The Worlds We Make Read Free

Gav’s hair.
    “It was just Leo checking in on us,” I said.
    He coughed a few more times, and wiped at his mouth. “Leo,” he sneered, and something twisted inside me even though I knew his jealousy was unfounded. There had been a time when my feelings for my best friend had gone beyond friendship, and maybe his for me too. Leo had kissed me after an awkward sort-of confession when he’d thought I was leaving on this mission without him and might not make it back. But Gav didn’t know about that.
    He didn’t need to. I was with Gav, and Leo knew I was with Gav, and both of us would have risked our lives to save him from the virus. If only we knew how.
    I lowered my head as Gav pulled me closer. “Do we have to keep driving?” he murmured. “All the way to Atlanta. Centers for Disease Control. They really weren’t very good at their job, were they? Didn’t control this disease at all.”
    “No one did,” I pointed out. As far as we knew, from what we’d seen and heard, the so-called friendly flu had spread across the whole world.
    “Why not?” Gav said, his voice rising. “With all those scientists, one of them must have been smart enough, but no one could be bothered to—”
    His voice broke with another coughing fit. And I thought, My dad bothered . My dad had kept working on his vaccine prototype until the day he died. Gav just hadn’t trusted him or it enough to take it when I’d asked him to.
    And I just hadn’t insisted.
    I bit my lip. “Hey,” I said, “don’t worry about that. You need to rest.”
    “I’ve been resting,” Gav said. “That’s all I’ve been doing. We should go.”
    He grabbed the edge of the desk to yank himself upright, his arms trembling. “Gav!” I said. The bottle of sedative-laced water in my coat pocket bumped against my ribs as I scooted over to him. I tugged it out.
    “You should drink something,” I said. “This made you feel better before.”
    “That orange crap?” he said. “I drank that in the car, and then I puked. No. I’m not taking any more.”
    His muscles gave out, and he slumped back down onto the rug. I set the bottle aside.
    “Okay,” I said. “Then just stay here with me.”
    I’d need to come up with a better plan when we were back in the car tomorrow. Assuming we found a replacement tire. Assuming the Wardens didn’t swarm us in the middle of the night.
    But for now, all that mattered was keeping Gav here and keeping him calm. That was going to be hard enough.

The virus was stealthy and vicious and nearly unstoppable, but it was also predictable. I’d known Gav was sick the moment I’d seen him scratching his wrist when we stood outside Toronto’s city hall. I’d known that after five or so days of itching and coughing and sneezing, the virus multiplying through his body would break down the part of his brain that filtered the thoughts and impulses he knew better than to let out, while making him crave constant company. And I knew that, before much longer, his mind would short-circuit completely, into a series of violent hallucinations and delusions.
    But knowing it did me no good. For what felt like a few hours, he and I lay on the rug, and Gav slept and woke, slept and woke. Each time he stirred into consciousness, I offered him the sedative drink, until he pushed the bottle away so forcefully it popped from my fingers and half of the remaining liquid splashed onto the floor.
    After that, I didn’t ask again.
    Could we manage to keep him calm in the car undrugged? Was there some way I could trick him into taking one of the pills instead?
    It stopped mattering the moment Gav started twitching.
    “No,” he muttered against his coat sleeve. “No.”
    I touched the side of his face. His skin was even hotter than before. “Hey, it’s okay,” I said. “You’re okay.”
    He jerked away from me, and his eyes popped open, fixing on something beyond my shoulder. “No!” he shouted. “Leave me alone!”
    He scrambled