Immunity, 2/5

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Immunity
By T. L. Odell
Part 2
Disclaimers in Part 0

* * *

*Well, that was wonderful,* Anne thought to herself as she poured
another glass of wine.  *You really handled that with subtlety and
tact.  'I'm leaving'.  Sheesh -someone says, 'Out with it' you don't
have to bludgeon him.*

Anne finished the dishes and watched the late night news before
deciding she'd better get to bed. It was past midnight and she was
still awake.  She had played out the scene in her mind countless
time before tonight, but in none of the scenarios did Duncan
simply get up and go to bed.  Anne went back out to the living
room to get the latest Dick Francis book she had been reading.  As
she was turning to go back to her room, she heard the familiar
sounds of someone being violently ill.  She considered Duncan's
privacy for only a moment as she knocked lightly on the door and
then walked in.  She was a doctor, he was her friend and former
lover, for goodness' sake; she shouldn't feel guilty about walking
in to see if he needed help.

"Duncan, are you all right?" she called out as she stepped toward
the bathroom.  She found him sprawled on the floor in front of the
toilet, wearing boxer shorts and a sweat drenched T-shirt,
obviously ill.  As she touched him, she felt the fever that had taken
over his body.  "You're burning up; you should be in bed."

"Too much trouble; have to keep getting out to throw up."

"How long have you been like this?" Anne demanded.

"Don't know - didn't seem important to look at my watch.  Been
sick four or five times, I think."

"You're impossible.  Why didn't you call me?  Get back into bed;
I'll bring you a basin so you don't have to get out."

As she helped Duncan to his feet, she realized he could barely
stand.  "Lean on me, and get into bed, quick.  I don't think I can
lift you if you pass out on the way."

Half walking, half crawling, Duncan reached the bed and
collapsed.  Anne brought the basin and set it on a chair next to the
bed.  "Open," she said as she put a thermometer in front of his
face.

"Leave me be," complained Duncan.  I'll be fine."

"That's what you said before, and you sure don't seem fine to me.
Put this under your tongue and shut up."

"Some bedside manner."  But talking was an obvious effort, and
Duncan succumbed to Anne's ministrations.

The thermometer beeped, and Anne removed it from his mouth.
Duncan had nearly fallen back to sleep.  He opened one eye, and
the question was obvious.

"It says you have a temperature of 102.7.  In my world, that is *not*
good.  I'm afraid I'm not up on your kind of medicine; can you tell
me if this is okay?"

"Don't think so,"  Duncan mumbled, his speech labored.  "Can't
remember just getting sick before.  Some nasty insect? ... have to
work it through my system?. .  Poison?  Been a food taster...not
this bad ... Be fine ...  Oh, God ... look out,  sick again."

Anne held Duncan's forehead as he retched. It was just as she had
thought; there was virtually nothing left in his stomach, but she
knew how much the dry heaves could hurt.  She cleaned out the
bowl and replaced it on the chair, bringing a damp cloth back with
her to wipe Duncan's face.  "Here, rinse your mouth, but don't
swallow," she said as she handed him a glass of water. Try to get
some rest.  I'll be here if you need anything."

"You don't need to stay here with me," Duncan whispered.

"I know, 'you'll be fine'.  Well, I'm going to be in that chaise in
the corner.  And that's it, so go to sleep."

But he was already asleep.  Anne watched him for a few minutes,
then took one of the blankets from the drawer and settled into the
chaise.

* * *
*Duncan sank back down into the world of fever dreams.  He was
sailing on a ship.  Didn't the captain know how much he hated
being seasick?  Why was he steering a course for the roughest
waters possible?  And why did he have to keep messing with the
weather?  First, the sun blazed down until he thought he'd melt.
Then, they'd be in Arctic seas and he'd freeze.  Wait; that couldn't
be right.  They couldn't get from the tropics to the Pole that fast,
could they?  Nothing seemed to make sense.  But he did seem to
remember a lady coming into his cabin.  She had a beautiful smile,
and the nicest pair of cool hands.  He smelled peaches; he knew
her from somewhere, but couldn't place her face.  The ship must be
back in the storm; he felt another bout of seasickness approaching.*

* * *

She was awakened by the sounds of restless tossing and turning
about half an hour later, and she once again tried to offer what
comfort she could to the heaving immortal.

"I think you have this down to a routine, now, Duncan," she said a
few hours later.  Every thirty minutes, plus or minus five."

"Kill me," Duncan mumbled.

"What!" exclaimed Anne.

"Please ... my sword... stab me... I'll wake up fine."

Anne felt as though a sword had pierced her own gut.  Although
she had witnessed Duncan's regenerative powers, as a doctor she
couldn't even consider such an action.  She knew she could never
pick up his sword for such a purpose.

"There is no way I could do that, and you know it.  Go back to
sleep."

"Grmmph" was his reply, as he once again collapsed back into the
pillows.  His temperature had gone up almost another degree, and
Anne was beginning to worry.  If Duncan were an ordinary human
being, she would take him to the hospital, get him on an IV to keep
him from dehydrating, and run some blood tests to see if she could
figure out what was wrong.  It looked like the flu, but It wasn't flu
season; she didn't know if immortals even got the flu.

But, she knew that the last thing she could do would be to bring
Duncan to the attention of modern medical science.  His
immortality was a secret she would guard with her life.  She didn't
think she'd be guarding it with his life, though.  One thing she
decided was that unless he was dramatically better come daylight,
she was going to call the only person she knew who might know
something about this.

Five hours later, Anne made the call.  "Joe?  It's Anne.  I'm really
sorry to bother you so early in the morning, but it's about Duncan.
He showed up yesterday evening with a simple headache, but he's
really sick now, and I have no clue about treating immortals.  His
temperature is almost a hundred and four; he's thrown up all night,
and he's drifting in and out of consciousness.  I thought you might
know if there are any immortal diseases going around that I should
know about.  Or anything that one does for immortals if they get
sick?"

"I'm not sure.  Let me check into this and I'll get back to you just
as soon as I can.  I have your number."

Anne returned to the bedroom.  Duncan's normally healthy tan was
pasty.  His breathing was shallow, but regular.  Pulse rapid, but
strong.  At least he'd gone two hours without throwing up.  Just
then, Duncan began shivering, his teeth chattering.  She wiped the
sweat from his forehead.  In a little while, she knew, he'd be
throwing the covers off, complaining of how hot he was.  If his
temperature went up any higher, she'd have to figure out a better
way to cool him down.  She considered immersing him in a cool
bath, but knew she could never manipulate him from bed to
bathroom, much less get him in and out of a tub.  A sponge bath or
alcohol rub would have to suffice.  In the meanwhile, she opened
the window a few inches to let some cool air into the room.

About an hour later, the phone rang, breaking the early morning
quiet.  Anne jumped at the sound, and reached for the cordless.
"Hello?  Joe?"

"Well, I learned something this morning," reported Joe.  "I did a
little digging, and there is a virus that has evolved right along with
immortals.  It's not destroyed by their immune systems the way
human viruses are.  Turns out it lays dormant for quite some time
between cycles - about 500 years, more or less.  Kind of like our
winter flu season.  There's not a lot of medical information,
because 500 years ago, medicine wasn't anything near what it is
today.  It does seem that the virus affects only immortals, so I
don't think you have to worry about you or Mary catching it.
Duncan was away for a few days last week, dealing with another
immortal."

"Stop, Joe," said Anne, preferring not to hear anything more about
the violence of Duncan's lifestyle.  "I get it.  So this is a virus.
I'll
assume that like mortal viruses, there's nothing any antibiotics will
do.  Have any immortal doctors studying this come up with some
vaccine or treatment regimen?  How long does it last?  What's the
progression..."

"Slow down, Anne," Joe continued.  "This bug has just started to
reappear after being in hiding for 500 years.  It doesn't show up on
the CDC tracking reports.  Unless they're over 500 years old,
immortal doctors probably never even saw a case of the disease,
much less had the technology to devise a cure.  But I do know
someone who might be able to help - if I can track him down.  In
the meanwhile, the most pertinent piece of information I picked up
is that while Duncan is sick, he's virtually mortal.

"Virtually mortal?" Anne echoed.  "What's that supposed to
mean?"

"His healing process is so slow, that he would actually die before
he could heal," Joe explained.

Anne felt a tightening in the pit of her stomach.  "Die, like in
permanently, forever dead?"  She thought of Duncan's request that
she kill him.  *Oh my God, what if I had given in and done it?*
Anne forced her attention back to what Joe was saying.

"You've got it," replied Joe.  "But look, Anne: as far as my sources
can tell, the virus itself won't kill him. It just needs to run its
course, as miserable as that may be."

"Well, I guess the best thing for Duncan is standard TLC.
Surgeons don't get much practice with this kind of patient care, but
being a Mom has caused me to brush up on my nursing skills.
Thanks a million; I feel a little better."

"Do you need anything?  I could drive out later this afternoon, or
tomorrow."

"Thanks, Joe.  I should be okay."

"I'll call you back if I find out anything else.  And you be sure to
call if you need me for anything.  I know Duncan is in good hands.
Bye."

"Good bye, Joe."  Anne turned off the phone and went to the
kitchen.  She found a small piece of ginger in the refrigerator, left
over from her foray into Chinese cooking, and sliced some to make
some tea.  She hoped immortal stomachs responded to ginger the
way mere mortals' did.

After steeping the ginger, she let the brew cool down and brought a
cup of it into the guestroom.  Duncan was stirring, but wasn't
really awake.  His shirt and the bed sheets were soaked again.
Anne gently pulled up the skin on the back of his hand.  It formed
a tent and was slow to flatten out again.  "You're definitely
dehydrated," she whispered.

"Duncan," said Anne, attempting to hide the weariness from her
voice.  "Here, I want you to take this."  She took a spoonful of the
tea and held it to Duncan's mouth.  His glazed eyes stared in her
general direction, but he wasn't focusing on anything.  "Duncan,"
she repeated.  "Open your mouth."  She slipped  the tea between
his lips.  "Let's see if you can tolerate that.  Then we'll find you a
dry shirt and some clean sheets -- again."

Half an hour later the tea was still inside Duncan.  Anne gave him
another spoonful.  When that stayed down, she increased the
dosage, and two hours later, Duncan had swallowed almost half a
cup of tea.  *This is taking much too long,* thought Anne.  *Let's try
something more effective.*

She went into the room she used as her office and unlocked the
cabinet where she kept emergency medical supplies.  There, she
found her IV setup and a bag of D5W.  Joe had mentioned that
Duncan wouldn't heal like an immortal, so the IV should stay
open.  She just hoped she could get it started efficiently; that was
another job the nurses normally did.

In Duncan's weakened state, he offered no protest, and Anne was
able to start the IV.  "Okay, now even if you don't feel better, I
sure do," she said under her breath as she taped the needle down
securely.  "And if you're a good boy, I'll let you have some more
ginger tea. Until then, I'm going to be right over there in the
chaise, taking a nap.  Right after I take a quick shower," she added.

* * *

*Pirates boarded the ship.  The one with the hook for a hand
seemed to be their leader.  Duncan reached for his sword, but it
wasn't under the bunk where he knew he had left it.  There it was,
across the room on the chair.  He rolled out of his bunk and
crawled over to the chair.  Something had happened to his sword.
He tried to swing it over his head to kill the pirate, but the sword
was suddenly so heavy he could barely lift it.  The pirate had a
woman in front of him now.  She was screaming for Duncan to
help her.  "NO!" screamed Duncan as he threw himself at the
pirate but he was too late.  The buccaneer had slit the woman's
throat with his hook.  The pirate shoved the woman to the floor and
pulled Duncan up by his hair.  Duncan struggled to escape, and
then the woman with the cool hands appeared again.*

End of Part 2

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