Chapter 5: It Isn't A Virus, Part 1

She flagged down a taxi and gave him her address. Twenty minutes of stop and go traffic later, the cab dropped her at her apartment. The meter said forty dollars, so she gave him the fifty and a smile.

As soon as she turned away, she let the smile drop. Her gear weighed her down as she hobbled to the door.

Frank, the concierge, opened the door for her.

"I've hit the call button for the elevator," he said. "You can sit in my chair to wait."

"Thanks," Pranthi said, "but if I sit down, you'll have to wheel me into my apartment."

The elevator doors opened and she walked in. Ten floors up, she staggered out into the hall and down to her room. She had her key out, so it only took seconds for her to get through the door and collapse into her wheelchair. The leg braces fell to the floor with a thump and she shuddered at the combination of both freedom and weakness.

The apartment had been set up for the wheelchair by a previous tenant, so after she hung up the braces and put her gear on the table, she rolled straight into the bathroom to run her bath. By the time she'd wriggled out of her clothes, the water filled the tub and steam fogged the mirror.

Pranthi rolled herself into the water and half sighed, half shrieked. She rubbed her legs to ease the cramps and get the blood flowing properly. The network of dark scars on her olive skin looked like a child had scribbled on her legs with a marker.

No child made those marks. Karma did that. Pranthi had stopped wondering what horrible thing some past version of her soul had done. It didn't change the facts.

The phone rang, as soon as Pranthi climbed out of the bath and wrapped up in a robe to sit in her wheelchair.

"Hi," she said. "One of these days, I'm going to find the camera in my bathroom."

"Don't be ridiculous," her sister said. "I saw the news. Please tell me you weren't at that awful walk. Someone died."

"I made four grand on my photos," Pranthi said, "and I'll make more in a week or two. I'll give you some to send over home."

"You don't need the money," her sister said. "You could live with us and not have to put yourself in danger over silly photographs."

"That is the very reason I live in my own place." Pranthi wheeled to the kitchen and slapped some rice and curry on a plate and shoved it into the microwave. "Those photographs are the only thing making life worth living."

"I just don't want you getting hurt. A good man will bring meaning to your life."

"I don't need a man to take care of me."

An image, like a photograph, flashed in her mind of the deranged man tearing out that girl's throat, and another of Kevin after he killed the zombie killed Pranthi's appetite.

"The truck ran over my legs, not my head." Pranthi rubbed her eyes. "I'm careful."

"Do you need anything?"

Pranthi took the plate from the microwave and dumped it in the garbage.

"I'm good," Pranthi said, "really."

***

Coughing woke her up in the night. Pranthi drained the bottle of water she kept beside the bed and tried to get back to sleep. Her brain refused to let her. The mayhem at the zombie walk wasn't at fault. The feel of that woman's kiss had her fevered. She pushed the blanket off, but she couldn't get cool. The woman said she didn't plan for horrible things to happen. Did she lie or did she make a mistake? How did she plan on turning him into a zombie? That was the thing she missed telling the cops: her strange conversation with the woman.

How could she forget that?

Her lungs filled up. The image of those blank white eyes filled her mind and she imagined her chest full of white. Pranthi gasped for air and sat up. It didn't help much. Fortunately, she kept her phone beside her bed.

"Sis," she wheezed into her phone, "I need help." More coughs wracked her body.

"I'll send an ambulance," her sister said.

"Door's unlocked," Pranthi forced her fingers to hit the code on her phone, then fell back on the bed. She made a bet with herself whether the paramedics would arrive before she died. It took all her strength to force air in and out of her lungs. The coughing subsided only because she didn't have the strength anymore. She was drowning in her own bed.

The first she knew that the emergency people had arrived was the cool plastic of a mask blowing oxygen into her. Breathing became a little easier. They slid her onto a stretcher and strapped her down before pushing her out of her apartment. She went back to being afraid of dying instead of wishing she would.

***