THE FIFTH DAY:
19
Layton Rood woke up enveloped in dread. Every physical movement required tremendous exertion. Each day he seemed weaker, worse than the last. He knew he was slipping. His body had been seized by an army of microscopic invaders and they were advancing mercilessly through his immune system ruthlessly destroying anything in their path. The barbarian killers even seemed to render the antiviral medications defenseless. The President was losing the battle. Death was inevitable. It was simply a matter of time.
Waking with more of the ugly, purple lesions, one of them on his cheek served as a reminder when he gazed into the mirror that he was a marked man.
He realized he belonged in a hospital and assumed it was Janet who had prevented him from going there. But he had no mal
