Beams of flashlights criss-cross in the distance, a tangled spider’s web of light.
Heart racing, Dany counts primes, eighty-three, eighty-nine, one hundred and one, but something is off, something is wrong. Her mind tries to skip along that well-worn path, but the numbers aren’t lighting up for her the way they once did.
Crouching, in her little patch of darkness, Dany tells herself that it won’t be so bad. There will be pain – change always means pain – but, after scraping out a few of her cells, they’ll probably even let her go.
They’ll have bits of her in a lab somewhere.
They’ll have her blood, her cells, her tissue, her variant of the virus. They won’t need her. But she’s breathing too fast. And Dany knows it; she’s on the edge of something bad.
She tries the Fibonacci se
