She nods, not wanting that pain in her throat again.
Hurrying around the bed, he leans over her, pressing the back of his fingers to her forehead, then looking into her eyes as if checking for clarity. He sighs, then takes his hand away. “Your fever finally broke. How do you feel?”
“Terrible,” she whispers in her croaky voice.
He winces at it, then says, “Try not to speak. Just nod if you’re feeling at all better than before.”
She nods, but makes a face to hedge that a little.
“So, a little bit better but still dreadful?”
She nods more firmly this time. There’s a glass of water on the table. She points to it with her eyes.
“You’re thirsty?”
Nod.
She tries to prop herself up, but her arms feel like jelly and her head swims with the effort. He does it for her, lifting her gently and holding her in place while he shoves pillows behind her. Only when she’s secure does he lift the glass to her lips and say, “Slow. Just sips.”
Despite the pain of swallowing, the water feels divine. She’s as parched as the desert. Her hands lift to the glass, but he takes it away and puts it down out of her reach.
“You’ve had nothing save a drip and a few ice chips for more than two days. Don’t worry, you’re quite hydrated because of the drip, but your mind will insist that you’re thirsty because you haven’t been drinking. Your throat is quite swollen, so you’ll need to be careful.”
A drip? It takes her a second to figure out what that is, then she realizes he means intravenous fluids. Looking down at her arms, she finds a neat bandage at the crook of one elbow. She runs a hand over it and asks, “Who?”
“Me, I’m afraid,” he answers. “I’m Tom, by the way. I know we’ve been neighbors for at least a year, but I’m embarrassed to say I had to find out your name from the mail on your hall table. Miranda?”
She nods, terribly confused by everything. Her memories are hazy and strange, and quite possibly all just a nightmare. Given the state of things, a nightmare seems far more likely than true memory. She hopes it is.
“Sharon?”
Tom sits at the edge of her bed, careful not to touch her in any way. “I’m sorry, but yes, she did die.”
“Not a nightmare?”
He shakes his head sadly. “No, I’m afraid not.”
She finally takes in the words that she initially missed. She also sees that he’s unshaven and a bit rumpled looking. “Two days?”
“Yes. You’ve been quite ill. I gave you antibiotics with your drip. That seems to have done the trick, though I’ve got tablets for you to finish a full course.” He motions toward a black doctor’s bag on her dresser. “I’ve got the injectable version if you still can’t swallow the tablets. We’re covered in that regard.”
“Not a cold then.”
He shakes his head. “No, not a cold. Strep, but it had gone quite far. You managed to get a nasty infection to go along with it. You should have seen a doctor. Good thing you’ve now got a private doctor.”
She raises her eyebrows. “You?”
Placing a hand at his chest, he gives her a somewhat playful bow of his head. “At your service.”
Any smile she might have wanted to give him is pushed away by the memory of Sharon and her unmoving eyes. Her face creases. “What happened?”
Rather than answer right away, he holds up the glass for her to sip again. It feels even better this time and she sighs. After one more sip, he lets her have the glass to hold, making sure her fingers are secure around it before letting go.
Delay over, he says, “No one really knows what happened. Not really. Your friend wasn’t the only one. Millions of people died almost immediately, tens of millions really. It’s still happening. It could be hundreds of millions by now. It’s everywhere.”
“Why?” she asks, still too sick to react as strongly as she might otherwise.
Tom breathes in deeply then looks at the light coming from around the closed curtains. “Not sure yet. But it has something to do with being outside, they think. Or seeing outside. They’re not certain of anything really, but that seems to be the one consistent part of this entire nightmare. Right now, we’re being told that all women and girls should be kept inside and away from windows.”
“Women?”
He nods. “Yes, it’s only happening to females.”
Miranda thinks back to that hazy few minutes on the porch. The mother with the two children. The little girl. The person with one leg still in the car. That person’s legs had been bare. She’d seen that but not really noticed it. A dark suit and bare legs. A woman. The person with the dog lead had also been a woman, she thought. Yes, they’d all been women.
Tentatively, Miranda clears her throat, but it hurts. She settles for a less painful whisper. “Is that why I got sick? Is it a sickness?”
“I don’t know if what’s happened to them is a sickness in the traditional sense, but if it is, it’s not what you have. You have a rather run of the mill case of strep. Your tonsils look awful, truly. You should have them out as soon as you’re well.”
“Really?” she asks. She’d never thought about her tonsils before.
Tom makes a face. “Epic. Big as you please and covered in pus pockets.”
Miranda jerks her head back in disgust and Tom actually laughs a little.
He pats her arm, saying, “Don’t worry. I’ve seen much worse. My specialty is ENT.”
“What’s that?”
“Ear, nose, and throat.”
“Convenient for me,” she whispers and he smiles sympathetically.
Despite the fact that she’s still terribly thirsty, Miranda realizes she also needs to pee. That makes her feel awkward. She
