Fever Season

The wheels of my oversized suitcase rattled against the polished terminal floor before I hoisted it onto the scale, handing it over to the airline agent. She caught it with a practiced swing, tagging the handle with a swift, rhythmic flick of her wrist.

"Ah, Florida? Heading off on vacation?" she asked, her voice carrying that polite, rehearsed brightness unique to airport customer service. She scanned my boarding pass, the red laser flashing briefly across her eyes.

"I’m actually from there," I said, tucking a stray lock of blonde hair behind my ear as it fell into my face. "I just wrapped up my third year of college, so I’m finally heading home for the summer."

"Oh, wow! Congratulations on finishing the year. Have a wonderful summer and a great flight!" She beamed, sliding the physical boarding pass back to me across the counter.

"Thanks, you too," I replied automatically, taking the slip of paper and turning toward the security checkpoint.

Even for a Wednesday morning, the California terminal was packed to the gills. It made sense—terminals everywhere were swarming with exhausted students shuffling home for the break, mixed in with the usual standard rush of tourists drawn to the West Coast. I shuffled into the security queue, watching the TSA officers move with methodical, relentless efficiency. They were unusually thorough today, double-checking bags, re-scanning laptops, and patting down passengers with a tight, quiet focus that felt a little stiffer than usual.

Once through the metal detectors, I put my shoes back on and looked up at the overhead signs hanging from the high ceiling. Gate F8. Checking the digital watch on my wrist, I saw I still had a solid hour before boarding began. My stomach rumbled on cue, reminding me that adrenaline and packing hadn't substituted for actual breakfast.

I navigated through the slow-moving crowd toward the airport Starbucks, where the line wrapped around a display case of pre-packaged fruit cups. After waiting my turn, I ordered an iced coffee and a warm cheese danish, grabbing my food and looking around for anywhere to sit. The seating area was a sea of occupied chairs and dropped luggage. Fortunately, I spotted a tiny two-person table tucked away in a quiet corner near a pillar. The opposite chair was empty.

I sat down, taking a grateful sip of the dark roast and leaning back. I was halfway through a bite of my pastry when a shadow fell across the table.

"Mind if I sit here? I can't find a spot anywhere else," a woman asked softly. She was carrying a leather tote bag and holding a hot mug with both hands, looking slightly worn around the edges.

I swallowed my bite and nodded politely. "Not at all, go right ahead." Public space was public space, and I wasn't about to hog a chair when the terminal was this backed up.

She settled into the seat, placing her tote carefully by her feet. "I'm on the flight to Florida, how about you?"

I had to suppress a quiet chuckle. She was clearly a talker, the kind of person who processed her thoughts by sharing them with whoever happened to be in arm's reach. "Same here," I responded, taking another sip of my coffee.

"Awesome!" She blew gently on her coffee before taking a small sip. "I actually live out here in California, but I’ve got three siblings and my parents living out in Sarasota. My siblings are completely freaking out right now because my mom was admitted to the hospital last night. I'm sure it's nothing major, but I figured I’d better get down there just in case, you know?"

I softened a bit, picking up on the subtle anxious tremor in her voice. "Wow. I'm really sorry to hear that. I hope your mother feels better soon and it turns out to be nothing."

"Thanks," she sighed, leaning her forearms on the table. "It's just stressful because apparently a lot of the hospitals down there are completely slammed right now. Getting a straight answer from the desk on the phone was like pulling teeth."

I shrugged casually, reaching back to toss my empty pastry bag and napkin into the trash bin behind my seat. "I'm from the area, though my family is up in Tampa. I'm just out here for school. I actually missed going home last summer because of summer classes, and winter break was a blur, so it’s been almost a full year since I’ve seen any of them."

Her eyes lit up with genuine interest. "That’s so sweet—you must be thrilled to get back. You mentioned college... where are you studying? Stanford?"

I chuckled, rubbing the back of my neck. "Yeah, actually. I got pretty lucky with the admissions board."

She clapped her hands together, a sudden burst of warmth replacing her anxious tone. "Oh, that’s incredible! Stanford! Good for you. Do you like living on the West Coast?"

"I love it, honestly," I admitted, looking toward the large glass windows that showcased the tarmac outside. "California’s been amazing. I’m seriously considering looking for jobs out here and staying permanently after I graduate next year."

"Oh, it is totally worth it!" she blurted out with bright enthusiasm. "Best decision I ever made moving out here. You'll love it."

We spent the next twenty minutes trading casual small talk. I learned her name was Sandra, that she worked in real estate, and that she harbored a deep hatred for red-eye flights. By the time the overhead speakers crackled to announce early boarding for Gate F8, we said our goodbyes and wished each other luck.

I woven my way through the dense crowd at the gate, handed my ticket to the attendant, and walked down the chilly, accordioned ramp into the airplane. I navigated the narrow aisle all the way to the very back, sliding into the window seat I’d paid extra for months in advance. Stowing my backpack beneath the seat in front of me, I leaned my head against the cold plastic oval wall and pulled my noise-canceling headphones out of my pocket.

As I unangled the cord, the voices of two men sitting a row ahead of me carried over the quiet hum of the plane's air conditioning system.

"...the hospitals are totally overcrowded," one man was saying, his tone sharp with hushed tension. "My buddy is a charge nurse down in Miami. He said they're turning people away at the ER door, but nobody is getting any true updates on why. Management put a gag order on the staff."

"A gag order? For what?" his companion asked, leaning in closer.

"All he would say is that it's some kind of respiratory sickness, but he told me he could get in serious trouble just for sending me that text. Said the ICU beds filled up in forty-eight hours."

I paused with my headphones hovering just above my ears, the man's words lingering in the air. That was the second time in less than an hour someone had mentioned Florida hospitals overflowing. A brief spike of unease fluttered in my chest, but I quickly shook it off. It was probably just some localized strain of the flu or a bad stomach bug that the media hadn't picked up on yet. People always exaggerated health scares anyway.

I slid the headphones over my ears, drowning out the ambient noise of the cabin with a quiet acoustic playlist. Closing my eyes, I rested my forehead against the window, feeling the heavy thrum of the jet engines revving up for takeoff. Whatever was going on down there, it didn't matter right now. All I cared about was surviving the five-hour flight, getting off the plane in Tampa, and seeing my family.