Immunity Index Read online

  She slipped out of the sleeping bag. Sunrise was about to break, but for now, she was alone. In the house, she tried the main screen in the living room, although she felt like a trespasser. Maybe the problem was just with her phone and there was more news available. The screen had been left on, unlocked, but no, she couldn’t access more there, either.

  Crickets still chirped outside, and Will’s dog barked a couple of times. Otherwise, all was silent. She had never felt so alone and useless. Ruby was right to hate living in the country. Alan coughed upstairs. No, she wasn’t alone, she was in enemy territory.

  She could at least eat breakfast—but after she looked at her choices in the kitchen, she decided that she was too upset to eat.

  Will returned. He walked into the kitchen and looked scared. “I need you to do something. Wait here.”

  He never gave orders. Something strange was happening. He and Alan talked upstairs, muffled voices audible even in the kitchen, and Alan was coughing far too much. They talked for a while. Finally, Will came down, looking at his phone.

  “My dad’s sick.” His voice was thin and shaky. “I’ve contacted the insurance and they asked about symptoms, and look at this message.” He held out his display. “There’s a special prescription for people with that kind of cold, a special antiviral.”

  Cold? “What kind of symptoms?” She tried to sound curious, not suspicious.

  “Cough. Rash. Fever. He can barely walk.”

  “I’ve never heard of a rash with a cold.” But she knew very little about Sino—the delta cold—except that it killed people fast.

  “Me neither. He’s really sick. Go to the pharmacy. The order’s waiting. Hurry.”

  She didn’t like being ordered around, but she said yes. If it wasn’t delta, it was still very bad. And it might be contagious, and she could die. She took the ID card and dashed out. The truck could drive itself. The card sent the address of the pharmacy to the controls, and the truck pulled out onto the county road.

  The route wouldn’t take her past the prison, but she could alter the route for the return trip. She looked at the farms she passed, mostly corporate, which resembled factories in the middle of fields of corn or soybeans, quiet and dark. No one lived at those operations besides animals, and the fields were tended by robot farm equipment. Homes were tucked here and there between the fields, some with lights on, some of them even more dilapidated than the mammoth farm. Her phone still yielded nothing useful, but she couldn’t stop searching.

  She called a woman who had once been Mamá’s assistant. Her phone didn’t respond, not even to acknowledge a message. She called a friend who’d stayed on at the university for graduate studies. No response. Damn! She drew her hand back to throw down her phone, and caught herself just in time. The last thing she needed was a broken phone. It would be satisfying to break something, though.

  A long line of cars and trucks waited at the pharmacy’s drive-through window. A lot of people must be sick. She considered parking and walking in, then saw a handwritten sign on the door: CLOSED TO FOOT TRAFFIC. If it wasn’t the delta cold, what was it? She had a thought too horrible to be possible: What if the government knew about the mutiny and released an epidemic to make it not happen? No, that couldn’t be true. Not even the Prez was that evil. Or stupid, since a lot of his backers lived around Wausau—Alan, for example—and they were getting sick. But Cal had been coughing, too. Diseases didn’t care who they got sick, and Cal had been arguing with Mamá after that.…

  No matter what was happening, she’d feel less scared if she knew what it was.

  The line moved quickly. At the window, she showed Alan’s card to someone in a face mask, and she got a little white paper bag. As the truck rolled ahead, she looked inside: a tiny sealed vial of eye drops and a big brochure, along with a mask and a pair of blue nitrile gloves.

  She looked back at the line waiting for medicine. She’d heard complaints that the government had utterly insufficient preparations for the delta cold, and if so, the pharmacy might run out soon. Then what? She read the brochure. The eye drops contained an antiviral medicine with a long name that should be given to everyone ill or exposed as soon as possible, a maximum of two days. Exposed to what? In any case, she’d been exposed to it, but for how long?

  The truck drove at the stodgy speed limit along the new route she’d entered. She considered opening the vial despite the seal, but Will would let her have some for sure. The family obeyed the rules, and the brochure offered clear instructions.

  She neared the prison farm. A half dozen people in gray uniforms stood outside talking, and there was Ruby, pointing and gesturing, angry as usual, but not looking in the direction of the road. The truck slowed and stopped to turn, and Irene twisted to keep watching. A car, red lights flashing, raced down the highway from the other direction, sped past her, and turned in to the prison farm—an unmarked car, maybe police, obviously official.

  If Alan had whatever this was, then Ruby was exposed, and all those people she was talking to were exposed, and maybe even prisoners inside the building. Or maybe Ruby brought it from the prison. Did that matter? Irene had heard one sure thing about delta. It spread fast.

  The truck turned down the county trunk road, and as soon as it reached the farm, she sprinted into the house. Will wasn’t downstairs. She rushed upstairs. He was in the hall. He grabbed the bag without a word, ran into his parents’ bedroom, and slammed the door. She waited. She heard his voice as he talked to Alan, then silence.

  She should have used the eye drops when she could. No one at the farm cared about her.

  She went out to check on Nimkii. He greeted her with a rumble, jerking his trunk. Time for breakfast, and he was hungry. She poured elephant chow into a box, a hearty breakfast, shoved the box into the sling, and winched it over. Maybe this would be his last meal from her, and then … He could escape when he got hungry. Could he learn to forage on his own?

  “I love you, Nimkii.” He watched her as he ate. “I’ll take care of you as long as I can. Pedazo, these are going to be some rough days.”

  What would happen inside that prison if the prisoners got the cold? The prisoners would be people like Mamá, and they needed help. Today. She tried again to call people she knew. She managed to leave a few messages.

  Will came out of the house, empty-handed, tears running down his cheeks. She knew by his utter devastation what he was going to say before he came close enough to talk to her. Alan had died.

  * * *

  Avril and three other students tiptoed down a hall toward the building office. One stopped at a corner to act as a lookout. At the door to the office, Avril set down a dumbbell and peered through the glass door and the wide window in the wall to see if anyone was inside. No one. She tried the door handle just in case. Unlike dorm room doors, it was locked. She wasn’t surprised.

  Then they waited. Avril tried not to fidget. Bessea tapped her foot, then realized she was making noise and stopped, and she flexed and unflexed her fists instead. Drew swayed from side to side and stared down the hall at the lookout.

  Avril thought she heard a distant crash. She hoped she did. Other students were going to break a window, throw chairs down stairways, and send a screeching noisemaker down the elevator to draw off the centaurs. The lookout made an “okay” sign with their hands—both hands. Both centaurs had been drawn off.

  She motioned for Bessea and Drew to stand back, glanced again at the lookout, and took two big steps back. She’d played a little baseball one summer. She held the dumbbell in something like a fastball grip, took her position, shifted her weight, brought her left leg up, swung her arm, strode forward, then pushed off with her back foot—and felt a twinge in her wrist as she extended her arm. She released the dumbbell. It flew straight into the window. Strike one!

  The glass smashed gloriously. Even before all the pieces had tinkled to the ground, she and the other students scattered. As planned, she headed to the food-service area and ducked behind a c
ounter. Soon, she realized that if she scooted a little along the floor, she could see a reflection of the entrance on a glass door of a refrigerated case. She tried to quiet her panting.

  In the reflection, a centaur raced past the entrance toward the office. She kept still and waited. Ten minutes. The centaur reappeared, marching the other way. She kept waiting.

  The lookout tiptoed into the food-service area and shrugged. “They’re not moving anymore,” they mouthed. “I’ll keep watching.”

  It has to be a trick. Well, there was one way to find out.

  Bessea was already in the office when Avril arrived and stepped inside through the broken window, avoiding the shattered glass. She noticed with pride that shards lay on the floor for a good twelve feet, and the dumbbell had made a dent in the far wall. Bessea motioned for Avril to follow her to a desk in an alcove.

  Bessea pointed. A screen indicated security settings, such as fire emergency and access settings for doors and loading docks. “I wonder, would this bring the centaurs if I opened the doors? I don’t think so.”

  Drew had climbed in and looked over her shoulder. “They left the system unsecured?”

  Avril listened to their whispers as she examined some boxes stacked along a wall: they contained bottles of ultra disinfectant concentrate, the kind used in robot cleaners. Seven big boxes of it. And there were boxes of nitrile gloves. Some boxes of masks. They expected this. This epidemic. The same people who were trying to destroy the university, the same people they were in mutiny against, they did this. They were murderers.

  She closed her eyes and tried to calm a rising rage. Yes, they were murderers. But that wasn’t news. And right now they were killing people she knew, trying to kill her, and maybe they’d succeed. They’d pay for that. She stood up, stiff with anger.

  Bessea whispered, “My guess is that a centaur came in and unlocked the rooms and left the system on.”

  “Centaurs wouldn’t need to do that,” Drew said.

  “They might need to use manual controls. Their system and this system probably don’t interface. This is really old, like ten years. And if they’re not interfaced, they might not know if we change things, at least not right away. All right. Here it goes.”

  Avril watched her tap three buttons. They listened. Silence. She tapped more buttons. Drew walked over to the door to the office and tested it. It opened. “Let’s go.”

  “One more thing,” Bessea said. “Let’s check.” She gestured for them to follow her through a little meeting room with an exterior door. She opened it, stepped outside, and took a deep breath, eyes closed in bliss at the fresh air and the feel of sunshine on her face. “We’re free, if we can avoid getting shot.” She got serious again. “And we have work to do. Let’s go tell everyone.”

  Drew was already heading back. “Our phones should work out there. We can find out what’s going on.”

  “Wait,” Avril said, pointing to the boxes. “We should take some of these to the clinic.” She chose three to take, one each of cleaner, gloves, and masks.

  Drew frowned. “Why … I mean … this … they had this?”

  “Let’s go!” Bessea hissed. She grabbed some boxes of masks and leaned out the door to peer down the hallway. “It’s okay.”

  She and Drew, who also grabbed some boxes, hurried one way. Avril ran the other way and met the lookout. Together, they dashed to the far end of the building and up the stairs to the second floor. As they reached it, she heard a centaur voice booming. The lookout opened the door a crack.

  “Return to your rooms,” it commanded.

  As far as it might know, she was in her room with her phone. The voice came closer—centaurs could climb stairs. She and the lookout fled on tiptoes up to the third floor, eased themselves out, and ducked into the nearest bathroom.

  Three male students stood inside, one wearing a purple tie around his neck over a black T-shirt. They didn’t seem surprised to see them slip in.

  “As soon as you can, take these down to the clinic,” Avril said, holding out the boxes. “We found them in the building office. They must have been planning for an epidemic. And we unlocked the doors. You can get out. They’ll explain at the clinic.”

  She turned and peeked out the door. She was going to sneak back to her room, grab her phone, and go outside. She’d have to dodge centaurs, but she’d be free, and she had phone calls to make.

  * * *

  Berenike answered the phone again. Calls with clients were always audio-only because bandwidth wasn’t free, but the tone of voice painted a picture.

  “I need to go home. My kid is sick!”

  She’d heard a call like that more times than she wanted to count. And she sympathized with each and every one. “I understand. Let me check. The delay is because we’re disinfecting each car for your safety.”

  “I gotta get home right away! I don’t care what they say, it’s Sino.”

  “We have a car coming out of cleaning right now and I’ll send it to your building. It won’t open for anyone but you. It’ll stink of cleaning fluid, so open the windows. I’ve also adjusted the speedometer, so don’t be surprised if you go fast.” Then she said something she’d said a lot of times already. “I lost my dad last night to this, so I really do understand. I’ll set the car to stay with you until you release it in case you need to get to a hospital right away. But please, as soon as you can, put the car back into circulation. There are a lot of people like you.”

  “Oh, your dad? I’m sorry.”

  “That’s why I’m glad I can help. I hope your kid is okay.”

  “Thank you. Thank you so much.” He sounded sincere.

  She switched to the next call.

  “Where’s my car? I have a meeting about to start.”

  The screen told Berenike all she needed to know. “We’re disinfecting each car because of the epidemic, and that’s taking time. Looking at what you’ve requested, I suggest walking. You’ll get there faster. There’s an emergency. I’m sorry.” I am not.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “As you know, there’s a state of emergency due to the epidemic. You’ve seen what the White House just said.”

  “White House? The Prez?”

  “You might want to change your plans for today. Thank you for calling.” She had no time to waste on fools.

  The White House statement had said don’t worry, things are under control, wash your hands, consult with your health provider in the event of illness. Don’t panic. It’s just a mild cold.

  Bullshit. Everyone else said otherwise. Hospitals were ramping up to be swamped and creating quarantine wards. The city had declared an emergency, closed schools, and asked nonessential businesses to send their employees home. Residents were urged to remain home, remain calm, and wash their hands.

  People desperately wanted to get home. Some were panicking—at that thought, she touched some buttons to lock the doors to the office and lower the shutter to the bay entrance. If clients panicked, they could throw their fits on the sidewalk, not in the office. Things were going to get ugly fast.

  Her phone was tuned to an activist-turned-mutineer channel, which was full of more speculation than news, and it all made her heart sink. Maybe, the rumors said, this epidemic had been a plan to undermine the protest, and it might succeed.

  “We can adjust to this,” a woman known as Dirae said, and apparently she was a local leader—Berenike was learning new things about the mutiny every minute. “We can show people we’re competent and can handle an emergency better.”

  We can handle an emergency until the fighting starts—because the other side wouldn’t go down without a fight. She remembered that some general had once said something like “When the first bullets start flying, every plan falls apart.” So maybe not having much of a plan for the mutiny would turn out to be an advantage. If the epidemic was the Prez’s counterplan, he deserved to be tried and executed for that alone.

  She checked cleaning-supply levels. N
ot ideal. She ordered more supplies, doubting they would actually arrive. Nothing seemed certain anymore, and any minute now corporate would notice that she was a god. She ought to go upstairs and check on Old Man Tito and another employee who’d just come in, Donella. How useful was Berenike, really, standing there and answering phone calls? Customer usage followed no normal pattern for 8:45 A.M., but if she saw a new pattern she could use it to create better service for the people who really needed it.

  The city called. The Health Department’s City Hall office needed cars. “Our contract gives us priority service in an emergency.”

  “I’d give it to you anyway. Tell me what you want.” Dirae had said City Hall was solid purple, from the mayor to the cops to public works.

  “We need six cars.”

  Is that all? “Give me thirty minutes. We’re cleaning them now.”

  “Fine.” The woman sounded reasonable. There wasn’t a lot of that going around. “We might want more later.”

  “You can have whatever you want.”

  As she was juggling the fleet’s assignments, her screen beeped: a new company-wide order. “Local states of emergency do not have the force of law. Those declarations will not be enforced on our services to customers or on our employees. Customer orders have priority.” Then there were a couple of paragraphs of corporate self-promotional bilge. “We salute our employees for their service to our customers.”

  Wow, that was stupid even for corporate headquarters. It must be getting pressure from somewhere. But she had the godlike power to disobey.

  Another call came in from a distraught, clueless customer. “I’m late for brunch.”