The world truly needs me. I can’t stop to rest. Or grieve.
 

God, but I miss her! Dr. Karras, my lab partner for just five weeks.

I love you!

Dare I say it aloud even now that I’m alone? Other scientists watch me through the thick sound-proof glass, but I’m quarantined. No one can enter my lab now.

Diana.

How can I not think of my partner? She’d been sent from WHO to assist what Camden Labs was already hailing as a possible vaccine for Covid-19. I’d had success identifying key antigens, but she had the expertise, the technical experience required for a break-through.

She had raven hair worn in a tight bun, brown eyes, and a spontaneous smile. For three stressful weeks we worked side by side, using the microscopes and unlimited equipment CL had procured for us.

As a scientist, I’m a trained observer. Within days I noticed our relationship had transcended beyond professional. The soft touch of her hand as we passed equipment, the increase in sidelong glances, and that wondrous smile getting ever wider.

And then the accident!

She’d been mixing ingredients in a beaker while I was recording our recent findings on a computer a few yards away. For some reason she stumbled. I turned to look just as the beaker shattered on the floor. A cloud of green fumes arose swiftly, shrouding her.

She stared at me, horrific panic in her eyes.

I shuddered at what I foresaw. The contents of that beaker were far more potent than the virus lurking outside.

Rescuers in HAZMAT garb took her to the hospital. Within hours she was on a ventilator. The next day she died.

Or did she?

I knew I had to work on. Alone. But often I felt her hand on mine as I adjusted the microscope, her warm breath upon my neck as I copiously recorded my--our--progress.

Today I am sure I saw her leaning against another bench, watching me, a big smile on her pale face.

“You’re delirious, Ben! Exhausted,” I groaned.

Then I laid my head on the computer and slept. God knows for how long. No one tapped on the windows to wake me.

When my eyes opened, I saw an unfamiliar formula written on the monitor. And a note:

Ben, because we were so close to finding a viable vaccine, I have been working while you slept. Your remarkable notes have given me tips. I think I’ve found a formula that will work. Please try it. Hurry!  Mankind can’t wait.

I do miss you so.

Diana

Moments later I erased the note from the computer’s records. But not

before writing the formula on a notepad.
 

All day I’ve run tests. It will work! But I won’t see the outcome.
 

I’m infected. I and everyone outside these windows knew I would be.   I chose to spend my last days working . . . alone.

Diana, we’ll soon be partners again.