they provide,” the man cautioned, some of the warmth leeching from his tone. Two bodies and a lot of hot blood on the road outside Memphis could spell an outbreak much larger than our little team. We both knew it. Now we had to contain it.
“Understood.” My PDA started beeping, signaling an incoming call. “Sir, may I ask, what is your name?”
“Joseph Wynne, Ms. Mason. Stand tight; our team will be there soon.”
“Thank you, Joe,” I said.
“God be with you,” he said. The line clicked off.
Shifting my PDA to my other hand, I pressed the Receive button. “Georgia.” Shaun was running toward me, the field kits clutched against his chest. I raised my free hand, and he lobbed one at me. It was more than a simple game of catch; there are a hundred small tests and checks for infection that don’t depend on medical science. If he could throw, and I could catch, the odds were better that we were both clean. I saw him relax when I caught the kit, even though he didn’t slow down.
Senator Ryman’s voice came through the receiver, made sharp and tight by panic: “Georgia, what’s this I’m getting on the scanner about an accident? Is everyone all right out there?”
“Senator.” I nodded to Shaun. He put Rick’s testing kit down next to him, and the two of us popped the lids off our respective kits in comforting unison. Routine is the most reassuring thing there is. “I’m afraid I have to answer in the negative, sir, but the CDC is dispatching a biohazard team to our location. Once we have an all-clear, we’re going to need a fresh truck and a team to move the equipment.” I hesitated before adding, “We’re also going to need a new driver. Rick doesn’t have his Class A license, and I don’t want to leave my bike behind.”
There was a long pause, during which I tucked my PDA between my shoulder and my ear, freeing my hand, and mouthed a silent “one, two” at Shaun. On two, we both rammed our forefingers down on the unit the other held. The prick of the needle puncturing my thumb made me wince, nearly dislodging the PDA.
Finally, while the lights were blinking red to green and back again, the senator said, “Georgia… is Chuck…?”
I closed my eyes, blocking those ever-hateful lights, and said, “I’m sorry, Senator.”
He paused again. “Georgia…”
“Yes, Senator?”
“Buffy. Wasn’t she…”
“I’m afraid that when the truck rolled, we were unable to save either of the occupants.”
“Oh, Christ, Georgia, I’m sorry.”
“So am I, sir; so am I. Can you arrange for another truck and driver to be sent to our location, and alert the rest of the convoy that we’re being unavoidably delayed? We’re just outside Memphis. You should be able to pull us up on the team GPS.”
“I’ll have someone on the way inside the next ten minutes.” The third pause was longer than the other two, and when he spoke again, he sounded more exhausted than I’d ever heard him, even after we received the news of Rebecca’s death. “Georgia, have the rest of you… have you…”
“The tests are running now. If anything changes, we’ll call you.”
“Thank you. I suppose I should let you get to it.”
“That would be best.”
“God save you, Georgia Mason,” he said, and ended the call before I could say good-bye.
Lowering the PDA, I opened my eyes, looking to Shaun’s face and avoiding the lights entirely. “He’s sending help,” I said.
“Good,” he replied. “We’re not infected.”
I allowed myself to glance down to the field kits, whose lights had settled on a steady green. I took a single shallow breath, followed by another deeper one, and nodded. “Better.” Turning, I looked at Rick. “Rick, we need a blood test.”
“What?” He raised his head, eyes wide and blank.
“A blood test. The field kit is next to you. The biohazard team won’t approach until we’re either checked out clean or dead.” I pulled my finger free, feeling the antiseptic tingle in the pinprick wound, and shook my hand briskly before depressing the signal button at the base of the kit. That would activate the built-in wireless transmitter, uploading the results into the CDC mainframe. A manual upload is only necessary in the event of a negative; the CDC doesn’t care, under normal circumstances, about the fact that someone
Shaun mirrored my actions. He held out his hand and I passed him his test kit, which he dropped into one of the plastic bags he pulled from his belt. My test kit went into a separate bag, which he handed to me. Again in semi-unison, we pressed down the pressure seals, leaving our respective thumbprints on the corners of our bags. If they were tampered with in any way, the seals would turn scarlet and the kits inside would become worse than useless; they would become suspect.
“I… I’m not sure I can,” said Rick, swallowing. “Buffy…”
“Buffy’s dead, and so is Chuck. We need to know if you’re clean.” I handed the bag back to Shaun and moved to crouch next to Rick, picking up his test unit and popping off the plastic cover to reveal the pressure pad and needle inside. “Come on. You know the drill. It’s just a little pinprick.”
“What if the lights go red?”
“Then we’ll sit with you until the CDC gets here; they have better units than we do, and they’re on their way,” I said, keeping my voice as reasonable as I could. I felt like crying. I didn’t dare. Rick looked like he was barely holding himself together; if I started to cry, his control might shatter. “Unless you actually start to convert, we’ll take no actions.”
“If the lights go red, you’ll take action immediately,” he said, and his voice was suddenly cold, devoid of hesitation. “I want that bullet in my brain before I know what’s going on.”
“Rick—”
He leaned forward, jamming his thumb down on the needle’s point. “I’m not upset that you shot her, Georgia. I’m upset that she had to go that far before you could.” He tilted his face upward, looking to Shaun, then to me. “My son converted before he died. Please do me the great kindness of letting me die while I remember his name.”
“Of course,” I said and straightened, stepping back to my customary place beside Shaun. He raised his right hand, placing it against the middle of my back, while his left hand moved to rest, ever so lightly, on the holster of his pistol. If we lost a second teammate today, the bullet wouldn’t be mine. Sometimes you have to spread the guilt around.
“I didn’t know you had a kid, Ricky-boy,” said Shaun, his tone almost jovial. “What else haven’t you been telling us?”
“I wear women’s underwear,” Rick said. Then, very slightly, he smiled. “I’ll show you his picture sometime. He just… he’s the reason I left print media. Too many people there remembered him, and too many of them had known his mother. Too many people looked at me differently after I lost them. I still loved the news. But I didn’t want to
The lights were flashing, red to green to red. “What was your son’s name, Rick?” I asked.
“Ethan,” Rick said, his smile growing more sincere and coloring with sorrow. “Ethan Patrick Cousins, after my father and his mother’s grandfather. Her name was Lisa. His mother, I mean. Lisa Cousins. She was beautiful.” He closed his eyes. “He had her smile.”
The lights stopped flashing.
“We’ll remember their names for you, if it ever comes to that,” I said, “but it won’t be today. You’re clean, Rick.”
“Clean?” He opened his eyes, looking at the test kit like it was some alien thing he’d never seen before. Then, slowly, he removed his finger from the needle and pressed the transmission button. “Clean.”
“Which is a damn good thing because there was no way I was taking care of your mangy cat,” said Shaun.
“He’s right,” I said, moving to offer a hand to Rick, to help him off the ground. “Shaun would have tossed her out the window at the first truck stop we passed.”
“Now, George, don’t be silly,” chided Shaun. “I would’ve waited for one that had a ‘Beware of Dog’ sign. It
