by Kathy Reichs
I awoke with a start.
Had I howled in my sleep?
I stretched. Rubbed my eyes. Slowly, the images faded.
Even my dreams are insane.
The digits on my clock said 11:00 a.m.
Impossible. I checked my phone. Yep. I’d slept straight through the night and most of the morning.
I took stock of my body. Worse. Much worse. All systems under attack.
Head throbbing.
Stomach churning.
Lungs congested.
It was official: I’d caught something bad.
Throwing back the covers, I slipped out of bed.
SNAP.
Light exploded inside my head. My knees buckled.
Then. What? Nothing.
No aches. No flashes. No pain.
“Whoa.”
A sudden, cloying smell nearly overwhelmed me. I looked around in confusion.
The odor was rolling in waves from my bathroom. Not a pure scent, but a cocktail of fat, lavender, mint, and rose.
Strange. I’d never noticed the noxious muddle before. I hadn’t bought any new products or changed my routine. But the reek was overpowering. Shutting the door, I vowed to scrub my bathroom top to bottom.
Later.
Now, caffeine.
I shuffled downstairs.
As I passed through the living room, another smell assaulted my nostrils. A sickly funk floated from beneath the coffee table. I shuddered, covered my nose.
Had something died? The source of the odor had to be potent for me to notice from across the room. Steeling myself, I slid the coffee table six inches left.
On the floor lay a brown piece of lettuce. I scooped it, sniffed. The smell of rot made my eyes water. My gut clenched.
Gross.
It didn’t make sense. A single lettuce leaf creating such a stink? How was that possible?
SNUP.
Sparks exploded in my brain. I wobbled, caught myself.
“Jesus!”
My nose shut down. The aroma of decay disappeared like a snuffed candle flame.
What the what?
I raised the veggie to my nose. Nothing. On impulse, I hurried upstairs. The soap-cleanser-flower bouquet was gone as well.
Perplexed, I descended again and plopped on the couch. My head was ringing anew. Closing my eyes, I let my mind drift.
SNAP.
Blast of light.
Burst of pain.
Air exploded from my lungs.
I heard a tapping sound, quiet at first, then joined by a pulsating whine, like a lawnmower kicking to life.
I turned my head left, right, trying to pinpoint the source. The racket was coming from the kitchen.
My eyeballs tingled as I stared down the hallway. Suddenly, every detail crystallized into extraordinary clarity.
I sat rock still. It was as though I were seeing the kitchen through a telephoto lens. I could read the Cheerios ingredients from twenty feet out.
The tapping and whining grew more frenzied. Then new acoustics, a sucking, dripping sound.
Eyes wide, I laser-scanned the kitchen. Zeroed in. The noises were coming from the window.
Zip!
My vision zoomed to an even higher level of sharpness. I spotted a housefly patrolling the windowsill. Dark lines crisscrossed its cellophane wings. A thousand tiny red bumps formed its eyes.
The insect was exploring with small hairy feet. Its proboscis sucked and probed. Wings vibrating, it tried to solve the riddle of the glass.
I swear my jaw actually dropped.
I can hear a fly from across the house. I can see specks of dirt clinging to its feelers.
SNUP.
My vision flickered, shrank back to normal. After the clarity of the last few moments my usual 20/20 seemed fuzzy and imprecise.
I listened. No whining or tapping.
I sprang up and hurried to the kitchen window. The fly was there, but its movements were now barely audible. Its wings and eyes just looked like wings and red spots.
Numb, I raised the sash. The insect darted free, oblivious to my confusion.
Don’t flip out. You’re clearly sick.
Smell. Sight. Sound. All out of whack.
What could possibly cause such sensory delusions?
My operating system had crashed and I didn’t know the reboot command. I decided to contact the gang. Pronto.
Coughing and perspiring, I ran upstairs and logged on to my Mac. Two icons glowed. Hi and Shelton, online.
My fingers flew over the keys: Are you guys feeling weird? I’m slammed.
Shelton replied first: Sick as a dog. Pukesville. ☹
Hi’s icon popped up: Dying. Give my things to the poor.
OhmyGod. It wasn’t just me.
I typed: Switch to iFollow. Conference mode.
I changed programs and waited. Minutes passed. Clicking back, I found two unread messages.
Shelton: Too tired. Going back to bed. Maybe later.
Hi: Stuck in the can. You don’t want to know. Bye.
Crap balls.
I closed my computer. Perhaps a shower? That seemed normal. Safe.
I didn’t make it.
Full body pins and needles. Grimace. Primal whine. Then, as before, all symptoms vanished.
I sat on my bedroom floor. Hugged my knees. Dripped sweat.
What the flip?
A tiny suspicion popped into being. Unfolded in my mind with ruthless logic, indifferent to the unease it created.
You know, it whispered. You unleashed it.
The break-in at Karsten’s lab. The parvo experiment.
Cooper.
No. Canine parvovirus can’t infect humans. The dog posed no danger to us.
Coop was the subject of a secret experiment, the suspicion hissed. Who knows what he was carrying?
Was that it? Had the virus changed? Mutated? Was Coop’s infection more sinister than I suspected?
“Stop,” I ordered myself aloud. “Quit being paranoid. The timing is coincidental.”
But I don’t believe in coincidence.
Why did we all get sick at once? Was Coop the only common factor? What were these insane reactions?
But Ben didn’t get sick. He carried Coop from the lab, had as much exposure as anyone.
Cut the dramatics. You’ve got better things to do.
From nowhere, a different thought rocked me.
Study group! I was supposed to meet Jason and Hannah at noon.
Time check. Eleven forty-five. No chance I could make it. Worse, I hadn’t done the work. The assignment had completely slipped my mind.
Not that it mattered. I was in no shape to see anyone. I had to cancel.
I composed a text, hitting hard on contrite:
Jason, So sorry, but I’ve been beaten down by the flu. In a rout. Can’t meet today. Please apologize to Hannah for me, and I’ll get my work to you on Monday. My bad for canceling late! Tory.
Send. Minutes passed. My eyes remained glued to my phone. Finally, a return message beeped in: Okay, get better. Later, J.
After crunching every possible nuance of the message, my brain punched out.
I closed my eyes and slept.
Two forty-five.
Great. Thirty minutes of wakefulness so far that day. Not my most productive Sunday.
I staggered downstairs, realized I was ravenous. No breakfast. No lunch. No surprise.
I pawed through the fridge, but had no appetite for my usual yogurt, veggies, or fruit. As though moving on their own, my hands grabbed a package of ground beef.
SNAP.
My nerves fired like jumper cables. A gong clanged in my head.
Without thinking, I ripped off the wrapper and sank my fingers into the beef. My salivary glands went wild. I scooped a red, meaty handful and stuffed my mouth.
For a moment, pure ecstasy. Then my taste buds clocked in.
“Ech!”
I spat the half-chewed glob into the sink.
/> Raw meat? Disgusting!
But, for one brief flash, I’d wanted to devour the whole half pound. Fiercely. More than anything else in the world.
Okay. You’ve lost it. It’s a fact.
Like some shadowy creature, my dark idea taunted me from the depths of my mind. I drew a breath, tried to regain control.
Easy. Easy.
When I finally looked up, a twisted version of my face reflected back from the faucet. The gleaming chrome warped my features like a funhouse mirror.
Only no fun here. My eyes glowed a deep, primal gold.
“No!”
I slid to the floor, squeezed my lids tight. Tears trickled down my cheeks.
Don’t be real, my lips mouthed silently.
SNUP.
One body-shaking tremor, then the shockwave passed.
I opened my eyes. Then I bolted to the bathroom mirror.
Green irises stared back. Normal. I allowed the breath to ease from my lungs.
But my relief was short-lived.
Something was wrong. Something serious, perhaps deadly.
My mind circled back to the odd connection I’d felt with Coop. That instant of kinship and understanding. Of communion.
“What’s happening to me?” I whispered.
My question was answered by silence.
CHAPTER 40
Monday morning dawned really, really early. I stumbled into first period half-dead.
Jason and Hannah were already waiting by our workstation, laptops booted. I dreaded delivering the bad news.
“Guys, I’m so sorry, but I don’t have my data.” I slumped into my chair. “I know I promised it today, but I’ve been sick all weekend.”
Hannah frowned but said nothing.
Jason shook his fists in mock indignation.
“Outrageous! We count on you to make us look smart.”
“I’ll get it done ASAP, I promise.” I blew stray hairs from my forehead. “If you’d endured the weekend I had, you’d understand.”
“Don’t worry,” Jason said. “The presentation isn’t until Friday. We’ll put your part last, and you can present the findings however you want.”
“Just get better.” Hannah’s concern sounded genuine. “That’s most important.”
I smiled my thanks. Academic slacking isn’t my style. Guilt is. My conscience had been eating at me since I woke up.
“What’s on tap today?” I asked.
“We’re observing the effects of olfactory cues on gerbil activity,” Jason said. “We’ve been assigned two scents.”
Hannah read the instructions. “One: Place an aroma canister inside the cage. Two: Wait five minutes. Three: Time the gerbil’s use of its exercise wheel. Sounds easy.”
“Bring on the rodent,” Jason said.
I loaded the first scent: wild lavender. A soothing spa-like fragrance floated into the air.
Our test subject, whom we nicknamed Herbie, sniffed the canister, then promptly curled up and checked out.
“Lavender works like Ambien on the Herb-man,” Jason said.
We checked our watches. Again and again.
“Time’s up,” Jason said. “New aroma, please.”
Hannah made the swap. The new scent was grapefruit.
“Citrus oils are supposed to promote energy,” I said.
“He hasn’t expended much so far,” Jason said. “Come on, Herbie, kick it up for the g-fruit.”
Herbie and I were on the same page. I hadn’t slept well in days. My eyelids drooped, almost met.
Mistake. The room began spinning in a now familiar manner.
No! Not here!
SNAP.
Pain split my frontal lobe. Heat radiated from my chest to my limbs. My vision blurred.
I rubbed my temples, desperate to keep it together. Sweat dotted my forehead.
“Tory? You okay?” Hannah’s brow was furrowed.
Lame laugh. Talking was difficult. “Just post-flu fatigue.”
I rose, trying to stop the room from whirling. But my brain felt loose, as though slipped from its tether and floating free.
The scent of grapefruit became overpowering, bombarding my nose and tickling my throat.
Nausea threatened. No time for excuses. I had to haul ass.
As I began a fast break to the bathroom, movement flashed in the corner of my eye. Herbie was working out on his wheel.
My symptoms dissolved.
Suddenly, I saw nothing but gerbil.
I crouched beside the cage, eyes fixed on the little brown body chugging like mad. I could smell fur and wood chips and a secretion like musk.
A flood of saliva bathed my gums and tongue.
“Tor?” Jason placed a hand on my shoulder. “What’s wrong? You need to see the nurse?”
All my senses stayed focused on the rodent.
Who suddenly noticed me.
Something deep in Herbie’s brain screamed out a warning. Abandoning the wheel, he scampered to his nest.
My hand shot out, knocking the cage off kilter. Jason grabbed it before it crashed to the floor.
“Whoa! Tory, what are you doing?”
SNUP.
A cerebral door slammed shut.
The smells receded.
I shook my head, hoping to clear my thoughts.
Reality reasserted itself.
The class was staring, some openly, some pretending not to. Then the sniping began.
“Boat girl. Panic attack.” Madison’s whisper drew giggles from her entourage.
“She’s afraid of mice,” Ashley said. “They must have armies of mice on her dirty island.”
It’s a gerbil, you moron.
“She’s just a spazz,” said Courtney. “Little girls are like that.”
The Tripod laughed at their own wit.
My cheeks burned with humiliation.
The heat spread from my face to my brain, triggering a second bout of nausea. I covered my mouth. Too dizzy to run, I braced, waiting for my stomach to redecorate the floor.
Hannah came to my rescue. Clasping my hand, she wrapped a protective arm around my shoulders.
“Let’s splash some water on your face.”
I closed my eyes and let Hannah guide me. With each step I concentrated on not puking.
“Mrs. Davis?” Hannah called. “Tory is feeling faint. I’m going to help her to the ladies room.”
Without pausing, Hannah whisked me from the bio lab, up the corridor, and into a bathroom stall. She maintained a polite distance as I heaved and spat. At one point, she slipped a box of tissues under the door.
Eyes teary, nose running, I finally emerged.
Hannah waited by the sink, small bottle of mouthwash in hand.
“Better?” she asked.
“Much. I can’t thank you enough. I’d never have made it without you.”
“There’s nothing to thank.” Hannah patted my wrist. “You’re not well. Those girls are critical enough as it is. No need to give them a show.”
As I executed a quick swish and spit, Hannah plucked and offered more tissue.
“They don’t like me much, do they?” Blotting my chin.
“Don’t mind them. Jealousy brings out the worst in people.”
“Jealousy?” Hannah’s choice of noun shocked me.
“They don’t appreciate the attention Jason pays you.” She giggled. “They’d prefer you weren’t his favorite.”
Ugh. Jason was a tangle I’d yet to sort out. He was intrigued by me, but I was into Chance. Awkward. Double awkward. I doubted Hannah would be so nice if she knew I was infatuated with her boyfriend.
Hannah sensed my discomfort, though not its source. Thankfully.
“Ignore them,” she said. “Those three are narrow and petty and rarely meet anyone outside their own privileged circle. They’re dreadfully immature.”
“But not you. You’ve been great. And believe me, I appreciate it.” I hesitated. What the hell? “This year has been tough.”
“I hope I’m not like them!” Hannah laughed, flashing perfect teeth. “But it’s easier for me. I have Chance.”
“He seems very nice.” Neutral as Switzerland.
“We’re in love. Someday we’ll marry.” Again, the flawless pearly whites. “Chance and I are meant to be.”
“I’m happy for you both.” Most of me meant it. Ninety percent. Seventy-five.
The bell rang.
I made a few more dabs at my hands and face.
“How do I look?”
“Beautiful.” Hannah took my arm. “Let’s leave together. The terrible trio won’t start in again.”
We walked out side by side.
And smack into Jason and Chance.
“Tory, you all right?” Jason pushed off from the wall.
The day had already been too much. I couldn’t control my body, had no idea when it might betray me next. The last thing I needed right then was Jason Taylor.
Disengaging from Hannah with an arm-squeeze of thanks, I lowered my head and set off down the hall.
“I’m good! Thanks!”
I didn’t look up until I hit the nurse’s office.
CHAPTER 41
Nurse Riley viewed my tongue. Checked my pupils. Stuck a thermometer into my mouth.
Though she poked and prodded her best, none of my symptoms reappeared. My vitals came up perfectly normal. Baffled, she gave me two Tylenol and released me back to class.
Her failure wasn’t surprising, since I didn’t tell her the truth. I couldn’t share what had really happened. How I’d lost control.
Second period was in full swing. AP British Literature. Handing over my pass, I took my seat between Hi and Shelton. Both looked relieved to see me.
Mr. Edde, a tall and gangly Hispanic man with an eight-inch Afro, was discussing the merits of iambic pentameter. I tried to concentrate on the lesson.
“Tory.” Whispered. “Tor!”
I slid my eyes right. Hi’s new phone lay nestled between the pages of his book. Without looking down, he typed a message.
Oh so casual, I slipped my cell from my purse. Powered it on.
Hi’s text held a link.
Click. A chat room flashed onto my screen.
I glanced up. Mr. Edde was death on cell phones. He’d already confiscated a dozen that semester.
The gods were smiling. After instructing the class to read a chapter on seventeenth century poetry, Mr. Edde rounded his desk. A moment of scrutiny, then he sat, tipped his chair back, and focused on a crossword puzzle.
