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let me keep a clear head. I’d been able to breathe in that apartment. But now it felt bare—barren, even.
    I used to love my Audi, but clearly that ship had sailed. And my clothes. I was wearing a T-shirt I usually slept in. And that conversation with my mother.
    I was the same person as I’d been a week ago—but somehow different. It was like a whole heap of insecurities and fears had fled. I wasn’t worried about going broke—I could spend a little money. Granted, retirement seemed a little pointless with a death sentence hanging over my head. And the untidiness of a house in the suburbs seemed appealing—because I’d have my own tiny patch of grassy yard. And maybe roses. I’d like some roses. The idea of dirt and bugs didn’t make my scalp crawl—so yeah, roses would be great.
    But the last realization was the most important. I was hunting down the rat who’d bitten me and screwed with my life. Or, rather, the vampire. Whatever he was, I was hunting him down.

6
    Rats vs. the Flu
    I was gonna hunt down the vile vampire rat who’d bitten me…just as soon as I could get out of bed. I’d made it home in my spiffy new car—and then my energy level had crashed. Maybe I should have tried to eat? Or maybe I should have drunk another gallon of water? Or even orange juice? And I didn’t sleep-drink this time, because I forgot to fill the pitcher next to my bed before collapsing.
    When I woke, the sun was up—so I’d slept at least twelve hours. Given my past experiences, it was likely longer. And as I lay there, my regrets were piling up. I felt horrendous, and getting out of bed seemed impossible. The achiness was back. The coma-like sleep, back. The raging thirst, back. I had graduated from the crusty goo that had accumulated in my eyes before—so a bonus there. That was my last thought before I drifted off a second time, too weak to make a bathroom or kitchen run for emergency hydration.

    * * *
    M y stomach felt empty , but I rolled over and slept. It nagged, made my sleep restless. It hurt, made me toss and turn. It burned. Angry. Demanding.
    I woke to piercing, gut-churning pain.
    My lips cracked when I opened my mouth to moan. Curled in on myself and clutching my stomach, I couldn’t see how this could get worse.
    No one was coming to check on me. My phone wasn’t near. And I hurt like crazy. Maybe this was it. Maybe a day was all I’d had. Nuts. I should be terrified, but I just felt pathetic. I was that alone, that isolated. No one would miss me.
    I concentrated on breathing. Even, slow breaths. It worked for a few seconds, then a wave of hungry pain washed through me.
    A few breaths, and I rolled to the edge of the bed.
    A few more breaths, and I rolled off the bed.
    The jarring pain as I hit the floor was nothing compared to the spasms in my gut. The sting cleared my head, and I began to crawl—foot by foot—to the bathroom.
    Water. Maybe it would help. Or maybe this was it, and nothing I did could help me. I waited for the crushing weight of despair…but I was just too tired to feel that much.
    After a few minutes of waiting, I realized that I wasn’t that tired. Dying was bad. Super bad. Dead-not-waking-up bad. I couldn’t just curl up and let it happen. I had to try. So I crawled, inch by inch, to the bathroom.
    The tile felt cold under my thigh, my hip, my cheek. I didn’t feel hot—but the floor was icy.
    I couldn’t stand. The tub faucet was so close—I pulled at the knob and water splashed…too far to drink.

    * * *
    W hen I woke , I was hungry. Pit-of-my-stomach-gnawing hunger. But I didn’t hurt. Even the flu-like ache was gone. I cracked my eyes open but quickly clenched them tightly shut again when the light stung them. I lifted my hand reflexively, but when it touched my face, it was wet.
    Cautiously this time, I opened my eyes again. I was in my bathtub. The tub was almost full. So full, I couldn’t believe I hadn’t drowned.
    I remembered turning the water on…but that