“That’s not important, Mr. Keegan. Your co-workers have also gotten sick. You remember Thomas Kline? He brought you to the infirmary at work last Monday? Anyway, this is pointless.”

“Come closer.” I reached out my hand to touch my new doctor, and he took a step back. There was a plastic bubble around me. I touched it.

“Where am I?” I asked.

“You’re in the intensive care unit in Saint Elizabeth’s. Does that ring any bells?”

“No. Yes. Wait a minute. Ah, no. Sorry. Who are you?”

“I’m Clarence Reilly. I work for the Center for Disease Control. I’ll be staying with you for the next few hours.”

“Then what happens?”

“Well, I’ll be perfectly blunt with you, Mr. Keegan because I know you’ll forget what I say in a few minutes, probably as soon as you sneeze again. I’m here to do your autopsy and oversee the transport and incineration of your corpse.”

“Disease control?”

“Those little animals you brought back from the cabin have been a bit of trouble, Mr. Keegan.”

“Have other people gotten sick too?”

“Ah, yes. I guess that’s a fair assessment.”

“Who got sick?” I could tell I was bugging him, but nobody gives me information. You know how doctors are.

“Well, your co-workers, for starters. Then their families. Then the children and staff at about a dozen schools, Mr. Keegan. Then their families. Then the children and staff at several dozen other schools and some colleges locally.”

“Not too bad, though, right? I mean, they got the flu like me?”

“Well, they got whatever you have, but I can tell you it’s not the flu, Mr. Keegan.”

“I feel bad about all this.

“Over two thousand so far. It’s about as bad as a contamination can get. I heard an hour ago that even incineration might not be enough; that maybe the buggers are going airborne in the ash. They can’t even be studied – every researcher has come down with the things regardless of the precautions. I’m here on what might well be a suicide mission. But you won’t care about that. These microbes or whatever they are have eaten through your sinuses and the membrane surrounding your brain. They’ve chewed up part of your brain, Mr. Keegan, and a little bit dribbles out every time you sneeze. Contributes to the memory loss I suppose.”

“This sounds bad.” There comes a point when there isn’t all that much else one can say. “Is everyone else like this?”

“Not at all. Most of them are dead already.”

“Oh. And the others? What are you going to give them?”

“Well, Mr. Keegan, so far nothing has worked. Really it’s been a question of watching people die quickly. We’ll study you. Frankly, you’re a marvel. Everyone else has died within three days of contact; sometimes four. You’ve gone nine days and haven’t kicked off yet. I’m here to find out why, Mr. Keegan. Maybe something inside of you can be refined to help others.”

“So I might end up saving the world, right?”

“Or you might have doomed it.”

The doctor from… wherever he said he was from… smiled at me. Then I remembered everything, everything that was important at least. I remembered her smile and how she smiled at me, and I knew I would do anything she asked. She smiled and flipped a lock of her soft brown hair back over her left ear, and I knew I would do what she asked whether I wanted to or not.