I washed my mouth with wine and waited several minutes before I repeated the barbaric procedure with a second rat. This time I consumed only the blood. With great effort, I warded off the vomiting.

Several minutes passed before I had strength to sit down at the table and dissect the second rat. My study confirmed what Don Marco had told me to be true. The creature’s organs, from his heart to his intestines, had been spared from the ravages of the plague. But the secrets of his imperviousness remained invisible to me. I could only hope, now that I had consumed his blood, those protective humors would invisibly transfer to me.

However, I awoke this morning to the realization that it was not to be. I was more afflicted than ever and barely strong enough to get out of bed. In the name of experimentation, I killed a third rat and drank its blood. Aside from that and two or three sips of water, nothing has passed my lips since.

Death hovers near. The fever and chills take turns assailing me, with no reprieve in between. My body aches to the bone, whether I boil or freeze. My breathing has become ragged. Before, I only struggled for breath when I moved, but now even lying still winds me.

My last wish and prayer is for this diary to survive and provide some utility to those who follow, be there any, in understanding how this miasma toppled our great city and, perhaps, all of civilization.

Most Sacred Heart of Jesus, I accept from Your hands whatever kind of death it may please You to send me this day with all its pains, penalties, and sorrows, in reparation for all of my sins, for the souls in Purgatory, for all those who will die today and for Your greater glory. Amen.

Your humble servant, Rafael Pasqua

Chapter

Twenty-Two

The moment Alana steps into Claudio Dora’s hospital room, she notices the improvement in Nico’s friend. A pair of nasal prongs under his nostrils has replaced the bulky oxygen mask that he wore the last time she saw him. His hair is combed back and he wears a navy silk robe over his gown. But his cheeks are still gaunt, and his eyes sunken. And he has to struggle just to sit up at the side of the bed to greet her.

“So now we have antibiotic-resistant plague on our hands?” Claudio says.

“Nico told you, huh?” Alana stands at his bedside in the full PPE gear. “This plague kills fast enough as is. But if it’s resistant to antibiotics . . .”

“Mio dio! Perhaps it’s an ideal time for a career change. For us both, Alana.”

“In a way, resistance was inevitable,” she says, battling the urge to tell him about the possible human genetic manipulation of the bug. “With all the different bacteria in the hospital trading their DNA among themselves.”

“Ah, yes, hospitals. The world’s breeding grounds for antibiotic resistance. Grouping all those sick patients together. It’s not so different from filling a children’s pool with piranhas.” He shifts in his bed. “But to happen so quickly?”