Vaccination

Book I of the zVax TrilogyAuthor: Karen A. Demby

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…Ella and I both shared virtually the same space over the four days. We ate the same food. Inhaled the same air. My mind focused momentarily on the crop-dusted dirty vent air. This was important but I don’t understand yet. I intentionally re-established my train of thought. The only variable, only significant difference in the previous days between me and my daughter was that Ella was given the zVax. I can’t make sense of a vaccine administered by a doctor (nurse, on doctor’s orders) being the cause of all this harm and pain. I feel a puzzle in my mind clicking together with answers…

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…His dark hair is damp or oily and splayed on his brow. He must be sweating, I decide. I can see slimy blood covering his purple gloves and forearms. But one glove was incomplete. What should have been the life-saving double barrier on his right hand was only a single compromised nitrile swath. The glove was missing several inches above the wrist and open around the pinky. It looked like my palm rejection glove but reversed, which would have been useless at preventing smudging. It held to his hand with sticky, coagulating blood. His blood is actively dripping from a gash between his pinky and wrist, where there is no glove and there is no flesh. The metacarpal bone area. That’s the bone I learned when I bought that artist glove. I shouldn’t be able to see the metacarpal bone, but I can. My stomach turns and a swoosh of adrenaline causes the hair on my nape to electrify…