4 HOURS LATER

Brenda glanced at her watch again. She'd basically decided that the Treatment Facility was really the only option. Fritz was getting worse. She'd thought maybe they were through the worst of it. His fever had broken after that last round of vomiting, but his skin was so cool to the touch now, that she kept her thumb over his pulse, just to make sure it was still beating. It had been hours since she'd had anything to eat, and her stomach loudly reminded her of that. She stood, wincing as her knees cracked, and trudged to the kitchen.

Nothing looked especially appetizing, but she pulled out a yogurt, and the last of some very sad looking blueberries, stirring them into the tiny plastic cup. She ate at the counter, mechanically spooning the yogurt into her mouth, staring at the calendar on the wall. She blinked, as it occurred to her that her birthday was in less than a week. She turned to the sink, and rinsed the cup out, before tossing it in the recycling bin. She paused as she soaped the spoon, at what sounded like a thud coming from the living room. The sound of a groan pulls the spoon from her fingers with a clatter, and she dashed back to the sofa. Fritz had heaved himself into a sitting position, though he listed badly to one side. Brenda moved to crouch next to him.

"Fritzi? Honey, what do you need?" She peered closely at his face, which seemed grayer than it ought to. His lips were pale, almost bloodless, and his eyes, beneath drooping lids looked filmy, like the eyes of an octogenarian. He didn't respond, though his mouth worked soundlessly. She reached for his Gatorade, positioning the straw for him.

"Come on, honey. You need to drink some more. I know you don't feel well, but…" The force of his hand knocking the cup from hers ended her sentence early. He lunged forward, and Brenda instinctively put her arms out to catch him, as he tipped off the couch. He landed on her with the full force of his body weight, and Brenda winced as the air rushed out of her lungs with a whoosh. He seemed to struggle with his limbs, as though they weren't really cooperating, and Brenda wrapped her arms around him, whispering soothing words, smoothing her hands along his back to calm him.

"Fritzi, we're going to need to work together, so we can get up, all right? I'm going to try and roll you to the side, and then slide out from under you." Brenda kept her voice low and reassuring, as she canted her hip up into his body, twisting her torso at the same time to slide him off of her. She breathed deeply, feeling her lungs ache with the expansion as his bulk left her chest. His head lolled limply on her arm, his gaze unfocused, jaw slack. She sighed, then slid her arm from beneath his head. She grabbed the blanket from the couch, and pulled it around his body, then shoved a pillow beneath his head. She made sure the trashcan was within arm's reach, and fumbled for the tiny netbook. As she scrolled through the recent postings to the Twitter, she felt a small ball of fear take shape in her gut. Washington had reported its first cases of the illness, and the hysteria seemed to be spreading as rapidly as the disease. Brenda knew she'd been as careful as possible, but she couldn't help but wonder why she wasn't ill, all things considered. She pondered that as she idly scrolled through the last 45 minutes of tweeters. It certainly was a fast moving media, she was compelled to admit that. A group called Lulzsick was claiming responsibility for the illness, explaining that it was a nanoparticle designed to turn humans into androids at the cellular level. Brenda scoffed. For as handy as this whole social media thing was, weeding out the crazy was proving to be more than a chore. People were on a zombie kick, as well. She rolled her eyes, and flipped the netbook closed. She stretched her legs out in front of her, and leaned forward to grab her ankles, stretching the big muscles in her back. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the shallow rise and fall of Fritz's chest.

Checking the clock, she wondered again how long before the retrieval vehicle arrived. She hoped that the medical team would have oxygen on the truck, because Fritz's skin was pallid, and there was a hint of blue around his lips, and on the beds of his fingernails. She stood, and wandered over to the window, pulling the blinds apart to peer through them. The street was a quiet one under normal circumstances, but the eerie emptiness of it gave her the creeps. Even the sun seemed to have turned its back on California, and a thick overcast sky hung heavy with the promise of an evening storm. Brenda smirked as she recalled hearing those songs about how it never rained in Southern California as a child. She'd longed to move to a place with no rain, not realizing until she got here that the soothing patterns of rain on a roof, the gentle timpani of a southern shower, were things that she'd miss. Oh, it rained here. But it was more of a meteorological temper fit, than an actual storm. A few claps of thunder, a flash or two of lightening, and a few minutes rain spilled down in a petulant deluge. Hardly a balm for the weary soul, anyway.

She let the blinds snap shut, and turned her back on the window. There was nothing out there for her, and it was past time for Fritz to have more fluids. She grabbed the cup from its fallen place on the rug, and took it into the kitchen to wash and fill it. After bleaching and rinsing both the cup, and her hands, she filled it with cool, fresh water, wanting to save the sports drink until she was sure he'd keep the few sips of water down. As she walked into the living room, Fritz's leg jerked beneath the blanket. She bit her lip, hoping he wasn't having a bad fever dream. When she'd had pneumonia in college, the fever dreams had been horrible. Clowns, and nuns, and carnivorous chipmunks had plagued her restless sleep until the motrin in her system had finally driven them back into her subconscious where they belonged. She knelt on the floor next to him, and reached for his head, cupping her hand around the base of his skull, and lifting his head onto her knees. The tendons in his neck stood out thickly, and his breath seemed to be scraping out of his lungs, and Brenda winced at the stale, sick scent of it. She dribbled some water onto his lips, and tongue, and smoothed his hair back from his forehead. The chill of his skin didn't seem so shocking, and she wondered if he was warming up, or if she was growing accustomed to the lower temperature of his body.

Fritz's body went stiff in her arms, and his eyes rolled wildly. His legs began to spasm, and the tremors seemed to travel upward, and out to his arms, his muscles contracting violently. Brenda's first instinct was to hold him, but her training overrode her instinct, and she pushed him on to his side, grabbing on to his jaw firmly. The rest of his body flailed, and Brenda fought to keep her grip, biting back tears as the bitter sting of ammonia assaulted her nose. His back snapped taught, and he held an inhuman pose, bowed in the middle, spastic limbs arrow straight, and then, he went totally limp. Brenda let go of his jaw, and traced her fingers to his pulse point, searching for the tell-tale flutter. The tears fell faster as she pulled his wrist into her lap, double checking what she feared. She rolled him onto his back, and straddled his waist, slamming her fist into the center of his chest, and beginning compressions.

"Come on, Fritz Howard! You do NOT get to check out on me now!" She sobbed, as she tried to start his stubborn heart. "Don't give up on me….don't give up."