Yes, definitely dead. The one closest to me was a woman, I think. At least, she had long hair. Other than that, she’s mostly a mummy. Desiccated skin draped over bones. There’s no smell. Nothing is actively rotting. She must have died a long time ago.

The person in the other bed was a man. I think he’s been dead even longer. His skin is not only dry and leathery but also crumbling away.

Okay. So I’m here with two dead people. I should be disgusted and horrified, but I’m not. They’re so far gone they don’t even look human. They look like Halloween decorations. I hope I wasn’t close friends with either of them. Or, if I was, I hope I don’t remember it.

Dead people is a concern, but I’m more concerned that they’ve been here so long. Even a quarantine area would remove dead people, wouldn’t they? Whatever’s wrong must be pretty darn bad.

I get to my feet. It’s slow and it takes a lot of effort. I steady myself at the edge of Ms. Mummy’s bed. It wobbles and I wobble with it, but I stay upright.

The robot arms make a play for me, but I flatten myself against the wall again.

I’m pretty sure I was in a coma. Yeah. The more I think of it, I was definitely in a coma.

I don’t know how long I’ve been here, but if I was put here at the same time as my roommates it’s been a while. I rub my half-shaved face. Those arms are designed to manage long-term unconsciousness. More evidence I was in a coma.

Maybe I can get to that hatch?

I take a step. Then another. Then I sink to the floor. It’s just too much for me. I have to rest.

Why am I so weak when I have these well-toned muscles? And if I was in a coma, why do I even have muscles? I should be a withered, spindly mess right now, not beach-bod buff.

I have no idea what my endgame is. What should I do? Am I really sick? I mean, I feel like crud of course, but I don’t feel “sick.” I’m not nauseated. I don’t have a headache. I don’t think I have a fever. If I don’t have a disease, why was I in a coma? Physical injury?

I feel around my head. No lumps or scars or bandages. The rest of my body seems pretty solid too. Better than solid. I’m ripped.

I want to nod off but I resist it.

Time to take another stab at this. I push myself back up. It’s like weightlifting. But it’s a little easier this time. I’m recovering more and more (I hope).

I shuffle along the wall, using my back for support as much as my feet. The arms constantly reach for me but I stay out of range.

I pant and wheeze. I feel like I’ve run a marathon. Maybe I have a lung infection? Maybe I’m in isolation for my own protection?