Infected

by Alana Terry

  “I’m sure. I read that book like ten times or more when I was your age. She’ll be just fine.”

  He let out his breath. “Good. ’Cause I seen people with the sickness, and trust me, it’s not something you read about right before you go to bed. ’Least not if you don’t want nightmares.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Kennedy woke up the next morning to the sound of her cell screeching. As soon as she remembered what she was doing in the Lindgrens’ guest room, she reached to turn off her alarm only to realize it was her dad calling.

  “Hello?” She hated the way her voice sounded so groggy in the morning. Oh, well. What did he expect when he woke her up at such ungodly hours of the day and night? How early was it, anyway?

  “What’s the name of the school Carl and Sandy’s son goes to?” her dad snapped. “Is it a charter school?”

  Kennedy blinked at the digital clock beside her on the night table. 8:20? Had she forgotten to set her alarm? She was supposed to wake up Woong an hour ago.

  “I’m running late, Dad. Can I call you back?”

  “What’s the name of his school?” he repeated.

  She dragged herself up to a sitting position, wondering what it would be like to have a normal father who lived in a normal American town and who engaged in normal hobbies instead of being a perpetual news junkie.

  “He goes to Medford Academy, and we both slept in.” At least, she hoped Woong had slept in instead of waking up early and getting into trouble. After today, Sandy wouldn’t even trust Kennedy to look after a pet parakeet. “I’ve got to get him up or he’s going to be late.”

  “No, he’s not. Neither of you are going anywhere.”

  Kennedy wasn’t ready for her dad’s dramatics. A five-minute shower, that’s what she needed. No, there wasn’t time for that. A two-minute shower then. Anything to clear away this mental fog.

  “Medford Academy’s closed,” her dad said. “Something about one of the teachers possibly coming down with Nipah. What grade’s Carl and Sandy’s little boy in? First?” Her dad always assumed children were younger than they really were, which probably explained why he worried about Kennedy as if she were a preteen about to go away to her first ever sleep-away camp.

  Kennedy put her phone on speaker while she checked out the Channel 2 News website. Her dad was right. Sheila Winifred, a 57-year-old veteran teacher at Medford Academy, admitted herself into the hospital yesterday morning with fever, disorientation, and swelling of the brain. The article was carefully phrased, with words like suspicion and possibility heavily sprinkled throughout. Even though Mrs. Winifred’s case couldn’t be confirmed yet as Nipah, enough symptoms matched and enough parents were worried that the superintendent closed down Medford Academy until the CDC reports came back. Other schools in the district would remain open, although parents were urged to keep children home if they showed any signs of illness.

  Kennedy stared at the webpage and thought back to her brief conversation last night with that nervous mom from Woong’s school. Had Kennedy’s dad’s irrational fears infected everyone around her? Or was this more than paranoia? Schools didn’t just close their doors without good reason. Was it really possible that ...

  “All right, Kensie girl, what’s your plan?” Her dad asked the question as if he didn’t already have an answer ready to dictate to her.

  “I guess we stay home, and I’ll try to figure out what to do to keep Woong entertained all day.” Maybe she’d call Sandy and ask her to bend the rules a little bit so he could have extra Wii time.

  “Not good enough.” Her dad had an unassuming voice, but he could bark orders when it came to Kennedy’s personal safety. “You’ve got to assume that Carl and Sandy’s boy — what’s his name again?”

  “Woong. His name is Woong.”

  “Right. You’ve got to assume that Woong’s been exposed. What makes Nipah so scary and dangerous is the incubation period. You can be a carrier for a couple days before coming down with any signs of illness. We have to be conservative and give it a full week to see if you’re symptomatic. You know what to look for, right? And you’ve got to act quick, because they’re talking about people going from feeling perfectly fine to ending up at the ER in the course of an hour, just like that teacher. It starts with fever, flu-like symptoms, headaches ...”

  Kennedy was startled by a noise at the doorway, and she snatched up her phone. Punching off the speaker, she interrupted her father’s WebMD recitation.

  “Dad, I really got to go. I can call back real soon, I promise.”

  “But wait a minute, we still haven’t figured out ...”

  Kennedy turned off the phone and stared at the tiny boy in his Hulk slippers standing in the doorway. His wide eyes didn’t change when she beckoned him into the room.

  “You ok, little buddy?” she asked, certain he wasn’t.

  “Was that your dad?”

  “Yeah.” She forced a smile. “He worries a lot about germs and stuff. He’s kind of funny that way.” She mentally rehearsed the last few minutes of their conversation. How much had Woong overheard?

  “It’s the sickness, isn’t it? Teacher has the sickness.”

  Kennedy sighed. Why had she been so stupid as to put the phone on speaker? And why couldn’t her dad tone down his end-of-the-world dramatics for a change?

  Kennedy had made herself a promise that when she became a doctor she would always be honest with patients, although now she understood how toning down the truth could become a tempting option. “It’s probably not Nipah, but they’re going to close the school for a few days just to be sure.”

  She hoped the mention of an impromptu holiday might be enough to shatter Woong’s fearful demeanor.

  No such luck. “Is she gonna die?”

  “No, little guy.” Well, technically she wasn’t qualified to make that promise, so she added a hasty, “At least, none of us really think so. Your principal’s just doing what he needs to do to keep everyone safe so other people don’t get sick.”

  “You mean I might get sick?”

  Kennedy kicked herself. It was becoming more and more clear that she’d never be fit for a job in pediatrics.

  “You just keep washing your hands and eating healthy foods, and you’ll probably be fine.” She forced a smile and wished Sandy were here. Of all the times for her and Carl to leave on an anniversary getaway ... “Come on.” She went to take Woong’s hand before figuring he was probably too old for that. She walked down the hall and turned around. “You coming?”

  He frowned. “My legs hurt again.”

  She gave him a sympathetic smile. “We’ve got some extra time. Why don’t you help me make a big breakfast to start off our day, ok? Keep your mind off your growing pains. What sounds good to you?”

  “Teacher getting better.” Woong stared at his massive Hulk slippers. “That’s what sounds good to me.”

  You and me both, little buddy.

  Kennedy left the thought unspoken.

  CHAPTER 7

  It was eleven before Kennedy cleared off the breakfast table and started a load of dishes. Woong had helped her make pancakes, except his version of helping involved asking about a dozen questions about each of the ingredients and why she was adding them in the way she was (“’Cause I’ve watched my mom make pancakes millions of times before, and she doesn’t ever do it like that”).

  She finally got hold of Carl and Sandy just before noon. They hadn’t heard the reports about Medford Academy closing but decided to head straight home. Kennedy felt bad that their anniversary getaway was cut short, but she was grateful she wouldn’t have to stay here worrying about Woong by herself for much longer.

  Woong was busy cleaning up his room. At least, that’s what he was supposed to be doing, but Kennedy guessed by the crashing noises and numerous movie quotes coming from the bedroom that he was practicing his sword-fighting skills and pretending to be on the set of Princess Bride. As long as he was happy and content ...

  Kennedy s
tared at the overflowing sink. She should have never let the dishes get so far behind. It would take two loads just to catch up, and she had a nagging suspicion Woong would be coming out of his room any minute, “wanting to know what time we’re gonna have some lunch.” Kennedy didn’t feel like spending another minute in the kitchen. There was about a serving and a half of lasagna left over from last night, but that was hardly more than an appetizer the way Woong ate. She leaned over the stack of casserole dishes in the fridge. Chicken stir fry? Chili mac and cheese? She pulled out a small round container labeled pork and bean soup. That would work. She stared again at the messy sink, wondering if she should start washing the bigger things by hand.

  She had just rolled up her sleeves when someone knocked outside.

  “I’ll get it!” Woong yelled, and Kennedy couldn’t intercept him before he flung open the front door.

  “Hey, Mr. Nick!”

  “Hey, buddy!” Nick, the youth pastor at Carl and Sandy’s church, raised his hand so Woong could give him a high-five. “Fist bump!” He held out his knuckles. Kennedy tried not to think of how many germs the two of them had just exchanged.

  “Guess what!” Woong shouted. “There’s no school today.”

  Kennedy was glad to hear the chipper excitement back in his tone.

  Nick grinned and squatted down until he was eye level with Woong. “That’s right. You guys get a vacation, don’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, don’t waste all that time on the Wii. Growing boy like you’s got better things to do.” Nick shut the door behind him and turned toward Kennedy, his blond dreadlocks flinging around after him. “Hey, there. How’s it going?”

  She glanced at his shirt. It had a stick figure kneeling by a bedside and a caption that read, Prayer Warriors. Because real history makers do it on their knees.

  “Fine,” she answered. She hadn’t even been home alone with Woong for a full twenty-four hours, and she was already grateful for the chance to talk to a human being taller than four feet.

  “Sorry to barge in like this. I was going to call while I was riding over here, and then I forgot until I was like two minutes away.” He nodded to the window, where Kennedy could see his bicycle leaning on the Lindgrens’ front porch. “I was hoping I could borrow the Honda. There’s a few things I need to pick up from the store. You both could come along too if you wanted.”

  “Yeah!” Woong shouted.

  “Probably not,” Kennedy told him. “I think your parents want you to stay here where you’ll be sure not to catch any other germs.”

  “Yeah, kind of crazy what’s going on, isn’t it?” Nick fidgeted with one of his dreads.

  Crazy was one way of putting it.

  “I think we’ll stay here, but you’re welcome to take the Honda. It’s in the garage with the keys hanging up on the peg.”

  “All right.” He stepped in the entryway. “What’s that smell? It’s delicious.”

  “Just some bean soup for lunch.”

  “Wow, I didn’t know you could cook.”

  “I’m only reheating it. Sandy made it.”

  Nick nodded. “Oh, so that explains it.”

  “You can stay if you’d like a bite.” Kennedy knew Nick was in the habit of eating over at the Lindgrens’ several nights a week. It was probably the only way he sustained himself on his bachelor diet of frozen meals and Ramen noodles.

  “Nah, I’ve got to go. My buddy just posted a picture of the canned food aisle at Rory’s. Everyone’s stocking up. It’s gonna be an interesting couple of weeks.”

  While Nick was talking, Kennedy had been trying to lure him away from listening ears, but Woong wouldn’t leave until Kennedy finally told him to go wash his hands in the bathroom. “And do the happy birthday song twice like you learned at school,” she called after him.

  Nick followed her into the kitchen and paused by the door that led to the garage. “I know Carl and Sandy usually have plenty on hand. You guys going to be all right if things get hard?”

  He was laid back about most things. Kennedy didn’t picture him as the type to get worked up over a potential outbreak. The fact that so many other people besides her father were taking this Nipah scare seriously was more worrisome than the news stories themselves.

  “How hard do you expect it to get?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “Most people are saying it’s going to get worse before it gets better. A shame, really. I don’t even want to know what this whole scare is going to do to worsen the refugee crisis.”

  Kennedy had hardly thought through the medical ramifications of the disease. She wasn’t ready to jump straight to politics. “Are you going to be ok if they don’t have any food at the store?” she asked. “Do you want to take one of these casseroles with you in case the shelves are already empty?”

  “No, I’ll be all right. If I get to Rory’s and can’t find anything, maybe I’ll take you up on it, but I think if I hurry now I’ll get there before they’re completely sold out.”

  Woong was already out of the bathroom, so she was glad Nick didn’t say anything else about the epidemic.

  “So the keys are hanging up in their usual spot?”

  “Yeah.”

  “All right, I’ll bring the car back as soon as I’m done.” He opened the door that led to the garage.

  “No rush,” Kennedy called after him. Where did she and Woong have to go, anyway?

  After Nick left, Kennedy served up two large bowls of soup.

  “Want to play a game of cards while we eat?” Woong asked.

  “Sure. That sounds like a fun idea.”

  Woong jumped up and ran to the game closet, and Kennedy glanced at the text coming in from her dad.

  Governor of New York declared a state of emergency.

  Another beep.

  Two deaths reported in New Hampshire. One a 10-year-old boy.

  Kennedy put her phone on vibrate.

  “You want to play Uno or Egyptian rat race?” Woong asked.

  Kennedy had never heard of Egyptian rat race. “Let’s do Uno.” She couldn’t remember how long it had been since she’d last played it. Probably at least a decade.

  Her phone shook again, and she turned it face down so she didn’t have to see whatever depressing news her dad was sending her now.

  “Bring the deck here,” she told Woong, “and I’ll deal while you start your lunch. Don’t want to let your mom’s soup get cold.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Kennedy always assumed Uno was a game of pure chance, which was a statistic impossibility given how many games Woong won in a row. They had eaten up the entire pot of soup, and Woong had finished off the leftover lasagna, too. Carl and Sandy were due back in less than an hour. The house was disastrous, but at least the day with Woong had gone relatively smoothly.

  “You got any other games you want to play instead?” she asked after Woong beat her for the sixth or seventh time at Uno.

  “Hmm.” Woong pouted. “Maybe Battleship?”

  “Sure. Why not?” At the very least, it was a nice way to procrastinate from having to work on that next load of dishes.

  Woong had just put the cards away, and the two of them were setting up their battle stations when someone knocked on the front door.

  “Is that Mr. Nick?” Woong’s eyes lit up.

  “Might be,” Kennedy answered, although she couldn’t figure out why he’d go around to the front door after dropping the car off in the garage.

  Woong followed her to the main entrance. Kennedy glanced through the window at the familiar face on the porch and threw open the door.

  “Woah! Is that pink hair?” Woong shouted. “Inconceivable!”

  Kennedy stepped aside to let her roommate into the Lindgrens’ home. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Well, if you’d been getting my messages, you would have known,” Willow answered. “Let me guess. You let your batteries die again?”

  Kennedy rolled her eyes. “No, I
just turned it on vibrate. My dad kept sending me his end-of-the-world texts.” She gave her roommate a hug. “What’s going on? I thought you’d be in New York by now.”

  “Yeah, the trip got cancelled.” Willow flung her magenta-streaked hair behind her ear. “Nobody really wants to be in New York right now. It’s not just your dad who’s freaking out about this whole ...”

  “Hey, Woong,” Kennedy interrupted, “can you do me a big favor and clear the dishes off the table?”

  He pouted but left the two girls alone in the entryway.

  “So I guess it’s getting pretty bad?” she asked Willow when he was out of earshot.

  “I’ll say. You heard about that teacher from ... Oh, shhhhh ...” Willow stopped herself. “I mean, oh rats. That kid goes to that school doesn’t he? The one with the teacher. That’s why he’s home today. Geeze, I didn’t even think about that. Are you ok? Do you think either of you got exposed?”

  Kennedy glanced down the hall, hoping Woong wasn’t listening. “I think we’re ok. I mean, the chances of infection are really low.”

  “Yeah.” Willow ran her fingers through her hair. Kennedy wouldn’t be surprised if she came up with a quick excuse to leave, and she certainly wouldn’t blame her.

  “Kennedy!” Woong shouted from the kitchen, drawing out each syllable. “What’re we having for a snack?”

  “I swear that kid eats like an elephant,” she muttered.

  “I have an idea!” Woong called. “Why don’t you get two cups of juice, and I’ll put poison in one of them and you’ll have to decide which one you want to drink?”

  Willow raised her penciled eyebrows.

  “He just watched The Princess Bride for the first time,” Kennedy explained.

  Willow nodded. “Got it. Well, want some help with figuring out a snack?” she asked. “I’ve got my mom’s carrot-carob-zucchini drop recipe on my phone. Does your pastor keep any garbanzo bean flour on hand?”

  “I don’t think so.” She glanced at the door. “Do you want to stay a while? I mean, you’re welcome to, but if you’re worried about getting sick ...”