Disclaimer: Characters, main plot lines, etc. belong to Stephenie Meyer.

This is my first fanfiction so please, please let me know what you guys think. Should I continue on with the story?

Edward's POV

I had never been oblivious to the chaos that surrounded me. As I entered what was to be my final year of high school, the turmoil caused from the war had created mayhem wherever one went. Add into that the deadly influenza that was ravaging the world and my life was nothing short of hectic.

Try as I might, my mother was vehemently against me going to fight in the war and my attempts at convincing her otherwise had been futile against her strong will. Of course, as soon as I had turned eighteen the following June she would have had no way to keep me from going if I were to be drafted. I knew this was inevitable, so for the time being I had decided to back down from my arguments in order to quell her anxiety.

The thought of going to war exhilarated me. I wanted to be the hero, put my life on the line in order to save thousands, no, millions of people. Everything that came with the war: honor, pride, and even the pain of it all, sounded incredibly invigorating. I needed something to take me away from the repetitive, mind-numbing life that awaited me in Chicago.

It had been only a few weeks into the school year, but the fear created from the Spanish Influenza had caused the administrators to decide and close the school in order to prevent the spread of the disease. This notion seemed ridiculous to me, for in a city as large as Chicago I hadn't need but to walk outside in order to be surrounded by crowds. However, I wasn't going to complain about having an increase in free time.

As I returned home from my piano lesson one fateful evening, I was instantly aware that something was wrong. Under normal circumstances, my mother awaited my arrival so that she could hear me perform my latest song on our old piano in the parlor. Yet, as I stepped through the door on that brisk October night, my mother was nowhere to be found. Just as I was about to call out for her and my father, I heard rustling upstairs, followed by a severe fit of coughing.

I froze. This wasn't a simple cough as though someone were clearing his or her throat. I had heard this cough before and it only meant one thing, the cursed influenza had crawled its way into the Masen home.

Dropping my coat to the floor, I sprinted up the stairs and raced around the corner into my parents' bedroom. I found my mother standing at the bedside as she pressed a cold washcloth to my father's forehead. She turned as she saw me approach, throwing me an anxious glance as my father struggled to hold himself up. He collapsed back against the pillow and suffered a bout of severe chills. My mother stood, helpless, not knowing what else she could do to help him.

"Edward, dear, I think we should take your father to…to… to the hospital," she managed to choke out while holding back her tears. "I don't know what else I can do." I could tell it pained my mother deeply to realize that her husband was gravely ill and I stood rooted to the spot, realization hitting me: my father was going to die.

As if my mother could hear my thoughts, she broke down sobbing, crumpling on the floor next to the bed. Rushing to her side, I pulled up her petite frame and attempted to calm her down. She had to be strong for my father, and though I wouldn't admit it, she needed to be strong for me. Turning towards the bed, I scooped his fevered frame up in my arms. I staggered for a second until my mother's firm grasp caught my arm. Carefully, but quickly, I carried my father's slender form down to our car. Sliding him into the backseat, I hurriedly climbed into the driver's seat while my mother sat in back, holding my father in a tight embrace.

I drove as fast as I could to the nearby hospital, and upon my arrival I sprinted inside to find someone who could help my father. To say that the hospital was busy would be a grave understatement. It was clear they were understaffed, and those working were rushing to and from every room. Frustrated, I ran back to the car to carry my father in.

When I reached the car, I found my father sitting up and attempting to clamber out of the car. For a second, I thought maybe he would have the strength to make it through this, but he nearly collapsed as another coughing spell wracked his body. I wrapped one arm around his waist and pulled one of his arms up around my shoulder. My mother mimicked my actions on his other side and together we helped him into the frenzied waiting room.

I searched the room for any doctor that could help, finally catching the attention of a tall, blond doctor, his skin nearly as pallid as the white lab coat that hung from his shoulders. Just as he caught sight of my mother and my frantic glances, my father suffered another fit of coughs and collapsed, unconscious, into my arms.

Carlisle's POV

It was heartbreaking to say the least. Families crowded together in every niche within the hospital, forced to witness their brothers, sisters, mothers, and fathers die in front of their eyes, while they sat powerless. Others abandoned their kin altogether, fearing the close contact would cause them to succumb to the influenza as well. I couldn't fathom what would drive a mother or a father to leave their child to die alone in an unfamiliar hospital. But perhaps I'm not one to judge, I hadn't lived in a familial setting for over two hundred years.

I thought I understood the ties between families, but the way in which the disease so easily tore apart the close-knit groups made me rethink my preconceived notions. For years I had longed for someone, anyone that could be in on my secret: someone that I wouldn't have had to hide from or lie to in order to remain inconspicuous. The idea of cursing someone to this life appalled me, but as the loneliness became overwhelming, I began to consider the possibilities of doing such an act.

As I began my shift one autumn evening, the thought of creating a fellow vampire was running rampant in my head. I had just started to convince myself that it was immoral to damn someone in such a way, when I heard another outburst of coughing. This was not abnormal under the current pandemic situation, but it caught my attention nonetheless. Turning towards the sound, I witnessed a young man catch a pale, middle-aged man, who I assumed to be his father, as he collapsed into unconsciousness.

Moving at a painstakingly human-like speed, I rushed to the family's side.

The woman spoke first, her piercing green eyes pleading me more urgently then her words. "Please doctor, it's my husband. He returned home from work feeling horrid, and it's just been a mere four hours since then."

I nodded and reassured her that I would do my best. Turning to the boy, I held out my arms and effortlessly scooped the ailing man up. Weaving throughout the crowded halls, I found an empty bed and laid the man down. His family had followed me into the dimly lit room and now stood next to his bed.

Even without a stethoscope, I could tell his breathing was extremely labored. His chances of surviving this were very poor and I was immediately heartbroken for the loss this family was bound to experience.

As though the son could sense my despair, he quietly whispered, "He's not going to make it, is he?"