“No,” he rasped into the phone while lying in his hospital bed. “Don’t be silly, Isabella.” Bill lifted his eyes to the doctor who stood at his bedside. “I’m doing better. My temperature dropped. You go. Go. Your mother needs you. Be careful.” The doctor took the phone from Bill and hung it up. “Well?” Bill asked the doctor. “Well,” the doctor exhaled. “Definitely we’re seeing an improvement in the pneumonia.” “This is the worst case I have ever had,” Bill stated. “I’ve gotten it be—” The doctor waited. He noticed that Bill’s eyes shifted to the door. “Mr. Daniels, what’s wrong?” “Oh, shit.” Bill looked panicked. The doctor spun around. He recognized the biohazard suits of the four-person group that entered the room. “What’s going on?” he asked. “Lexi Martin,” the small black woman spoke through her suit. “I’m from the Centers for Disease Control.” She moved to the bed. “Bill Daniels?” Bill, eyes wide, nodded. “Sorry to alarm you.
