“Not at all. If anything, it’ll extend them.” Will pushed his glasses up and motioned with his arms while he spoke. “The water is all recycled. We use aquarium pumps to aerate the water and there are still tons of liquid fertilizers that we can utilize.” He leaned close and lowered his voice. “With a proper greenhouse and maybe some LED growing lamps, we could have fresh fruits and vegetables year round.”
Hatcher sighed at the idea. “That does sound good.” He turned back to the plans when the sound of a truck approaching caught his attention. “That may be Wally with the concrete blocks for the fence.”
Hatcher trotted to the front gates and slowed when he saw Vicky trying to back up a van. He pulled the gate open and walked out to meet her. “You’re cutting it kind of close, aren’t you? It’s nearly sundown.”
She stepped down from the van and gave him a dirty look. “If I’d had my way, I’d still be at the warehouse.”
“Look, Vic, we discussed this and—”
“No, Daniel. I tried to discuss this and you barked orders.” She lowered her voice and glared at him. “If you weren’t my brother I’d tell you to go to hell.” She threw her thumb back over her shoulder. “He’s too weak to be moved.”
Hatcher stepped out of the way as the side door of the van opened and Mike stepped out with Stella steadying him. Hatcher glanced at Vicky then reached out to help him. “You look like you’re getting around pretty good for somebody who was gutted.”
Mike used Hatcher as a crutch and took a step away from the van. Hatcher noted his pasty complexion and the beads of sweat popping out on his forehead.
“Hey, hold on. Just sit here and I’ll get you a wheelchair or something.”
Mike nodded weakly as Hatcher trotted back inside. He knew there were dozens of wheelchairs; he just wasn’t sure where one wide enough to fit Mike’s huge frame might be.
He found the storage room where most had been put and rifled through them. He pulled out one and smiled. “If his big ass don’t fit in this one…” He quickly turned and trotted for the door.
Vicky held the door open for him as he came through. “Nice, but it’s too little too late.” She muttered as he passed by.
Hatcher ignored her and wheeled the chair up to the big man. Stella helped to lock the wheels then they both lifted and got him seated. Stella grabbed the handles and nodded for him to release the brakes. “I’ve got him. He’s my big lug.” She kissed the top of Mike’s shaggy head then turned him toward the door.
Hatcher watched as she wheeled him inside then looked at Vicky. “Come here.”
He took her by the arm and practically dragged her to his office. “Look at this. We have video feeds now.” He stepped back and gave her a smug look. “Now tell me he won’t be safer here.”
Vicky shook her head. “He shouldn’t have been moved, Daniel.” She pointed to the monitors, “Yes, you have security now. Congratulations. But if he loses ground on his recovery…” She threw her hands in the air and marched to the door. “Tell me if you get HBO on those things.”
He watched her disappear into the hallway and he sat, dejected, on the corner of his desk. “I can’t win for losing.”
“Bitches, man.” Cooper grinned at him.
Hatcher held a hand up. “She’s my sister.”
Cooper’s eyes widened. “Oh yeah? She single?” He smiled broadly under the bush of grey whiskers then tugged his chin hairs with his hand. “I clean up pretty good, ya know.”
Hatcher stifled a laugh and nodded. “Currently, yes. She’s single.” He waved Cooper on. “Give it your best shot.”
Coop squared his shoulders and cracked his knuckles. “The hunt is afoot!”
The yeoman gave Broussard a questioning look. “I have no record of an Andre Broussard.”
“That’s Doctor Broussard, and I was flown in from France. I’m a virologist.”
The yeoman raised a brow. “You’re telling me that with our limited resources, somebody authorized having YOU flown in from across the Atlantic?”
Carol stepped forward and tapped at the man’s chest. “The president himself authorized it. Look it up.”
The yeoman nodded, a disbelieving look on his face. “That’s just it ma’am. I AM looking it up. There’s no record of him.”
Carol planted her hands on her hips and thrust her jaw out in defiance. “So what? Are you gonna toss him overboard?”
Broussard turned and gave her an anxious stare. “Do not listen to her.”
“If I can’t verify who he is, then he gets reassigned.” He scribbled something on his paper and added absently, “Maybe he can work in the galley or something.”
“The GALLEY!” Carol stepped between the two men. “Listen buster, before you go and do something that will permanently damage any hope for our species, perhaps you could pick up the phone…or…radio or whatever and just ask the president. I’m sure he’ll vouch for Dr. Broussard.”
The yeoman dropped his pen and gave her a droll stare. “Seriously? Just call the president. ‘Hey, Mr. Walters did you happen to order a researcher from France because I think FedEx dropped him off on the wrong ship.’” He shook his head at the pair. “He’ll be lucky to work in a galley now.”
Carol opened her mouth to give him a double barrel blast of “what for” when Broussard pulled her back and shook his finger in her face. “Have you never heard to collect more bees with honey than hatefulness?” He scowled at her. “They will fix this. Just have faith.”
“Can you believe the nerve of that guy? Like we would lie about your credentials!” She threw her hands into the air. “And if they don’t find me a bathroom PDQ, we’ll need a mop in here.”
Broussard’s face twisted in confusion. “What is…PDQ?”
“Pretty damned quick.” She sat down heavily on the metal crate and pouted. “We can’t verify who he is…” she mocked. “Is it really that
