Sam lucked out on her course schedule for "B Term", her academic period from October through December. Her only Tuesday class was an early morning lab, and in early November, the professor for both of her Wednesday classes amply hinted that the Thanksgiving week coursework could be completed online and turned in any time before the first Monday in December. Plus, speaking of Mondays, her carefully scheduled 2 PM first class meant she could roll the dice on flight delays and head back that morning, even with the 40 mile (counter-commute) drive back from Boston.

Once that was clear, she gladly burned the extra $150 in change fees to move her flight up a day. A head start on the holiday rush and an extra day and a half at home? Well worth it.

The school's weird way of dividing the academic calendar into five chunks, including the summer, meant things moved at an otherwise breakneck pace. Usually she spent those extra hours on Mondays as a third weekend day just so she could finish her homework AND have time to breathe.

Add to that all the work the team was doing to prep the robot for a match in December, and she really needed the break. They'd already tested the new batteries and their sponsor said the upgraded weapon bar wouldn't be ready for another week, so she was damned well going to take advantage of the opportunity.

Thanksgiving had been delicious and coma-inducing, followed by a little Black Friday shopping right where you're supposed to do it — on the couch. Her dad had to take a trip up to D.C. for work, leaving Friday night and getting home sometime Sunday, so she caught a movie with Mom on Saturday, even got a little ice skating in at the mall on the way out. Fell on her bum real good a few times, but feeling like a little kid again just removed her mind another pleasant step farther away from another day in an advanced physics class.

They'd been watching a cheesy Christmas movie on TV when the news broke in, about a sudden outbreak of a scary flu or something in New York. Almost a hundred people had died already and several hundred more were flooding the local hospitals. The feds were trying to get their ass in gear, and the mayor was already talking about closing the island. That was about when her mom turned off the TV and strongly suggested they head to the kitchen and make some cookies.

Sam glanced at her phone a few times before bed that night, scrolling through her feeds, feeling guilty about being thankful she didn't know anybody living in New York, trying to remember if anyone at school might have headed there for the holiday. She spent a while playing I Am Bread to try to forget the frightening news, and eventually managed to conk out.

The next day, her brother Michael called home just as they were loading the dishwasher after breakfast. Apparently he'd had some trouble getting through to Mom's mobile and resorted to the old land line that he and Sam had memorized since they were kids. He was okay, but... there were suspected cases in SF, Chicago, Denver. He was going to stock up on some supplies before things got even more crazy in the stores, and would call back.

Mom said she'd texted Dad a few times the night before, and that he'd be back around the same time he expected. Sam looked in the pantry and pleaded with her mother to hit the stores now, just like Mike was planning to. She conceded to a trip to the local indie market, and it wasn't quite as bad as Sam was worried it might be. The hurried shopping and getting everything into the house was enough activity for Sam to work up a sweat, so she hopped in the shower, and when she got out, she heard her parents voices downstairs.

She got dressed — she still remembers exactly which pair of jeans and which sweatshirt — and went to the top of the stairs, calling out.

"Hi Dad, welcome back."

It was her mom who answered. "Sam, don't come downstairs!"

"What?" At first, she wondered if he'd brought back some kind of gift and they were still setting it up to surprise her.

"Don't come downstairs!" The tone in her mom's voice scared her.

Then she heard her dad cough. Oh god, no.

The first step squeaked just like it always did as she put her foot on it, and she heard her mother hurry to the base of the staircase to glare at her.

"Samantha! Stay up there."

"But Mom... what's going on? Dad's sick, isn't he? How bad is he?"

Then her dad's voice. "Sam, listen to your mother, so she doesn't get even more freaked out. Bridget, I'm fine. It's probably just something I picked up on the way to D.C., or even before I left."

Her mom turned, looking back to the living room, where her dad was out of view. "Dammit Joel, have you looked at the news?" She didn't even wait for him to reply before she looked pleadingly back up the stairs. "Sam, please. Stay up there for a bit. Go... pack your stuff, see what it would take to get a flight from D.C — or even better, Richmond to SEATAC."

"To Seattle? What about... "

"Just... look, okay? Maybe you can head back to school like planned, or maybe we need to get you far way. You know what... if you find a good flight, just put it on the shared credit card."

Sam sighed, and stared at her mom in silence for a few seconds.

"Go, Sam. please."

"Fine." She stepped back onto the landing and padded back long the carpet runner to her room. While she waited for her laptop to log in, she picked up the phone and tried to call Mike, but got a fast busy signal. She swore, switched to the messaging app he used most, and tapped out a frantic message.

Dad's sick. Mom's scaring me, she won't let me go downstairs. WTF is going on?

The little status text under her message said "Sent", and she watched anxiously for it to change to "Delivered" as she flipped through airline and ticket deal sites one-handed, toweling the rest of her hair dry.

Fifteen minutes and a few news sites she probably shouldn't have looked at later, she slapped the laptop closed and set about stuffing textbooks and some of her clothes back into her bags. Still nothing back from Mike, dammit.

She'd been able to hear her parents' voices downstairs, the house never was particularly soundproof. Even though she did miss Mike a little when he left for college, she did enjoy the peaceful nights in her room as she took apart and rebuilt the computer she inherited. Now, it just let her hear the worried and dismissive argument resonating through the floor.

Back at the top of the stairs, she sat on the top step like a little kid on a time-out and called for her mom. Bridget appeared a few moments later, with her auburn hair, just enough red in it for the recessive gene to flare gloriously in her children, pulled back in a loose knot. Sam had long since learned she did that when she was really upset.

Well, she wasn't the only one right then. "There's no nonstops from Richmond. They all either leave from D.C. — "

"No."

"I know, I know. The others go through Chicago or Charlotte. I remember what Mike said about Chicago, so I bought one through CLT. The only one I could get is tomorrow."

"That'll have to do. The keys for the Toyota are on my dresser, I want you to take them, get onto the rear porch roof and hop down like your brother used to do. Then go to... maybe Megan's, or Ty's house. Ask them if you can stay overnight before you head down to Richmond."

"What? No! Nevermind that I don't even know if they're home, but I'm not just going to abandon the two of you! Maybe I can help take care of Dad, or what happens if you get sick too?"

"Samantha, why do you think I want you to leave?"

Her father interrupted from the other room. "Because you're being paranoid, as usual."

A hint of the temper Sam had inherited from both of them but kept a better leash on flared in her mom's eyes. "Shut up, Joel!" Then, she looked back up the stairs. "Sam, I looked things up online. You know I've never been one to hide things from you, but I'm sorry. He probably has the thing from New York. Someone probably brought it down to D.C. and then he picked it up there."

Sam's eyes began to flood with tears. "No, Mom..."

"Dammit, Sam. Nobody knows what this is yet, or how it spreads or how long it's going to last. You need to get away from it."

"Exactly! Nobody knows what this shit is, we don't know how bad it is out there, or... or if it's as bad for everyone that gets it. They're telling people in big cities to start sheltering in place..."

"Samantha Rose Conroy, please stop arguing with me! Just do as I tell you, for once, without having to analyze it end to end and figure out what the right solution is. Take the damn car keys and go!"

Sam rose to her feet on the stairs, fists clenched at her sides. "I'm not twelve anymore, Mom! And if I go out there, who's to say I won't be spreading it? We need to stick together, figure out what's going on!"

They both glared at each other for a time. Sam studied her mom's face, and realized she couldn't see the tears in her mother's eyes until they started to run down and Bridget took off her glasses to wipe them away. Understanding of how scared she must be, to be scaring her own daughter this much, started to cool Sam's temper. It probably showed in her face, because her mom's expression softened too.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I can't be worried about you while I'm trying to take care of him, and you know I couldn't live with it if something happened to you. I need to know you're safe, even if it means you're far away."

Sam deflated, sinking back to sit on the top step. "I'm sorry too, mom. Please don't make me go, I love you."

"I love you too, Sam. I always have. But please, do this for me and your father. You and your brother are the lights of my life, and I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you. I know you're not twelve anymore, you're a brilliant young lady... and I need you to use that to keep yourself safe. Please."

Tears flooded freely from Sam's eyes, and it felt like a fist clenched in her chest made every breath hurt. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed quietly for a minute. She just wanted to go down there to hug her mom again, like she was twelve again. But damn it all, that wasn't what her mother needed from her right now, and in a heartbreaking way, her logic was undeniably sound.

"Please be strong for me, Samantha."

Oh god. How was that supposed to help? Her mother's tone just smashed her already broken heart into tiny shards and left her devastated. But deep down in all that hurt was still the daughter of a mom who'd fought cancer and won, the granddaughter of a Vietnam War aviator, the willful student hurling herself into a male-dominated field and excelling... and damnit, if this is what the woman who raised her needed in return...

She lifted her head and looked at her mom again, then glanced to the edge of the living room where her father had stepped silently into view.

"Okay. I love you Mom, Dad."

Her father started to mumble something that was obscured by a cough, hobbling Sam's resolve, but the look of gratitude her mom gave her after flinching at the cough propped it up again. "Thank you, Sam. Keep us posted if you can, but above all, be safe. We love you too."

Sam took a deep breath, rose, and strode purposely to her room. She didn't want to do this, but she had to, promised she would, so she was going to do it with her chin up and god help anyone who got in her way. They'd be a cathartic target for all the turmoil tearing her up inside.

She snatched the keys from her parents' bedroom, taking a look around at the bed she'd crawled into when she had nightmares, even if it was in a different house now. A perfume bottle she'd never forget the scent of, shoes whose predecessors she'd clomped around experimentally in. She'd process all the feelings around that later, but it felt important to record the memory.

Then, barging into her brother's room, grabbing one of his old gym bags from the top shelf of the closet. A quick scan of the room, the handful of toys still left over from his childhood, a stack of books, the Rafael Sabatini pirate novels she'd always steal to read because girls could like pirate stories too. Those brought her pause, and she moved deeper into the room to grab them from the shelf. Odd that she'd never moved them to her room sooner, but now stealing them yet again felt like a nod to the years of their childhood. Those went in the bag as she moved down the hallway to her room again.

There, she emptied her jewelry box into her book bag, praying she wouldn't need to use the contents as currency. An old jacket from the closet since hers was on a hook downstairs... hopefully the sneakers she'd been wearing that day would last, because her trail shoes were right beneath that coat hook. A few more minutes getting everything organized. All this while wiping her eyes clear every few minutes and sniffling like it was allergy season again.

The bags landed on the roof with thuds as she shoved them through her window, then she clambered through and dragged her laptop backpack after her. She dangled them from the edge of the roof as far as her arm would let her before dropping them into the bushes, hoping that would cushion their descent.

The bushes ended up cushioning her descent too, apparently the tree next to the back porch might have supported sixteen-year-old Mike, but it wasn't up for grownup Sam. One foot slipped, and the branch in her hands snapped, dumping her onto the ground from several feet up. Ow.

She lay there for a moment, cursing anything she could blame for her current situation, before hauling herself upright and finding where the keys had landed in the dirt.

Her parents were in the living room window when she slammed the trunk shut on the hideous champagne gold Camry. Sam slowed as she moved to the driver's side door. Dad waved, Mom blew a kiss... Sam held up her hands in a heart shape for several seconds as sobs clawed their way back up her throat.

If she stood there any longer, there was no way she'd be able to drive. Sam got in and started the car, backed out of the driveway drove to the stop sign at the end of the street. After one last glance at her house in the rear view mirror, she made the turn past the weirdly shaped oak tree on the corner and zoomed off into the gloom.