He lost track of time, and actually jumped when the door bounced open. Two large men in white entered, pulling a rolling bed with them. Jason didn’t have time to even speak as they gingerly lifted and shifted her to the gurney.
Jason opened his mouth to tell her goodbye, but she was gone too quickly. He turned back to her bed and cringed at the moisture she had left on the sheets. He picked them up with his fingertips and held them away from his body as he dumped them into a trash bag.
He had no idea what had gotten her so sick, but he shuddered every time he thought of what could be floating in the air, soaked into her sheets, or crawling on her skin.
Yes, he loved her and would do anything for her, but the knowledge she carried the very disease that killed off the grand majority of the human population was enough to give him the willies. The fact that something else had now made her sick twisted his guts. How could she be immune to a virus that gutted the population, but something else…something potentially worse was making her ill now? What chance would he have against such a disease?
He snatched up the antibacterial hand cleaner and squeezed a large gob onto his palms. After scrubbing it into his flesh, he then grabbed the can of spray disinfectant and sprayed down her mattress. He stood back and stared at the tiny room.
Jason went nuts and began spraying disinfectant on every horizontal surface. He sprayed the door knob, the little desk in the corner, the shelves above their beds, both beds, the bedding, the floor, the seams of the wall, anywhere a microbe might think it a good place to hide.
He had nearly emptied the can before he staggered back and stared at the mess he’d created. He opened the door and nearly fell out of the room from the propellants and the disinfectant that still lingered in the air.
“I gotta catch my breath.” He leaned against the bulkhead and made his way to the stairs leading up and out. He hoped that some fresh air might clear his head and give him a new perspective.
He stepped out into the evening air and inhaled deeply. He made his way to the railing and stared out at the flotilla. Was this all that was left now? Were they the only survivors of this attack by Mother Nature?
He leaned against the railing and spit out across the water. The taste of the disinfectant still lingered in his mouth. He inhaled deeply of the salty sea air and his thoughts turned back to Brenda. What if this bug was more than she could handle? What if this was another, stronger, more potent virus than the first one?
He pushed the thought from his mind and stared back at the doorway leading below decks. He really needed to check on her. He needed to know they really were taking care of her and not letting her rot in a corner somewhere.
He swallowed hard and hitched up his pants. Being Bren’s protector was a dirty job, but somebody had to do it.
“He’s turned them away from us.” Candy took the binoculars from the roof guard and stared in the direction he pointed. She could just make out a small group of motorcycles driving away from the warehouse. She followed them as they rode away and wished she could tell which one was actually Roger.
She lowered the binoculars and handed them back to the man standing sentry. “Keep an eye out. If they happen to come back this direction, I want to know.”
“You got it.” He took the optics from her and leaned against the parapet, his hands bringing them back to his face.
Candy worked her way back down and through the maze of makeshift homes toward Hatcher’s office. Vicky Sue slipped in beside her. “How you doing?”
Candy gave her little notice. “I’m fine.”
“You seem a little…distracted.”
She stopped and turned to Hatcher’s sister. “What does that mean?”
Vicky shrugged. “Just that I think the biker cop got to you.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She turned and started back to the office. Vicky followed.
As Candy opened the door, Vicky held it open and followed her into the small space. “You miss him, don’t you?”
“I have no idea what you mean.” Candy fell into the chair behind the desk and reached for the drawer where Hatcher kept his booze. She grabbed the tallest bottle and pulled it out. Vicky set two glasses in front of her and leaned back in the chair across from the desk.
“I think you do.” She reached for the glass and held it up, the amber liquid sparkling under the brightness of the skylight overhead. “It’s okay to admit you liked him.”
Candy threw back her drink and set her glass down gently. “He was another cop, that’s all.” She poured two more fingers worth into the short glass. “It might have been nice to have another capable person available to help defend the place should the need arise.”
“Should the need arise.” Vicky sipped at the burning liquid. “That’s a choice set of words.”
“What?” Candy threw back the second drink and waivered with the bottle, unsure if she was going to pour a third.
“You know you can be straight with me, right?” Vicky swirled the liquor in her glass and eyed the bottle that Candy still held, unsure if she would pour that third double. “We’ve always shot straight with each other before. Why not now?”
Candy sighed and tilted the bottle, pouring another double before corking the bottle and dropping it back into the deep
