Twins were the hardest.
At least, that’s what Amber’s friends had told her. And it’s what she thought about now, watching the probe raise and then flatten little mountains of gel as it swept across her abdomen. Dr. Silver rested his other, free hand on top of the ultrasound display, a few inches above two gray blotches that swam in and out of focus.
“They’re healthy,” he finally said, adjusting his glasses. “And have you decided yet?”
“Yes.” She spoke abruptly. “We’re keeping them both.”
The old doctor smiled and the laugh lines around his eyes seemed to crackle. “You already know my opinion on the matter, but I’ll repeat it. Tough times call for tough talk.”
He rooted under the stack of folders heaped on his medical cart–a precarious Jenga tower of paper–and yanked free one glossy brochure. Living With H7N13: A Guide For Families.
“I don’t expect you to read this,” Silver said, flapping it in his grip. “You’re well aware of its recommendations.”
Julian Silver had only the best of intentions but he could be an imperious prick; he was even more exacting as a mentor. God, I wish Jim were here, she thought just then. Lately it seemed that these appointments always coincided with one of his work emergencies. She didn’t exactly blame him–no parent wanted to face this question. All of their recent tension, the late nights and bickering were orbiting this one dreaded center of mass: what to do about the babies?
In another sense, they were lucky; their children weren’t yet born. They still had time to plan. Amber and Jim knew others–less fortunate families–who’d been raising toddlers at the time of the outbreak.
“If you’re really committed to following through with both, there are options,” Silver continued. “Adoption, for starters. Please, don’t give me that look–the plain truth is that a one-child society is becoming the new norm.”
Amber remained stone-faced. “And with all due respect, I know the risks.” Of course she did. Hell, she had helped isolate the damn thing three years ago, when the mystery plague was still called Cain syndrome. “The Cain virus is a killer.”
Silver winced. She knew the CDC discouraged that name, Cain–it only helped fuel the apocalyptic cults springing up all over the country–but she insisted on using it. As stubborn today as she was back in grad school.
“I’m well aware, Amber. All the more reason you should be the one thinking clearly here.”
And all the research pointed to one conclusion. A child who contracted the baseline strain had a one in four chance of falling deathly ill. Unique among viruses, this airborne pathogen could only be transmitted to a full blood sibling, who then suffered a two in four probability of death. The mortality rate increased with each subsequent transmission; it was the cold, inexorable logic of the virus.
Silver’s worst case had occurred last spring, out in the rolling green hills of Amish country, where the entire Radner clan–four boys and three girls–was wiped out in two weeks flat. Cain had not been kind to the religious sects, the ones which refused to separate their offspring. It was immoral, they reasoned, to flee from divine punishment.
Those pustule-covered Radner children–the ghastly image rose in his mind and he tried to shake it away. It didn’t work.
“Our kids will grow up together, like brothers and sisters should,” she finally spoke into the awkward silence. “We won’t live in fear anymore.”
“Okay, my dear. I won’t fight you on this any longer.” The doctor rubbed at his eyes and sighed; it revealed a depth of fatigue. “And where’s your husband, by the way? I know his schedule is tight but I can’t remember the last appointment he’s kept.”
And that reminded her. Because Jim wasn’t at the office, he was at the bottom of the basement freezer, buried haphazardly under some clods of ice and bags of frozen veggies. And next to his frosted blue arm, in one clawed-out patch of the ice, rested her smuggled cargo. The tester vaccine was a light orange, almost peach-colored, with some speckles of bone marrow bobbing lazily in the solution. It could have been a popsicle or frozen fruit bar.
It would come in handy soon. If her population modeling held true, Cain was almost due for its next epigenetic shift–one that would unlock another layer of its destiny.
Amber swirled one palm along her stomach, smoothly tracing the circumference of her unborn children. She didn’t mind the frigid ultrasound gel clumping between her fingers.
“Yes, I’ve had to step up a bit more lately,” she finally answered. “Parenthood isn’t for the faint of heart.”
—
John’s flash pieces have appeared or are forthcoming in Flash Fiction Magazine, The Drabble, 600 Second Saga, and Literally Stories, among others. Visit him on the web at https://pineapplemonarchy.com/
Well thought out with a sharp sting at the end. Excellent finishing quote.
Thank you!