feeling he’d been holding this in a long time, and it had finally broken through.

      Finally, he took a ragged breath and pulled away, not looking at me. I rose and went to refill our coffee mugs, giving him time to compose himself.

      “Thank you,” he murmured as I handed him the filled mug again, and I knew it wasn’t just for the coffee. I smiled and sat down, but before I had even settled myself, footsteps pounded outside the door, and Maggie rushed into the room.

      “Miss Kylie?”

      I stifled a groan even as I rose quickly to my feet, Ben following my example. “Yes, Maggie, what is it?”

      “It’s Mr. Archer’s friend,” Maggie said, and Ben straightened quickly. The intern shot him a half-fearful, half-sorrowful look and turned back to me. “I’m so sorry. He slipped into a coma a few minutes ago, and we can’t wake him up.”

      Chapter Three

      “We’ve done everything we can for him.”

      I wiped my hands on a towel, gazing wearily at the man beneath the covers, so pale he could have been made of paper. His limp hair and clothes were the only things of color left, and the skin on his face had shrunk tightly to his bones, making him look skeletal. His bandages had been changed again, IV tubes had been put in and I’d given him several shots of antibiotics to try to help with the fever. The smell—that ominous, disturbing smell of rot and death—still clung to him, though I’d checked and double-checked for any sign of gangrene. There was none that I could see, but that wasn’t what worried me most.

      Nathan lay on his back beneath the sheets, his shallow and raspy breathing the only indicator that he was still alive. Blood flecked his lips, making my stomach knot in dread. Jenna’s sad, knowing eyes met mine over the patient. I didn’t need to listen to the gurgle in his chest to know. He was infected with Red Lung. The virus had gotten him, too.

      Ben stood in the corner, looking on with hooded eyes. I didn’t know how to tell him. “Ben...”

      “He has it.” Ben’s voice was flat, his eyes blank.

      “I’m so sorry.” He gave no indication that he’d heard. “We’ll keep him under surveillance and make him as comfortable as we can, but...” I paused, hating that I had to say the next words. “But I think you should prepare yourself for the worst.”

      Ben gave a single, short nod. I shooed the interns out of the room and walked up to him. “Does he have any family that you are aware of?”

      “No.” Ben sank down in the chair, running his hands over his scalp. “Nate’s family all lived here and...they were gone before we started out.” I put a hand on his shoulder, and he stirred a little. “Sorry, but could I have a few minutes?”

      “Sure,” I whispered, and walked out, leaving him alone with his friend. As I ducked through the frame, I heard the thump of his fist against the armrest, a muffled, broken curse, and swallowed my own frustrated tears as the door clicked behind us.

      * * *

      Maggie and Jenna looked so disheartened when I returned to the main room that I told them both to get some sleep.

      “I can handle the patients alone for a few hours,” I said as Jenna protested, though Maggie looked ready to fall over. “They’re not going anywhere, and I’ll call you if I need assistance. Get some rest.”

      “Are you sure, Kylie?” Jenna asked, even as Maggie stumbled away, heading for the few extra cots upstairs. “Maggie and I can take turns, if you want one of us down here with you.”

      I

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