“To talk to you.” The doctor’s smile tipped left, as if she were embarrassed. “And the others who were in that first wave of survivors. You’re the last one still here. Dune, I’ve never seen anything like this. I’ve been reading everything I can get my hands on. This H-8 has no biological precedent.”

“So it’s a brand new disease?”

“I’m not convinced it’s a disease at all. Like, a virus is genetic code, it infects the cells and kills the host. Initially we were careful to refer to this only as a syndrome, a group of associated symptoms… The symptoms align with extreme traumatic shock, even some of the negative symptoms of trauma induced psychosis—comparable to when people lose everything in a sudden act of war or manmade disaster. The system can become so overwhelmed that it shuts down, reducing to only core functions for a period of time. But there’s no war here. No disaster. Just an average day in Detroit.”

Dune blinked and in that instant her mother’s elusive last words came flooding back into her memory, “The economics are heartbreaking. Every day is a war here! On our dignity! On our humanity! We out here trying to wage love, wage love in a war against people breaking the main tool we have. Our hearts can’t take it! My heart can’t—”

She blinked back into the present at Dr. Rogers’s touch, the slender Black hand extended in comfort, or concern. Dune pulled away sharply, and then felt guilty.

“If it’s not a disease ... like ... what is this?”

Dr. Rogers rubbed at her bleary eyes. “I don’t know. I’m trying to figure this out. Every way I can think of answering that sounds certifiable. But be careful, Dune. I think someone wants us gone. And there’s almost no one left to fight.”

“Us?”

“Black people. H-8 takes Black people out of ourselves. To…grieve?”

They stood together, quiet, feeling the tender logic in the mystery. Of course Black people were dying from grief. But why now? Why here?

They spoke a while longer, until there was almost nothing left to say. Dune pushed off the wall to head home, dissatisfied and agitated, wanting to write down what she had remembered from her mother’s mouth before it disappeared again.

“Dune. One more question.”

“What’s up.”

“This is a bit awkward.” The grimace on the kind doctor’s face was a warning. “Where did you cremate your mother?”

“Why?”

“I’d—it would be helpful to see if there’s any organic matter still there. I could continue my testing that way. I have several samples from people who came later in the process, but, she’s patient zero.”