To her, he can whisper a private concern. It's not something he'll say to anybody else. It's barely something he's said to himself. He's not afraid, not really. Not for himself. Dying of a bad flu is probably the kindest death he could have hoped for.

He's more worried for her. "Ain't never been this sick before," he says with a shrug. He wanders toward the bed she pointed out for him.