Immunity Index, Sue Burke [accelerated reader books txt] 📗

find his roommate,” Avril said. She looked under the bunk bed, behind a desk, and in the closet for someone unconscious on the floor. “I’ll check the bathrooms down the hall.”

She prepared herself for the worst as she opened the door, or maybe, if she was lucky, she’d find a little meeting like the spontaneous one on her floor. She saw no one—then she heard moaning from a stall, the door hanging open. She looked inside. The guy sitting on the toilet seemed barely conscious, coughing, by the smell suffering from diarrhea.

“Are you okay?”

“I’ve never felt this sick before.”

“I’ve never seen people this sick.” She swallowed hard against rising bile—fear or illness or just a reaction from the stink? She needed to find help—and there was a whole dormitory of people who could be recruited.

She walked out of the bathroom and banged on the first door she saw, and without waiting, opened it, since the locks weren’t working. “Wake up! We need help!” Let the centaurs come. She ran down the hall, hammering her fist on every door, yanking them open, and shouting to the residents inside: “Can you help? People are sick!” “Are you okay?” “We need to help each other.”

Behind her, a door slammed shut. “Get away!” a voice shouted from inside. “You’re contagious!”

He had a point. Too late, though. We’ve all been exposed to whatever this is.

A guy with sleep-mussed hair came to the door across the hall. “What’s going on?”

“People are sick and need help. There’s one in the bathroom there.” She pointed. “Can you help?”

He looked at her for a moment. “What do I do? I’m not a doctor.”

“Just get him back to bed so he can rest. And check on your neighbors.”

He thought. “Is this something they did, the administration? Like, poison us?”

“Good question. I don’t know. I do know we can help each other.”

“What if it’s Sino?”

“It wouldn’t be worse if it was.”

He looked at her for a moment. “I’ll go,” he said reluctantly, and crossed the hall into the bathroom.

Other people had come out of their rooms. “Check on your neighbors,” she said. “Help each other out!” They stood there, frozen. “It’s the Dejope thing to do!” She shouldn’t need to explain something so basic.

They stared at her—like I just gave them a pop quiz about something that wasn’t on the syllabus. Well, tests are learning experiences. She turned and went back to Sergio’s room. Drew had helped him into bed and was wiping up the vomit with a towel. The roommate had been brought back, too. One of the neighboring students came in, looking scared.

“What can I do?” he asked Drew.

“A glass of water can make the difference between life and death,” he said, much more patiently than Avril could. “Sometimes it’s that simple, basic care.”

“That’s all?” He looked doubtful, but he agreed to do it.

They left to find Hetta’s third mutineeer, and they immediately learned that the floor on that wing was already organized. The study lounge at the end of the hall had become sort of a medical command center. Several people wore purple. Avril looked at them in admiration. Everyone should be doing this. Including her own floor, she realized. She could have organized something rather than dithering for hours.

“We’re looking for Bessea,” she said. “Is she here?”

“Try one floor down. I guess there’s a meeting there.”

As she left, someone called, “Oh, and don’t bring your phone. We think the centaurs can only track us with phones. The building doesn’t have much internal surveillance.”

“But the phones don’t work.”

“The phones don’t work for us. Take it back to your room and they’ll think you’re there.”

She and Drew sprinted to their rooms to leave the phones. Hetta was now sitting at Avril’s desk. Shinta, she said, was still okay. She looked so glum that Avril gave her a hug; then she had an idea. She took Celia Ruiz’s book from a shelf. It told a magical story about all the exhilarating things that the color red could do. “This might help you feel better.”

Hetta looked at it, dumbfounded, and started crying again.

“Oh,” Avril whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“Uh-uh, I loved this book when I was a kid.” She picked up the book and hugged it. “This is … this is good. Thanks.”

She and Drew sneaked down to the second floor and found a half dozen people in the kitchenette. They looked up suspiciously.

“Hetta sent us,” Avril murmured. She touched her scarf. “Also, we didn’t bring our phones.”

A guy motioned for them to sit down. He wore a purple armband. “I was saying, we’re up against learned helplessness. That’s been the goal all along, to destroy any sense of community. When we can’t carry out our natural impulse for fight or flight, we freeze and appease.”

Avril pulled up a chair and vowed to listen patiently—for only one more minute. She hadn’t come to debate tired old philosophy, even if that guy had a point.

No one else seemed to want to debate that idea, either. Instead, someone said, “How about using this space as a clinic?”

Avril felt better, but as soon as she had the chance, she said, “I want to break into the building management office.” She waited for people to stare at her in disbelief.

No one did. “That’s next on the agenda,” the learned-helplessness guy said.

Berenike listened to the recording for the ambulance service again to confirm what she hadn’t wanted to hear. “We are sorry, but all ambulances are in service now. The wait exceeds several hours. If you are calling about a respiratory illness and your symptoms are severe, please arrange for your own transport as quickly as possible. All are welcome at any hospital or health center in the city of Milwaukee, regardless of ability to pay. Services will be free. If your symptoms are not severe, please visit your regular physician as soon as possible. Here is some information about home treatment.”

She paced to the kitchen sink and back. The recording offered nothing new for home treatment. But