Suddenly, it hit me. I’d seen the pyre’s fire from afar as William had carried me across the meadow, but I’d failed to put the pieces together. I didn’t look back to William for confirmation. I didn’t have to—I knew. The persistent stench of a hundred burning brothers was inescapable. I covered my mouth but it seeped in, clogging my pores, scorching my eyes. I could taste it. I gagged, but my stomach was empty.

“Tell me about Fount,” I gasped. I was down on my knees between bouts of nausea. “Is Fount—?”

Slowly, William shook his head.

“Oh no! Obi, Obi!” I jumped to my feet to run, but there was nowhere to go. I dug my nails into the flesh of my palm and slammed a fist against my mouth, splitting my lip. “My God, my God!”

“Arika. You hurt hand.”

He grabbed my wrist but I jerked away. Fount!

“Arika, stop!” He pried my fist open and wrestled me to the porch steps.

Finally, I slumped, burying my face in my lap. He patted my back and hummed softly. It was the same short tune he’d sung as we’d nursed the sick in the village.

“Don’t be mad at William,” Robin said from behind us. “I sent him to find you.”

I looked over my shoulder. She was standing in the open door of the warehouse. Behind her, the sick room was silent and dark.

I swiped at my tears. “What happened, Robin? How can this be?”

She looked as adrift as I felt.

“Are they all dead? All of them?”

Slowly, she nodded. “The first round of patients are gone, except Kiwi. He wants to speak to you first.”

“Kiwi?” I said, rising. Hope bloomed inside me. Perhaps I could change his fate.

“Yes. He’s inside, but you must hurry.”

The Truth About the Fever

THE TRUTH ABOUT THE FEVER

Kiwi lay amidst the dead that littered the warehouse floor. His whole body labored to breathe and a viscous mix of blood and mucus covered his nose. After securing a black scarf around Kiwi’s face, Robin tied my white mask.

I took Kiwi’s hand. “Kiwi? It’s me, Arika.”

He took a shuddering breath.

“Robin!” I called over my shoulder. “He needs the ventilator!”

I had used it several times before with great success. It would temporarily clear Kiwi’s air passage.

She shook her head. “It’s no good, Arika. I meant only for you to comfort him. Here, he’ll take it from you.” She held out a bottle of the sleeping draft.

I knocked it out of her hand. “Don’t talk like that! He’s going to live,” I vowed. “We need a ventilator.”

She and William exchanged a look. “I’ll find one,” she said and left.