The Citrus Syndrome

1 ; epidemic

Epidemic

Catherine

It's an epidemic, that's what it is.

We don't know how it got out, how to prevent, how to treat it. All we know is, it's there, it exists, and it's our problem to solve.

Why? Because we created it.

My Test Tube Baby, as I often refer to it. Born of pure science, will and curiosity, is this monster of a virus that ravages the world today. Officially, it is known as The Citrus Syndrome. I am the mother of a monster, and I fear it now.

It's coming for me next, I know it.

Curiosity killed the cat, didn't it? It's going to kill this Cat, too. Sitting here alone in this dark basement, I can feel it coming. Even now, I am curious. How is it transmitted? What's the average life expectancy? What does it look like in person?

Wilson's footsteps startle me. He slams the steel door behind him, widening his eyes at me with an expression of exaggerated alarm. "They're tracking it now," he says.

I nod, tapping my pencil on the clipboard in front of me as if thinking of something relevant or remotely helpful, not just filling my head with panicked thoughts. I try to think of something intelligent to say. "Is Bo here yet?"

"No, Lazy Ass says he can't come in."

My stomach clenches. We need him here. "Well call him back. We need everyone we've got."

Wilson sighs. "I tried, Cat. He's not picking up."

"Fuck," I mutter under my breath. But then again, what's Bo going to be able to do about this that none of the rest of us can? Nothing, that's what. We're stuck, either way. Tech is working on tracing the spread of Citrus. That's all we can do right now.

I'm worried about Taya. If this thing is airborne, she could get it, couldn't she? I miss her. I've been here at the lab for almost three days now, without any contact with the outside world, trying to contain the virus. It's out now. It's over.

I wonder if she misses me too for a second, then I turn back to Wilson. "So," I sigh. "Is this it?"

"What do you mean?" He takes a seat at the table across from me.

"There's nothing left to do. It's out. That's it."

A shadow passes over his face. I wonder if he's thinking of his wife and kids. I hope he is. After a moment, he responds with a single word: "Antidote."

" . . . What?"

"There's still something we can do." His words come out slow, spaced apart. "We can find an antidote."

If there's one thing you should know about me, it's that I'm not a very sensitive person. I'm not a good person to talk to if you need consolation, or someone to bounce ideas with. I call it like I see it, and I have a hard time holding back, even when I want to. That is, of course, the reason why I let out a harsh cackle at this idea. Not because it's particularly funny or worthy of ridicule; I just don't know how to think before I act.

Wilson looks away. I think he's embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," I say, exhaling. No more laughing, Cat. That's rude. "You know we can't do that, Will. It's already too late."

"It's never too late." His voice is quiet and halfhearted, now. I feel bad. Usually Will is so outgoing and happy-go-lucky. My snark has no effect on him. Sometimes, though, in delicate situations like these, I need to step back and remind myself that he's human too, not some mono-emotional alien from space.

I sigh. "I know you want to reach for the stars, Hon, but those are a longass way away. We haven't got the funds for a rocketship right now."

Wilson glares at the wall behind me. The room is small and cement, monochrome gray with this single table in the center. I call it my office. Everyone else calls it The Dungeon. Blinking, he replies, "Look, I know you don't have a soul or whatever, but I actually have people I care about."

Ouch. "C'mon, Willy."

"Look, I told Issy this job wouldn't interfere with the safety of our kids. Hell, you told me that to begin with. And look at us now, Cat. They're going to die if we don't do something."

I breathe in, trying to remain patient. "Don't try to make this my fault."

"I'm not."

"Good."

Silence. I hate silence. Looking for something to say, I glower at the ceiling. I don't like fighting with Will. He's one of my only friends around here. "So, how's Isabelle doing?" I wince because it's such a stupid question. Hey, how's your wife who I essentially just made you kill?

No, I tell myself. Neither of us killed anyone.

"The kids're driving her crazy." A hint of a smile appears on Will's face, as it always does when he talks about Isabelle. But for a startling moment, his face crumples like he's going to cry. Then it flattens out again. Whew. "She's fine." He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. "How's Taya?"

I feel compelled to tell the truth, so I do. "She's still mourning over her mother. She got upset when I told her I might not be back for a few days."

Wilson sighs. He runs his fingers through his longer than is professional brown hair, replying, "Yeah, so did Issy. She's probably going insane down there all alone."

I wanted to point out that she wasn't alone; what about Brian and Carrie? But I don't. I know what he means. Sometimes, even among family, you feel alone.

"I miss her."

Surprised to hear these words come out of my mouth, I frown at the ceiling. I mean, yeah, of course I miss her. But I don't usually go around telling people my feelings.

Will looks surprised too, but is smiling. "Lookit that, the Wicked Witch has a heart."

"Shut it, Dimwit."

"Ice Queen."

"Dipshit."

We exchange a bitter smile. It's going to be a long week.