Page 59 of Sick of You

“Obviously it has.” I gestured at my luxurious accommodations.

Cassie held up a syringe. “I need a serum sample.”

“Sure.” It made sense that it had been a while since she’d done any of these duties that fell to nurses.

She used the rubber tubing to tie off my arm, then examined the inside of my elbow with more care than a jeweler would use with my mother’s collection. “Sorry,” she said again. “We’d all be lost without nurses.”

“Nurses are miracle workers,” I agreed. But Nurse Hadewijch wasn’t the only one.

Finally, Cassie found a suitable vein and filled the required tubes, taping the cotton ball into the crook of my elbow when she was finished. She set the tubes on the tray and handed me a pile of blue cloth. “I found you some scrubs. Thought you might be more comfortable.”

“Thanks.”

She held up the serum samples again. “I’m going to prep these for transport; why don’t you get dressed?”

I accepted the assignment and retired to the “main bathroom” to change, which was harder than it looked in such narrow quarters.

When I returned to my room, Cassie had converted my living area into my dining room, a cafeteria tray on my rolling table. “It’s no Federal Donuts,” she acknowledged.

I had to swallow—then turned to Cassie. “Is—is salivating a symptom?”

“Of hunger? Probably.”

I sat down on my bed/dining chair/sofa/theatre seating. I met Cassie’s eyes before I lifted the insulating plastic cloche. “Thank you.”

“You bet.” She started for the door, and I tried to ignore the slump of disappointment in my chest by lifting the lid on my tray. But it wasn’t the soggy fried chicken and limp green beans that were the most depressing part of my evening.

The sound of wheels came from my side, and I looked up to find Cassie rolling the doctor’s stool over. “Hi,” she said, taking a seat.

“Hi? Did you want to watch me eat?”

“Is that a position you’re hiring for?”

“Your job responsibilities would not bejustwatching me eat.”

Cassie mimicked holding up a paper and pen. “Anything else, sir?”

“Well, you could let me know if you’ve found any conclusions yet.”

“Oh.” She straightened, dropping the mocking posture. “Dr. Donaldson tested a sample, and its Gram stain was positive.”

I tried to dredge up anything I’d learned about that test. My knowledge was mostly confined to the public health vs. medical domain, but if I remembered right, it was quick and detected certain types of cell walls. “What does that eliminate?” I tried to focus on the positive.

“Um.” She thought a moment. “Plague. Smallpox.”

“Oh, that’s good, yeah?”

“Oh yeah. Either one of those would enter us all into a new level of lockdown.”

She was being too diplomatic to say they’d also likely kill me. Not that we were out of the woods—Gram positive meant there was definitely some sort of pathogen present. Which still meant I’d be trapped in here—maybe for the rest of my life.

“No other news?”

“We sent samples to the state lab this afternoon; I heard a rumor they got escalated to the CDC.”

I couldn’t hide my surprise, and Cassie winced. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“Good to know, though. I wouldn’t want to be kept in the dark.”

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