The campus was mostly deserted when I emerged from the classroom at a little before noon and locked the door behind me. In a way that was good, as at least I didn’t have to play dodge ’em with anyone who looked infected. But there was still a long line of cars waiting to get out of the parking lot, and I sat there, worry mounting as the minutes ticked past.
What did it feel like when the Heat came over you? A sudden spike in temperature? Or was it a slow, gradual burn, until you, like a lobster in a pot, ended up boiling in your own juices?
I didn’t know. And all this had happened so quickly that there hadn’t been much detail on the news, either. Or maybe they’d repressed what they did know, lest they throw everyone into a panic.
At last I was able to pull out on Central, then headed west. Did I dare take the freeway to get home? All around me, the streets were choked, full of people obviously trying to get to their own homes, so I had a feeling the freeway was a very bad idea. Instead, I ended up zigzagging my way out of the downtown area, finally making it over to 12th so I could head north. A few more zigzags, and then I was back in a residential section, although still a few miles from home. There was less traffic here, although I noticed more cars on the streets than there normally would have been in the middle of the day when everyone should have been at work.
A sigh of relief escaped my lips as I pulled up in front of the house and I saw my mother’s Escape parked in the driveway. No sign of Dad’s Grand Cherokee, or the police cruiser he sometimes brought home. But at least my mother was here.
I scrambled out of the car, then hurried down the driveway to let myself in the back door. We almost never came and went through the front, mostly because my mother was unnecessarily fussy about the Berber carpet in the living room. Better to track dirt through the kitchen, which had abused linoleum she’d been wanting to get rid of for years.
“Mom?” I called out as I came in through the service porch, then on into the kitchen.
“Jess?” she called back. I heard feet approaching from the hallway that ran down the middle of the house. When she came around the corner, I saw that her face was dead white. She let out a little choked sob when she saw me. “Oh, thank God.”
At any other time her reaction might have startled me, but not now. Not after what had just happened to Taylor Ortiz. “I’m fine,” I said. “Only — ”
Her brows drew together. “Only?”
“A girl in my class — she had it. The EMTs came and got her, but they sent me home. It’s probably better if you don’t come too close.”
“Oh, God,” she said, this time invoking the name in horror rather than in relief. She appeared to gather herself, voice strained as she went on, “How do you feel?”
I paused to take stock. “Okay, actually,” I told her. It was true, too. Yes, I was a little shaken after being that close to someone that sick, and then having to fight my way home through hordes of panicky motorists, but otherwise, I felt fine. No fever. No chills. No sweats.
Despite what I’d just told her about staying away, she took a step closer. Motherly instinct, I supposed. She had to reassure herself that I was all right and not merely take my word for it. But because she was a smart woman, she only came close enough to see for herself that I wasn’t flushed or feverish or sweaty.
After a long pause, she nodded. “I keep flipping through the stations, trying to see if someone is giving out any concrete information. What the incubation period is. How infectious the disease is. The — the mortality rate.” She pulled in a breath. “And there’s nothing, except that the situation is being handled and that people should stay home whenever possible. What kind of a policy is that?”
I didn’t know. I would have assumed that in most cases of infection, the CDC would have send out teams to quarantine people and triage those affected, would do everything possible to keep the disease from spreading any further. Or at least, that was what I’d observed on TV when the news covered outbreaks of bird flu or whatever. But I’d seen no real government presence on my way home today, no squads of experts in biohazard gear, no blacked-out SUVs speeding down the street, no…nothing. It was as if this thing was spreading so quickly the government couldn’t begin to contain it.
That thought was too frightening, though, and I quickly pushed it away. Instead, I asked, “Dad? Devin?”
She glanced away from me, her mouth tight. “I can’t reach your father. I sent a text to Devin, telling him to come home, but he hasn’t answered me. I called the school and got a recording that classes had been canceled and everyone sent home. So my best guess is he’s taking the opportunity to have a little unsupervised time with Lori.”
Lori was his girlfriend. The two had been joined at the hip since spring break last year, and I had a feeling my mother’s guess was all too correct. “Did you try calling her house?”
“Of course I did. No answer. And I don’t have her cell number — Devin would never give it to me. At the time, I didn’t think it was worth nagging him about it. Now….”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” I said quickly. No point in having my mother worry any more than absolutely necessary. “If they’re at Lori’s house, then at least they’re inside and away from other people.”
“True, but….”
I knew she would fret about this until Devin appeared, whenever that was. In that moment, fury flashed through me, that he would be so selfish as to go off and bang his girlfriend or whatever while the rest of us were worried sick about him. Uttering such a thing out loud would just set my mother off that much more, though, so I only said, “Why don’t you have some tea while you’re waiting? I need to go up to my apartment and wash my hands and get straightened up, but I’ll be right back down.”
Her eyes were far away, but she nodded. “That sounds like a good idea.”
I sent her what I hoped was an encouraging smile, then went out the back door and down the driveway to the detached garage. The apartment built over it was small, just a little over four hundred square feet, so there was a tiny living room, a spot under one window for a table and two chairs, a kitchenette, and then the bedroom and bath, which was so small I could reach out from the shower stall and open the door if I had to. But at least it was mine, and it felt good to escape there, to hurry up the stairs and run to the bathroom so I could turn on the water as hot as I could stand it, then let it run over my hands as I scrubbed them again and again with antibacterial soap.
As if that would make a difference. It was better than nothing, though, and I couldn’t think of what else to do. My eyes stared back at me from within the mirror, wide and dark, shadowed with worry. I was pale, but I didn’t look sick.
After blotting my hands on a towel, I reached up and felt my forehead. It didn’t seem overly warm, but I’d always heard you couldn’t really detect your own temperature by doing that. So I opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out the digital thermometer I kept there. After cleaning it off with some rubbing alcohol, I popped it in my mouth and waited.
The seconds went by with agonizing slowness. I wandered out to the living room and sat down on the futon, wondering whether I should turn on my TV, see if I could find anything worth watching. But then, if my mother had been unable to, what made me think I would have any better luck?
Instead, I stared out the window at the tree outside, a honey locust, its leaves just beginning to turn yellow. It was warm during the day, but the nights were already cold. The tree knew its time was coming.
Did I?
The thermometer beeped, indicating it was done measuring my temperature, and I pulled it out of my mouth. For the longest moment, I only held it, scared to look at what the readout might say. Finally, I forced myself to glance down.
97.6.
My breath whooshed out of me, and I dropped the thermometer on top of the coffee table. No temperature at all. On the low side, actually.
But what did that mean? Once you were infected, how long did it take for your fever to start building?
I didn’t know. All I did know was that I wasn’t sick. Not yet, anyway. And I’d left my mother alone long enough. Even if I couldn’t sit next to her, I would be close enough so we could talk, and that would help to keep her from worrying until Devin came home. Which he would, eventually, after he’d gotten his rocks off. I loved my little brother, but sometimes he wasn’t the most considerate of other people’s feelings. Well, other people who weren’t his girlfriend, that is.
After closing the door to my apartment but not locking it, I went back into the main house, past the washer and dryer and the overflow pantry where my mother put all the big containers of items from Costco, the sort of stuff that was “such a good deal she couldn’t pass it up.” What in the world we were going to do with that much tomato sauce or rolled oats, I had no idea.
She must have turned the television on, because I could hear it blathering away as I approached. “…everyone is encouraged to stay inside and away from people with obvious signs of infection. If a fever presents, take analgesics such as aspirin or ibuprofen. Ice packs are also effective. If the fever rises to above 103 degrees Fahrenheit, go to your nearest emergency room….”
I stopped dead at the entrance to the kitchen. Not because I didn’t want to get any closer to my mother, but because I knew it really didn’t matter whether I was infected or not.
Her body was sprawled on the kitchen floor, limp, one of her low-heeled pumps hanging half off her foot. Panic flashed through me, so quick and sudden that I could actually feel my knees beginning to buckle. I grabbed on to the doorframe for support, telling myself I didn’t have time to lose it right now. After swallowing a huge gulp of air, I said, “Mom?”
No reply, but then I heard her breathing, rapid and shallow, like our old dog Sadie after a particularly strenuous walk. We’d lost Sadie last winter.
Stupid of me to be thinking of that now.
I went into the kitchen and knelt down next to my mother, reaching out to touch her shoulder. The skin under the silk blouse she’d worn to work was almost scorching, or at least it felt that way to my shaky fingers. “Mom?”
The faintest of groans. It wasn’t much, but it was a sign that she could still hear me, hadn’t yet retreated so far that she couldn’t even react to outside stimuli.
Obviously, I couldn’t leave her here. My parents’ bedroom was upstairs, and I quailed at the thought of trying to move her all the way up the flight of stairs that led to the second story. Maybe I could just lay her down on the couch in the family room? At least until my father got home, and then the two of us could get her properly in bed. Even then I knew calling an ambulance was pointless. I couldn’t count on anyone to come, so I figured the best thing to do was to get her as comfortable as possible.
I took her by the shoulders, and, as gently as I could, rolled her over so she was facing upward. She whimpered during this procedure, sounding so unlike herself that I felt a frightened little sob escape my throat. Luckily, she was far enough gone that she couldn’t really hear me.
Telling myself that this was the best thing to do, that I couldn’t leave her on the floor, I half-carried, half-dragged her into the family room and then somehow manhandled her up onto the couch. The scary thing was that she didn’t even protest, didn’t try to push back against me or do anything, really. It was like moving a rag doll around — a 130-pound rag doll, anyway.
But at last she was safely on the couch. I took the throw that always lay folded over one arm and spread it out across her. Another one of those little whimpers, as if she thought that would make her too hot, but knew she had to have some sort of covering. Then she subsided, eyes shut tight, chest rising and falling far too rapidly.
All of the first aid supplies were in the medicine cabinet in the upstairs bathroom, the one Devin and I used to share before I moved into the apartment over the garage. After taking another look at my mother and deciding she should be okay for a minute or so, I hurried up the stairs, moving as quickly as I could without actually running. When I got to the bathroom, I opened the cabinet, took out the jumbo container of Kirkland ibuprofen, and shook a couple into my hand. I also took out the thermometer. Yes, it was obvious my mother had a high fever…but how high? Past the magic number of 103?
I had to hope not.
I dashed back down the stairs. She hadn’t moved, although I noticed she’d pushed the throw off her chest, down to her waist. Her blouse and skirt were getting wrinkled, but I couldn’t do much about that. Another thing my father would have to help me with when he got home.
If he got home.
Don’t go there, I told myself. He’ll be here. He will.
I just didn’t know what he’d find when he eventually did make it home.
The pills were cool in my palm. I realized then that I’d forgotten to get any water for my mother to take them with, so I went into the kitchen, filled a glass halfway, and went back out to the family room. She hadn’t moved, was lying there twitching and shaking the way Taylor Ortiz had.
“Mom,” I said softly. She didn’t seem to acknowledge me, so I didn’t know if she’d really heard me or not. Maybe my saying her name was to reassure myself as much as it was to let her know I was there. “Here’s some water, and some pills for your fever.”
I slipped my arm under her shoulders and lifted her a few inches, just enough so I could bring the water to her lips. Like Taylor, she drank greedily, gulping so much that I had to pull the glass away so there would be enough left for her to take the pills.
“Okay, first one,” I told her, slipping one of the ibuprofen capsules between her lips. It just sort of sat there on her tongue, so I poured more water into her mouth. Her swallow reflex cut in, and she downed the pill without too much trouble. The second one was a little more difficult, but she did finally take it.
After that procedure, I realized I should’ve taken her temperature first, that the water might make the reading inaccurate. Since there wasn’t anything I could do about it at the moment, I sat down in one of the armchairs, figuring if I waited a few minutes, it would probably be safe to try the thermometer.
Waiting was bad, though. If all I was doing was sitting there and watching my mother shake and shiver on the couch, then I had plenty of time to think…and thinking was the last thing I wanted to do. My thoughts chased one another around and around, worrying at each other, fretting, biting. What if my father never came home? What if Devin had fallen sick at Lori’s? What if they were both sick?
And above all, Why isn’t anyone helping us?
I could feel myself starting to shake, but I didn’t think it was from a fever. No, I guessed it was just good old-fashioned fear with an extra helping of uncertainty. Clenching my hands together, I willed them to stop trembling. My mother was probably too out of it to really notice, but I didn’t want my fingers shaking when I finally did take her temperature.
Since I couldn’t think of anything else to do, I picked up the remote for the TV and switched it on, quickly lowering the volume so it wouldn’t disturb my mother. As I flipped from channel to channel, I didn’t see anything that was remotely reassuring. More talking heads, discussing self-quarantine procedures and dispensing advice how you shouldn’t go out or come into contact with anyone if you had any symptoms, and if you did come down with a fever, to make sure you wore a mask or tied some kind of barrier over your nose and mouth when it came time to go to the emergency room. And all of them looked pale and strained, and were giving the side-eye to one another when they thought the others weren’t looking, as if trying to detect signs that one of their fellow newscasters might be starting to show symptoms. On one channel, I caught a pretty young woman who didn’t look much older than I sending furtive glances somewhere off-camera, as if at someone who was standing by and monitoring what they were all saying. That couldn’t be good.
With all the people being sent to emergency rooms, hospitals had to be overwhelmed. I wondered how many people were sick, and how many were like me, exposed but still asymptomatic. Maybe fifty-fifty? I couldn’t even begin to guess. All I did know was that I didn’t see how hospitals could even begin to keep up.
Annoyed that all the stations were repeating the same useless information, I turned off the television and picked up the thermometer. My mother really didn’t want to take it, but after a bit of wrestling, I got it shoved between her lips and more or less under her tongue. Her skin felt clammy and hot at the same time, which I doubted was a good sign. Maybe two ibuprofen weren’t enough. Maybe I should have given her three, or even four.
Or maybe I could have poured the whole damn bottle down her throat, and it still wouldn’t have done a bit of good.
Clenching my jaw, I sat and looked out the window at the trees moving in the gentle September breeze, at the sparrow who landed on one branch and cocked his head in my direction, almost as if he could see me sitting inside, watching him. The window in the family room faced out onto the side yard and the fence that separated us from the Montoyas next door. I didn’t see any movement over there, which most days wouldn’t have been that unusual. It was the middle of the day; both the Montoyas worked full-time, and their kids were in grade school. But the schools were closed, and it seemed as if most places of business were shutting up and sending their employees home as well.
Were they home, but ill? Or well enough, but hiding, not wanting to take the risk of being exposed? I didn’t know, and I had my hands full here. If my father came home, I’d probably go over and check on them, but until then….
The thermometer beeped at me, and I gently drew it from my mother’s mouth and looked at the readout. Then I squeezed my eyes shut, certain they had to be reading it wrong, that they were tricking me in some way.
I opened them again.
106.8.
Was that possible?
I supposed it had to be, since that was what the thermometer was saying. I also had a feeling that two ibuprofen might not be cutting it here. Okay, on the news they were saying to apply cool cloths, so that seemed to be the next step. Well, right after I called 911. Maybe that wouldn’t do any good, but right then I was so scared by my mother’s temperature that I had to at least try to get help.
After I set the thermometer back down on the coffee table, I got up and went to the kitchen, where my parents still had an old-fashioned corded phone mounted on the wall. Devin and I had both laughed at it, but my father had given us the evil eye and said that land lines were way more reliable than cell phones, and that one day we might be very glad of that old push-button phone.
I lifted the receiver from its cradle, but when I put it to my ear, all I heard was a fast busy signal, the kind you get when the phone service is out. Scowling, I jiggled the hook, then listened again. Still nothing. So much for good old-fashioned technology.
My cell phone was upstairs in my apartment, still in my purse where I’d dropped it on the floor by the door. I really didn’t want to leave my mother alone, but I needed to see if the cell network was functioning any better than the land one.
After peeking into the family room and reassuring myself that she was resting as well as she could be, all things considered, I let myself out and climbed the steps to my apartment two at a time. Since I hadn’t locked the door, it only took a few seconds for me to get in, pull the phone out of my purse, and dial 911.
“We’re sorry — all circuits are currently busy. Please try again later.”
The computer-generated voice sounded positively snotty. Somehow I resisted the urge to fling my cell phone against the wall, since I knew that wouldn’t do any good. Instead, I stuffed it into the pocket of my jeans and hurried back to the house. I sure would try again later, but in the meantime, I had to do what I could to take care of my mother.
Her condition didn’t seem to have worsened during the couple of minutes I was gone. That was something. I got a few dish towels out of the drawer and dampened them with cold water, then went into the family room and laid them across her forehead. Some of the moisture dripped on her gray silk blouse, leaving damp blotches. I hoped they wouldn’t leave stains.
Seriously, you’re worrying about a couple of stains at a time like this?
I supposed I was fixating on that, just because it was easier to worry about something like ruining my mother’s clothes rather than the big-picture stuff, like how none of the phones were working. Yes, I’d heard how that could happen after some kind of disaster, but Albuquerque wasn’t really prone to disasters, whether natural or man-made.
The back door slammed, and my mother started, then began twitching and shaking again. Damn. And I’d just gotten her to a place where she seemed to be more or less resting comfortably. But maybe that slamming door meant my father had come home.
I readjusted the damp towel on my mother’s forehead, then got up and went into the kitchen. Devin was getting a glass out of the cupboard as I entered. He looked fine — no flushed cheeks, no sheen of sweat — and in that moment I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to hug him in relief or punch him in the arm for making us worry like that about him.
“Where the hell have you been?” I demanded.
“Lori’s,” he replied, going to the refrigerator and getting some ice and water out of the door.
“Well, you scared the crap out of Mom. She couldn’t get a hold of you — ”
He shrugged. “I sent a text. Maybe it didn’t go through. Anyway, they sent us home, and Lori couldn’t get in touch with either of her parents, so she was freaking out. So I stayed with her.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling some of my righteous indignation begin to seep away. Lori was an only child, and a little coddled, so I could see why she’d be more than ordinarily upset at not being able to contact her parents. “Is she okay?”
“Yeah, her mom finally got a text through and said she was on her way home, so I thought I’d better get over here.” His gaze sharpened on me, and I wondered what he saw. Lord knows, I was starting to feel kind of overloaded. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, but Mom isn’t,” I replied bluntly. Maybe too bluntly, because he almost dropped the glass he was holding.
“She’s — she’s not sick, is she?”
“Yes. She just got the fever about a half hour ago.”
Beneath his end-of-summer tan, my brother’s face drained of all color. “She can’t be sick!”
Right then he didn’t look like the big, broad-shouldered running back, but a scared kid. I wanted to go hug him, but lately he’d been scorning such sisterly displays of emotion, so I wasn’t sure how he would react. Instead, I kept my voice calm as I told him, “She had a high fever, but I got her to take some ibuprofen, and she’s resting now with some cold cloths on her head. So far, so good.”
That sounded very reasonable, very steady. Never mind that I didn’t really believe it. If this disease really was at all survivable, that information would’ve been all over the news by now. The complete radio silence on the actual facts of the disease told me that it was beyond dire…it was catastrophic.
My words didn’t seem to reassure Devin. He gave me a stricken look and then went into the family room, where he stopped a few feet away from the couch and stared down at our mother. She seemed to be sleeping, but something seemed off about her face, as if her cheeks and eye sockets had begun to look sunken, far too shadowed.
No, that couldn’t be right. It had to be a trick of the lighting in the room; I’d pulled the drapes almost closed so the afternoon light that was beginning to slant into the space wouldn’t disturb her. Just some sort of strange optical illusion.
Only I feared that wasn’t it at all.
Devin appeared to be of the same mind. He stood there, hands hanging helplessly at his sides, as he stared down at her. Finally, he whispered, “She’s going to die, isn’t she?”
In that moment, I was furious with him for giving voice to that thought, as if by saying it out loud he could somehow cause it to happen. “No, she’s not,” I shot back, my voice shaking.
“She is,” he insisted, and right then I was glad that she was more or less comatose. At least that way she couldn’t possibly hear what we were saying. “When I was over at Lori’s house, we were on the computer, trying to get more information. A lot of the sites we went to were down, but we found one with this guy on video saying that everyone who catches it dies, and that the government is shutting down anyone who tries to spread the truth.”
I recalled that one blonde newscaster, and the way her gaze kept flickering nervously to something — or someone — off-screen. FBI…or CIA…or NSA…agents, standing there and watching to make sure the reporters all said the same thing?
At any other time, that would have felt like rank paranoia. Now, though….
“That’s crazy,” I said, although I didn’t sound all that convinced, even to myself. “No disease is one hundred percent fatal.”
“That we know of,” Devin shot back. Then his face twisted as he looked back down at our mother, at her strangely waxy and sunken features. “Is there anything else we can do? Like, I don’t know, ice packs or something?”
“Maybe,” I said. It was worth a try. Covering her in ice packs would complete the ruin of her outfit, but I doubted that mattered much at the moment.
Glad to have something to do, Devin and I went to the kitchen and got out some big gallon-sized plastic storage bags and started filling them with ice. That seriously depleted our current ice supply, but I knew the ice-maker would start chugging away in an attempt to make up the deficit.
“How are you feeling?” I asked as we zipped up the last bag.
“Fine,” he said. “I mean, I feel…weird…but I don’t feel sick.”
That about sized it up. Weird, but not sick. The world was tilting beneath us, but neither of us knew what to do about it.
I set the bags I carried down on the coffee table, not worried about whether the cold and the moisture would mar the wooden surface. Such concerns seemed miles away from where we were right now. “I want to check her temperature again first,” I told Devin, picking up the thermometer and slipping it into our mother’s mouth. She squirmed a bit, but I held firm, and she subsided. We waited as the seconds went by, and when the thermometer beeped, I was pulling it out before it was even done.
When I looked at the readout, I couldn’t believe what it said.
“One hundred and seven point two,” I read as my stomach began to knot. So much for the ibuprofen and the cold towels.
Devin’s dark eyes were practically round, they widened so much. “That’s not possible…is it?”
“Well, it’s possible to have a fever that high,” I replied, then stopped there. It wouldn’t do much good to point out that such an unnaturally high fever could result in brain and organ damage…and that there wasn’t a damn thing we could do to stop it, apparently. I drew in a breath and added, “Let’s get the ice on her. Obviously, the cold compresses weren’t enough.”
He nodded, and I picked up the bags full of ice I’d placed on the coffee table. I wasn’t even sure of the best positioning of the ice packs, but I figured she’d need one on her head, and some up against her sides, maybe on her chest….
The bag in my left hand went on her forehead, and the one in my right down on her chest. She winced, although her eyes didn’t open. The bag I’d put on her chest shifted slightly, and I repositioned it. “Give me yours,” I told Devin, guessing that he wouldn’t feel very comfortable about setting bags full of ice on his mother’s body. From the alacrity with which he handed them off, I had a feeling my guess was correct. I placed those two on either side of her waist, trying to position them in such a way that they’d get maximum contact with her torso. It was the core that needed to get cooled down. Or at least, I