She biked the streets, stopping by emergency rooms, eyes peeled. Dune became a field researcher. She carried a soft cover notebook, blank inside. She filled the pages with as much information as she could gather, beginning to fear that any single thing she missed would be the lost key to the whole crisis.

The first thing she noticed as she got closer was the words. Just like Kama, most of the sick peoples’ mouths were moving.

Dune hadn’t tried to decipher the words Kama was saying in the two weeks of watching her die. She had been focused on getting some kind of liquids into her mother. Now that she remembered her mother’s diatribe in the kitchen, Dune was racking her brain, sure that she could find her mother’s repeated words in the folds of memory matter. Now, when she came across a sick person, she wasted no attention on the assumption that she could save them. Now, instead, she listened.

Field notes:

Black, masculine, over six feet, red polo shirt (stained at armpits—sweating in this chill?), jeans w/torn out knees (he’s dressed for a quick dash outside), purple skully, gray hoodie. Standing in the field/lot at the top of the Dequindre Cut off Gratiot. Words, at least 5, what I could understand was: “winning tigers.” October 3.

Four members of one family, Black/Afrolatinx, in waiting room at Henry Ford. Brought in by wife/mother, with two surviving children waiting in car. Sick: father and three children, ages 49, 16, 12, 9, names Rocky, Sandra, Sasha and Sara. Last name Jefferson. Children are quiet, man is vocal but incoherent (cooing, almost comforting noises). Wife said they live between Chene and St Aubin on Leland St, and all got sick within two days of each other, starting with the father. Hysterical, wouldn’t let me see or speak to her other two children. She wants to know if they can be protected, if it’s genetic. Left sick family members at hospital for observation. Car with other two children in back, full of luggage. October 7.

Young Black/maybe mixed, maybe early 20s? In field on Mack close to Rosa Parks. Wearing a belted green dress, long black hair with red highlights. She is the lightest skinned person I have seen with H-8, (lighter than me). Stylish, student? Artist? Saying “my heart” or “my art” over and over. Soiled, been there a while. October 18.

With each person she found, Dune would write her notes down and then, if they were alone, she would call 911 and report their location for pick up. Dune took off before the police could get there, not interested in the urgent conversations full of questions with no answer. She wouldn’t be able to help the popo in their useless interrogations, even if she weren’t opposed to their existence. Which she was.