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Tillie slowly became aware of voices. She realized that she had been hearing them for awhile. They came and went, some soft voices whispering niceties to her, others angry, demanding answers. She didn’t have any answers. It was too nice in her bed with the cool sheets against her skin. And she’d just found the most comfortable position ever. Her body sank into the mattress luxuriously. The voices receded, and she slept.
Then she heard a voice, clear and strong above the others. It was Angus. He sounded querulous and worried. Part of her didn’t want to leave the coziness of her bed, but another part of her wanted to find out what was wrong. They were a team. If there was a problem, he would need her help. She shouldn’t be in bed this late anyway. And that thought led to another – who were all these people in her bedroom?
She opened her eyes. They were gritty and dry, and she had to rub them before she could get them fully open. Even then she had trouble focusing. Everything seemed to be too pale, a faded version of reality.
A sharp mew from the foot of the bed warned her that one of the cats was there, just before claws sank into her ankle. Tillie shifted carefully to glare at the cat, but was immediately smitten by the mewling little fur balls nestled into their mother’s side. She tried to congratulate Snowball, but her voice didn’t work either. Her mouth was dry as dust, and her throat felt like old leather. She coughed twice, but they were feeble little puffs of air that did little.
Then she noticed that she wasn’t at home. Her bed was surrounded by white screens, which made her think she must be in the clinic. She couldn’t remember getting here which was rather alarming. Had she fallen and hit her head? Sitting up was a struggle. She felt as if her limbs were weighted down in thick syrup. Moving took all of her concentration. When she finally leaned back against the pillows, her heart was pounding from the exertion.
There was a carafe of water and a glass on the nightstand, but it felt like it was miles away. She had to wait for her heart to slow before she could even start to move again. Her hand shook from the weight of the empty glass making her question whether she’d be able to handle the carafe.
“Tillie?”
She’d been concentrating so hard on the nightstand that she hadn’t seen one of the screens move. James stood there with a silly grin on his face gazing on her for a moment before he jumped into action pouring water for her. Then he had to hold the glass for her because her hand was shaking so badly.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
She gulped down the small amount he’d poured for her and pushed the glass back towards him. “More.” After two more glasses of water, she finally felt able to speak. “What am I doing here?”
“You had the flu.”
Her mind latched on to the word flu so hard that it took a bit for the had part to sink in. “I’m better?” she asked.
“Looks like it,” he said happily.
She saw the great relief in his face. Then she realized that the other voices were still out there, gentle whispers and soft spoken demands. It sunk in now what was happening. “How many?”
James looked away. That was when she noticed that he hadn’t shaved recently, nor combed his hair which was totally out of character for him. There were lines in his face that made him look much older.
“I’m back now,” Tillie said firmly. “Tell me all of it.”
“You should rest,” he said gently. “It’s the middle of the night.”
She didn’t like to be put off. And going back to sleep felt like she would be surrendering to the enemy. It there was trouble, she was ready to wade in. But then a niggle of fear hit her. People were gentlest when they had bad news to impart. “Angus?”
“Asleep I hope,” James said.
“But he’s all right?”
James nodded. He ran a gentle finger over one of the kittens until Snowball batted his hand away. “It seems to only affect women this year.”
“That’s absurd. Are you sure?”
James moved a screen aside, so she could see across the crowded ward. Every bed was taken with more mattresses on the floor in the aisles. “Just women,” he said.
A chill hit Tillie raising goose bumps down her arms. “Eunice? Jean? Lottie?”
James looked out across the room pointing as she named her friends.
“Well then who’s running things?”