II
It had been a shocking day, shocking and deeply frightening. Joe Melic crossed the shaded mall with numerous other pedestrians, his consciousness turned inward. He'd been a child when the plague of the '70s had taken his grandparents and nearly two billion others—the greatest trauma humankind had ever gone through—but it hadn't been as terrible as today. Today's deaths had been so damned concentrated!
Considering what most things are made of, he thought, you wouldn't think so many things could burn. But then, the human body is seventy percent water.
He sucked a deep breath and exhaled shakily. Their burns had been incidental, he told himself; they'd have died anyway. And whatever it was, it killed quickly, sometimes too quickly for its victims to find fire. He began to look around him now as he walked along the resilient, grass-edged walk. The people he passed looked as preoccupied and shaken as he was.
He needed a drink before he went upstairs; Karin would be in worse shape than he was. She was at home in her last trimester, and had probably been watching the news all day. The lounge on the ground floor was dark, and patronized almost entirely by tenants. Ordinarily there weren't many customers this early, but today most of the stools and half the booths were occupied. All faces were turned to one of the several tridees.
Joe took one of the remaining stools. The face on the screen was familiar and calm, but less relaxed than usual. "The first cases appeared last night in several parts of the world, the very first apparently in Brussels at 2255 Eastern Time." The newsman winced, then continued. "By 0200, numerous cases were being reported, the reports accelerating to a flood by breakfast. The remarkably simultaneous worldwide appearance of the outbreak suggests two things in particular: first that the disease has an incubation period of at least several days; and second that people infected with the disease can transmit it from early in the incubation period. At any rate, if you're susceptible, you've very probably been infected already."
The bartender looked a question at Joe, who shook his head. He didn't want a drink after all.
"The World Health Organization in Zurich reports that the virus was verified today at 0912 Eastern Time, and laboratories worldwide are proceeding rapidly toward a cure. Shuttles . . ."
The commentator winced again and pressed his fingertips to his forehead. He turned and gestured urgently, then stood and stepped out of camera view. The camera shifted almost at once, and another familiar face looked out at them, picking up the report without missing a beat. "Shuttles are on standby, and air traffic clearances will go into effect as soon as a cure has been developed. . . ."
After a few minutes they went on to other news, as if anyone cared, and Joe got up and drifted into the lobby. Even if they develop a cure quickly, he thought, and no doubt they will, how long will it take to make enough of it? A week? Even if it only takes two days . . . He crossed unseeingly to the elevator foyer and stepped into a waiting capsule. More to the point, he asked himself, how many people are susceptible? Because that's how many are likely to die.
Upstairs, the apartment door opened to his familiar touch, and his skin crawled, hair bristling. He couldn't see Karin, but he could hear her vomiting.