Actually, I had a monster headache, but that was probably from the tension of worrying. “I feel fine.”
“Any word from Mom?”
“No. Why? Has the flu reached Asia?”
“It’s only a matter of time,” he said. “But I’m sure she’s OK. Maybe her call isn’t going through. It took me several tries. Everyone’s probably checking on family, overloading the phone system.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” I hoped it wasn’t anything more than that.
“I’ll call in a few hours when I have my travel plans worked out. I’ll text if I can’t get through. We should have her flight information by then, too.”
I kept my voice calm, trying to think rationally. “I thought I’d buy more supplies. Mom might have told you about the extra food stored in the closet?”
“She mentioned it.” His tone implied it had actually been a lengthy conversation.
“If we have to be isolated for a long time, it won’t be enough. We’ll need even more.”
“You can’t leave the house—”
“I can order online, Dad. I have your credit card from when I bought flowers . . .” For Angela. Before she died.
I didn’t finish my sentence aloud. I didn’t have to.
“Go ahead and use my card to buy what you think we’ll need,” he said. “I’ll see you soon. Call me if anything changes.”
I searched the kitchen for comfort food, finally settling on macaroni and cheese for breakfast. After eating, I took my temperature. It registered normal all three times.
From the isolated safety of Dad’s office, I logged onto the computer and browsed the virtual aisles of the online grocery store. After filling my shopping cart with mostly nonperishable items, I selected delivery for tomorrow. Then I went to a drug store site and made a bunch of purchases there. The thought of the supplies should have calmed me, but my hands shook a little and I felt fidgety. Did that mean oncoming flu or just nicotine withdrawal? It didn’t seem like I’d been smoking much, but I’d kind of lost track.
I really wanted a cigarette. I tried chewing gum instead.
There was still no word from Mrs. Salerno. Each time I called the hospital, the phone line was busy, and she didn’t answer her cell. I paced around the house in frustration, not able to get through to Mom, either.
After ten tries, and many deep, calming breaths, I finally sent Mom a text telling her that Megs was sick, that Dad was on his way home, that I was fine. It was easy to hide the worry when she couldn’t hear my voice.
I needed to do something constructive to pass the time. Using a yellow pad of lined paper, I wrote out the days of the week down the side, with columns across the top: me, Mom, Dad. Starting with the perishables, then factoring in my stockpile and groceries on order, I filled out each box with three meals and one snack a day. My supplies would provide enough food for about four weeks.
On a fresh sheet of paper, I listed activities to pass the time alone, starting with the useful (reorganize my history binder) and ending with the silly (download the new drawing game I wanted to try). If I didn’t get sick, I had enough resources to avoid the rest of the world for a long time.
I tacked the grid to the inside of our pantry. I had a plan, a solid one. Now I just needed Megs to recover and my parents to arrive home safely. When Dad finally called back, I lunged for the phone.
“I need you to stay calm,” he said.
Fear surged through me like an electrical shock.
“What’s wrong? Are you sick?”
“I’m healthy, but they’ve quarantined my hotel. It’s impossible for me to come home.”
I leaned on the kitchen counter for support. But it wasn’t enough to steady me. Clutching the phone, I slid to the floor in a terrified heap.
CHAPTER 10
I would ask all people of the world, regardless of their particular faith, to pray.
—Blue Flu interview, world religious leader
“Lily? Are you still there?” Dad asked.
Huddled on the kitchen floor, I gripped the telephone. “Why would they quarantine your hotel? How long until you can leave?”
“The CDC made some progress identifying the exact illness. They’ve determined that it’s a novel H5N1 that’s causing the flu,” Dad said. “The virus has mutated. Traditional H5N1 would bind to the respiratory cells deep in the lungs. It was deadly, but didn’t spread. This strain is binding in the upper respiratory track as well.”
“In English, Dad.”
“It’s bird flu. It’s deadly and highly contagious. They’ve traced the source to migrating waterfowl, like the ones they banded last weekend at the swamp.”
I gasped. “Mom almost dragged us to that!”
“I know. And Angela was there, along with several other people who’ve become sick.”
“You said you didn’t have any contact with Angela. So why are you quarantined?”
“Bad luck, really. There’s a national bird banding convention at my hotel.”
“You’re stuck with tons of potentially sick people?”
“We’re confined to our hotel rooms.”
“Have you spoken to Mom?”
“Yes. She’s trying to leave Hong Kong, but they’ve cancelled most of the flights to the East Coast. There are rumors Newark Airport will shut down soon.”
I took the phone into my room and climbed into bed. Dad was quarantined. Mom was stuck in a foreign country. My best friend was sick. I was home alone after possibly being exposed to a fatal illness. The panic made it hard to breathe. I focused on each inhale, every exhale, as if my body might forget how to breathe properly.
Dad cleared his throat. “I know this is difficult. I called my stepbrother—”
“Uncle Jim? I’ve met him like twice in my whole life.”
“I know. And he can’t come anyway. But I’m trying, honey.”
I pulled the covers up to my chin, realizing how isolated and alone I was. “Dad, if I start to feel sick—”
“Are you ill now?”
“No, but just in case, who would I call? You’re away, Mom’s away, Mrs. Salerno is at the hospital. . . .”
He was quiet a moment. “What about Reggie? He’s right down the street.”
My neighbor and happy ShopWell cashier. I would have preferred a motherly-type, but I guess he would do.
“He’s trustworthy, Lily, and . . .”
“And what?”
Dad sighed. “He’s statistically in a good age bracket for survival.”
“I thought old people were most at risk from the flu?”
“Not in this case. It’s too soon to tell definitively, but based on the fatalities so far, it seems to be less deadly to the younger and the older.”
“How young?” I asked.
He paused.
“Dad, I can hear it from you or the news.”
“They’re predicting that kids fourteen and younger will have a higher survival rate. So will adults over age fifty.”
Could this get any worse? “Then at sixteen, I’m screwed. And you and Mom are in the deadly zone, too.”
“I know it seems bad. I’ll keep checking on you. Texting is probably easiest. Let’s send messages every few hours. Do you want me to call Reggie, tell him your situation?”
“No,” I said, unconvincingly.
“I’ll contact him. And there’s one other thing I need you to do.” He lowered his voice. “I have some medicine hidden in the safe. It’s an antiviral. I want you to take it.”
“Will it work with this strain of flu?”
“I don’t know. But it could offer some protection if you’ve been exposed and may lessen the symptoms if you do get sick. Of course, there’s no guarantee now that the virus has mutated, but it’s better than nothing. The first two numbers of the combination are written in pencil inside the laundry room door. The last number is 88.”
“Got it. But what about you?”
“I’m guessing they’ll treat us here. You should
start taking the medicine, once a day for ten days, as a precaution. If you show any signs of the actual flu, take it twice a day. And don’t tell anyone about it.”
“OK.” I had gotten good at keeping secrets.
After we hung up, I concentrated on breathing for a long time. Then my phone beeped with a message.
The Board of Education will be meeting with the Morris County Health Department tomorrow to discuss whether to close Portico schools. You will be kept in the loop and updated accordingly. In the meantime, please do not send your child to school on Monday if he or she is exhibiting flu-like symptoms, or is otherwise not fit as a fiddle. Check the school website to learn more about the common cold versus the flu. In a nutshell, your child should be fever-free for twenty-four hours before returning to school after an illness.
The Morris County Health Office has asked us to remind students to practice respiratory hygiene (cough into your sleeve, not your hand) and to encourage frequent hand-washing. Keep them as clean as a whistle! Please note: the poster contest judging has been delayed, but we will save all submitted entries until a later date.
Because of health and safety concerns, we will consider a masking policy if school remains open. Each student would be given one surgical mask. Although the flu virus may be able to penetrate the woven material, the mask may prevent large respiratory droplets (due to coughing or sneezing) from being transmitted to others.
Thank you for your cooperation.
The school sent a second message not long after.
Instant Alert from Portico High School
We have received a number of inquiries about masks colors. They are only available in sky blue. Patience is a virtue, so hold tight. Further details will be provided soon.
The emails distracted me a little. If people were well enough to worry about how fashionable the masks were, then not everyone was falling over ill. That was a good sign, I hoped.
I dragged myself out of bed to open the safe, which was hidden on the closet floor in the laundry room. Dad said most burglars wouldn’t look for it there. It took a few tries before I figured out that the combination started with a counter-clockwise turn. Finally, the door clicked open.
Whoa.
While I had been stockpiling food, Dad had been accumulating quite a collection of medicines. There were cipro pills for anthrax, potassium iodide tablets for radiation, and a bunch of prescriptions I didn’t recognize. They were all grouped in sets of three. Dad was definitely prepared. Did Mom realize I wasn’t the only worrier in the family?
I took out the box of medicine he mentioned and closed the safe. A swallowed pill later, I didn’t feel any better.
When the phone rang, I said a silent prayer for good news. Dad could be released, or Megs could be better. Maybe Mom’s flight had landed and she was minutes away. I didn’t recognize the number on caller ID.
“Hello?” I answered with crossed fingers.
“Lilianna?” Mr. B asked.
Hope left my body along with my breath.
CHAPTER 11
We’ve known since 1972 that waterfowl host just about every influenza virus there is. But no mutated virus could be passed from human to human. Until now.
—Blue Flu interview, anonymous researcher
At the sound of Mr. B’s voice, the memories came crashing back.
“Lilianna, I need to discuss something with you,” he continued.
“I . . . I . . .” My ability to speak was gone.
I didn’t slam down the phone or hurl it across the room. No drama. The drama had already occurred at his house. Instead, I pushed the “End call” button. Then I found the website for the phone company and blocked all future calls from his number and any unidentified callers as well.
What could he possibly want to speak to me about? It was crazy that he would call the house. If my parents had answered, they would have contacted the police, made a formal complaint. He must have known that. And did he really think I would just have a nice chat with him on the phone?
I needed to get rid of the angst, to find a way to release the fear. Finally, I went into the basement, closed the door, and screamed until my throat felt raw. At first I worried that the neighbors would call the police, but the yelling felt good. No one came to check on me.
It was a long sleepless night. I must have dozed off at some point because I woke up to a rainy grayness that matched my mood. Leaving the house wasn’t safe. Now that Mr. B had called, staying inside didn’t feel so secure either. I spent a lot of time pacing.
At noon on Monday, the church rang its bells. On a calm day, the sound carried to our street. Today their tone seemed sad, mournful.
I shook off the feeling. Of course the bells today were the same as any other day. Usually I only heard them on the weekend, when school was out. For a moment, I relished the fact that history class was taking place without me. Mrs. Nubrik would be droning on and on right that very minute.
This consolation didn’t last. I still couldn’t get through to Megs or Mrs. Salerno, or Mom or Dad. Hours of worry stretched ahead of me like a desolate road I had to travel alone.
Going to church suddenly seemed appealing. It was an odd longing, because I stopped attending mass regularly after Mr. B. I tried once or twice, but restlessness replaced the peace I used to feel when the light shone through the stained glass windows. Soon a few skipped weeks stretched into months. Dad was pretty much agnostic and Mom eventually stopped asking me to come with her on Sunday mornings.
But church was off limits now. There was no way I could go during my self-imposed quarantine. I convinced myself that any prayer counted, whether I was seated in a pew or not. I focused my silent entreaty on Megs and her health.
I wasn’t particularly hungry, but forced myself to eat some corn flakes with bananas. I had just finished when the doorbell rang.
“Leave the groceries out there please,” I said through the closed door.
“Lilianna Snyder?”
I peeked through the side window.
“I’m Officer Raitt. I need to speak to your parents.”
“They’re not here. I’ve been exposed to the flu so I’m not supposed to open the door.”
“It’s all right. It’s police business.”
“Just a minute.” I found one of Mom’s old sweaters in the coat closet and pulled it on over my pjs. Cracking the door the tiniest bit, I recognized Officer Raitt even with a pale blue mask across his mouth and nose. He had stopped Dad for speeding once on Noe Avenue, but let my father go with just a warning.
“How are you today?” he asked.
I stepped outside with a nervous stomach. Police at the door couldn’t be a good thing. But even my pessimistic attitude couldn’t imagine what would cause a cop to come to our house in person. Maybe someone called the police about last night’s meltdown after all? How could I explain my crazy screaming?
“Fine, thank you.”
“Are you symptomatic at all?”
“No.” Maybe that’s why he was here, to take me away and lock me up somewhere if I had the flu. Thinking about it made my throat compulsively tickle. A small cough escaped against my will.
Officer Raitt seemed preoccupied and didn’t react. “Sorry to stop by unannounced. Um, Detective Salerno asked me to come.”
Oh, that explained it. Megs’s mom must be worried that I caught the flu. Mom and Mrs. Salerno were thoughtful like that, looking out for each other’s daughters. Sometimes it could be annoying, as if having one overprotective mother wasn’t enough. Today, it warmed me like hot chocolate with marshmallows on a blustery day.
“You can tell her I’m doing all right. It’s nice of her to ask you to check on me.”
Officer Raitt looked away, toward the neighbors’ house. He studied their property for a long time. I followed his gaze, seeing damp shrubs, a neat lawn, an ordinary home. Nothing to hold his interest for so long.
Finally, he spoke. “There’s no easy way to break this to you.” He sigh
ed, a heavy, unhappy sound. “Megan passed away yesterday.”
“Megan?” I tried to process the information but my brain clouded over. “You mean Megs?”
He nodded. “Detective Salerno asked as a favor if I’d talk to you, break the news in person.”
“Megs is . . . dead?” I asked, not comprehending the words.
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
“But the hospital . . . the doctors were taking care of her. She was admitted Saturday night. And she’s been studying for her AP test next month. Megs takes school very seriously.”
“I know this is difficult for you.”
“We were picking out clothes for her date. Her mom drove to the emergency room right away. Mrs. Salerno doesn’t like to take chances.” I shook my head. “You know them, personally, right? There must be a mistake.”
“I wish it was a big misunderstanding,” Officer Raitt said. “Because of the widespread illness, the funeral arrangements for Megan have been postponed. We’ll try to keep you informed.”
“The funeral . . .” I stood there, eyes wide, heart empty. “I need to call someone. My parents. I have to tell them.”
“Yes, you should let them know. It’s probably better if you can be with your family right now. I’m sorry I can’t wait for them to return. I have too many next-of-kin notifications to make.”
“Next of kin? How many people have died?”
“I can’t give you an exact figure. But off the record, staying home is probably a good idea,” he said. “Here’s my number in case you need anything.”
I tucked his contact info into a pocket and watched him stride toward his patrol car, toward a day filled with delivering bad news. I fought the urge to beg him to stay, not to leave me alone with the sadness.
After he left, I didn’t want to go inside to the photos of me and Megs on my desk, to the black shirt I borrowed from her and never returned, to the kitchen counter she’d sat on a thousand times after school. I went through the back gate and kneeled in the wet grass in my pjs. The air had that just-rained magical smell from my last dream about her.
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