totally convinced.
I took another breath. I needed to be as clearheaded as possible, and strong, like my aunt. My rapid breathing started to slow. âIâm fine now. Honest.â
The bed adjusted so I could sit upright, the nurse leaned over and to my relief, held my wrist. She checked her watch and gave a small grunt.
âI didnât feel anything,â I muttered. âNothing. Am Iâ¦?â
I couldnât say it aloud.
Nurse Teapot held out a tall glass of liquid. The drinkâs odd brownish-red color didnât seem very appetizing.
âYouâre lucky we got you in here early and your body didnât totally shut down when you fell ill.â She said. âIt may take a while to get your full sense of touch back and for your body to adjust to the changes.â
Her explanation made no sense, but she cut off my questions and urged me to drink. One sip and I made a face, my mouth puckering at the sweet and sour, yet tinny flavor. âIck, what is this? It tastes like metal.â
âDrink up,â she ordered. âCranberry juice with some medicine for your throat. The dietician will explain your dietary needs before your discharge.â
Nurse Teapot left with a glare and a stern warning that sheâd be back with a shot and limit visitors if the machine went off again. The odd drink did help moisten my dry throat and tongue. Another sip and I set down the glass. I motioned to my aunt. I needed her reassurance. I needed her to help me remember.
Tia
put on her no-nonsense expression, the one she usually wore when she reviewed my grades. Time to get serious.
I took deep cleansing breaths and tuned in to the familiar, lilting cadence of her voice. Many a night sheâd lulled me to sleep with a bedtime story or whispered a prayer with me while my mama was at work. When I was older, she offered sound advice and even a correction or two when I got in trouble. I turned aside so she wouldnât see my sadness.
âItâs all right, child, itâs all right.â My aunt patted my hand. âBest you cry, let it out. I know itâs hard. That wonât be ending anytime soon I âspect.â
She stopped, wiped a couple tears that trickled down her cheek, and gazed at me before continuing, her voice soft. âBeen some funny things going on around here. Things I ainât ever seen and never thought I would. And our poor boy, Spenceâ¦so terrible. Honey, these are things Iâm afraid I just donât have all the answers for.â
She mustâve sensed my questions and waved at me to wait.
âSorry, I know it takes me a while to get to the point. Now I know you and Carm are worried about your mamas. Foolish thing they did, going off with all the crazies roaming around the roads. But donât you worry theyâre not back yet. Messaged theyâre stuck in some hotel. Theyâll be fine, just fine.â
The rest of what she said hit me like Iâd been doused with a bucket of ice cubes.
My aunt struggled to remain calm. She took a deep breath and continued, âHoney, you have to be bitten or scratched to get this. The doctor said something goes haywire inside. You get the virus and usually die, but Iâm not talking about death as we know it. The virus does something to the body.â
A memory floated to the surface. âWait, the radio,â I recalled. âThey told everyone to stay inside, keep away, donât go near those-those people outside.â My voice lowered to a whisper. âYou knowâ¦
them.
â
She bobbed her head in agreement, but tried to hide her alarm as she glanced at my arm. My gaze dropped to the unsightly laceration. The ragged slash on my arm made me cringe. It seemed worse than before. Yes, Iâd banged my arm, butâ¦I gasped as the reality of it hit me.
Me and Spence fighting. His clawing at me. Scratching me. Grabbing my other wrist again, I moved my fingers across my cool,
Thomas Christopher Greene