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    Pathogen: Patient Zero
    Pathogen: Patient Zero
    Pathogen: Patient Zero
    Ebook136 pages3 hours

    Pathogen: Patient Zero

    By Kai Kiriyama

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Every outbreak starts somewhere...
    A young girl, hospitalized with a violent strain of the flu.
    A charismatic doctor who promises that she's going to be okay.
    A nightmare virus that threatens to destroy them both.

    Reduced to the title of 'Zero', she is dehumanized by her doctors into little more than a series of charts and procedures. Zero is left to her own devices, telling her story through a haze of drugs, slipping in and out of consciousness and trying to find some kind of inner peace as
    the doctors around her hustle to find a cure.

    PATHOGEN: PATIENT ZERO is a harrowing medical drama, told from the perspective of a girl dying from a mystery illness.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherKai Kiriyama
    Release dateMay 15, 2015
    ISBN9781311906526
    Pathogen: Patient Zero
    Author

    Kai Kiriyama

    A writer of many things and many genres, Kai is currently working on a novel (you can pretty much always assume that she's writing something!) that involves murder, mayhem and probably a ghost or some other form of otherworldly creature. She is also working on some non-fiction but she's not entirely sure why. Kai has been writing for far too long and she's convinced that both her "to be read" and "to be written" lists will never be completed before she dies. She has a diploma in palmistry and can read hands with an accuracy that most people don't expect. She is also accomplished at tea leaf reading and crystal divination, both of which she has also achieved a diploma for and scares herself with the accuracy of the things she has predicted. A time-travelling, demon hunting, Asgardian geek, with an affinity for Pokemon and Shakespeare, you can be sure that there will be general insanity and dubious wisdom dispensed no matter where you chat with her. As always, she requests that you "be excellent to each other" while she's away. Kai currently lives in Canada, but if she told you where, you'd have about fifteen seconds to assume the party position before the special ops team arrives. She can be reached by email at kai@theraggedyauthor.com You can find Kai on twitter @RaggedyAuthor You can also find Kai on her website www.theraggedyauthor.com

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      Book preview

      Pathogen - Kai Kiriyama

      Pathogen:

      Patient Zero

      Kai Kiriyama

      Copyright © 2015 Kai Kiriyama

      Cover by Clarissa Yeo

      All rights reserved.

      This is a work of fiction,

      any similarities to events, or to persons living,

      or dead, are entirely coincidental.

      ISBN-13: 978-1311906526

      Thank you for purchasing this edition of my book. I sincerely appreciate your support.

      If you like this book, please encourage your friends to purchase their own copies, and spread the love.

      Thank you for supporting independent authors.

      Table of Contents

      Denial

      Anger

      Quarantine

      Bargaining

      Depression

      Surgery, Surgery

      Sweet Dreams

      Acceptance

      Deathbed

      Epilogue

      Sneak Peek

      Acknowledgments

      About the Author

      Other books by Kai Kiriyama

      To those forgotten,

      And to those left behind.

      DENIAL

      Oh God, someone help me!

      I had fallen asleep in the car as my dad drove me to the hospital. I’d fought him for days, saying I was sick, I had the flu, there was nothing to worry about, but he won in the end. My parents always won in the end. I had been sleeping way more than was strictly necessary and I’d been running a fever off and on for days as my body tried to fight off the infection I’d picked up from God-knows-where. He finally forced me to get up and walk down the stairs. I’d been asleep for three days. I hadn’t eaten anything for five days, and I was having trouble keeping basic fluids in me.

      My mom was panicking at home, apparently I hadn’t even been drinking anything as I slept. I didn’t remember anything of the sort. I didn’t remember mom trying to force me to drink at least some Ginger Ale. I don’t even remember getting up to go to the bathroom. I remember sleeping and feeling feverish and awful, and that was it. According to my dad, Mom had started freaking out when she came to check on me and she thought that I had died in my sleep. She said I looked like a skeleton, that I’d lost too much weight and that the dark circles under my eyes had scared her into thinking I was dead.

      So Dad loaded me up into the car, in my pajamas and slippers, no less, and had decided that it was for my best interest that I go to the hospital. We were chatting, Dad was filling me in on why I was being dragged to the hospital in my mismatched pjs, without a shower or any sort of warning, and telling me what I’d missed happening in the house and the news since I’d been sick. He joked that the Toronto Maple Leafs had won the Stanley Cup and that I’d slept through my birthday. I told him to shove it, and that I was feeling really feverish and kind of carsick and I just wanted to sleep more. I leaned my head against the window and passed out again as we drove.

      It didn’t take long to get to the hospital, I knew that much from all the times we’d had to drive there in the past. It was about fifteen minutes away from my house, which was a good thing because I was accident prone, and Dad parked at the emergency entrance. He was already panicking before we’d gotten there. My fever had spiked again and my skin had flushed. He tried shaking me awake, but I was too far gone. I could feel him shaking me, and hear him shouting at me to wake up, but all I could manage was a weak groan and an uh-uh before fully passing out again. I was dead to the world, and even my dad trying to get me out of the car didn’t wake me.

      Hey! I need help!

      If I hadn’t been buckled, I’d have fallen out of my seat when my dad opened the car door. Thank God for road safety. I groaned again and the world started to spin. I could barely open my eyes, I was so tired, I just wanted to go back to bed. The spinning refused to stop and I felt hands grabbing at me, pulling me out of the car. I felt my feet touch a solid surface, which I assumed was the sidewalk. I couldn’t open my eyes, everything hurt and the spinning refused to stop. People were mumbling around me, nonsense words that I couldn’t understand.

      I opened my mouth, trying to speak, but my words slurring into a drunken garble. I really didn’t feel good. There was a metallic noise and I was moving forward while the world was spinning.

      Hey? I managed to grumble. I’m gonna…

      I didn’t get to finish my sentence before I was doubled over, retching and emptying what little I had left in my stomach all over the sidewalk. I only managed to stay upright because two sets of strong hands held on to my arms and shoulders. Someone patted my back as I heaved.

      Oh, God… I mumbled, opening my eyes just a little as the nausea, and the spinning, subsided.

      On my right, was my dad. On my left, however, was the cutest orderly I had ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on. I felt a heat rise up in my chest and threatening to colour my face as I realized that I had just hurled up bile all over the sidewalk, and probably on the orderly’s shoes.

      I’m really sorry, I mumbled, trying to hide my face from the cute guy on my left. He was like a god made flesh, and he should have been in the movies, instead of helping me into a wheelchair. Man, was I ever embarrassed.

      Hey, don’t worry about it, he replied, patting my shoulder. Happens all the time, and at least you missed my pants.

      His gentle and jovial nature did nothing to make me feel better. I was sick, smelled like I was dying, and just puked on the sidewalk in front of the cutest guy I’d seen since high school ended. I mean, yeah, I’m only eighteen, but that never stopped me from appreciating anyone’s looks before. I just wish that we could have met on a day where I wasn’t making a habit of throwing up in public. I could have used a boyfriend.

      I sat in sullen silence, trying not to pass out again as they pushed me through the hallways and into a private room. It was unusual, I didn’t think that our insurance was as good as it seemed to be, and I didn’t want to make a stink about where they were taking me, just in case this was a mistake and I’d be forced to go into the waiting room with every other sick person in emergency.

      Your doctor will be with you shortly, the cute orderly said, flashing me a smile.

      Dad said something that I didn’t hear, I was too busy being completely mortified by the fact that I’d just been sick in public.

      You really didn’t need to bring me to the hospital, I muttered.

      You’re sick, Dad said. You need to get better and I’m going to do whatever I can to make you better. If that means dragging you to the hospital so you can puke on that cute nurse’s shoes, then dammit, I’m gonna take you to the hospital. He held me at arm's length, forcing me to look at him.

      I was confused. I wanted to laugh, and cry, and crawl into a hole to let the flu burn me up and then die. I did the first two, instead, barking a rough laugh that turned into a choking sob of embarrassment and gratitude.

      Oh, sweetie, don’t cry, Dad said, wrapping an arm around me in a sideways hug. I could tell you stories…

      No thanks, I assured him. I don’t need my stomach to turn again.

      Your loss, I have some really good drinking stories from when I was younger. And none of them involve a hospital.

      I’m gonna die.

      Of embarrassment? Dad asked.

      More like of starvation, I replied with a smirk, though the tears running down my cheeks said I wasn’t quite as cocky as I was behaving.

      Pfft, he spluttered. "You’ll get some saline and some crackers and some antibiotics and you’ll be right as rain. Then we’ll go have a pizza the size of New York, and you’ll get fat and then blame me for ruining your girly teenage figure.

      I stared at my dad for a long moment, sniffling and wiping the snot that was threatening to drip from my nose on the back of my hand. His eyes showed me how worried he really was, even though his words said that he wasn't. I forced a smile and wiped the rest of my tears away.

      My dad was probably the strongest person I knew, and if he was sure that I was gonna be okay, even with his paranoia, then I had to hope that he was right.

      Thanks, Dad, I said with a small nod. I sighed and wiped at the drying tears on my face. I must have looked awful. Not only had I started out looking gaunt and skeletal, now I was all red and puffy from crying.

      I hoped that the cute orderly didn't come back to check on me, I don't think that I could take any more embarrassment in one day.

      As my dad sat there holding me in one arm with me leaning against his shoulder and dabbing at the tears against my cheeks, we were suddenly joined by a handsome doctor.

      Hi, he said awkwardly. I'm not interrupting am I?

      I blushed harder than I did when I puked on the orderly’s shoes. This doctor had to be in his thirties, easily, but he had the charming demeanour and classic good looks of someone who played a doctor on a crappy television sitcom. I was instantly smitten and embarrassed as hell.

      Why

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