Earth, Omaha, Nebraska

  Katharine Miller, Medical Microbiologist

  The sudden blaring of Kat’s ringtone pierced the silent room, startling her out of sleep. Disoriented, she pawed at the cardboard box that served as her makeshift bedside table, trying to find her phone.

  Thunk.

  It was tempting to leave it on the floor, but whoever was calling wasn’t hanging up. With a groan, Kat strained her body to the side and retrieved her cell by pulling on the charging cord.

  As sore as she was, it was the only way that cell phone was ending up in her hand.

  She mashed the power button in a bleary haze, intending to decline the call and go back to sleep.

  Unfortunately, she must have bungled it and hit accept, because her best friend’s voice shrieked through the small basement, brimming with worry and impatience. At least it wasn’t her sister.

  “Kat! Don’t you dare hang up—I swear to god, if you do, I’m calling Beth Ann—”

  Wincing, she lowered the volume to a less agonizing level.

  Kat’s head screamed in protest as she fumbled the phone to her ear.

  A weird croaking sound emerged as she attempted to speak. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Oh, hey, Claire.” The stale taste of sleep coated her tongue. Yuck.

  “Don’t ‘Hey Claire,’ me—where have you been? Never mind, it doesn’t matter. You’re meeting me today at Zen, eleven fifteen, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

  As her brain took its sweet time coming online, Kat realized she was freezing.

  Because she was naked on top of the comforter again. Lovely. Annoyed, she reached behind her, grasping the edge of the musty blanket and hauling it over, wrapping herself up burrito-style.

  How did this keep happening? Was she sleepwalking or something?

  “Claire—” she whined from within her cocoon. Her entire body ached, and the mere thought of coffee was revolting. Sleep sounded infinitely better than coffee.

  “You’ll be there, or I’m calling Beth.”

  Claire’s voice took on a sweet yet firm tone, the one she reserved for unruly children and stubborn patients.

  The stick.

  As if on cue, Claire continued, “Also—I have a surprise for you.”

  The carrot.

  Kat let out a dramatic groan, snuggling deeper into her blanket. “You know I hate surprises.”

  Her friend’s voice brimmed with mischief and enthusiasm. “I do ... but I also know the curiosity will drive you absolutely bonkers.”

  It would. “That’s playing dirty.”

  “Whatever it takes,” Claire was far too chipper this morning.

  “Fine.” Kat rubbed the sleep from her eyes, resigned. “You win.”

  “Awesome! Eleven fifteen, don’t be late.” Click.

  Kat’s stomach twisted as she dismissed the text notifications from her sister Beth and tossed the phone onto the rumpled bed. She told herself it was merely a wave of nausea, not guilt, that churned within her.

  Soft morning light filtered through the window in the walkout basement door, glowing gently over the devastatingly messy room. It looked like someone had moved in but never bothered to unpack any boxes.

  She sat up gingerly, as she had every morning that week, to avoid the disorienting sensation of the room spinning. An epic groan slipped out as she stood, forcing a stretch as her joints protested every movement.

  It felt like a migraine, the flu, arthritis, and the world’s worst hangover all at once. Kat almost wished she’d been partying the night before—at least then, she’d have a simple excuse for why she felt so terrible. Well, other than Syndrome Q.

  Kat was reluctant to accept it herself, let alone tell anyone else.

  A nagging voice in her head chimed in, reminding her she also needed another explanation. Namely, why she woke up naked on top of a crumpled bedspread most mornings. Pajamas under the covers.

  But Kat commanded that unhelpful voice to shut up and go away, because she had enough to deal with.

  The garage door opening reverberated through the house, breaking the silence. It was weird.

  Wasn’t Danny supposed to be at work? It’s not like he’d be home sick, she groused to herself. The rest of her family and most of humanity had dodged the Syndrome Q bullet.

  The first order of business was scrounging up something to wear. Kat’s suitcase was still sitting open on the floor, so she rummaged through it, finding a well-loved Radiohead tee and yoga pants to tug on.

  Then she gave her favorite hoodie a sniff.

  No detergent or perfumes, since Beth had always been sensitive to fragrances and chemicals. But it was taking on the delightful odor of Eau de Basement, along with everything else she’d brought to her brother’s place.

  It was fresh enough. Kat tugged it over her head, snuggling into the oversized sweatshirt, grateful for the warmth.

  She’d need to ask Danny if she could use his washer and dryer soon. He wouldn’t mind, but it was a cruel reminder that she’d been in his basement longer than planned.

  Heavy footsteps thundering down the stairs were followed by a familiar rapping on the door.

  “You decent?” her brother hollered.

  “Yep. Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

  “Eye doctor,” Danny explained as he cracked open the door. He squeezed into the cramped walkout, which was cluttered with teetering piles of random boxes.

  It was … absurd. Kat had been tiptoeing around them for a week, trying to prevent an avalanche.

  “It was the weirdest thing. My eyes sort of … fixed themselves?” Danny said, voice a mix of surprise and wonder.

  Her brother wore loafers, khakis, and a black T-shirt that said, ‘Oh, joy ... another PEBKAC Error’, whatever that meant. Danny was a system administrator and had like a million of those geek shirts.

  “Seriously?” she replied.

  “Yeah—apparently, it’s a thing now. The magical microbe can cure myopia.”

  Stupid Microbe X. Wrecker of lives, destroyer of careers.

  “No shit?” she said, curious despite herself.

  “It’s a slow process, though. Doc said I’ll need to come in every time my eyes start hurting.”

  “For a weaker prescription?”

  “Yup.”

  Huh. First cancer, then the common cold. Now, poor eyesight was a thing of the past. Microbe X was a miracle … for most people.

  For her sister, for sure.

  Her brother glanced around, then moved a couple of boxes off a beanbag chair and flopped onto it. The scraping they made as he rearranged them grated on Kat’s sensitive ears. “Ugh, I need to take care of all this crap,” he muttered.

  “Yeah—I was wondering why this place looks like an episode of Hoarders.”

  “Oh, you know.” He scrubbed at the back of his neck. “Just some housecleaning.”

  Kat burst out laughing as understanding hit her. She pictured her brother pacing around his entire house, tossing everything in boxes, frantic as he vacuumed and scrubbed the toilets. There was only one explanation for it.

  “You threw all this crap down here the first time you had Brooke over, didn’t you?”

  “Guilty.”

  “It’s been like, six months, Danny.”

  “I’ve had a lot going on,” he said, “and it’s actually been closer to seven and a half.”

  Her mouth fell open as she looked at him. “You’re going to ask her to marry you.”

  Despite her crappy mood, a smile quirked at the corner of her lips.

  He threw her an indignant look. “And exactly how did the brainiac come to that conclusion?”

  “—you said seven and a half months. You sound like a little kid. ‘It’s seven and a half, actually,’” she mimicked, flopping back onto the bed.

  He reached into the box next to him, rustling through the items, and before she knew it, a soccer ball was flying at her head. Her stiff arms failed her as she fumbled, and it bounced onto the mattress beside her.

  “Watch it—I just woke up!” She whined, then snatched up the ball and flung it back at him, feeling the strain in her tender muscles after the throw.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  He caught and juggled it a few times with practiced ease before returning it to the box. “So … mom and dad asked about you last night.”

  “Ugh. Lemme guess, mom was like, ‘Is she still moping about that job?’, and dad was like, ‘Maybe she can become a real doctor now.’”

  Her brother snickered. “Pretty much. He suggested orthopedic surgery, but mom thought the ER would be cooler.”

  “Yeah, because that has so much in common with microbiology. I’d have to go back to school again. Never mind that I have zero interest.”

  His gaze filled with understanding, mouth tightening into a thin line. “Yeah … it sucks. Did you ever hear back from that one place? You know, where doctors go to villages in third-world countries or whatever?”

  “Doctors Without Borders?” She snorted. “Yeah. I actually got a really nice rejection letter.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  She raised her shoulders, then dropped them with a sigh. “They’re full up, apparently. It’s a good thing, it’s just—”

  “—it sucks for you,” he interrupted, his face contorting in a genuine show of sympathy.

  “It sucks for me,” she agreed, though it was the understatement of a lifetime.

  After Microbe X swept the globe, she’d spent seven months riding out the end of postdoc funding, documenting research that had become irrelevant. There wasn’t a playbook for what to do when an entire field disappeared, and no one knew how to react.

  Everyone in microbiology with the right connections had joined one of the new projects studying Microbe X.

  Kat had always attested that brown-nosing was for people whose work didn’t speak for itself, a sign of corruption in the system. So when the worldwide game of ‘Microbe X Musical Chairs’ ended, she found herself without a seat.

  No one understood that it wasn’t a ‘disappointment.’ Or a ‘setback.’ Or a ‘perfect opportunity for a career change.’

  It was a sucker punch.

  Her research hadn’t ever been just a job to her. It had been a purpose. An obsession—the good kind.

  Losing her work had been at least an order of magnitude more painful than when things with Brian had ended. Not that she told people that losing her career was ten times more devastating than a failed engagement. That wasn’t the sort of thing most people understood.

  “I told Mom and Dad you’re taking a mini vacay, and that seemed to satisfy them for now.” Danny’s voice broke into her musings. “But Beth … you really need to talk to her, Kat. She thinks she did something to piss you off.”

  Beth didn’t do anything. And Kat was the most wretched monster who ever lived, because she couldn’t manage to be happy for her.

  A surge of bitterness rolled through her, followed by overwhelming guilt, and she tried to shake it off.

  It was ironic, almost tragic, that she had dedicated her entire life to studying chronic diseases, and now everyone in the entire world was healthy.

  Everyone except her.

  Okay, that was melodramatic. Kat wasn’t the only person in the world who developed Syndrome Q from Microbe X. It was rare, but not that rare.

  “Well, did she?” Danny asked.

  “Did she what?”

  “Did she piss you off? If she did, she’s like ... ridiculously sorry.”

  Kat forgot to be gentle as she shook her head, and a stab of pain lanced through it. “She didn’t do anything. This is all me.”

  He scrubbed a hand over his chin. “What’s going on, Kat? This isn’t like you.”

  The truth was unspeakable. Petty. Horrible.

  She’d devoted her life to taking care of her twin sister, to finding a cure for her chronic fatigue syndrome. They were best friends, roommates. Inseparable. Beth was her favorite person in the entire world, and Kat had always wanted more for her.

  But over the past eight months, while Beth had been getting healthier, Kat had hidden her growing sickness.

  It felt like a cruel cosmic joke. Kat’s reward for all her hard work was to switch places with her sister.

  It was childish, but thoughts like ‘Why me?’ and ‘It’s not fair’ repeated in her head like a perverse mantra. She felt an indescribable guilt for not being able to look her sister in the eyes, but Beth was so empathetic she would know.

  And then Beth would feel guilty for being well, which wasn’t fair, either.

  So last week, Kat packed a suitcase and escaped to her brother’s place to have her petty little meltdown in private.

  Like a total coward.

  “No, yeah. I mean, no—Beth didn’t do anything. I’m just, you know,” she waved her hands, grasping for the right words, “taking a minute to regroup.”

  “If you say so.” He scrutinized her.

  She squirmed as his gaze lingered on her tired eyes and unkempt hair, a testament to sleepless nights and the weight of her crumbling life.

  “Hey—why do you look like shit?” he blurted out.

  What could she say? That was the million-dollar question. How could she explain looking sick when she didn’t want anyone to discover that she had the only illness left on Earth?

  Kat refused to lie about it, but withholding was another matter entirely.

  She mustered a weak smile. “Gee, thanks. I haven’t been sleeping well, what with my entire life going up in flames.”

  “Man, if I didn’t know you, I’d honestly think you were on drugs or something. You look awful. You feeling okay?” His eyes narrowed.

  Okay—time to shut this down. “Of course. It’s just ennui and shitty sleep,” Kat replied, voice weary.

  If he was going to come down before she had a chance to put on her makeup, she would have to sleep with it on. She wasn’t prepared for them to find out about her illness. Her family had already gone through so much with Beth’s illness that they deserved to believe that everyone was finally healthy.

  Even if it wasn’t true.

  “Well, I’m here if you wanna talk, or whatever,” he offered, his voice gentle but hesitant. He glanced at his watch. “I gotta get to work.”

  “Yeah, I gotta meet Claire for coffee in a few minutes.” The fabric of her hoodie rustled in the quiet room as she adjusted it.

  He scrunched his eyes at her. “You’re going out like that?”

  It took her a moment to realize what he meant. “What?”

  “How many days has it been since you took a shower, little sis?”

  She pursed her lips, fingers absentmindedly tugging at a loose strand of hair. “I’ll wear a hat,” she muttered.

  In a display of feigned disgust, he shook his head and headed towards the door. At the entrance, he paused. “Oh, hey—Brooke’s coming over on Friday.”

  “You two are so getting married,” she teased.

  He screwed up his mouth into what he likely intended to be a scowl, but he couldn’t conceal the grin that spread over his face. “Dammit, Kat—you’re too smart for your own good.”

  He maneuvered through the maze of boxes until he stood before her. Then he pulled a small black box out of his khakis, revealing a simple yet elegant silver ring with a square-cut diamond.

  She peered down at it. “It’s nice—for a diamond.”

  He play-punched her arm, but Kat had to suppress a yelp of pain. She masked it up by enveloping him in a bear hug. “I’m so happy for you. Even if your taste in gems is pedestrian.”

  See? She could still find happiness for other people. Now, if only she could find it for Beth.

  “I’m thinking of asking her to marry me, but … I’m not quite there yet. Like, not sure she’ll say yes.”

  “Why wouldn’t she?”

  “Oh, you know—she’s … her, and I’m just a nerd who used to spend all his time playing computer games.”

  “Used to?”

  “Not as much as before,” he said, voice indignant. “Anyway, I was gonna ask you to have dinner with me and Brooke, but if you’re going to be a pain—”

  “I’ll be good.” She pulled back and mimed zipping her mouth shut. “And, of course, she’ll say yes—you’re a catch.”

  “You better. She’s—” Danny paused, absentmindedly scrubbing at the back of his neck.

  “Oh my god. Daniel Michael Miller—are you blushing?” She jostled him, wincing as her sore muscles protested.

  He raised a shoulder, a dopey smile on his face. “I really like her. Beth does, too.”

  So Beth had already met Brooke. Kat felt a twinge of jealousy, but it made sense. Kat had missed a ton of family stuff during med school and her PhD program.

  And the last eight months had been so hectic. She’d been … preoccupied.

  “That’s not difficult,” she quipped. “Beth likes everyone.”

  “Truth. But Brooke is awesome.”

  “What about mom and dad?” she asked. “Have they met her yet?”

  He snorted. “Yeah … not ready to go there.”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “Brooke’s younger than me, and you know how mom and dad are.”

  “How young?”

  “Like, 26?”

  Kat gave a little whistle. Danny was 34. “Yeah, but they’ll get over it. I’m sure they’ll be happy at least one of their kids might give them grand-babies.”

  He shrugged.

  Kat’s jaw dropped. “Damn. You were supposed to wave that off or something. Who are you, and what have you done with my brother?”

  “I mean …?” He said, grinning like a fool. “I could get one of those T-shirt sets, like where I wear a CTRL-C shirt and dress the kid up in a CTRL-V,” he stopped and cocked his head. “Um, what are those things the babies wear, the ones that look like swimsuits?”

  “What, onesies?”

  “Yeah, those.”

  “God, you’re such a geek.”

  “Yeah? And you’re a nerd.” He started backing towards the door again. “So, Friday?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  He took off, and Kat walked over to the bed to check the time on her phone.

  10:43.

  A pullout couch had never looked so inviting.

  It was so tempting to crawl back in—under the covers this time. If Kat texted Claire right now, she could catch her before she left the office …

  But the last thing she wanted was for Claire to call Beth. Besides, she was already up, and coffee sounded—not terrible. Enticing, even. She needed to face the world at some point, and today was as good as any.

  But she needed to hustle.

  She went to the small three-quarter bathroom to freshen up and fix her hair.

  It was ... pretty gross. Her brother was right—she could use a shower. But there wasn’t time, so she threw her long blond hair into a low ponytail. She was sure she’d packed her old Creighton ball cap.

  It was impossible to miss the dark circles under her eyes, so she dug through her makeup kit to find some concealer.

  Before getting sick, she seldom wore makeup, but felt exposed if she looked like this in public.

  As if everyone who saw her would recognize that she had Syndrome Q.

  Gazing at her reflection, she couldn’t help but wonder aloud, “Why me?”

  This was not a rhetorical question. Kat wanted—no, needed—to understand why this microbe affected her pathologically. What was different about her?

  What was Syndrome Q?

  It had started like everyone else’s for her—the acute Microbe X infection felt like the flu: aches, fever, and overwhelming fatigue.

  As people recovered from their ‘Microbe X Flu,’ they also found themselves free of cancer, diabetes, acne—everything, but it had taken a while to puzzle it out.

  After all, no one was on the lookout for an epidemic that made everyone healthy.

  But Kat never got better.

  Her initial illness was far more severe than most people’s, with a fever that almost had Beth rushing her to the emergency room. And when she’d recovered from the ‘flu,’ this strange cluster of symptoms had taken hold and never let go.

  Fatigue, muscle and joint pain, headaches, sensitivity to light and sound, nausea. A brain that felt like something was crawling around, scratching inside her skull.

  Irritability.

  Depression, though she didn’t know how much of that was Syndrome Q and how much was just … losing her career and getting sick.

  Shoot. Now, there were those weird yellow spots under her eyes.

  She fished through the bag, hearing the tubes, compacts, and bottles clink and jostle. Then she spotted the fancy Sephora foundation her sister had convinced her to buy last summer.

  Thoughts of Beth tugged at her heart, but she pushed them aside and focused on applying her makeup.

  With a background in medical microbiology, she expected some sort of revelation, a moment of clarity from the universe. She needed to understand why this infuriating microbe—which appeared to function as a super-symbiote for everyone else—was making her ill.

  Granted, there wasn’t any definitive evidence linking Microbe X to Syndrome Q, but how could they not be connected?

  An unidentified spore-encased microbe swept through the population, and then, all known human diseases vanished.

  Then Syndrome Q emerged.

  Correlation didn’t prove causation, but—it was kind of a smoking gun.

  She leaned in to inspect her handiwork. The worst of the dark circles were concealed, but now she just looked pale. She added some blush to add a touch of life to her face.

  Hat. She needed a hat.

  Returning to the other room, she hoisted her suitcase onto the bed. There, she noticed her T-shirt from last night peeking out from under the covers, mocking her. She snagged it and stuffed it into the case.

  She hoped she wasn’t sleepwalking naked. Not that it would explain why her pajamas were always neatly tucked under the covers. It was so bizarre …

  Kat refused to deal with that on top of everything else.

  She just needed to find her hat.

  After a few seconds of trying to find it in the mass of clothes, she gave up and dumped everything out.

  Finally, she spotted her baseball cap and pulled it on, allowing her ponytail to hang through the back.

  Then she crammed everything back inside the suitcase, using more force than necessary, but there were worse outlets for her frustration than dirty laundry.

  Sometimes, life wasn’t fair, and she needed to deal with it. It hadn’t been fair that her twin had spent most of her life suffering from migraines, fatigue, and pain, either.

  At least Beth Ann was feeling better.

  And Kat was really, really thrilled for her. Really, she was.

  And if she repeated it enough, maybe she could finally feel joy for her sister without the perverse dose of resentment that always seemed to follow.

  She needed to let go of this vicious bitterness.

  Beth was getting a chance to live a normal life.

  And her goofball of a brother was in love.

  Good things were happening to people she loved, which was terrific.

  She couldn’t help but chuckle. Danny would end up dressing that kid in stupid matchy-matchy onesies. It was going to be friggin’ adorable.

  She took a breath, then let it out.

  It was time to start living again. To move on already.

  Kat was no victim, not of circumstance or fate. Never had been and never would.

  Step 1: Coffee with Claire. She steeled herself for the dose of tough love she was about to get from her no-nonsense best friend.

  But she could take it. She was stronger than she’d been acting.

  After a deep inhale, she plastered a smile onto her face.

  I am not my sickness. I am not my failed career. I am not my stupid bitterness. I am Katharine fucking Miller, and I am a force to be reckoned with.

  Snagging her purse, she braced herself and went out the side door to head for Zen.