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“You know,” Ernesta said, “if we stay here forever, we won’t get any bacon.”

Once she said it, I smelled the bacon Mama was frying in the kitchen. Before Nessie could protest, I threw my quilt on her and dashed out of our room. She shouted in frustration as she got tangled up in the heavy cloth but soon chased after me.

“Shh,” Mama said as we sat down at the table. “Your father’s still sleeping.”

Ernesta and I exchanged a dark look. Papa had gone to bed early last night after barely eating any of Mama’s stew. He must have slept ten hours, and he still wasn’t up?

“I’m going to check on him,” I said, pushing back my chair.

“Eat breakfast first,” Mama said. “Let him sleep.”

I shook my head, already heading back down the hall. Dread rose in my throat.

You’re being paranoid,I told myself.You’ve been around the plague too much, and now you’re seeing it everywhere.

“Papa?” I said softly, pushing open the door to my parents’ bedroom.

He didn’t stir. He lay flat on his back, his eyes shut, and for one horrible, horrible moment, I thought it was already too late.

I rushed to his bed, picking up his left hand and feeling for a pulse.There.Relief flooded through me as I felt his heartbeat thudding through his veins.

“Papa?” I asked gently. Behind us, Ernesta and Mama crowded into the doorway, blocking some of the light.

“Nedra.” Papa’s voice was weak, dry.

“I’ll get him some water,” Mama said, darting back down the hall.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Where does it hurt?”

Ernesta moved forward, reaching for Papa’s other hand. And in the light from the hallway, I saw the thing I dreaded most in the world.

The tips of Papa’s fingers were black.

Cold terror washed through my blood.

“What do we do?” Ernesta asked in a whisper.

Mama came back with a glass of water. She saw the way I held Papa’s hand, the light illuminating the blackness in his fingers. The cup slipped from her grasp, crashing to the floor. The glass shattered, and water spilled everywhere.

I stood up.

“Clean that,” I said, pointing to Mama. “Get my bag, the new one I brought from school,” I told Ernesta.

My words spurred a flurry of motion as Ernesta leapt over the mess, and Mama went to fetch a towel. I ripped Papa’s blankets away, pulling up the legs of his trousers. There was blackness on both of his feet, creeping up from beneath his toenails, over the tops of his feet, swirling into his calves.

I covered him with the blanket again.

Mama didn’t look at Papa as she knelt in the doorway, clearing away the glass and water. Ernesta called my name and handed me my bag, leaning over Mama.

“We need rats. Or some other small animal that will fit in here,” I said, lifting out my golden crucible.

My mother gasped. She had never seen that much gold before.

“We don’t have any traps,” Ernesta said. “The Sens had a litter of kittens, and they’ve been in our stable...”

“A kitten then,” I said, not thinking about how horrible it would be. “Go. Now.”

Ernesta turned on her heel and ran outside.