Disclaimer: The following characters are owned by Stephenie Meyer. I made up the plot but this fanfic is written solely in tribute to her marvelous work, and is not meant as a copyright infringement.
From Edward's POV
I could feel the death sweep over me- knew I was due to die today. I was almost glad to know that the pain would be gone…the burning, searing agony that was the influenza. My fever had reached 106, and my head felt like it would explode. The doctor had left, gone to tend the other million patients dying in the hospital. The influenza was a sick virus, one that had left me parentless but an hour ago. And soon, I, too, would die.
My searing headache was killing me, and my ears were bleeding. My doctor said that would stop and go, but the blood was everywhere, and hadn't stopped for hours. Quite honestly I was terrified. That was the last thought I had before slipping into unconsciousness…
When I reentered the conscious world, it was to the sound of my doctor's voice. Dr. Cohen? No, Coren-Cotton, no, that wasn't right. My memory was fading, whereas it used to be incredibly sharp for a 17 year-old boy. Cullen! That was his name. Dr. Cullen. He was mumbling to himself. Someone else had died. I sighed. That was just the way the influenza was. I couldn't understand how he stood it all, the death, the pain. Knowing someone one day, and then them dying before your eyes the next.
He turned his head at my small, sad noise, his coal black eyes penetrating my bright green ones. "Hello, Edward," he said gravely.
In severe pain, all I managed was a small squeak. He understood and nodded, leaning over me to sop up the blood still flowing freely out of my ear. I screamed as his gentle hands moved over the blisters forming on my cheek, my cry simply joining those of the thousands suffering in Chicago.
Dr. Cullen began to talk, his steady voice leaving a messy jumble of numbers and useless information in my mind. Basically, I knew I was going to die, and I didn't care what he had to tell me. Then his methodical voice faded a bit, returning to it''s mumbling state, concerned about something.
Finally, his inner battle seemed to end, and he let out a triumphant and firm cry. ""Edward, I think I know something that can save you. But you have to trust me. I'll have to take you home and administer to you there. I'll carry you." As if I could have fought him in my present condition. And he seemed like a fairly trustworthy guy, definitely well-respected at the hospital. I tried to nod, but ended up letting out a high-pitched squeal as my head exploded. My head was spinning, and thinking straight was impossible. With a last, short burst of pain, everything went black.