Prologue
Prologue
“I need a gurney or a room or something, now!” Daniel walked through the glass doors into the ER carrying her in his arms. It wasn’t difficult. She felt far too small and fragile even bundled in all those blankets.
A burly man in scrubs came around the admissions desk. “Let me have her.”
“No. I’ll carry her. Point me to a bed,” Daniel insisted.
“Take it easy, fella.” The man waved his arms. “We can’t let—”
The double doors to the treatment area banged open and Beth Campbell came running out. “It’s okay. This is my neighbor, Daniel Woodruff.”
Daniel was relieved to see Beth’s familiar face as the burly orderly backed away.
“We’re ready, Daniel,” Beth said. “Bring her on back. Room 6. This way.”
“The contractions haven’t stopped,” Daniel said, trudging after her. “She’s only five months along, Beth. She started bleeding—”
“Let’s not panic. It could be a false alarm,” Beth said.
“It’s not a false alarm,” Daniel said. “It’s not Braxton-Hicks or anything like that. Grace said—”
“It’s all right, Daniel. I know. Lay her down and we’ll take over,” Beth soothed, patting the bed. The room was suddenly full of people as Daniel eased the woman onto the bed. She was still warm, still breathing. But she was limp and unresponsive, her face far too pale and sweaty. He leaned over to kiss her brow, but someone’s hand pulled him away. He was herded out the door as the professionals took over, bustling around her bed until he could no longer see her and the door swung shut in his face.
“Danny? Danny!” came a tinny voice from his hand. He realized he was still clutching his cell phone, still connected.
“Grace?”
“Yes, I heard. You got there in one piece.” Grace’s voice was thin and far away. “Take some deep breaths. The OB on call is in there.”
“Yeah. But she looks so pale.” He looked at the blood on his sleeve. “And she’s bleeding a lot.”
“She’ll be all right,” Grace said.
Daniel noticed that Grace didn’t mention the baby. “I know. She’s a tough little thing.”
“Yes, she is. We’re boarding in a minute. I’m…I’m so sorry I couldn’t get back in time, Danny,” Grace said. “So sorry.”
Grace could have stopped this from happening. Grace could have fixed it. But she couldn’t get a flight home fast enough.
“She was fine. We were so careful. She hasn’t been out of the house in weeks. We haven’t even let Jamie come around. How could she have—”
“You don’t know what’s wrong. Not yet.”
“What else could it be?” Daniel barked. “How is this thing being transmitted, Grace? Has anyone down there got a clue?”
“Maybe,” Grace said, but she didn’t sound convinced. Daniel heard the noise of an announcement and then the rumble of Nick’s voice in the background. “We’ve got to get on our flight. We’ll be there as soon as we can. I love you!” Her voice broke on a sob. “Tell her I love her. Tell her I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”
“It’s okay, sis. It’s okay.”
“Hey, Daniel.” Nick’s voice came over the line, steady and reassuring. “Hang in there. We’ll be home in a few hours.”
“Thanks, Nick. Tell Grace it’s not her fault. She can’t be everywhere at once,” Daniel said brokenly. “I didn’t see this coming. I didn’t—”
“This thing is fast, Daniel. You couldn’t have. I’m trying to convince her that none of us are infallible, but you know how she is. You take care of yourself and that precious lady of yours.”
Daniel ended the call and shoved the phone into his pocket, his eyes still on the door into room 6. He wanted to barge in. Whatever was happening, he wanted to hold her hand at least.
Instead he went to the sitting area in the hallway, but he couldn’t bring himself to sit. He put his hands up to lean against the wall, but it was too noisy around the nurses’ station to hear what was going on in her room. Much too busy. Looking at the haggard, pale faces of the staff, he wondered how many times they had seen this happen lately. How many miscarriages? How many preemies? Shaking his head, he glanced down at a stack of magazines on one of the chairs.
The Time magazine on top had a chart on the front of it. A simple line graph told the story—a stark red line sliding downward, labeled “Global Birth Rate”. He picked that one up and saw another beneath it with a cover photo of an empty crib. His vision blurred as he thought about the nursery at the old home place that they had almost finished decorating for the baby.
Why did Grace have to be away now? Of all days, why today? Nick had wrangled a meeting with some geek at the CDC, and that was saying something, given what was going on. But why today?
“Damn,” he whispered, closing his eyes, trying to make it all disappear.
I don’t want to see this.
He heard the door to the treatment room and opened his eyes.
The edges of his vision had gone dark, as if part of the hallway had vanished.
Shut it off now.
He blinked and tried to focus as Beth emerged, but his vision had narrowed until her face, drawn and sad, was the only thing he could see. As if a spotlight were focused on her face, and the rest was in darkness.
“I’m so sorry.”
“No!”
Shut it OFF!
Like a light going off, Beth’s face just blinked out.
There were voices in the hall outside his hotel room—loud and Italian—reminding him of where and when he was. He opened his eyes. Bologna. The conference. From the sounds outside, it was morning, but in his room it was pitch-black—again.
“Damn.”
He wiped his hand across his face and it came away wet. He could still feel the strain in his muscles from carrying her into the ER, and there was a hollow pain in his chest when he thought about their baby.
It was one thing to dream about fruitless trees and blasted fields, food shortages and a slow slide into extinction, but this nightmare promised an apocalypse that was far from slow. This plague, whatever it was, was devastating and very personal.
The first time he had this dream, he had thought it was Grace in his arms, losing her precious Lily. But it wasn’t. This time he was on the phone with his sister, and she was in Atlanta. So, if it wasn’t Grace…
There was no one in his life, and there would never be. It couldn’t have been his wife in his arms. It couldn’t have been his child.
A normal nightmare. Just like everyone else. Cooked up by his subconscious. Or maybe too much sambuca in his espresso last night. Horrible, but not prescient. A nightmare, that was all.
But his arms still ached with her warm weight. His heart was still raw from the terror he had felt for her and for their baby. The feeling of loss was real and potent. And, most telling of all, he was blind, again.
Damn.
Only a real look at the future ever left him groping in the pitch-blackness like this. As he waited impatiently for the dark to ease into murky gray, he grasped for the details, desperate to remember when and who, but the dates on those magazines had already slid away from him into so much smoke, along with the face of the woman he’d held in his arms.
