Dany doesn’t know this girl, the one who fights Bea for the knitting needles. The one who doesn’t think about viruses or vectors – only about the soft orbs of an old woman’s eyes, the sharp needles in her hands. Dany roughly tears the knitting needles from Bea and then knocks the old woman back into her bedroom.
She and Eva get the door closed, and Dany tosses the needles down the hall.
All at once, Dany is more tired than she’s ever been in her life. She wipes her hands on her pants and slides down to the floor.
Eva sits heavily down next to her. With a chagrined shrug, she passes Dany a small bottle of alcohol gel.
Dany pours a glob on her hands and rubs them together. Her whole body is shaking. Dany hates the virus. Hates it. But most of all, she hates what the virus do
