One night Zee decided he could not stand it anymore. He could not bear this alone. He was doing nothing, accomplishing nothing, and people were suffering.
He sat his parents down at the kitchen table, leaned in, and whispered, "I have to talk to you."
The Millers exchanged glances. "What is it?"
"It's the Piper Flu."
Mrs. Miller sat straight up. "Are you feeling sick?"
"No, no, I feel fine. But… but…" Zee trailed off He didn't know how to say it. He knew his parents sensed something was wrong. Even he could see how pale and tired he looked, and Zee was not prone to notice his own appearance.
"What? Zachary, what's going on?"
He coughed. "I think, um, I think it's something to do with me."
His parents both looked perplexed. They exchanged another glance, then his father asked gently, "What do you mean?"
"The flu. I think it's something about me. I mean, look, everyone got sick in Exeter. And now we come back here, and suddenly everyone's sick here. And it's all my friends. It's right here. It's not all of London, or we'd be hearing about it in the paper or on the news or something. It's just us. It's just… around me…" Zee's face flushed. He could hear how he sounded.
"Sweetheart," Mrs. Miller asked, "are you saying you think you're carrying something? That you're infecting people?"
"No, not really… well, maybe…"
"Well," Mr. Miller said slowly, "you know, they've decided it's not contagious."
"I know. But I mean, think about it."
"Zach," his father continued, "just because these are the cases we know about doesn't mean these are the only ones. I mean, of course it seems like it's only all around us. But it's probably not. There could be some poor family in Birmingham who thinks they're carrying the plague too." He laughed slightly. Zee did not.
"Honey," his mother said, "if you're feeling ill, we'll take you to the doctor. I mean, you certainly were a little off for a while. We can find out for sure. That will set your mind at ease."
"And Zach," his father added, "I know you must be scared and upset. But it's not your fault. Believe me."
Zee thought if his parents exchanged any more meaningful glances, their faces would freeze that way.
He couldn't make them understand. They wouldn't understand. There was only one person who would understand, and she had just died. Grandmother Winter would have believed him. She would have been able to help him. They would have figured this out together. But Grandmother Winter was gone, and he was all alone.
Preterm sports started two weeks before school for Feldwop students. On the first day just over half the team showed up for Feldwop's football practice, and as the days went on, fewer and fewer students came. Then the tennis team was hit, then rowing, then rugby. Even the chess club suffered. Finally the preterm training sessions were called off completely, for utter lack of participants.
Without training, Zee had plenty of time to see the doctor and do whatever else his parents wanted him to do, though he did not think it would help any. He had made a mistake by telling his parents what he thought-now they were just more worried, they suspected he had gone quite mad, and he was only more alone.
Mrs. Miller took him in to the doctor at the first available cancellation. She kept saying that they would get to the bottom of this, that they would help him feel better, but Zee could not help but feel that it was her fears she wanted to alleviate. His parents were acting suspiciously gentle with him, as if he were going to pop at any moment.
Zee didn't know what his mother had said to the doctor-perhaps something along the lines of "My son's gone barmy." But Dr. Widmapool was kind and thorough. Zee did not mention the Piper flu; indeed, they did not discuss it at all. Zee could not help but wonder if the good doctor wasn't relieved to see a patient who could sit upright.
Dr. Widmapool poked and prodded, both literally and metaphorically, and then sat Zee and his mother down.
"Well, Zachary looks just fine. I don't see any sign of this… this syndrome."
"Good," said Mrs. Miller.
"There is one thing in his blood work: He's a little anemic. That means your iron count is a little lower than it should be, Zachary. That may be why you were feeling dizzy and fatigued. Anemia happens, and it's not dangerous. But it's not something you normally see in healthy young boys. It means either you're not getting enough iron in your diet or else you've had some kind of blood loss. Are you a vegetarian?"
"No," Zee said.
"Have you lost any blood for any reason? An injury?"
"No," Zee said.
"Well… as I say, sometimes this happens. I don't see signs of anything serious. I'll want to monitor those levels. But I think a good vitamin regimen should cure you right up, and you won't feel so worn out."
"There's nothing else?" Mrs. Miller asked.
"No. No signs of infection. Other than the anemia, Zachary is a healthy young man. Though he does seem to be exhibiting some of the symptoms of stress… I believe that may be causing his sleeplessness and appetite trouble. I think this is perfectly understandable, given the, um, situation. Zachary, I'd like you to talk to someone. I have a name."
So Zee found himself in a psychiatrist's office. He was fairly sure this was also to make his mother feel better. With a few nice pink pills maybe whatever delusions he was having would go away, and they could all stop whispering and worrying and go back to being a normal family
"I'm not a nutter, Mum," he told her.
"Oh, honey, I know. But you have been under a great deal of stress, and he can help you with that. Dr. Widmapool thinks it will help you sleep."
"Whatever, Mum," he said. It wasn't like he had anything else to do. It wasn't as if he could do anything to help all his sick friends. He might as well chatter away with a shrink while the Piper flu took all of England.
So he humored his parents. He sat in Dr. Vandimere's office for an hour. They talked of life in general- the upcoming school year, his activities, his plans for the future, even football, though Zee got the distinct impression Dr. Vandimere didn't know his flick header from his foot trap. Every once in a while the doctor would try to work in a more direct question, and Zee would parry as politely as he could.
"You haven't been sleeping well?"
"Bit rough."
"Tell me about your dreams."
"My dreams?"
"Yes. Is there anything you dream about that you remember in particular?"
"Doors." The word just popped out of Zee's mouth. He'd had no idea it was in there. But once it was out, he realized it was true. He dreamed of doors. At night his brain filled with them. Long, narrow corridors; hidden hallways; small, dark staircases-and at the end of them, doors. Simple, nondescript doors, the kind you could pass by a thousand times and never notice. But in Zee's dreams he wanted desperately to open them, to see what was on the other side. He could feel it, there in the psychiatrist's office, the urge to reach his hand out, wrap it around the knob, and turn…
"Doors?" Dr. Vandimere repeated eagerly. He leaned in.
“Moors,” Zee said. "I'm frightened of the moors. Hound of the Baskervilles and all that." He widened his eyes. "I have nightmares!"
"Ah," said Dr. Vandimere. He made a note.
"I was sorry to hear about your grandmother," the doctor said.
"Yeah," Zee said.
"You were very close."
"Yeah."
"And then the Piper flu hit."
"Yeah."
"A lot of your friends got it."
“Yeah.”
"How did that make you feel?"
Zee blinked. "Uh… well…" He cut off. He was trying to be polite, but the doctor was getting awfully personal. Really, he was a perfect stranger.
The doctor shifted in his seat. "There've been a lot of cases of this flu."
"Yeah."
"And a lot of your friends are sick."
"Yeah."
"Both in Exeter and here."
"Yeah."
"The flu might even seem to be… following you."