She stepped out past his dead campfire and strained to listen. She could just make out the chop-chop-chop of a helicopter on slow approach. “Yeah, I hear it, too.”
“Where the hell is it?” Simon jogged to the pickup he had puked on and climbed onto the rear of the bed. He climbed the side of the bed and stood on the cab. He slowly spun circles, his ears trying to pinpoint the sounds of the rotors slicing through the air.
“There it is!”
Simon spun and saw where the young woman pointed and followed her arm. He could just make out the silhouette of the craft as it flew in from the north. He watched as it slowly lowered itself in the sky and he felt a smile creep across his face.
“Son of a bitch, WE GOT HIM!” He jumped down from the cab of the truck and nearly fell when the suspension bounced. “You and you…,” he pointed to the two closest men, “get your asses moving and find out where the hell that chopper lands!”
He hopped from the back of the bed and marched to his tent. He paused at the entrance, then turned and raised his voice for all to hear. “Gear up and load up. We’re hunting the asshole that got away. And we’re gonna take what’s ours.” His face was nearly feral as he shot into the tent and was even more frightening when he reemerged, pulling his leather jacket on over the dual pistols strapped to his hips.
Simon stopped and grabbed the woman that insisted he sober up. He pulled her close and rewarded her with a wet, sloppy, coffee-flavored kiss. “You did good.” He swatted her rump as he marched past her and mounted his Harley. “You’ll get the rest of your reward when I get back.” He shot her a knowing smile, then hit the starter button on his iron horse.
She gave him a curt smile and a nod as he pulled away to where the others were staging. “Gee, I can hardly wait.” She dumped the coffee and tossed the cup toward his tent. “I wonder if he’d believe I had to wash my hair tonight?”
“How are the headaches?” Carol charted Dr. Carpenter’s vitals and noted they had almost approached normal.
He nodded weakly. “Much better, thanks.” He tried to sit up and was reminded he was still strapped down. “Are these really still necessary?”
She stopped writing and looked at him knowingly. “I’m sure you realize that they are.”
He sighed heavily. And slumped as much as he could while still being bound. “You have no idea how horrible it is to have an itch and not be able to scratch it.”
She suddenly perked. “I’d be happy to assist if you really—”
“I will not allow you to scratch my…private parts, thank you.” He could feel his cheeks flush and noted that Carol’s cheeks flushed as well.
“Yes, perhaps you’re right.” She cleared her throat nervously. “I could send in an orderly?”
He shot her a look that indicated clearly that her suggestion was not appreciated. “I’ll manage on my own, thank you.”
“Of course.” She clicked her pen and crossed her arms. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Dr. LaRue is on her way back. Word has it that she was successful in retrieving an original sample.”
Charles sighed and slumped even farther into the mattress, if that was possible. “She was impossible to live with before. There’s no way that—”
“What?”
“Never mind.” He turned and gave her a solemn look. “I’m assuming that the regimens you began haven’t been successful.”
She tried to bluff. “Why would you suggest that?”
“Because instead of improving, my condition worsened.” He nodded to the IV in his arm. “Hence the migraine cocktail you administered.”
She sighed and nodded. “You assume correctly.”
“Is it an issue with the reagent factors or—”
“I have no idea.” She cut him off before he could list the possible failings. “However, I’m certain that once Dr. LaRue is back she can look over my notes and find where I went wrong. I have no doubts that she’ll be able to undo whatever it is that I’ve done wrong.”
Charles rolled his eyes and turned away. “One more feather in her cap.”
“I’m sorry?” Carol didn’t seem to understand his misgivings.
“Don’t worry about it.” Charles was dismissive as he tried to ignore her presence. “If it’s all the same, I’d just as soon rest some more. I’m still exhausted from the headaches.”
“Yes, of course.” Carol switched off the light and slipped out of the isolation room. She watched him for a moment and didn’t hear the CDO approach from behind.
“He’s improving?”
She startled slightly and gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Actually, no. But his headaches have been relieved by the cocktail I gave him. Hopefully when Dr. LaRue returns, she can straighten out where I obviously went wrong.”
The CDO nodded then pulled her aside. “What if you didn’t do anything wrong?”
She gave him a concerned look. “How do you mean?”
“What if her treatment simply doesn’t work?”
Carol snorted. “Of course it works. Just look at the subjects we originally tested it on.”
He nodded slightly then pointed to Dr. Carpenter. “Then why is he getting worse?”
“Like I said, I must have done something wrong.”
“Or you didn’t do anything wrong and her treatment is a bust.”
Carol shook her head nervously. “No. That can’t be the case. The subjects..—”
“May have had a different strain. You did say that the virus has mutated, yes?”
“Well, yes, but…Dr. Carpenter was infected by one of the subjects. That would mean they would share the same virus. The same treatments should work.”
“Except they didn’t. Which can only mean that the virus mutated between the test subject’s initial treatment and his infecting Dr. Carpenter.”
Carol opened her mouth to reply but had no retort. She glanced back into the isolation room, then
