solicitously—like there wasn’t an N95 mask dangling from his hand.
N95 masks were the highest-grade filters you could get. They were only for serious germs like tuberculosis and meningitis, or weird ones, like H1N1 and SARS. When I’d worked at the hospital I’d been fitted for a new one each year. It’d lived in my locker afterward, a worst-case-scenario reminder every time I opened the metal door.
I ignored his question and nodded at the mask. “So it’s like that, is it?”
“I’m afraid so.” He set the mask down by the spray bottles of cleaner we’d stolen. “People started dying last night. Let me wash my hands.”
“Shit.” I staggered back to the bed. He didn’t let me touch him as I passed, and he stepped into the other non-puke-scented bathroom. I was still perched on the edge of the bed feeling green when he returned.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” He tried to put a hand on my forehead, and I ducked.
“Yeah. Just morning sickness. How many people are ill? What’s going on downstairs?”
“They’re presuming it’s meningitis and everyone’s in isolation gear now.”
“Oh, no.”
He nodded in agreement, reaching for my forehead again. I sighed and relented, feeling like a kid trying to play hooky from school.
“No fever,” he announced.
“Like I told you.” I took his hand back and held it in my own. “Are they turning the ship around?”
“They can’t. We’re closer to Hawaii than we are to California. And there’s still the storm catching up behind us. Their plan is to get as close as they can to land, and have faster medical rescue ships meet us for transfers.”
“How many patients are there?”
“Twenty, so far.”
I pointed at the mask with my chin. “Where’s yours?”
“I’ve still never been sick. And it’s not me that I’m worried about. We’ve got to get you off this boat.”
While I wholeheartedly agreed with his sentiment, it seemed impossible. We were in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. “How?”
“I’m not sure. But you’re staying in here until I figure it out.” He took his hand back and stood, reaching for the closet doors.
“What are you doing?” I asked as he took his current shirt off, pulled a dress shirt from a hanger, and began buttoning it down. The Maraschino jumped sideways, and I felt sick to my stomach all over again.
“It’s him, Edie. I know it—”
“What happened to Thomas?” I interrupted.
Asher shook his head without looking at me. “He didn’t make it. He died sometime last night. I’m sorry.”
It was always a shock when a child died. Even if it wasn’t yours, and you were just watching it distantly on the news. There was no way to mitigate a child’s death, no bargaining you could do with the universe about luck, fairness, or age. It was just wrong, and everybody knew it in their gut.
“I’m sorry, Edie,” Asher repeated, finishing his last button and turning toward me.
“Me too.” I was queasy again now, for all the wrong reasons. “Was Liz with him at least?”
“Yes—but she’s sick too. It’s affecting adults now, and all sorts of people are calling down for Tylenol for fevers in their rooms.” He crouched down, his shirt still untucked, and took my hands in his. “I’ve got to go back down there, Edie.”
“To … help?” If they needed another doctor downstairs, one who couldn’t get ill, I could hardly deny the rest of the passengers that—but I didn’t want him to leave. I wasn’t normally a scared person, but this place wasn’t my home, and I didn’t have my family or my cat—Asher was the only safe thing here.
“I have to talk to Liz. Before she passes.”
“She’s going to die?” I asked, my voice rising.
“You and I both know what death’s door looks like. Antibiotics aren’t even touching her fevers—she’s over a hundred and six. She doesn’t have long.”
“Stay.” I held on to his hands as tightly as I could.
“I have to go down there,
N95 masks were the highest-grade filters you could get. They were only for serious germs like tuberculosis and meningitis, or weird ones, like H1N1 and SARS. When I’d worked at the hospital I’d been fitted for a new one each year. It’d lived in my locker afterward, a worst-case-scenario reminder every time I opened the metal door.
I ignored his question and nodded at the mask. “So it’s like that, is it?”
“I’m afraid so.” He set the mask down by the spray bottles of cleaner we’d stolen. “People started dying last night. Let me wash my hands.”
“Shit.” I staggered back to the bed. He didn’t let me touch him as I passed, and he stepped into the other non-puke-scented bathroom. I was still perched on the edge of the bed feeling green when he returned.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” He tried to put a hand on my forehead, and I ducked.
“Yeah. Just morning sickness. How many people are ill? What’s going on downstairs?”
“They’re presuming it’s meningitis and everyone’s in isolation gear now.”
“Oh, no.”
He nodded in agreement, reaching for my forehead again. I sighed and relented, feeling like a kid trying to play hooky from school.
“No fever,” he announced.
“Like I told you.” I took his hand back and held it in my own. “Are they turning the ship around?”
“They can’t. We’re closer to Hawaii than we are to California. And there’s still the storm catching up behind us. Their plan is to get as close as they can to land, and have faster medical rescue ships meet us for transfers.”
“How many patients are there?”
“Twenty, so far.”
I pointed at the mask with my chin. “Where’s yours?”
“I’ve still never been sick. And it’s not me that I’m worried about. We’ve got to get you off this boat.”
While I wholeheartedly agreed with his sentiment, it seemed impossible. We were in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. “How?”
“I’m not sure. But you’re staying in here until I figure it out.” He took his hand back and stood, reaching for the closet doors.
“What are you doing?” I asked as he took his current shirt off, pulled a dress shirt from a hanger, and began buttoning it down. The Maraschino jumped sideways, and I felt sick to my stomach all over again.
“It’s him, Edie. I know it—”
“What happened to Thomas?” I interrupted.
Asher shook his head without looking at me. “He didn’t make it. He died sometime last night. I’m sorry.”
It was always a shock when a child died. Even if it wasn’t yours, and you were just watching it distantly on the news. There was no way to mitigate a child’s death, no bargaining you could do with the universe about luck, fairness, or age. It was just wrong, and everybody knew it in their gut.
“I’m sorry, Edie,” Asher repeated, finishing his last button and turning toward me.
“Me too.” I was queasy again now, for all the wrong reasons. “Was Liz with him at least?”
“Yes—but she’s sick too. It’s affecting adults now, and all sorts of people are calling down for Tylenol for fevers in their rooms.” He crouched down, his shirt still untucked, and took my hands in his. “I’ve got to go back down there, Edie.”
“To … help?” If they needed another doctor downstairs, one who couldn’t get ill, I could hardly deny the rest of the passengers that—but I didn’t want him to leave. I wasn’t normally a scared person, but this place wasn’t my home, and I didn’t have my family or my cat—Asher was the only safe thing here.
“I have to talk to Liz. Before she passes.”
“She’s going to die?” I asked, my voice rising.
“You and I both know what death’s door looks like. Antibiotics aren’t even touching her fevers—she’s over a hundred and six. She doesn’t have long.”
“Stay.” I held on to his hands as tightly as I could.
“I have to go down there,
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