Chapter Fifty-One
Day Twelve
Jocelyn awakened looking up at a gray cement ceiling, below which hung ductwork, pipes, and fluorescent lighting. She wore an air mask, and she sat up and took off the sheet and blanket that covered her body—a body naked and healed.
“Hello,” said a male voice. Embarrassed, she put the sheet back over her body and saw Francis sitting in a chair in the corner, her sword, in its scabbard on her shoulder holster, propped up against the wall next to him.
“I’m sorry to intrude on your sleep, and I’m sorry we didn’t clothe you, but we wanted to make sure it didn’t interfere with your healing process. We worried bits of you might flake off when putting them on. I hope you understand. You should be able to take off the mask.”
She nodded and took it off with one hand, the other holding onto the sheet. It was now hissing, and she hit a button she guessed would stop that. It did.
She sighed. Francis was putting her at ease.
“How long?”
He looked at his watch. “Around twenty-four hours since you got here, and it took several hours to get you here.”
“How’s Alexander?”
He frowned. “Still in a coma, I’m afraid. We’re giving him oxygen, but we have nothing like a hyperbaric chamber to put him in. We do not know when or if he’ll ever recover. I’m sorry to give you the bad news.”
“I appreciate your candor, Francis.” That he could die, or worse, become a brain-dead vegetable, was horrifying as she considered herself responsible for his condition. She reflected on their encounter in the pharmacy and wondered if there was any chance for any type of relationship with him. But first he would have to wake up. And then forgive her. And then come to terms with the fate of his wife. It seemed like a long shot.
She would just be happy if he woke up. Maybe Saint Michael could do something about that. Or she might beg Metatron.
“And Clarence?” she asked.
He was stoic. “I’m sorry, but he didn’t make it.”
Another death she was responsible for. Her heart broke, and her eyes became moist. She started to weep at the thought of how much he had done for her, how much he had risked his life.
Jocelyn wiped away the tears and pulled herself together. He hadn’t said another word, waiting patiently. Surrounding her were a free-standing toilet, a small sink, a shower and drain in the center of the room, and medical equipment. It looked like she was in a prison cell with the walls a drab beige, and a mirror on the wall next to a door—probably a two-way, she surmised.
“Did anyone retrieve Vin’s body?” she asked.
“Who’s that?”
“Didn’t Marty and Alexander tell you?”
“Oh, the other person left for dead. We rushed to get you here and didn’t look for him. Is he dead?”
Jocelyn nodded.
“Then I can’t spare anyone. I’m sorry.”
“And Janice and Emily?”
“They’re in a quarantine cell, much like this one—we assume both are infected.”
“What do you plan to do with them if they become zombies?”
He winced.
“There’s an alternative. I can control them.”
“I sure hope so.”
Jocelyn looked around at her surroundings. “So I’m in quarantine, too?”
“Yes. I’ve been asked to watch your monitors. You realize your pulse was almost non-existent when we brought you in? You also had little skin to speak of.”
“But why am I in quarantine? I’m immune.”
“You don’t know that for sure, and the commander is being very cautious. In her mind, she doesn’t understand the full nature of your illness.”
She contemplated this. She didn’t like the idea of postponing her quest for a week or so just because some military officer was skittish. But she decided to drop the matter for now. “So we’re on Peterson Air Force Base?”
“Under it, actually, in a nuclear fallout bunker.”
“Can anyone study me here? While in quarantine?” The quarantine would be fine, she realized, if she could be studied here.
He shook his head. “We’re not equipped to experiment on you, but we hope the federal government knows where. Maybe the CDC in Atlanta, but who knows?”
“So where is the federal government these days?”
“In a bunker underneath the White House.
“So the White House is not overrun with zombies? That makes sense given the radio broadcast I heard.”
“Oh, so you heard our broadcast. At least someone did. That’s good to know.”
“I only heard bits of it. I pieced enough together to know where to go.”
“Well, we don’t know the current status of the White House itself, but last we heard, the office of the president is being run from a bunker underneath it with a new president—the old one is now a zombie.”
“Last you heard?”
“Our communications with all the bunkers spread throughout the US have gone dark. The only place we can communicate with is Cheyenne Mountain, the alternate NORAD. They can only contact us as well, since it appears that a hurricane wiped out the satellite equipment at the White House. It wasn’t long after that we lost contact with the other bunkers and the White House.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” she said.
“No, it’s not.”
Jocelyn became sick to her stomach. “How do we expect to learn from the government where I can be studied, if you lost contact with them?”
“We will need to repair the communications, but our test equipment shows that the problem may be at the next bunker to the east. Our best shot may be to simply get you to that bunker where the communication can be repaired, or if that’s not possible, to get you to a bunker that has communication with the government, even as far as the White House bunker, if necessary.”
“Is there a plan for how to do that? Sounds like a dangerous mission.”
He left her side and walked around the room. It was weird, as he had no place to
