CyberStorm by Matthew Mather Page B

entrance, but they shook their heads and said it was like this all over the city. Lauren waited inside the car, her eyes following me as I walked around trying to find someone to talk to, anyone that might be able to help. One of the cops suggested Saint Jude’s Children’s up at Penn Plaza on Thirty-Fourth.
    I jumped back in the car.
    On the drive to Saint Jude’s, Luke began crying again, wailing, his face red and apoplectic with each shrill scream. Lauren trembled and began crying as well. I put my arm around the two of them, telling her it would be okay. Finally, reaching Saint Jude’s, we saw there was no crowd of people outside the emergency room, so we jumped out and ran in, only to be confronted by a mass of people on the inside.
    A triage nurse gave us a quick inspection, replacing our masks with N95s, and we were immediately cordoned off into a set of rooms that were crammed with other parents and their children. I found a chair for Lauren in one corner, next to a leaking water fountain and beneath yellowing posters about the importance of the food pyramid for young children’s health. We waited for hours. Finally, another nurse appeared and led us into an examination room, saying that seeing a doctor wouldn’t be possible, but that she’d have a look.
    She said it looked like a cold and that there had been no cases of bird flu in their hospital. She promised us that they had no idea what the news was talking about and gave us some Children’s Tylenol, asking politely but firmly if we could go home. There was nothing else we could do.
    I felt powerless.
    True to his word, Marko was waiting outside when we came out. The cold was intense. On the short walk to the car, opening the door for Lauren and Luke, my hands became numb. The wind cut through my thin jacket, and long plumes of vapor spun into the air with each tired breath.
    A few tiny snowflakes had begun to fall. The idea of a white Christmas usually excited me, but now it felt ominous.
    On the drive back, New York was as quiet as a morgue.
     

3:35 a . m .
     
     
    “I AM NOT leaving them here!” I heard Susie loudly saying through the doorway.
    “That’s not what I was saying,” I heard Chuck reply in a quieter voice.
    Hanging back in the hallway, I hesitated but then knocked. Footsteps padded toward me and the door opened, spilling bright light into the hallway. Squinting, I smiled.
    “Ah, hey,” said Chuck awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “I guess you heard all that?”
    “Not really.”
    He smiled. “Uh-huh. You okay? You want a cup of tea? Chamomile or something?”
    I shook my head and walked in. “No thanks.”
    Their place, a two-bedroom apartment only slightly larger than ours, was filled with boxes and bags. Susie was sitting on the couch, an oasis in the middle of the confusion piled around her, looking embarrassed. They weren’t wearing their masks, so I took mine off.
    “You get a new mask?” asked Chuck.
    “They gave us N95s or something,” I replied. “I don’t know what that means.”
    Chuck snorted. “N95, ha, the one I gave you was way better than ninety-five percent. You shouldn’t have let them take it. I’ll get you some more.”
    “It’s like he’s preparing for World War Three,” Susie laughed. “You sure you don’t want a cup of something hot?”
    “Not hot, but maybe something strong.”
    “Ah, yes,” said Chuck, moving off toward the kitchen. He quickly produced a bottle of scotch and two tumblers from a cupboard. “Ice, no ice?”
    “Neat is fine.”
    He poured a generous dose into both glasses.
    “So how’s Luke?” asked Susie. “What did the doctors say?”
    “We didn’t manage to see one. A nurse looked at him and didn’t say much except it didn’t look like bird flu. He’s got a fever of a hundred and three. Lauren’s curled up with him under a blanket. They’re sleeping for now.”
    “That’s good news, right? Pam came back when you were out, said we can