We Are the Stars

Dust Days

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Dust Days

"Today marks the end of the first two weeks of the Celevanta pandemic, the virus that has absolutely ravaged the population of South America and parts of Africa and Asia the past few days. Right now we have Doctor Kevin McCreary from the CDC here to talk to us about the outbreak of the disease across the world and what we're doing here to stop its spread. Dr. McCreary?"

"Turn it up," said Alan Washington, referring to to volume of the TV and the voice of news anchor Nolan Lisle. Katharine Washington set down her faded and dog-eared copy of Jane Eyre and hastily grabbed the television remote from its seat on the couch arm. Click-click-click. She pressed the volume button and Lisle's voice rose.

"So, Dr. McCreary - it's now been 21 days since the first reported appearance of the virus in Celevanta, Chile, and over the past nine it has been found in areas all over the world. How is it possible for a disease spread so incomprehensibly quickly?"

The camera cut to Kevin McCreary, a small man with red hair and heavy glasses that he pushed up the bridge of his nose endlessly. A stack of note cards and paper sat in his lap. "Well," he said, his eyes darting to and from the camera, "CV, it runs its course through the body very quickly - the first three stages can pass within two hours of the initial infection." He forced his thick glasses higher up on his nose. "And then if a person reaches the fourth stage, um, the virus can be transmitted to a large group of people very easily. These two traits of the virus combined with high population densities and frequent international travel... they allow the disease to spread very rapidly."

"And why is it that the virus's spread is so uncontrollable, even with cutting-edge medications, vaccines and pandemic-prevention methods?"

Kevin McCreary looked up and pushed his glasses further up onto his nose with twitching fingers. "I wouldn't call it uncontrollable - both the WHO and the CDC are working tirelessly -"

Lisle cut him off. "Yes, Doctor, I believe that's true. But this virus is spreading at an unheard of and alarming rate. Why can't CV be controlled?"

"W-well," stuttered Dr. McCreary, "due to the... nature of the disease, efforts made to curb its transmission are severely -"

"Dr. McCreary, what do you mean by the 'nature of the disease?'"

Kevin McCreary opened and closed his mouth, like a freckled and red-headed fish. He forced his glasses up into his forehead. "I mean that - because of the - the extreme... hostility... of the Stage-Four patients -"

"Mom?"

Alan twisted around at the sound of his son's voice, and Katharine pressed the mute button on the TV remote with practiced precision. She smiled wanly, half-hidden in the shadows of the living room. "Henry, honey, why aren't you asleep?"

Henry stood frozen in the dark room. "Is everything okay, Mommy?"

Katharine tried and failed to add comforting warmth to her smile. "Of course, everything's fine. Why?"

Henry's eyes wandered to the pale hands of his mother. Katharine glanced down and realized that she clutched a now torn and crushed Jane Eyre in her white fist. She released the mutilated book. "Everything's fine," she said again.

A beat of silence held the room. Alan glanced at the television, where a muted picture of Nolan Lisle and Kevin McCreary continued to play. Lisle smacked a silent fist on the desk before him. The doctor stuttered soundlessly in response, and heaved his glasses back up onto the bridge of his pointed nose.

"I heard the TV going," Henry said after a moment,"that's why I came downstairs."

"You should be in bed," said his mother, sternly.