By the time Serina arrived home, Jules had filled three pages of her notebook and crossed out nearly half of what she'd written. She had started with the earthquake, moved on to the gas, and then abandoned that approach when she realized she was writing a report instead of preparing for a conversation with her mother.
The problem wasn't a lack of information. It was deciding how much she could explain without revealing where she'd learned it.
She'd written Hospitals will become dangerous and immediately remembered a crowded emergency department where people had waited for treatment until the electricity failed. She'd written Fever does not always mean infection and thought of a boy who'd been dragged out of a shelter because someone believed he was turning.
Those memories weren't something she could cite in a medical discussion.
Jules scratched out another sentence.
From downstairs came the familiar sounds of her family settling in for the evening. Someone was running water in the kitchen. Tavian was arguing with Daric about a phone charger, and Kaelith had apparently decided that shouting "Mine!" was an acceptable contribution to the disagreement.
Her phone vibrated beside the notebook.
Mom: Just pulled into the driveway.
Jules looked at the message, then at the list she'd prepared. She had spent the afternoon helping her father organize deliveries, checking supplier confirmations, and preparing ingredients for dinner. She'd already cooked enough chicken and vegetables for two additional family meals and stored the portions in her dimension. The rest of dinner was waiting downstairs, ready to be reheated.
She put the cap on her pen and went to meet her mother.
Serina was standing in the kitchen when Jules came downstairs, still wearing her hospital identification badge. Kaelith had wrapped himself around one of her legs, making it difficult for her to remove her shoes.
"I'm home," Serina announced unnecessarily.
"We noticed," Kaelen said from the dining table.
"Did you?" She looked down at Kaelith. "Because I seem to have acquired an attachment."
"Up!" he demanded.
"That's a very convincing argument."
She lifted him, kissed his cheek, and immediately received a sticky hand against her face.
"Lovely. What have you been eating?"
"Grapes," Amira supplied.
"I'm going to assume he washed his hands."
Nobody answered.
Serina sighed. "Wonderful."
Jules retrieved the containers she'd left in the refrigerator. The chicken had been marinated earlier with garlic, herbs, and a little of the water she'd brought from her dimension. She'd used that water in the rice as well, just as she'd been doing with the family's meals.
"Dinner's ready," she said. "I just need to warm everything."
"Smells good," Serina replied, setting Kaelith down. "Did you make enough for tomorrow?"
"Already put some away."
"Good. I have an early shift."
Jules took a plate from the cupboard. "You should eat before it gets cold."
Serina watched her for a moment.
"Are we still talking tonight?"
Jules nodded without looking up. "After dinner?"
"After dinner."
Her mother didn't ask anything else, and Jules was grateful. She could manage one conversation at a time.
Dinner was noisy, mostly because Tavian had discovered that Daric was using his charger and wanted everyone to acknowledge the injustice.
"You have three chargers," Daric pointed out.
"And they're all mine."
"Then why was this one in the living room?"
"Because I live here!"
Jorin, who had been quietly eating, looked up. "Technically, leaving something in a shared space doesn't transfer ownership."
"Thank you," Tavian said.
"I wasn't finished. You also left it plugged into Daric's computer."
Tavian turned toward him. "Whose side are you on?"
"The side of accurate information."
Selina groaned. "Can we have one dinner without a courtroom?"
Amira raised her hand. "I want to be the judge."
"You're eight," Daric said.
"Judges can be eight."
"No, they can't."
"Well, I can."
Kaelen reached for the serving bowl. "The court is adjourned. Pass the vegetables."
Jules smiled as she refilled Amira's plate. Across the table, her mother had started asking Selina about the presentation she'd given earlier. Selina immediately launched into an explanation of her proposed communications system, and within minutes she was trying to convince Serina that the family needed identification cards.
Jules listened while she ate, occasionally answering a question or reminding Kaelith to keep his food on his plate.
It was almost easy to forget the notebook waiting upstairs.
Almost.
Serina had changed into pajamas by the time Jules knocked on her bedroom door.
"Come in."
Her mother sat against the headboard with her glasses on, reviewing something on her tablet. A half-empty cup of tea rested on the bedside table.
Jules entered carrying her notebook.
Serina put the tablet aside. "You look like you're about to present your thesis."
"I made notes."
"I can see that."
"A lot of notes."
"Then I'm glad I brought my glasses."
Jules sat in the armchair near the window while Serina retrieved a notebook of her own from the bedside drawer.
"Before we start," her mother said, "I want to make something clear."
Jules looked up.
"I'm not going to spend tonight demanding to know how you learned all this. I'd like to understand eventually, but I don't think another interrogation will help either of us."
Jules ran her thumb along the edge of her notebook.
"I wasn't trying to hide things just to be difficult."
"I know. But when I asked about injuries and illnesses the other morning, you kept telling me you didn't know. Then you looked as though you wanted to run out of the room."
"I kind of did."
Serina gave her a small smile. "I noticed."
Jules glanced toward the door. "I was worried you'd start asking questions I couldn't answer."
"I probably will. That's what doctors do."
"Mom."
"I'm serious, sweetheart. I need to ask questions. But you can tell me when you don't want to answer something, and I'll respect that."
Jules considered the offer. Her mother had never been particularly good at leaving a mystery alone, especially when someone's health was involved.
"Even if it's important?"
"Especially then. I'd rather have an honest conversation about what you can tell me than another argument about what you won't."
Jules opened her notebook.
"Okay. The first thing is the earthquake."
Serina uncapped her pen.
"Tell me."
Jules explained what she remembered about Greenvale: the damaged roads, collapsed bridges, flooded farmland, and aftershocks that continued after the initial disaster. Serina asked about the severity, the likely number of injuries, and whether Clearwater would experience structural damage.
Jules answered where she could. When she didn't know, she said so.
"And the gas?" Serina asked.
"It comes from underground. People breathe it in, and a lot of them lose consciousness."
"Immediately?"
"Not always. Some collapse quickly. Others seem fine for a while."
"Any consistent warning signs?"
"Not that I know of. Some people mention a smell, but the descriptions are different."
Serina wrote something down. "And how long are they unconscious?"
"It varies. Hours for some. Longer for others."
"Does everyone recover?"
Jules shook her head.
Her mother stopped writing.
"What happens to the ones who don't?"
"Some die. Some wake up, but they're not themselves anymore."
Serina regarded her over the top of her glasses. "You're talking about the zombies."
"Yes."
"Are they actually dead before they become violent, or are they living people with severe neurological damage?"
Jules hadn't expected that question.
"I don't know how it works medically."
"But you've seen the behavior?"
Jules hesitated. "I know what they do."
Serina waited.
"They attack anything nearby. At first, they don't seem to see properly. Noise attracts them. They can keep moving after injuries that should stop a normal person."
"What stops them?"
Jules looked at her mother's pen.
"Destroying the brain usually works on the early ones."
Serina didn't write immediately. She sat with that answer, her expression unreadable.
"Usually?"
"They change over time."
"How?"
"Some become faster. Some are stronger. Later, there are ones that are harder to kill."
Her mother made a note.
"Then we shouldn't assume the same response will work indefinitely."
"No."
Serina turned to a fresh page and wrote three headings: Trauma, Exposure, and Suspected Transformation.
"These are different problems," she explained. "Someone injured during the earthquake isn't necessarily exposed to the gas. Someone exposed to the gas isn't necessarily transforming. We need to avoid treating every patient as though they have the same condition."
Jules leaned forward. "That's actually something I wanted to tell you."
"Go ahead."
"People get sick after everything starts falling apart. Regular illnesses. Fevers, vomiting, infections. But once everyone knows about the zombies, they start assuming anyone who's sick is turning."
Serina frowned. "That could become dangerous very quickly."
"It does."
The words came out before Jules could reconsider them.
Her mother looked at her, but Jules continued before she could ask anything.
"Someone can have a fever because they drank contaminated water. Or because a wound got infected. It doesn't mean they're becoming a zombie."
"Of course not. But frightened people won't necessarily understand the difference."
"Exactly."
Serina wrote for several seconds.
"We'll need separate observation areas, infection-control procedures, and some way to assess symptoms without putting other patients at unnecessary risk. I'd also want records of exposure history, injury patterns, and changes in behavior."
Jules nodded.
"And proper protective equipment," she added. "Gloves, masks, gowns. More than you'd normally keep at home."
"I've already been thinking about that. Your father showed me the medical orders."
Jules glanced up. "Was he upset?"
"He was more concerned about how much you spent without telling him."
"That sounds right."
"Some of what you bought is useful. Some needs to be reviewed. Medications expire, equipment requires maintenance, and certain treatments aren't safe without proper monitoring."
"I figured you'd know what to do with it."
Serina raised an eyebrow. "That's a great deal of confidence in me."
"You're a doctor."
"And you're my daughter. Which means I'm allowed to tell you when you've ordered something ridiculous."
Jules laughed. "Fair."
They spent the next forty minutes discussing the medical problems most likely to arise when ordinary services disappeared.
Serina made a separate list for wound care, dehydration, infections, chronic illnesses, sanitation, and emergency treatment. She asked about access to clean water, refrigeration for medication, and what happened to hospitals when supplies stopped arriving.
Jules described overcrowded emergency departments and power failures. She explained that some hospitals remained operational longer than others, but none could be counted on indefinitely. She avoided mentioning the particular hospital where she'd spent three days searching for her family in another life.
When Serina asked about contaminated water, Jules remembered a settlement where people had become desperately ill after using a flooded well. She described the problem without identifying the place.
Her mother listened carefully.
"Then water treatment has to be a priority," Serina said. "Not just for drinking. Cleaning wounds, washing equipment, food preparation, sanitation. We need reliable supplies and backup methods."
"I ordered filtration equipment."
"I saw. We'll check the specifications together."
Serina turned another page. "What about medication? Are there particular shortages?"
"Almost everything eventually. Antibiotics, pain medication, insulin, basic antiseptics. People start trading for things that used to be easy to buy."
"And medical professionals?"
Jules looked toward the window.
"There aren't enough."
Serina set down her pen.
"Jules, I need you to understand that I won't be able to treat every condition, even if we have supplies."
"I know."
"Some people will need surgery. Others will need specialists or equipment we simply won't have."
Jules nodded, but her mother continued.
"And if we're responsible for other survivors, we'll have to decide what care we can realistically provide. I don't want you promising people treatment that I can't deliver."
"I won't."
"Good."
Jules turned a page in her notebook, though there was nothing written on it.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"When things get bad, will you promise not to give away everything we have?"
Serina tilted her head. "What do you mean?"
"Food. Medicine. Your own supplies." Jules looked directly at her. "You help people even when you're exhausted. Sometimes you forget to eat because you're busy taking care of everyone else."
"That's a fairly accurate description of hospital work."
"I'm serious, Mom."
"I know you are."
Jules gripped the notebook. "I don't want you skipping meals or giving someone else the medicine you need because you think they need it more."
Serina was quiet for a moment.
"There's a difference between helping someone and neglecting yourself," she said. "I understand what you're asking."
"Will you promise?"
"I promise I'll take care of my own health too. And if we're setting up a medical area, we'll establish proper rules for distributing supplies."
Jules nodded and looked down at the blank page.
Her mother reached across the space between their chairs and touched her hand.
"Whatever you've been carrying around, sweetheart, you don't have to explain it all tonight."
Jules watched her mother's fingers resting over hers. There was a small mark near Serina's thumb from an old kitchen burn, and her nails were cut short for work. Jules remembered those hands checking her forehead when she was sick, fixing her hair before school, and holding Kaelith when he was born.
She wanted to tell her about the first life.
Instead, she asked, "Can we keep talking tomorrow?"
Serina squeezed her hand once. "Absolutely. But tomorrow, I want you to bring the full medical inventory."
"Even the things Dad hasn't looked at yet?"
"Especially those."
Jules smiled. "Okay."
It was nearly eleven when Jules returned to her bedroom. She placed the notebooks on her desk, then opened her laptop and added Serina's notes to the preparation spreadsheet.
Her mother had identified several missing categories, including dental care, laundry, protective garments, bedding, and hygiene supplies. Jules created a separate tab for them, leaving the quantities blank until they could review what the family already owned.
She had been concentrating so heavily on food and equipment that she'd barely considered how quickly children outgrew shoes, or what would happen when clothes wore through and there were no stores left to replace them.
That would need its own plan.
Her phone lit up with a message from Serina.
Mom: Don't stay up all night working. And thank you for talking to me. Love you.
Jules typed a reply.
Love you too. Going to bed soon.
She saved the spreadsheet and shut her laptop. Her notebook remained open beside it, filled with questions her mother had asked and answers Jules had never expected to give.
Tomorrow, there would be more work. Her father wanted to review the warehouse delivery schedule, and she had several batches of meals to prepare before the next shipment arrived.
But she had one less thing to do alone.
Jules switched off the desk lamp and went to bed.