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She stopped. “Take a deep breath, Justin. Relax. Calm yourself down.” Her voice had a calmness she didn’t feel. Fear made her stomach churn, and she hoped Justin didn’t notice how badly her hands shook.
Justin closed his eyes and took three deep breaths. “Torlisibol,” he said.
Carly nodded and added it to the bag. “I’ve got them.”
He helped her to her feet, and they ran back through the darkened town to Tom and Cynthia’s house, but when they reached the staircase, they froze in their tracks. Tom sat there, tears streaming down his pallid face, and he held Cynthia in his lap as she wept against his shoulder.
Doc Cotton came slowly from Andrea’s room. He paused on his way down to lay a hand on Tom’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
Cynthia let out a soft, ragged cry, and Tom closed his eyes as he nodded. The doctor continued down to the stairs. He jerked his head toward the living room, and Justin and Carly followed him.
Doc Cotton sagged onto the sofa and dropped his head into his hands.
“It can’t be the Infection,” Carly said. Even as she said it, a small part of her mind spoke up to tell her she was in denial. “It doesn’t happen that fast.”
“Viruses mutate,” Doc replied without lifting his head, echoing Justin’s words from earlier. “It’s become faster, more virulent. Likely more communicable, as well.”
Carly’s breath caught. “Then we may no longer be immune.”
Neither the doctor nor Justin said anything. Carly waited another moment, hoping in vain one of them would deny it.
“Justin, we can’t go home to Dagny. We can’t risk...” She couldn’t continue. Her throat was too tight to speak.
“The whole town has been exposed,” Doc Cotton said wearily. “Andrea was having cold symptoms before Tom and Cynthia left for the meeting.”
“But how did this happen?” Carly blurted out. “How did she catch it in the first place? No sick people have been here!”
Justin took her hand. He seemed to struggle to find the words. “Carly, we’re carriers.”
She shook her head slightly. Her mind couldn’t seem to process what he was saying.
“It’s the only explanation. I told you this before, remember? I told you we might be asymptomatic carriers. It would explain why many of the survivors seem to be infertile. We have the virus; it just doesn’t make us sick.”
“It’s our fault?” she whispered, stricken to her very soul with guilt and horror.
Doc Cotton’s head jerked up. “No, Carly, it’s not your fault. You didn’t know. We would have had contact with outsiders sooner or later.”
Tom and Cynthia came down the stairs slowly, their arms wrapped around one another. Carly couldn’t tell who was supporting whom.
She had brought Death to their doorstep. The guilt was so terrible she couldn’t even look them in the eye.
“We’ve got to get the word out,” Tom said in a raspy voice. “Tell everyone to quarantine themselves.”
Carly’s heart ached for him. Even in this moment of terrible grief, he was still thinking of the people of his town.
Doc Cotton shook his head. “It’s too late, Tom.” He stood. “I’m sorry to leave you in this terrible time, but I have work to do. I have to prepare.”
“We’ll help,” Carly whispered. “We have to help.”
Doc Cotton nodded. “I’ll need every pair of able hands.”
Justin kissed Carly’s cheek. “Where, Doc?”
“The church.”
Justin nodded. He kissed Carly again before he left, and she caught a glimpse of the anguish in his eyes, an anguish he was trying hard not to show.
Cynthia sobbed in Tom’s arms.
