Buck gave him a confused look. “The CDC?”
“We had a young couple show up at the warehouse that we’ve converted into a home of sorts. The girl had a healed scratch on her shoulder that came from a Zulu.”
Buck’s eyes widened. “Healed?”
Hatcher nodded. “We assumed she was somehow immune. We went in search of the closest CDC that we knew of. That would be where we just left. Obviously, they weren’t open for business.”
“Skeeter stowed away all the way to Colorado?”
“No, no…we didn’t get very far before we were set upon by this band of motorcycle-riding marauders. Nasty bunch that tried to force us off the road.”
Buck seemed more than concerned. He leaned toward Hatcher, his eyes probing the man. “So what happened? She wasn’t hurt, was she?”
Hatcher gave him a reassuring smile. “No. She’s fine.” He pointed to the front of the craft. “A chopper very much like this one appeared out of nowhere and pulled our fat from the fire.”
“What about the marauders?”
Hatcher pointed forward. “These things carry big guns, kid. No hillbilly on a Harley wants to face down a gunship.” Hatcher’s face twisted and he turned to LaRue. “Hey, doc? What about Jason and Bren? Will they be sent back to us or will you be keeping them for a while?”
Dr. LaRue’s head bobbed up and she stared at Hatcher blankly. She nodded slowly as if coming out of a daze or deep thought. “Oh, the young couple…no. We don’t need them any longer. You can have him back if you want.”
“Him? Will you be keeping the girl, because I don’t think Jason would leave her—”
“The girl died.” LaRue’s voice was void of concern. “She contracted a virus we couldn’t identify, and she passed just prior to my leaving for this operation.”
Hatcher didn’t realize his mouth was open until he tried to speak again. “She’s dead?”
Dr. LaRue nodded. “Yes. It was actually quite sudden.”
Hatcher leaned back and stared into the distance. “I’m sorry, but I would think you would lead with that kind of information.” His eyes bored holes into her, but Vivian was oblivious.
“Why? Was she somebody to you?”
Hatcher ground his teeth and spoke through clenched jaws. “She was my friend. I promised her she would be safe.”
“Oh, yes. And she was. Right up until she contracted whatever it was that killed her. She was perfectly safe.” She waved at him dismissively. “Unless you count that idiot boyfriend of hers. Talk about a waste of space—”
“Come again?” Hatcher leaned forward, his attention completely on LaRue. “What about her boyfriend.”
Dr. LaRue huffed and leaned back in her seat. “The man is a complete and total idiot. He spent more time worrying about whether he might get sick being with her than worrying anything might happen to her. Then, when she did get sick, he acted as though he were relieved.” She shook her head in disbelief. “I was actually surprised he got upset when I told him of her passing.”
Hatcher felt like he’d been punched in the gut. In the safest place imaginable, the girl with the million-dollar immune system dies under the watch of the very same researchers trying to cure the world.
He got her attention again. “You’re saying there was nothing that could be done to save her?”
She gave him the same duh look that Vicky often shot at him. “Of course, there was nothing left untried. We pumped her full of antivirals and antibiotics. There really was nothing else we could do.” She clutched the handle of the aluminum case and gave him a tight-lipped stare. “All we could do was exsanguinate her before her blood coagulated.”
Hatcher found himself with his mouth standing open again.
Simon rolled over and stared at the sky through the canopy of the dying tree. What little shade it provided wasn’t enough to keep the sun from blinding him. He held his hand up to block the rays from burning holes into his eyes and tried to get his feet underneath him.
He found hands grabbing him and lifting him up. He was propped against the bed of the pickup he had puked on and he grabbed the tailgate to try to keep the world from spinning.
“The fuck?” He spun quickly and swung out at the hands holding him up. “Leave me alone.”
“Boss, we got a problem.”
Simon stared at the man speaking, but his drunken mind couldn’t put a name with the face. “Spill it!” He bent over and sucked in air, the ground swirling in front of him.
“Savage split, boss. He just took off.”
Simon stared at him and shook his head. “So?”
“So? You said we was on lockdown.” The man pleaded and realized that Simon couldn’t remember his own orders. “When the guard got kilt?”
“What gurard?”
“Scar, boss!” The man stepped forward and Simon’s eyes lost focus. “You can’t be that drunk.”
“I can be as drunk as I want.” Simon swung at him again causing him to step back. “I’m the king.” He exhaled hard and fell onto his backside behind the truck.
“What do we do about Savage, boss?”
“Fuck him.” His head bobbed as he tried to keep awake.
One of Simon’s regular whores stepped forward and pushed the men back. “Somebody brew some coffee. Find where his bottle is and hide it.” She snapped her fingers at the men. “Chop, chop! Let’s get moving. We gotta get him back on his feet before he can make any command decisions.”
Simon looked up at her and smiled. His hand instinctively reached for her chest and she allowed him a grope as she lifted him from the ground. “Come on, asshole. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
“That’s King Asshole to you, wench.” Simon laughed at himself while the small crowd around him dispersed.
“What do we do about Savage?”
She turned and stared at the man. “Didn’t you hear me? We get him dried out and let him make the decision.” She hefted
