Free Pandemic by Yvonne Ventresca Page A

message about Megs last night? Mrs. Salerno said I can’t visit her. It seems so unfair.”
    “She’ll be isolated, honey, until they determine exactly what’s wrong. This illness is spreading fast. The public health department may contact you and the people she’s been around—”
    “Yesterday was Career Day.”
    “Oh my God.”
    He’d participated last year, talking to students about journalism, so he knew how hundreds of people attended from all over Morris County. It would be impossible to track who Megs had been in contact with.
    “I’m glad you stayed home,” he said.
    I squeezed the phone. I couldn’t tell him I’d been there, not even for a little while.
    “Do you think Megs will recover?” I asked.
    “I’m sure she’s getting good care,” he said. “Do you have any symptoms? Fever, achiness, coughing?”
    “No, I’m fine. Do you think Megs has the same flu that Angela . . .”
    “I don’t know. I hope not,” he said. “Look, I need you to remain inside the house, at least until I get there. Don’t go out at all.”
    “Like a quarantine?” Fear gripped my stomach and squeezed tight.
    “A voluntary home isolation, honey. Don’t even answer the door.”
    “For how long?”
    “We’ll talk about it when I get back,” he said. “You should rest and drink lots of water. You’re sure you feel healthy?”
    Actually, I had a monster headache, but that was probably from the tension of worrying. “I feel fine.”
    “Any word from Mom?”
    “No. Why? Has the flu reached Asia?”
    “It’s only a matter of time,” he said. “But I’m sure she’s OK. Maybe her call isn’t going through. It took me several tries. Everyone’s probably checking on family, overloading the phone system.”
    “Yeah, you’re right.” I hoped it wasn’t anything more than that.
    “I’ll call in a few hours when I have my travel plans worked out. I’ll text if I can’t get through. We should have her flight information by then, too.”
    I kept my voice calm, trying to think rationally. “I thought I’d buy more supplies. Mom might have told you about the extra food stored in the closet?”
    “She mentioned it.” His tone implied it had actually been a lengthy conversation.
    “If we have to be isolated for a long time, it won’t be enough. We’ll need even more.”
    “You can’t leave the house—”
    “I can order online, Dad. I have your credit card from when I bought flowers . . .” For Angela. Before she died.
    I didn’t finish my sentence aloud. I didn’t have to.
    “Go ahead and use my card to buy what you think we’ll need,” he said. “I’ll see you soon. Call me if anything changes.”
    I searched the kitchen for comfort food, finally settling on macaroni and cheese for breakfast. After eating, I took my temperature. It registered normal all three times.
    From the isolated safety of Dad’s office, I logged onto the computer and browsed the virtual aisles of the online grocery store. After filling my shopping cart with mostly nonperishable items, I selected delivery for tomorrow. Then I went to a drug store site and made a bunch of purchases there. The thought of the supplies should have calmed me, but my hands shook a little and I felt fidgety. Did that mean oncoming flu or just nicotine withdrawal? It didn’t seem like I’d been smoking much, but I’d kind of lost track.
    I really wanted a cigarette. I tried chewing gum instead.
    There was still no word from Mrs. Salerno. Each time I called the hospital, the phone line was busy, and she didn’t answer her cell. I paced around the house in frustration, not able to get through to Mom, either.
    After ten tries, and many deep, calming breaths, I finally sent Mom a text telling her that Megs was sick, that Dad was on his way home, that I was fine. It was easy to hide the worry when she couldn’t hear my voice.
    I needed to do something constructive to pass the time. Using a yellow pad of lined paper, I wrote out the days of