“What was that all about?”
Hatcher tossed back the drink and fell into his chair. “Nothing.”
“Oh, that was something. You both look butthurt.”
Hatcher screwed the lid back on the cheap bourbon and dropped it into his file drawer. “We’re fighting an uphill battle, Rog.”
Roger nodded. “Sometimes. Today, not so much.” He smiled at Hatcher as he clapped his shoulder. “We beat ‘em back.”
Hatcher stared at him with bleary eyes. “This time. Now they’ll think of something else.” He leaned back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It never ends. If it’s not the Marauders, it’s the Zulus. If it’s not the Zulus, it’s lack of resources.”
Roger sat down across from him and gave him a concerned stare. “We won, Hatch. What part of that are you angry about?” He glanced out into the foyer as people returned to their normal routines. “Nobody is hurt or killed. We got a bulldozer sitting out there that we can do whatever we want with. How is any of this a bad thing?”
Hatcher took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You just don’t get it. It’s never ending.”
“Yeah. So?”
“So? How are we supposed to keep people safe when there are assholes like Simon out there trying to burn down the world?”
Roger leaned forward and gave him his best angry stare. “The way people have always been kept safe. By not giving up.” He pushed up out of the chair and glared at him. “By not wussing out. By stepping up and facing whatever the assholes of the world throw at us.” Roger stepped back and shook his head at him. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, man, but this ain’t the Daniel Hatcher I first met.”
Hatcher snorted and rubbed a hand across his quickly numbing face. “Yeah? How’s that?”
“The Daniel Hatcher I first met would welcome the challenge. He’d shake his fist in their face and challenge them to bring their worst.” Roger opened the door to the office and stepped into the hall. “He wouldn’t wallow in self-loathing ‘cause he didn’t expect the attack that he faced and still won.”
Hatcher watched him turn and disappear into the hallway. He lowered his head to the desktop and closed his eyes. “They just don’t get it.”
Broussard knocked lightly then opened the door. “How is he?”
“Still sleeping.” She stood up slowly and stretched. “His fever comes and goes and he’s drunk just shy of one liter of water.”
“I brought orange juice.” Broussard held up a pitcher then shrugged. “Well, orange-flavored drink. I can’t bring myself to call it bug juice.”
Carol smiled and laid her notebook on the side table. “He can have more anti-inflammatories when we wakes.”
“Will you be going to the lab or to sleep?”
Carol yawned and shook her head. “Sorry about that. If you need me to do something…” she trailed off.
“Non. I am replicating the streptococcus as we speak. By the time you relieve me next, it should be ready for—”
“What?” Kevin sat up and stared around the room, his face a mask of concern. “Who’s that? What’s…” He collapsed back to the mattress and Carol gave Broussard a knowing look.
“He does that every once in a while. I think it’s fever-induced delirium.”
Broussard nodded then took the seat beside the bed. “I’ll continue to watch over him.” He sighed heavily and reached for her notebook. “I worry though…if this works and we deliver it to the outside world, how will the uninfected deal with the results if there are infected nearby?” He exhaled hard and gave her a concerned look. “We could be setting them up to be overrun.”
She placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “We can’t concern ourselves with every possibility.” She paused, then added, “Vivian said that to me once.”
Broussard nodded. “You both are correct. All we can do is our best and pray that it is enough.”
She patted his arm then reached for the door handle. “I’ll see you in six hours.”
He watched her leave then turned on the bedside lamp. He pulled a book out from under his lab coat and flipped to where the page was dogeared. He glanced at Kevin and gave him a soft smile. “I would read it to you, mon ami, but we both know you wouldn’t remember any of it.”
He leaned back in the chair and slipped his reading glasses on. A little apocalyptic fiction to take his mind off of real-world problems was just what the doctor ordered.
Simon slammed the door on the little hybrid car and glared out the open window. “That plan should have worked.”
Sinner crawled into the back seat and winced when he had to prop his weight with his wounded shoulder. “I think it all goes back to the original question, Simon. What were we going to do after the wall went down?”
Shooter slipped in behind the wheel and pressed the power button. He put the car into drive and made sure he kept the speed low as he directed the trio back to their house.
After a few minutes of silence he muttered, “I thought I was dead when that window blew out.” He glanced into the rear view mirror at Sinner. “I’m telling ya, I felt that bullet go by my face.”
Sinner nodded. “I don’t doubt it.” He stared out of the window while they traveled the city streets. “I think maybe if we had come at them from three different sides, it might have worked.”
“It wouldn’t have.” Simon barked. He reached into his vest and pulled out the brown pint bottle. He unscrewed the cap and continued to glare out the window. “The place was too open. The blades couldn’t keep us covered.”
“And the sniper, boss. Don’t forget that guy.”
Simon tilted the bottle back and took a long pull. “Oh, I haven’t forgotten him.” He held a finger to a nostril and did a farmer’s blow out the window. “We need a
