Immunity Index by Sue Burke (best fiction books of all time txt) 📗

“Yeah, I was at work downtown.”

“I mean in Chicago,” Deedee said angrily. “They killed people.”

Karen, who was eating dinner, put down her fork. “They were protesters.”

“How can they do that?” Deedee said. “I mean, not just scare them. They killed them.”

“They can do that because we let them,” Karen said. “We’ve been letting them for too long.”

Berenike stared at her. Karen, too?

The message light shone on her phone. Papa had answered her. She decided to take the call outside. She grabbed a bag of cheese-flavored chips and started eating as she walked out to the old parking lot. Even if she was surrounded by mutineers, some things should be private, like Swoboda’s threats. Outside, she listened to Papa’s message:

“I’m at home, and I have the cold. I’m here with my microbe friends. It’s in vogue, you know, having the cold. The Prez approves, have you heard?” He was coughing, and his voice was hoarse. “It came early, on wings, I guess, maybe another avian virus. Birds are smarter than scientists. A lot smarter than politicians. No birdbrain jokes, though. Or maybe another swine virus would be funnier. I’m working on it. The flying virus, what do you think? Or the snorting virus?”

He had a coughing fit. It’s in vogue.

“Anyway, I gotta go find some more cough medicine. Don’t get sick, Nike. This cold’s a killer.”

She called back. He didn’t answer. She left a message. “I’ll come see you.” She had a lot to say. He might be able to help. She ran back into the building and up the stairs.

Avril stood next to Shinta’s bed. She seemed to be asleep but kept coughing. She had to be really sick. She needed help, but Dejope Hall didn’t have a clinic, and the building was locked down.

She checked for campus news: no update, just the old message, campus shut down, students confined to dorms. No one answered at the dormitory hall staff number. She couldn’t connect to anything from outside, either. That disturbed her even more, and when she realized that she cared more about her phone than Shinta, she almost felt guilty, but she was looking for information to help her, so maybe it was okay.

She hadn’t eaten much for lunch, and it was dinnertime. She’d go downstairs, quickly grab something more or less edible—she couldn’t help others if she didn’t take care of herself—and something for Shinta, too, and most of all, she’d figure out a way to get help. Cough syrup, at least—or a nurse, a premed student, something.

She got off the elevator on the ground floor and walked into screaming chaos.

“We need doctors!” a woman was shouting. Other voices screamed, “Let us out! We need help!” They were shouting at someone or something near the entrance at the far side of the lobby.

“What’s going on?” she asked. Maybe other people were sick like Shinta. Or maybe the problem was something worse.

The student next to her was staring at the floor in dejection. “Sino cold,” he murmured. “People are getting sick, really sick, so sick that sometimes they just fall over. It has to be that cold.”

Avril froze. “Sino,” she managed to repeat. She was trapped in a building with the killer cold. The Prez had said it was just a common cold. But the Prez was a liar. Her dad had been sniffling. Shinta had said that everyone at the swim meet was sick.

At the entrance, a centaur rose up almost to the ceiling. “Return to your rooms,” it said in a low, male, authoritative voice—creepily human.

Avril had seen what centaurs could do. The whine of the sonic weapon started to rise. She turned and ran around the nearest corner for protection. Other people were running, too—for elevators, the stairs, anywhere.

At what seemed like a safe alcove, she stopped, panting. If Shinta had that cold, then she probably had the cold herself, too. Everyone knew how contagious it was. She’d just spent hours in the same little room with her. No one had said what to do about it besides hate China and wave flags. For a normal cold, it was what? Fluids, and rest, and chicken soup? There had to be some actual medicine, if she could get it.

The centaur wasn’t going to let her out, so that wasn’t going to happen. She’d do what she could. In the food court, she grabbed a jug of orangeade. Other food? Nothing looked appetizing. Well, prepackaged cookies—how bad could those be? This might be my last meal, frosted oatmeal cookies. She climbed a back stairway up to their room. Shinta was still in bed, lying in her clothes on the lower bunk, curled up into a ball.

Avril’s textbook suite included basic research resources. She turned it on and asked it about colds. It listed a bunch of symptoms, even special symptoms for the Sino cold—properly called the delta cold—some of which Shinta had, and, for care, a series of medicines and oxygen therapy, nothing that Avril could get her hands on while she was locked inside the dorm building. Generally, for colds, it recommended rest and fluids. Also, caretakers should wash their hands a lot and wear a face mask. Kind of late for that.

She whispered, “Hey, Shinta. How are you?” If she didn’t answer, should she wake her up?

After a few seconds, Shinta answered, “Hi.” It sounded weak. She coughed from deep in her chest.

“How are you?”

“Really tired. I don’t think I can go to the meet today.”

What? Oh, confusion was a symptom. Shinta’s face was flushed. “Let me feel your forehead, if that’s okay.” Fever was a symptom.

Shinta nodded. She felt very hot.

“I think I swallowed some water wrong. I can’t cough it up.”

“I think you have a cold.”

“I don’t … I … Maybe. I feel bad.”

“Would you like some water? Orangeade?”

“Yeah, water.” She drank a little. She was shivering, so Avril helped tuck her in under her covers. She kept coughing and moaning.

Avril stood staring out of the window