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house.”
    After only a few more trips out of the house, they realized their town had been completely ransacked of essentials and began traveling to neighboring communities and out of the way gas stations. The loneliness Nick felt in town was far worse when they traveled further away. His mood seemed to worsen when they were out of the house, but generally came back around to level by the time the girls let them back in again.
    The back entry worked as a decontamination room for both garbage dumps and supply runs. Whenever they returned, they stayed in the small mudroom and listened intently for the sound of flies, watching the wall that faced the kitchen, while someone in the kitchen watched the walls and floor behind the men for signs of insect-sized movement. If there were no signs after an hour, they were allowed in. They generally spent the time talking about the lack of other people on the streets--the homeless and insane were presumed long dead from disease or moved on to other areas--and wondered how other households were fairing. The wait in the entry made the excursions longer and, as the adrenaline of being outdoors wore off, they often entered the kitchen completely exhausted. But for the safety of those in the house, Nick and Jerry never complained about Jamie and Sarah’s extreme methods.
    The adults in the house slept in shifts and took turns watching baby Emily, worried the one person that couldn’t let them know a fly was nearby would be the one bitten. They were wrong.
    They didn’t know for sure how it happened, but were so dependent on the use of the kitchen door they had to blame the basement for letting in the diseased fly. They had no warning, no buzzing to raise their attention. The temperatures were getting lower and lower, and the flies had stopped flying, stopped buzzing. They had become what had once been a funny nickname for lethargic bluebottles out of season, “walks.”
    Sarah felt what she never heard, and they all knew what had happened by the way she snapped to attention and stared forward for a moment before slapping her neck and pulling off a smear of black death. She turned to her baby and reached out, fear in her eyes and a trembling acknowledgement causing her hand to shake, before pulling away from Emily.
    “No...” She half moaned as comprehension that she could never again hold her own child crossed her features and the other three jumped into action without a word. Nick knew his silence was based on cautious fear he might say something to upset her, but figured Jerry’s was pure terror and Jamie’s was something akin to speechless sympathy.
    The bite was treated with rubbing alcohol, searing heat, and another round of alcohol that stung the newly burned flesh and made Sarah scream out in agony, startling the children into tears. She didn’t get nauseous for a full twenty-four hours and the other three whispered in hopeful circles outside of her earshot, perhaps it hadn’t been a contaminated fly. Unfortunately, the nausea was quickly considered a symptom, as the red spot on her neck turned into a blister with a white halo.
    They knew.
    She knew.
    It was just a matter of time.
    They cared for her the best they could, through rubber gloves and generously lathered layers of hand sanitizer which had been procured on a midnight run to break into the hospital, grocery store and local discount stores for anything and everything they thought might help. The bathroom became a supply closet any M.A.S.H. unit would be proud to call their own, but eventually they came to grips with the fact none of their stolen first-aid would stop her death, or prevent their own. Their survival meant abandoning her.
    “We can’t kick her out.” Jamie tried to let both Sarah’s husband and brother know she wasn’t suggesting a heartless exile for the girl that had become more than a sister-in-law to her. “But she’s a danger. Even if you ignore the danger to us, you have to agree she’s a