Holly Fever (Mondamin Court #1)

Chapter Six

Zoey shuffled through the kitchen, looking for something easy to cook. It was morning, the Twenty Fourth. She was wearing her mom's flannel pajamas. She almost couldn't believe that she had them on—she'd always thought of them as ugly. But now, they were warm, and besides, they were a piece of her mom.

The orange juice carton was empty. Zoey stumbled into the pantry and found a bottle of apple juice. She paused and looked at the shelves. Tons of food there, but Zoey wasn't sure she was up to cooking. Sunbutter. That'll do the trick. She scooped the sunflower butter off the shelf. She made toast and poured a glass of juice.

She sank back on the couch, exhausted by even that little activity. It was the day before Christmas. Mom was a vegetarian, so they never had the traditional Christmas turkey. But she'd make home-baked bread and roasted root vegetables. Now she was in the hospital, clinging to life. They had talked briefly on the phone last night. She'd clearly been struggling to breathe, but she'd done her best to sound upbeat, for Zoey's sake.

Not that it helped much. Sarah was dead—her mom had called Zoey yesterday evening.

The news was filled with it. Zoey found the remote and turned the TV on. It had become a morbid fascination for the entire world, to track the spread of Holly Fever. Influenza was an airborne virus, but this new strain took it to a new level. Hospitals normally considered droplet precautions to be twenty, thirty feet. This flu went through air ducts and infected entire buildings. A hospital in France had found that out the hard way. One infected four days ago. Now everyone in that hospital had it. Numerous visitors had left with it, and France was now in a state of emergency.

Nothing compared to the Midwest though—the epicenter of the new flu. Hundreds of thousands were sick. The death toll last night had been over a thousand. But with so many sick, and healthcare workers rapidly being overwhelmed, thousands more were dying, and there was fear that the number of deaths would climb much higher before it got better.

The morning news only confirmed that fear. "Upwards of a hundred thousand people have died overnight in the Midwestern United States and as many more worldwide," the newscaster said. "Fears of a worldwide pandemic worse than the Spanish flu pandemic of 1918 have been confirmed. CDC estimates millions more potentially infected throughout the United States and warn of a third wave of infections.

"Des Moines hospitals are no longer taking new patients and warning everyone to stay away," the newscaster continued. "Healthcare workers are getting sick, despite quarantine processes. The Red Cross and the National Guard have set up a field hospital at Camp Dodge for overflow cases."

The national news wasn't much better. Minneapolis hospitals had also shut their doors, and Kansas City authorities were considering the same move. Healthcare workers, police forces, and public utility workers—the people who had no choice but to be out among the public—were hardest hit. Hospitals were overwhelmed because so many nurses were getting sick. Police and public utilities were rapidly experiencing the same problem.

Zoey's phone rang. She dug in the couch for it. She didn't recognize the number. She answered. It was the hospital, and the nurse sounded sick. "Devon Scott?" she asked. "Lydia Scott's son?"

Zoey didn't bother to correct her. "Yes." Her heart froze in her chest as she waited for the hammer to drop.

"Your mother . . . Lydia passed this morning."

"This morning? When?"

"We just found her maybe a half hour ago," the nurse said in a tone that challenged Zoey to question why they hadn't found her sooner.