Chapter 1

News of my death was short and sweet. I heard all about it while in ICU. The hospital, whatever hospital it was, provided a constant ICU nurse, beside my bed, all the time. Because I was – whoever I was this time – so damaged, they felt the need for constant attention. Since I wasn't ready to wake up, apparently, I rested and listened to the pundits discuss my death.

"Details about the heroic actions of the man who captured and killed the final terrorist still at large from The Outpost remain sketchy, but one source tells FOXNEWS that it was a specialist in terrorism, who knew he had no chance to live through the attempt, and stopped the terrorist anyway. It seems that there is film of the final seconds of the event, but it will not be released any time soon, due to the interests of national defense, and respect for the loved ones of the 'Hero of Baltimore... '"

So ... I was dead ... Again.

What a Shock! Nine times I've died, and each one was terrible. Falling forty odd stories off of an apartment building with three vials of instant death lodged in my stomach wasn't my favorite by a long shot. But I was just as dead, and it certainly didn't take very long.

With Noah Guthrie dead, I needed to contact Angela's secret email and reconnect, but until I was able to wake up that was impossible, so I concentrated on getting better. For days I lay trapped in an inert body, unable to speak, open my eyes, or do much other than listen and think. The rest that I had craved before I died became a mixed blessing in my new setting.

When all you can do is listen, and there are people around all the time, you get to hear interesting things from time to time. Most conversations were about the plague. The medical staff was as tired, and frustrated as The Judge had been, but working at germ ground zero had to be terrible. Other times I would overhear conversations so wonderfully typical that I would imagine that the sickness had run its course, and things were improving.

"Yes ... He screwed me into the bed! It was amazing. The only thing that would have made it better was if he didn't have to leave to go home to his wife."

"I dropped my car off there this morning on the way to the hospital. Can you tell me if the work is done and when I can pick it up? Yes. This is Doctor Jensen, and my car is the bright white Mercedes, two-door, Kompressor. It was the only Kompressor on your lot when I dropped it off, and I bet it's the only one there, now ... Yes ... Can I come pick it up? ... Of great. Progress. Somebody that actually speaks English and has a brain. What do you hire there, illegal Guatemalans?"

"Hi. This is Doctor Jensen, and I am returning a call to ... wait just a second ... Jim R. Newbury. Is this his office? ... Yes ... Yes. I will hold ... Thank you..."

"Mr. Newbury. It's a pleasure to meet you, if only by phone. How can I help you, sir???..." I fell asleep after that but heard lots of other things in the next few days, or hours, or minutes or however long I was out.

The next thing I knew I was opening my eyes.

The hospital room swam into focus, and I could see many things to fill in the details I'd been imagining. It was daytime, and the sunlight that filtered between the blades of the blind, was warm and comforting. The bed and room looked clean as well as new and well are for.

The body I'd inherited was a mystery, and I decided to start there and see what I could figure out about my new life. When I moved my arms, I saw I was quite diminutive. My wrists were thin and the hands at the end were slender and small. That led to a more deliberate examination, and I lifted the bed sheet and gown away from my body, and saw a girl under there!

Holy Crap!

I was a girl, and a very small girl at that. I couldn't see my face, because there was no mirror in the hospital room, but I could tell I had small body, which meant that I must be quite young. My skin looked healthy, and my body appeared not to be much of anything other than the body of a young girl.

Internally, I laughed thinking now that I was a girl, and looked like a tiny girl resembling Angela, I would know first-hand all of her challenges, frustrations, and fears. Then I thought about high heels, make up, and tampons and wanted to cry or kill myself and get it over with quickly.

While I was attempting to absorb the shock, a nurse walked in and gasped when she saw my eyes open. "Oh, sweetie, you're awake. We were afraid you were not going to wake up any time soon, but here you are, and the only one we know about who survived the poisoning. Your doctors are so anxious to see you and discover all your secrets, since everyone else who got the poison died from it." She was kind, gentle in her own way, and had the gift of communicating sympathy. I watched her like a hawk, hoping she would tell me things about this identity, but instead of talking, she notified the desk that I was awake, took my vitals, and adjusted the IV's.

As she finished the door swung open and a doctor walked in, saw me watching him, and lit up like it was Christmas Morning, and he had been a very good boy. "I can't tell you happy I am to see you awake, young lady. Unless something changed in the last ten hours, you are the only person to survive exposure to the terrorist germ. We are making arrangements to examine your blood to find the antibodies that will help us manufacture an antidote, and maybe then people will start to have a chance."

He got busy doing what doctors do, and it was while waiting to see what would happen next that I realized there was no beeping machine to torment me.

"Doctor," I said, trying out my new voice. "How is it that I am in ICU without a monitor? Was I not very sick, so you didn't think I needed one?"

He laughed, and said, "You were plenty sick. So sick that we decided to use any available monitors on patients with a chance of surviving. I am so sorry to tell you that I gave you up for dead, three days ago. When you didn't die, we moved you in here for privacy, while we watched to see how long before your internal organs failed, because on everyone else, it took less than twenty-four hours.

"The fact that you are here three days later is the first miracle we've experienced since those terrorists started spreading the germ, and once the rest of the medical community finds out we have a survivor, they will be as ecstatic as I am now."

He stated to dictate into a special rig that hung down from the ceiling. "Patient is an adolescent female, approximately fourteen years old. She came to us presenting all of the symptoms of the germ, and all medical signs pointed to the failure of all internal organs within eight hours of arrival.

"Patient was administered a host of drugs by intravenous injection and stabilized for a period of nearly seventy-two hours, after which, without prior change in patient vital signs, patient awoke and appears to be fully aware, talkative, and capable of expressing herself to attending and medical personnel.

"Patient is isolated in a private room, off the ICU area, to avoid any contamination while lab results are achieved for the presence of active anti-bodies. Once more is known of the nature of patient recovery, it is the opinion of attending that a serum can be manufactured capable fighting the terrorist germ."

The doctor looked pretty pleased with himself, "Angela. How do you feel?"