Davis, CA
December 10

Kathryne couldn't breathe. She gasped and clawed at her throat for air. But she couldn't manage to get more than the merest mouthful into her lungs.

She knew this feeling all too well.

Panic. Attack.

She started having anxiety attacks in 6th grade, for no reason she or anyone else could identify. They just arrived, looked around the place, and decided they wanted to stay. And like an awkward and unwelcome houseguest, they popped up at the worst times and sometimes even damaged the furniture. This stupid panic disorder had cost her friends, boyfriends, jobs. But Kit had learned to live with it, cope with it, even make the best of it. She couldn't participate in all the social events her high school friends had, so she turned her attention to her school and volunteer work instead. Still, those adolescent and teen years had been tough.

Her mom thought maybe the panic was brought on by puberty. Gross. Why should boobs and blood and a little bit of hair trigger panic? Hormones, her mom insisted. Okay. Maybe.

But Kit was well past that now, ten years past that now. She gulped for breath again, leaning her hands against her thighs. And today's panic had a very specific source, a very specific cause. They had lost so many...so so many.

"Hey, Kit, straighten up, remember," Dr. Camacho said soothingly as he passed in the hallway, casting her a beaming grin over his shoulder. God, he was so hot. How was that supposed to help her calm down?

She stood up, lengthening her spine. Her lungs filled with air. "Th-thanks," she smiled weakly, wiping away the tears that inevitably came when she went through an attack. She dug her phone out of her pocket and dialed her mom. "Mommy," she whispered when her mom answered.

"Hey, hon," her mom wheezed on the other end. "You all right?"

"'Nother p-panic attack." She shook her head. There was so much more. But how could she say she had watched her entire cohort die over the past week? How could she say she had watched her teachers fading until there was nothing left? How could she say she had watched nearly all of her patients wither as well? She couldn't.

"Oh, Kit Kat, maybe you should come home."

"Don't call me that, mother," she sighed. "I c-can't. I mean, I'm needed here, but even if I weren't, n-no t-travel, they said on the news."

"I know," her mom echoed the sigh, "I just miss you. How's school going?"

Kit tried to lighten her tone as she spoke of her education. "Well, ya know, it's great. I told you about those f-few surgeries I did on my own," she could feel her mom nodding all the way in Ohio, even though she couldn't see her. "And I'm the t-top s-s-student in epidemiology this t-term." Of course she was. There was no one else left. She swallowed down a sob, unable even to feel proud of an accomplishment she had truly earned.

"That's great, Kit."

"Yeah, we're actually looking at this f-flu that's hit so hard." Her mom coughed and mumbled something inaudible. "Ya know, it's um, it's affecting s-several species of m-mammals." God she hated this stupid stutter so much. Another side effect of the damn anxiety disorder. It took her twice as long to say anything.

"Is it really?" She could imagine her mom's wide blue eyes, taking in everything she said.

Kit leaned against the wall, her heart rate finally normalizing. "Y-yeah. Not all, th-though, oddly enough." Talking about the science, about the work soothed her.

"Kathryne!" Dr. Vernon called her from the lab. "We need you, stat."

"M-mom, I have to go."

"Okay, sweetheart, I'll talk to you soon."

She clicked her phone off and went to the lab sterilization station to wash up.

"No time for that," Vernon snapped. But it wasn't anger or even irritation, Kit knew. It was just urgency. She scuttled along behind him. "Another one down," he muttered, and she dreaded finding out whether it was another person or another animal. She wasn't sure which was worse in her mind. But as they entered the lab, she saw the golden retriever on the metal slab. Damn. Not Billy. Poor guy. He was the sweetest dog. Always offered his paw for a shake. Always nudged any nearby hand to be petted. He used to do this cute thing where he would flop down on any surface and roll over on his back, staring with his tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth, just waiting for someone to rub his belly. And then, when someone finally would, he would close his eyes like it was the best thing he'd ever felt. The way you might close your eyes eating an incredible dessert or listening to an emotional part of a song. Or when you lean into a perfectly soft kiss.

"When?" she asked, although she knew. She knew it had only just happened. He was perfectly healthy in his enclosure not ten minutes ago. While she was panicking, Billy was dying.

"Just now. He was fine. And then he wasn't." Not at all the pattern they had seen thus far.

"Who was he in contact with?"

Vernon shook his head, "in the last two days, just you and me. But before, all of them. Matthews, Phillips, Williams." Kit wanted to laugh to herself. Her brain made such odd connections, and even though she understood that he had just named three of their recently deceased doctors, she couldn't help picturing a swarm of guys all named Matthew or Phillip or William. Like multiple Matthews. A dozen guys named Phillip. A windfall of Williams.

Kit shook her head before this ridiculous train of thought went any further off the rails. One advantage of that crazy train, though, she knew, was that it helped her cope with the panic. If she could laugh, she wouldn't cry.

"So, it could be the incubation p-period is not as rigid as we've been thinking," she said finally. They thought they had narrowed it down to a two-day span between contact, physical contact with the virus, and first symptoms. Six to nine more days before death. And they all died.

"Good. What are the other possibilities?"

"Patients who don't come down with s-symptoms are s-still carriers." That was a scary thought. Anyone could have it. Anyone could spread it.

"Yes. What else?"

She didn't want to say it. She didn't even want to admit what she was thinking. As if that might make it true. "Airborne," she practically whispered.

"Good. Anything else?"

She scanned her mind, adding up the data as she went. "Maybe it affects different breeds or s-species, or even different sexes at different rates. Some other factor in their genetics that s-slows or s-speeds the reproduction of the virus in the body."

"Good. Which do you think it is?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. Maybe all."

He sighed. "I don't know either. Let's review it all again. The first reported death was November 30, eleven days ago, the kid in Boston. We saw our first loss here four days after that, 3500 miles away, the pig."

"S-Sally."

"Right." He rubbed his face tiredly, his rough hands scratching against his beard. "And then Carter." Kit nodded sadly. "Carter hadn't worked at all with Sally. But plenty of others who displayed symptoms had. What does that tell us?"

"It's highly c-contagious."

"The retriever was fine. Then he wasn't. Then he was dead in the space of an hour. What does that tell you?"

"The v-virus," she took a deep breath, "could be mutating. Moving faster. It's been two weeks. Patients showed symptoms for days before dying. Now it's hours."

"Minutes," he breathed.

"Minutes," she agreed.

"Good." He closed his eyes, leaning back against the counter.

"D-Doctor Vernon?" Kit watched him with alarm. "Are you all right?"

His eyes fluttered open. "Yes, yeah, I'm okay. The way this virus is moving isn't what we're used to. Affecting humans and animals so widely. Killing so many..." his voice trailed off.

"What do we do?"

"Do?" He looked pale. Maybe it was just the light.

"How do we s-stop it?"

Vernon sighed again. "Kathryne, I think we're past that point."

"B-but--"

"It's too late. If it's airborne, as it appears to be, if you can carry it without symptoms, if it incubates longer or kills faster, then everyone on the planet has been exposed at this point. It's exponential. There is no stopping it."

Kit frowned at him, the furrows in her brow deepening the angrier she got. "Then why the hell did you just stand here, teaching me? What are we doing?"

He shook his head, "I don't know. I--"

"Hey," Dr. Camacho interrupted, "you have to see this," he waved for them to follow.

Kit walked swiftly after him into the neighboring lab, where a technician was poring over a microscope. "Look," the tech murmured. Kit placed her eye over the eyepiece. It was unlike anything she had ever seen. It had the usual characteristics of a virus under a microscope, floating little balls of death that multiplied as they bounced, but... "You see that weird thing in the nucleus?"

It looked almost...mechanical. But how could that be? "Any chance the sample was tainted?"

"Sure, but even if it was," the guy said, "it still shouldn't look like a fucking computer inside."

Kit shook her head. She didn't know this guy, but she really didn't like him already. He was way too casual about all of this. "Get a new sample from the dog next door. And make sure it isn't contaminated, for god's sake."

She turned around to see if Dr. Vernon agreed, but he wasn't there. The technician followed her command, nonetheless.

"Hey, Kit," Dr. Camacho called softly from the door. "It's time for me to go."

She scowled at her feet, not making eye contact. She couldn't. She couldn't look at him. "Okay."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I understand." She did, and she didn't. He didn't love his wife. He swore he didn't. But he was leaving Kit here to go be with her there. Sure seemed like he did.

He crossed the room in two long strides, catching her face in his hands. "I'm sorry, Kitten," he breathed, his lips barely brushing hers. She didn't want to kiss him. Okay, she did want to, but she didn't want to want to. God, she hated that she had become such a cliche. The clingy mistress. The fucking mistress. She wanted more than that. She deserved more than that. But when he looked at her, when he smiled at her, when he touched her, she just didn't care anymore. She wanted whatever he would give her, however pathetic that made her. He pulled her closer, pressing their lips together more firmly.

As if her body had a mind of its own, she relaxed into his touch, softening her lips against his. He clutched her back, holding her tight against him, and for the first time all day, she felt safe. When she let out a little sigh of pleasure, he slipped his tongue into her mouth. "Don't go," she pleaded breathlessly when he finally broke the kiss. "S-stay with m-me." She hated how her damn stupid stutter made her sound even weaker, even more desperate.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again, pulling away, turning away, walking away.

She stared at his back as he disappeared around the corner. Then she just stared at the wall, willing herself not to cry.

The sound of coughing from the doorway pulled her from her despair. It was the technician. His eyes were wide as he clawed at his throat. Kit walked calmly to the cabinet and pulled out a syringe, "I can s-sedate you," she offered. Dr. Vernon had done as much for the many, so so many, they had lost in the last several days. He nodded slightly, still desperately grabbing at his neck, and she motioned for him to sit. She drew out enough midazolam to send him peacefully to sleep for his last few minutes. She pressed the needle to his arm and released the chemical into his bloodstream. As his body slumped with relaxation, she gently leaned him back against the wall.

It was illegal in California, physician assisted suicide. Euthanasia. But she wasn't a physician. And this dose wasn't what would kill him. He was already dead, really. His lungs were already disintegrating in his chest cavity. It was too late for him. At least now he wouldn't have to experience the painful last moments.

She went to look for Dr. Vernon, who as far as she knew was the only other person still left here. He had no family. She had no family nearby. They were the last stand. Just the two of them.

He wasn't in the lab. He wasn't in any of the exam rooms. He wasn't in the animal enclosure, where a Rottweiler mix, two petite house cats, and a sheep still breathed normally. Okay, the six of them were the last stand. Kit gave each animal a dish of food and a bit of affection, singing softly as she did. The cats purred and rolled and mewled along with her.

"Okay, my lovelies. I'll be back."

She pushed through the swinging doors to the other wing and took the stairs up to Vernon's crisply clean office.

She could hear music playing before she got there. Classical. Mozart maybe. "Dr. Vernon?" She slid through the partially open door. He sat at his desk, reclined in his large leather chair, a glass of amber liquid in his hand.

"Doctor Ver--"

"Call me Charles, Kathryne," he turned to her, gesturing at the chair across from him. "I'm going to die. No reason for formalities anymore."

She wanted to point out his formal tone, the use of her full given name, but remained silent, just watching him as she settled into the small armchair in front of his large desk. He leaned back in the chair again, swirling the drink in the glass. And she just had this sick feeling that something was not right. Something beyond that he had the flu. "Doct--uh, I m-mean, Charles, when did you, um, when did you f-first notice your s-symptoms?"

"Symptoms?"

Kit nodded, so afraid right now. "Yeah. You said you--"

"I don't have any symptoms. Yet." He set his drink down. "But it's just a matter of time. For all of us."

And before she even realized what was happening, he pulled a small pistol from under the desk, placed it under his chin, and fired, the crisp pop making her flinch. "No!" She screamed, too late, reaching for him, too late. "No," she whimpered. She lowered her eyes so she wouldn't have to look at the blood and tissue and bone fragments clinging to his beard.

Tears streamed down her face.

She wiped at them furiously.

Her hand came away red.

Tears and blood streamed down her face.

His blood. She shuddered, standing and exiting the room without another glance back. In the restroom, she washed her face and hands, scrubbing away her mentor's last act. She took off her stained white lab coat, tucking her phone into her bra.

What do I do now? She stared at her tired reflection. She knew what she wanted to do. She wanted to find Javier. Fuck it.

She ran down a level to the student locker room and grabbed her bag and jacket from her locker. Before she left, she poked her head into the large lab where the animals were kept. Four living creatures, still going strong.

"I'll be back, lovelies. I promise."

It was dark and chilly, the wind coming down from the Sierra Nevadas icy and biting. She rubbed her hands together as she ran to her car. She let it warm up for a minute before pulling out of the space, placing her hands in front of the heating vents one at a time. The way to his house was familiar, even in the dark. But what would she say to him, to his wife if she was there? If she was alive. Kit tried to think of a reasonable explanation. Vernon. Yes. She came to tell him about Vernon.

The roads were oddly quiet. No traffic. A few cars stopped along the side of the road, but nothing impeding her path.

His street was dead dark. She slowed as she approached. His house was dead dark. As she got out of her car, she flipped on the flashlight on her phone. "Doctor Camacho?" She called, peeking into his car. She loved that car. That was the first place he ever kissed her. The first place he ever made love to her. It was empty now. "Doctor Camacho, it's Kit from the hospital. Are you home?"

She trotted up his front steps carefully. Her heart was beating very hard. Her breathing was increasing dangerously. She stopped and leaned against the wall. She wanted to see him, but she really didn't want to be hyperventilating when she did. After several slow deep breaths, she stood up straight again.

She knocked and waited. Again. And again. Finally, she pushed open his front door. "Javi?"

He was there. Just sitting right there in the front room. Just sitting there on the sofa. His arms were folded around his wife, whose head rested against his shoulder. They looked like wax figures. Just sitting there. Lifeless.

"Fuck," Kit covered her mouth, turning away as her stomach emptied all over the hardwood floor. "Oh, fuck. No. No. Nononononononono." She heaved again.

MEROW.

Javi's big silver gray Siamese cat, Yala, flounced into the room and stretched up Kit's leg. He pawed at her hip. "Hey big guy," she rasped, her throat burning from bile. She wiped her vomity hand on her pants and lifted him, and he curled into her as he always did, melting against her chest and shoulders with a deep purr. "I guess you'd better come with me," she scratched his head.

She didn't even bother with a carrier, she just held him close on her way out to the car. He nudged her head with his a few times, wanting to be pet, wanting to be scratched again. She obliged. She loved this cat, as she had loved his owner. She swallowed back a sob.

Yala rode in the front seat peacefully, almost as if he knew she would take care of him.

Back at the lab, the Rottweiler was barking. The cats were howling. The sheep was dead. She put Yala in a cage, then dragged the sheep out into the cold storage where they kept specimens and carcasses. It was far too crowded. Something would need to be done. But not tonight.

She checked the food and water of her remaining patients. Pets. Friends?

Then she curled up in one of the cages, and cried until she fell asleep, a restless and haunted sleep.

~~~~~

Okay, so I noticed that in every chapter so far, the characters want their mommies. I guess there is just something in us, that we instinctively want that comfort in times of trouble. Do you do that? If not your mommy, who do you reach out to when you are stressed, angry, scared, sick, etc?

Thank you for reading!

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NIALL is next...