Curse of the Immune Read Free Page A

just veg out. I feel my sanity depends on it. Whatever works, right?
    I look around my room. I have a lot of stuffed animals from when my parents were alive. I remember making my dad kiss which ever animal I was taking to bed. It may sound stupid, but I like to think his kisses are still on them. It may sound weird, but it gives me comfort, and right now, that’s what I need.
    I grab a polar bear named Icicle and curl up on my bed. I stare at the wall and wait. I wonder what I’m waiting for—death, sickness, or both. Who knows and who cares? Whatever happens will happen. Just get it over with.
    Time crawls by as my gaze periodically falls upon my clock radio. My eyes grow heavy, and I begin to feel myself slowly dozing off. Just take a little nap and wake before midnight. Then I’ll go and be with Luke and company to face whatever happens.
    * * *
    I awake to sunlight streaming through the window on my face. “I slept the whole night?”
    I go to the window and see a clear, beautiful sky. No sign of an orange mist, until I look down. The ground is covered with a glowing orange dust. Like a snowy sherbet. It’s pretty cool, kind of beautiful. Around my room are tiny specks of orange on the floor and bed. It seems to be coming from under the door, because that’s where the thickest concentration is.
    In the mirror, I see my reflection, specks all over me. My stomach sinks. This can’t be good. I consider how I feel and decide I feel fine. Maybe not enough dust came into the house.
    I go to my door and open it. A lot more dust litters the hall leading to the bathroom. I follow and see the bathroom floor covered. The toilet, sink, and bathtub are overflowing with the particles. It must have come up from the drain. How could that happen if it fell from the sky? This is all very strange.
    I go to check for Luke in his bedroom, but he isn’t there. So I go downstairs and find him watching TV. Roger is lying on the couch, not looking very good. His eyes are bloodshot and his face pail, clammy, and sweaty.
    “Roger, are you okay?” Stupid question, I know.
    “I feel like crap.” He stirs a bit, trying to sit up.
    “Don’t get up.” I rush to his side.
    Luke stands. “He’s been sick since about one this morning. Ellen’s even sicker. She went to bed. How’re you doing?”
    “I feel fine. Are you okay?”
    “I’m good.”
    I go check on Ellen. When I get to her room, I can hear her whimpering softly. She’s in bed, lying on her side. I walk over to her bedside, where her back is to me. “Ellen?”
    “Oh, oh, child, just leave me.” Her moaning words shock me a bit. She never speaks to anyone that way, always kind and pleasant to everyone.
    I persist. “Is there anything I can get for you?”
    “I’m dying! So please give me some peace and get out!”
    I run out of the room as quickly as I can. Tears fill my eyes. I stop in the hall and fall to my knees. Ellen’s words felt like a kick in the gut. I wrap my arms around my head and cry into them to muffle any sounds. I don’t want to alarm Roger or my brother, but I’ve never seen someone so sick before. She must be delirious or maybe she really just wants to be alone.
    I swallow hard and force myself to stop crying. I begin to wonder what will happen to Luke and me if Ellen and Roger pass away. I quickly stop that kind of thinking and become disappointed in myself for being selfish. I need to stay strong and think positive.
    I stand and go into the bathroom to splash some water on my face, but the sink is overflowing with the sparkling dust here as well. So I dry my tears on a hand towel and go back into the living room.
    “How’s Ellen?” Roger struggles to lift his head.”
    “She’s okay. She just wants to be alone now.” I half-lie, how could I tell the poor man the truth?
    “You okay, sis?” Luke must see the redness in my eyes from my little breakdown.
    “Yeah, I’m good. My allergies must be acting up. All this dust, you know. It looks