Night of the Purple Moon (17 page)

Abby and the others listened to the report in stunned silence.

“To determine the number of worldwide casualties, CDC scientists have analyzed infrared satellite data,” the robot continued. “The results have a margin of error of one-hundred million people.”

Kevin quickly explained that infrared satellites detect body heat.

“The CDC estimates that six billion, five-hundred million people died in the epidemic.”

Some of the children broke down and cried, while most stared into space, unable to comprehend a number of that magnitude. Abby, who had always known deep down that the loss of life had been staggering, cried quietly.

The robot wasn’t finished. “We’ve determined the surviving pre-pubescent population of the United Sates is between fifteen and sixteen million.”

The report played over and over again, and many of the kids listened to it again and again, or at least they remained in their seats.

Later, the older kids had done the math to understand the ratio of adults to children. First they assumed the number of adults was three fewer than reported by the robot. The three astronauts on the International Space Station, with no shuttle to rescue them, were doomed to orbit Earth forever. After dividing the two numbers, they determined there was roughly one adult for every fifteen thousand children, a ratio that was getting smaller as more teens entered puberty.

Kevin emphasized that the ratio was true for only for the United States. “We don’t know about Europe, Africa, Asia,” he said. “China and India, alone, could have billions of surviving children.”

Abby wondered which of those countries had their own scientists working on a cure. Certainly the poorer nations did not. Before the day ended, she and the others had come to the same conclusion. They couldn’t worry about the planet, or the rest of the country. Everyone had to focus on their own needs on Castine Island.

Under the covers, Abby doubled over from a new wave of cramps. When she brought her knees to her chin, she felt something warm and wet and squishy between her legs. Afraid of what she would find but even more afraid of not knowing, she walked into the bathroom, one hand pressed tightly against her lower stomach. The telltale signs had not deceived her: she had started her period.

Her mind flooded with so many thoughts at once that Abby couldn’t think, but her eyes caught sight of the time. January had officially ended.

“Kevy’s sick,” Toucan said to Abby. “His hands are hot.” Her sister’s brow had wrinkles of concern.

Abby had watched Kevin lift Toucan over the baby gate, and she knew the explanation was obvious. The outside temperature had remained below freezing for the past three weeks and the kids had no choice but to keep two wood stoves going downstairs. Sometimes the stoves burned too hot and overheated the room.

“Touk, it’s hot in here.” Abby said. “My hands are hot, too.” She cupped her sister’s cheeks and that helped smooth Toucan’s furrowed brow. “Kevin is fine.”

Toucan gave her a big grin and raced off to play with Danny.

Later, unable to shake Touk’s observation, Abby approached Kevin. He was reading a chemistry book in the living room.

“Interesting?” she asked, studying him for signs of the illness.

He nodded and continued to read. “Really interesting.”

“Kevin?” She’d ask him directly if he were sick. When he looked up, she hesitated. She saw none of the symptoms, bloodshot eyes, perspiration, lethargy… He looked fine, just cute, nerdy Kevin with a science book.

“What?” he asked.

“Would you rather spend time with me or would you rather study chemistry equations?”

He had to think about it!

“You are hopeless,” she said with a smile and left him to ponder the choice—hopefully get the answer right!

That night in bed, staring up at the ceiling, Abby regretted not asking Kevin if he were sick. What was she afraid of? Of all the thirteen-year-old boys, Kevin was least likely to be attacked by the germs. Abby worried more about several others. Tim’s wispy mustache and acne and Derek’s cracking voice were clear and ominous signs of approaching puberty. Kevin’s face was smooth and hairless, his voice unchanged. He would be fine; he had to be fine.

Abby thought of a second reason why she had not questioned him. If she wanted to know about his health, Kevin might want to know about hers. She had told no one that her period had started. KK had survived for three months after her period had begun, and the antibiotic would not be available for at least another four months. Had the others known her secret, they would have worried about her.

In the morning, after a restless sleep, Abby decided that she had to know once and for all. She grabbed a thermometer and went to look for Kevin. According to the schedule, he was supposed to be tending his latest invention, the fresh water still. Nobody had seen him.

She nervously approached his bedroom.

Abby found him in bed and dropped the thermometer in shock. It bounced on the floor, but didn’t break. Since she had seen him last—not even twelve hours ago—the change in his condition was dramatic. His eyes were bloodshot, cheeks flushed; every breath he took made a raspy sound. Or had he looked this sick yesterday? Abby wondered if she had wanted him to be healthy so badly that her eyes had deceived her.

“Kevin, why didn’t you tell me?”

“If you cry,” he said, “it’ll only make me feel worse.”

Abby swallowed her tears.

He weakly rolled onto his side. “On a scale of one to ten, my stomach cramps are a six. I’d like to keep a chart of my vital signs. Will you help me do that?”

Kevin, like a scientist, was studying his own illness!

Abby managed a little nod before she burst into tears and ran from the room.

“Emily, they owe me twenty-five dollars!” Kevin exclaimed, with glazed eyes widening as he looked up at her from his bed. “You’re my witness, okay?”

“Who owes you money?” Emily asked.

“Mother and Father. I just saw a moose.”

All their family car trips together, the bounties their parents assigned to spotting wildlife—none of them had ever spotted a moose.

“Okay,” she said, biting her lip. “I’ll be your witness.”

Hallucinations were an indication that the space germs were picking up the pace of their deadly march forward, now infecting her brother’s mind. It was not the first time that Kevin had seen or heard things. Earlier in the day he had thought he was in India, hanging out with their cousins, Ajay and Jyran.

“Kevin, close your eyes,” Emily said. “Try to sleep.”

Sleep offered him the only respite from the constant pain he felt. It also offered her a time to cry. Emily vowed to remain strong in front of her brother.

When the creases on his face smoothed and his breathing grew steady, she let the tears trickle freely down her cheeks.

From downstairs, Jimmy shouted out that the CDC was issuing a new bulletin, and Emily heard the stampede of footsteps that followed, kids scurrying into the living room to listen. She turned on the portable radio and kept the volume low.

“We are pleased to report that antibiotic production is on schedule,” the robot began. Cheers and clapping erupted downstairs. For the survivors most at risk of entering puberty, this news was like winning the lottery. Emily was one of those winners, though she didn’t feel much like celebrating.

The robot babbled on about the scientific details of the production method and then delivered the information that everyone had been waiting for. “The pills will be distributed in three phases at major airports around the country, starting in May. We will announce the details as soon as plans become finalized.”

Emily sat taller and wiped her eyes. May was only three months away. Could Kevin survive that long? He had to. She would keep him cool with wet cloths and make sure he drank plenty of water, keep his spirits up, keep him going.

When Kevin groaned and blinked, she held a glass of water to his lips, insisting that he take a drink. “You need lots of liquids,” she said. “While you were sleeping, there was a new CDC broadcast. The antibiotic—’’

“I heard it,” he said in barely a whisper. “I wasn’t sleeping. Emily, once the rash appears on my back, I’ll only have a few more days to live. But you and Abby and Jordan will be fine. I’m so happy for you.”

“Kevin, don’t say that. You can make it. You will make it!

He smiled weakly. “Do you remember the day we moved here?”

The change of topic jarred her.

Emily raised her eyebrows. “Who could forget?”

They had flown to frigid Boston in the middle of December from warm and sunny San Diego. They drove in a blinding snowstorm to Portland to catch the ferry, the first time that she and Kevin had seen snow. Fleets of snowplows crowded the highway, making her nervous parents suddenly question their decision to move to Castine Island.

“I remember how disappointed I was,” Emily said. “All that snow on the mainland, but not a flake stuck to the ground here.”

“That’s because the temperature of the surrounding water raised the relative humidity.”

Kevin, always the scientist!

“Emily,” he continued, “I really wanted to have a snowball fight with you.”

She cracked a small smile. “Yeah, right! The only thing you cared about was our internet connection. That’s all you talked about on the plane. On the ferry you kept bugging Father to upgrade the download speed. He was seasick. That was the last thing he wanted to talk about.”

Kevin shook his head adamantly. “No, I wanted to play in the snow.” His lower lip trembled and he blinked back tears. “I wanted to wear mittens and have a snowball fight. There are so many things I’ll never do. I am so scared.”

Emily broke her vow and wept openly.

Abby, Emily, and Jordan took shifts to stay with Kevin around the clock. Although it was Jordan’s turn, Abby had told her brother that she wanted to be with him.

Troubled by the perspiration dribbling off Kevin’s brow, she opened his bedroom window a crack, thinking the cold breeze would make him feel more comfortable. By the time she returned to his side, he was visibly shaking from chills. The space germs played cruel tricks. She closed the window.

Abby adjusted Kevin’s blanket. Agitated, Cat jumped off the bed, but soon hopped back up and curled by Kevin’s feet.

“You know what I’d like?” Kevin said. His voice was weak and raspy.

“Did I ever tell you how predictable you are?” Abby pretended to be cheery, upbeat. “I know exactly what you want.” She paused and let the tension build. “You want to see the International Space Station go overhead.” On many nights, during happier times, she and Kevin had watched the bright dot arc across the night sky as they lay next to each other in the back yard, their hands brushing accidently on purpose. Now she thought that they could bundle him up and carry him outside. The fresh air might do him good. “Am I right?”

“Roti prata and shahi paneer,” Kevin said. Abby narrowed her eyes, confused. “But any kind of Indian food would be great,” he added.

Find Indian food on Castine Island nine months after the moon turned purple? Forget it! Kevin had consumed all the spicy food from his house a long time ago. Rather than disappoint him, Abby said, “Sure, I’ll talk to Emily.”

Emily didn’t have a clue what they could make for her brother. Incredibly, it was Jordan who went to the library, consulted an Indian cook book, and came up with a plan: they’d make the spicy Indian tea called chai. It required tea bags, cinnamon, cardamom seeds, cloves, and ginger powder. Although the kids had searched each island home several times over, taking all useful items, nobody had bothered to take spices.

A trip to several kitchens quickly procured all the ingredients.

That evening everyone packed into Kevin’s room for the candlelight tea party. It was standing room only. Emily had returned to her house for a CD of Indian sitar music which they played on a battery-powered boom box.

Kevin insisted on holding the mug himself, but moments later his head lolled to the side and Abby grabbed the mug before the tea spilled.

When Kevin drifted into a feverish coma, the guests remained, the candles burning shorter in a heavy silence. Nobody wanted to leave.

Abby slept on pillows piled on the floor next to Kevin’s bed as she had done for the past two nights, planning to stay by his side until he took his final breath.

She opened her eyes. Shafts of dawn light turned the wall a rosy red. She rolled over and startled. Kevin, teetering on the edge of the bed, was staring down at her.

“I’ve been waiting for you to wake up,” he said. She startled a second time, hearing how clear and strong his voice was.

“Good morning,” she said and nudged him back from the edge. Then she moved to the other side of the bed and gently lifted the back of his shirt to check on his rash. The rash seemed to signal the last stage of the illness, the final seven days. Both Colby and KK had died seven days after their rashes appeared. Kevin’s rash had first appeared between his shoulder blades six days ago. It was red and raw, oozing pus, devouring the skin between his shoulder blades. Abby cursed the comet for the millionth time.

Kevin sat up. “Abby, do you remember Mr. Emerson’s story about the hippos?”

She swallowed hard, knowing that she should call Emily. This crazy surge of energy and lucidity meant that Kevin’s death was imminent. She eyed the walkie-talkie on the table. Emily would still be asleep but Abby knew that she had propped her walkie-talkie on her pillow next to her ear.

“You couldn’t have forgotten the story,” Kevin said. “It was only nine months ago.”

Mr. Emerson. Seventh grade at Parker School. Sitting in class and wishing the whole time she had been back in Cambridge. Glancing at the window, fearing fog would move in.

“I remember,” she said. “The doctors told the villagers to kill the hippos because they might put germs in the pond, so the villagers killed them. Afterwards, a flood washed away the huts when the water had no place to drain. It used to drain where the hippos made their tracks. Nobody had thought the hippos were important.”