Triple X Read online

  TRIPLE X

  BY

  AMELIA JUNE

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Triple X

  Copyright © 2007 Amelia June

  ISBN: 1-55410-791-1

  Cover art and design by Martine Jardin

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by eXtasy Books

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  For Jason, and an extra big thank you to the NaNos for all the crit and support and spam!

  Chapter 1

  July 20th, 2006

  Abby awoke with a start to the sound of a monitor beeping. Her mother's oxygen stats were dropping again. She pushed the call button for the nurse, not expecting a response. The nurses won't come running for a beeping monitor anymore, anyway.

  Reaching over, she shut off the monitor herself, then counted her mother's breaths. Sandra's respiration had grown more and more shallow in the last twenty-four hours. Soon, she would require intubation to stay alive. No tube- wielding doctors would come, though. Sandra had signed a "do not resuscitate" order a few days ago.

  'I want to die peacefully, not hooked up to a breathing machine, a feeding tube and a catheter,' she had insisted.

  I suppose I have to respect that. Even if I'm going to lose her. Sandra was dying, like everyone else on this floor, in the hospital, and much of the country. Fighting the idea only prolonged the inevitable.

  Eventually, a nurse popped her head into the room.

  "I thought I heard a monitor, is everything okay in here?"

  "Her oxygen stats dropped again, she's only at forty percent now," Abby responded.

  "She's a DNR, right?"

  "Yes, that's right."

  The nurse nodded curtly, then rushed away as another alarm began to blare in another room. Abby sat back in her chair, defeated. She looked at her mother. Sandra Conner was an intelligent, independent sixty year old, not some sickly old woman. She did not deserve to be wasting away in this sterile, loveless room. The smell of antiseptic permeated the air, making Abby sick to her stomach. This is the last place she'd want to be right now, but they won't let me leave with her. Bastards. I don't see why they care anyway. There is nothing they can do here.

  If her mom could see herself now--with her hair undone and makeup long removed--she would be horrified. Abby had fought with the hospital staff to allow her to bring Sandra a pair of pajamas rather than the usual hospital johnny. In reality, she only won the argument because the hospital staff was too burned out and busy to fight with her.

  Before the avian flu, H5N1, mutated into a deadly human strain, Sandra had been a vibrant volunteer librarian. She was an avid reader and scholar, having spent the majority of her life teaching elementary school and tutoring students in math and science. Abby had inherited her eyes and stocky build, but her mother sported frizzy brown hair in contrast to Abby's red. Abby was tall where Sandra wore three inch heels every day of her life. But what really characterized Abby's mother was her love of kids. In fact, her work with children probably got her infected faster than most.

  Abby sighed. I guess I always knew someday I would be sitting here, but I never would have predicted it would be so soon. Her father died when Abby was thirteen of a heart attack, and she relied on her mother to be her strength and support. Sandra had always seemed, well, eternal. To see her weak and failing was too much to bear.

  Rising to stretch her legs, Abby moved to look out the filthy window. In her mind's eye, she could still see the wasted form on the hospital bed. Sandra had lost thirty pounds in two weeks and her cheeks were sunken. Her face was flushed but drawn--without her makeup she looked totally different to Abby. The hospital lighting yellowed her, bringing her sickness into sharp relief. The ratty, dirty bedding and unmopped floor only served to remind Abby how dire the situation was--not just for her own mother, but for everyone.

  Settling herself back in the uncomfortable chair, Abby could hear the fluid in her mother's lungs whooshing with each inhale and exhale. Every so often she would break out in a coughing fit that seemed to halt breathing altogether. She raged with fever, Abby could feel it burning through the hand she sometimes held. The nurses had advised her to keep cool washcloths on her forehead, but nothing could stave off the inferno. Sandra's body was fighting hard, but it was fighting a losing battle.

  At first, no one knew what was happening, only that children across the country--specifically lower class children--were getting a serious form of the flu that seemed particularly virulent and, ultimately, deadly to most who caught it. By the time the President got on TV and announced that H5N1 had indeed mutated and made it to America, Abby's mother and countless others like her were already feeling scratchy throats and developing fevers.

  "Abigail, I've got the flu," her mother had said to her over the phone.

  "No, Ma, you're just feeling rundown--you've been working so hard with the kids." I'm in denial, she had thought. She was a doctor herself, a reproductive specialist, but she knew enough about the strain of flu people had begun to call The Reaper to know her mother was probably right.

  "Abigail, I'm sick, and I want you to take all necessary precautions when you come visit me."

  "Ma, don't talk like that, we'll go to the doctor and get you the antiviral. Antiflu is working for some people here in DC."

  Abby had hopped the next flight to Tucson from Washington in order to be with her mom, willing her presence to make Sandra well.

  They had gone to her mother's doctor, the same doctor Sandra had seen for twenty years. They waited in line for hours, everyone around them wearing masks and gloves but coughing and shaking with the flu virus anyway. People seemed to be sick all around her.

  Abby had been given Antiflu and the avian vaccine as soon as H5N1 was even a glimmer in someone's eye--before anyone realized it had already arrived in America. Her bosses at Reprotech were unwilling to risk infection to their patients. She was safe from the worst effects of it, though she would likely get the flu at some point. Abby would never forget the look in Dr. Albert's eyes when he saw her and Sandra in the waiting room. He smiled and came right to them, but Abby could not miss the helpless look that flashed across his exhausted face. Nor did she miss the flush in his cheeks. He pulled Abby aside, and quietly spoke to her.

  "Look, Abby, the news isn't good. Your mother, along with everyone here, including me, has H-five-None. In fact, Antiflu hasn't helped me or most of my staff. It appears to be only selectively effective, and we were not allocated enough to administer to patients under seventy-five and over three years anyway. Also, you have to take Antiflu in the very first stages of H-Five-N-One, for the antiviral to do any good. We didn't receive our small shipment until yesterday."

  Abby was horrified, but not surprised. The government, for all its talk of stockpiles, had dragged its feet on the dangers of avian flu. Now, The Reaper was ravaging the country one city at a time, and all doctors could do was watch.

  Times like this, Abby thought, I wish I had a husband. Just som
eone who could take a shift in the bedside chair while she took a walk, got coffee and cleared her mind of grief for a moment. A painful, aching loneliness settled in her bones as she watched her mother take labored breaths. Sandra hadn't spoken or moved in two days now, and Abby was fairly sure her mind was gone. Her body was only catching up. Tears threatened to come again, and Abby got up to pace the cramped room, taking care not to disturb the family around the other bed. Gazing down at her mother's prone form, she spoke softly.

  "I miss you, Ma." She wondered if anything she said got through the cloud of sickness.

  Abby left the stuffy room and moved down the hallway. Beds crowded both sides, so that only a narrow aisle remained to walk. She was sick of feeling like a rat in a cage, surrounded by sickness and death. As she passed the nurses' station, she overheard the TV news blaring away.

  "Well, Bob, the scariest thing about The Reaper, as many are calling H-Five-N-One, is the speed and efficiency of the virus. Our research is showing that upwards of sixty percent of those who catch the virus die without antiviral treatment. People older than sixty or younger than five, as well as those working closely with victims, die at higher rates."

  Ain't that the truth? Abby hurried on, desperate to get away from The Reaper for a few moments.

  She stepped into the blinding desert sunlight, grateful for the burning sensation on her arms and legs. The hospital was kept way too cold; Abby presumed the low temperature helped feverish patients feel more comfortable. She rubbed the warmth up and down her arms briskly, then walked around the building to the little park on the side. She sat on a bench under a Palo Verde tree and let loose, crying in huge, heaving sobs. She wondered how she must look, hair a mess, clothes unchanged, and she hadn't stepped into a shower in a week.

  Guess I won't be meeting the love of my life on this trip, Abby thought wryly. Gazing at her reflection in a hospital window, she attempted to put her hair in some kind of order. Usually, she kept it in a neat red bob. Now it hung limply and she pushed it back with headband to keep it out of her face. At five feet four inches--a veritable giant compared to Sandra--two hundred and thirty pounds--no one would have called her beautiful if they glanced at her on the street. Men didn't usually look twice at big women. She had pursued a few affairs and her share of one night romances, but no man had really spoken to her heart.

  Granted, I've never really looked that hard. She had her mom and Jordan after all. Who needed a husband? This was the first time Abby felt lonely in a long time. Maybe when this is...all over...I'll try harder to find a partner. The thought of being alone suddenly loomed in her mind, terrifying.

  Jordan, her partner at the lab, said she exuded a confidence that men interpreted as sensual. Abby wondered about that, figuring Jordan was trying to boost her confidence. She was often amazed at how well Jordan knew her. Too bad she wasn't his type, because he was a fantastic guy. However, Jordan was always waxing on about the "antiquity of monogamy", and Abby had always seen herself as the marrying kind. Apart from that single difference, she and Jordan had so much in common that she considered him her closest friend.

  Abby had met Jordan the first day of work at Reprotech Labs. After signing in at human resources and collecting her badge, she was wandering around aimlessly, looking for her office. As she was walking down the hallway reading lab names, she crashed headlong into a tall, skinny guy with an armful of test tubes.

  "Oh I'm so sorry, I'm totally lost and not paying attention," she sputtered, embarrassed.

  "That's quite all right." He flashed her a brilliant smile that she wouldn't have expected from his long, serious face. "I'm Jordan Prince; I work in the micromanipulation department. Can I help you find your way?"

  "Abigail Conner, and I think I work with you, because I'm supposed to report to the in vitro lab."

  "No kidding? What's your field?"

  "Eventually I hope to study women with polycystic ovarian syndrome, but for now I'm doing basic semen washes, analyses, and hopefully assisting a few in vitro fertilization procedures."

  "Oh, we can see to that," said Jordan, as he took her arm with a princely flourish. "Let me show you where you are working, right next door to me. I'm going to make sure I get the pretty girl working in my lab, not next door with that pig, Donaldson."

  Abby smiled, warmed by the memory. Jordan was a tall, skinny smart guy, glasses and all. He was not without charm and appeal though; he seemed to have a fairly large pool of women he dated, and a few men as well. Jordan was a staunch polyamorist, and for all his nerdy appearance, he was anything but shy when it came to sex and dating. He was also kind, generous and gentle, and treated her like a sister plus sex goddess --without any actual sex. He constantly asked her out, and maintained that he'd 'turn her poly' eventually.

  Aw crap, I haven't called him in a week. Damn it, I forgot. She pulled out her cell phone and speed dialed him. The thought crossed her mind that he and Sandra were the only ones on her speed dial, and soon Jordan would be all she had. She started crying again, and when Jordan picked up she could only sniffle into the phone.

  "Abby, it's you, I've been worried sick. I guess things aren't going very well, are they?"

  "No," she managed to stutter through her tears, "Mom only has a few days left, if that."

  "Oh, Abby, I'm so sorry. What can I do--I'm going to fly out there, can I bring you anything?"

  "Jordan, don't come out here, there's nothing you can do to help. I'll probably be back in a week or two."

  "Don't be ridiculous, it's not like things are so busy at work or I've got any family to be with--you're my girl and I'm coming to be there for you."

  Abby sighed, rubbing one shoulder. She really needed someone's support. Jordan was a very loving soul, and his strength would help her through the next week or two. "All right. Get a flight. Hey, Jordan?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Thank you."

  "Pshaw. See you soon."

  * * * *

  July 21st, 2006

  Abby paced back and forth in the breezeway at Tucson International Airport, waiting impatiently for Jordan to come down the ramp to meet her. He managed to find a red eye flight only a few hours after they spoke on the phone. She looked around the airport, surprised at the number of people waiting with her. Most of the people around her looked as haggard as she did. A few looked sick, but the majority seemed only tired and overwrought. She imagined most of them were like her, waiting for a friend or family member to help them get through the illness and the aftermath.

  Abby shook her head. Being trapped in the hospital had made her loopy. I guess I had started imagining a Stephen King-esque landscape where people dead of the flu were sitting on bus benches and crashing cars into poles. The reality was that while The Reaper was a world-wide pandemic, the number of healthy people still outweighed the sick. Airline workers still checked bags as people herded through the metal detectors, and janitors still swept up trash in the parking lot. Abby's spirits were lifted by the presence of healthy humanity around her. Still, there's no denying the fact that hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of people, are dying right this moment.

  Jordan's plane landed on time, and he came bounding down the large ramp connecting the gates to the public area. He smiled broadly when he saw her and swept her into his arms like a lover.

  "Oh, Abby, I missed you so much."

  "Jordan, I've only been gone a couple weeks." Abby laughed and breathed a huge sigh of relief. Being in Jordan's presence was like being at home again. She had forgotten in all the rush how much she loved and missed her good friend.

  "I brought you some extra clothes and books and things so I had to check a bag. Let's go." Jordan seemed wide awake, despite the late hour. They collected his bag and made their way to Abby's mother's old Corolla.

  "My God, Abby, where on earth are we? I feel like I've walked into hell!"

  "Some would consider it about equal." The temperature was a sweaty ninety five degrees even at one in the morning.


  "You grew up in this inferno? How did you stand it?"

  "You kind of get used to it. And you stay inside a lot." Abby collapsed into the driver's seat, exhausted.

  "Tell me what I can do to help you right now," said Jordan.

  "Actually, what I really need is some decent sleep. I've been sleeping in the hospital for days now--in a chair."

  "You want me to sit with your mom--no problem."

  Abby drove to Sandra's townhome on the east side of town and gave Jordan directions to the hospital. She sat on the couch in a daze, mumbling about writing a letter to grant him entrance to her mother's room.

  "Don't worry about a thing," he said lovingly, "no one is keeping track of that stuff in hospitals these days. The Privacy Act is kind of out the window with so many people sick." As he spoke, he was pulling off her shoes and lightly rubbing her feet. She moaned softly and slid down on the couch until her neck rested on the cushions. He pulled her into the bedroom and gently put her in pajamas.

  "Jordan," Abby murmured, "you aren't supposed to see me in my underthings."

  "I have my eyes closed," he responded with a tease in his voice. But Abby, now lying in bed under the covers, was far too asleep to hear him.

  * * * *

  July 24th, 2006

  Abby sat on the edge of her mother's bed. There was plenty of room; Sandra had lost so much weight she took up very little space. Jordan sat in a chair with his head in his hands. This moment had been coming for three weeks now, but everything was so surreal to Abby. I'm really losing her.

  Abby held Sandra's hand and squeezed, but got no response. Sandra hadn't spoken or moved, apart from her labored breathing, for days. The nurses didn't stop by her room at all anymore, and Abby had shut off all the monitors and pulled out all the IVs herself. She was tired of watching her mother disintegrate.