This is a fictional story. All names, places, and viruses are used fictitiously. Resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, past or present, are intentional.
If you haven’t read from the beginning, please start at Chapter 1 here.
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Due Date: 87 days away
It was supposed to be Dale, not Travis.
It wasn’t supposed to be either of them. But we were more worried about Dale. He was older, had some pre-existing health issues. Dale just seemed like the one who wouldn’t weather it well.
But Travis? Travis called out sick more than a lot of our guys. But he was probably our hardest worker, always all dirty when everyone else came back clean.
I just needed him to come out clean once.
Not this time.
They limited funerals to immediate family only.
We sent flowers as a company.
“It could’ve been me,” Isaac said. “I walked in on him in his house, man. I could’ve gotten it. I could have it right now.”
He cursed, putting up both hands and backed away from me.
The rest of us just stood there. Less than six feet away.
I remembered that talking head on Chris’s TV, the one complaining about people dying alone.
Travis didn’t get to see his son either.
On the way home, I ran a red light, the same one I always did.
It’s not like I’d blow right through it, but if no one was in the way, I’d go for it. A month ago, I’d only do it way early in the morning on my way to work when there wasn’t a car in sight. That had progressed to running it every chance I got. Which turned into speeding and running every red light everywhere. I didn’t care if anyone was next to me or not in the fast lane. I didn’t care if anyone was waiting right across from me at an opposing light. I didn’t care if anyone was behind me. I just went for it.
And I felt good about it.
On the way home that day, I made a left-hand turn at a red light with someone behind me. She must have thought the light had turned green. She followed me.
And the car driving down the opposing road hit her.
It clipped the nose of her vehicle. I witnessed the whole thing in my side mirror. I watched her pull out, wondering, for that split second, why she was following me. Clearly, she could see that car coming around the bend, right? The one speeding straight at her?
It clipped her and spun her car around. I didn’t see an airbag deploy, but I knew it hit hard. I heard it. And I heard the screech of breaks afterward, combined with rubber skidding sideways as the vehicle that was behind me rotated 180 degrees.
And that was that. I couldn’t see her anymore.
For a few moments, I wanted to hit my breaks, jump out of the car, make sure she was all right.
She’d followed me after all. I owed her that much.
But she followed me running a red light. If she was alive, she’d remember that, surely.
If she was alive?
Is that how I was thinking? Is that what I’d become?
Evidently.
I kept driving.
Someone else was out of their car already anyway. Helping out. Phone in hand. Probably calling 911.
It was a verified emergency after all.
The police would respond. And the ambulance, if that’s what they needed.
I kept driving.
I didn’t tell Liz about the accident. Like, what was she going to do? It didn’t even matter. There were more important things to worry about.
