Listed: Volume IV by Noelle Adams Page A

scared. How did it get so bad so fast?”
    “I
don’t know. I don’t know.” He wiped her face once more, although the washcloth
was no longer very cool. Then he exhaled in relief when the driver pulled into
their private parking deck. “We’re home now. You’ll feel better when we can get
your medicine.”
    He
desperately hoped she’d feel better. He would never tell her so, but he was
scared too. The worse her fevers became, the fewer days she would have before
the virus consumed her completely.
    She
had to stay alive for long enough for them to find a cure.
    He
carried her up to the apartment and then into her bedroom, where he gently laid
her down in bed. She was completely out of it now, mumbling disconnected
thoughts, almost delirious although not violently so. He managed to get her to
swallow her pills without choking her.
    Paul
was so tense and anxious he could barely breathe as he carefully took her
clothes off and put on instead a tank top and boxer shorts, like she always
wore when she had fevers. It wasn’t easy, since she kept tossing restlessly, in
obvious physical discomfort.
    He
wiped her face with another cool cloth, praying for the pills to take effect
soon so she would feel better. When he saw her loose hair sticking to her face,
he went into the bathroom and grabbed two elastic hairbands. Then he returned
and gathered her messy hair into two ponytails as neatly as he could, being
sure not to pull any stray hairs in a way that would hurt her.
    There
wasn’t anything else he could do but sit by her bed and keep wiping her face.
She was mumbling under her breath still, and he could occasionally recognize a
word. She said, “Paul,” more than once. And he thought he picked out the words
“volcano” and "stars." But nothing she said made any real sense.
    After
several minutes, she started to shiver, so he put the washcloth up immediately
and pulled the bedcovers up over her body. It took a minute, but eventually her
shivering stopped.
    Finally,
the medication started to work, and the pained tension in her body relaxed just
a little. She seemed to fall asleep for real. It wasn’t a peaceful sleep—it never
was when she had a fever—but at least she wasn’t tossing around with her face
twisting in pain.
    Paul
was able to breathe again, but he didn’t move from his chair. Ruth came in with
a fresh bottle of water for Emily and a cup of hot tea for him he hadn’t
requested. He drank it automatically, even though it was sweeter than he would
prefer.
    Amy
should be here soon, but Paul wasn't planning to leave.
    His
eyes never left Emily’s pale face. She looked incredibly young in the two
ponytails, vulnerable and so small. But her left hand was fisted in her
bedcovers, and he could see his rings glinting on her finger there.
    She
was his wife, and she was strongest, bravest person he’d ever known. But she
was also his to take care of, and there was very little he could do to help
her.
    There
was one more thing, though.
    One
thing he’d vowed never to do. One thing with almost no chance of working.
    The
only thing left for him now.
    He
used to think he was strong—that there were certain things in his life on which
he would never waver—but he wasn’t strong enough.
    He
loved her. Far more than he’d ever loved himself.
    He
would rip himself apart, from the inside out, if it would give her another day
to live.
    ***
    Paul felt like he might
be sick.
    It
wasn’t fear, and it wasn’t anger or resentment as he’d always understood it. It
was closer to the bleak acceptance of being stripped of all defenses and
willingly led to slaughter.
    He
was sitting in the visiting room of a federal detention center, waiting for his
father to be escorted out to talk to him. Emily’s fever had finally broken the
day before—lasting just over forty-eight hours this time—but she was still weak
and exhausted.
    He
hadn’t told her he was coming here today because he didn’t want her to worry
about