Broussard dropped the towel into the sink and turned to face him. “And Dr. Chaplain?”
“She should have been brought back with you. All CDC personnel are supposed to be with the flotilla.”
“Then you’ll be sending someone to retrieve her?”
The captain paused and slowly shook his head. “From what I understand, our arrival to your location stirred the Zeds up pretty well. I can’t authorize the expenditure of that much fuel and manpower for someone who is most likely already dead.”
Broussard raised another brow at him. “I suppose I should have expected as much.”
The captain ignored his comment. “Care to tell me just what in the hell you were thinking?” He stepped closer, his face hardening. “You went against direct orders and evaded your escort then ran up the coast to set up shop in the middle of occupied territory.” He glared at the French researcher. “For what?”
Broussard gave him a sad smile. “Apparently your chain of command could not grasp that we needed to be in the thick of things to monitor the progress of the treatment. We had just set up a new laboratory when your jackbooted thugs kicked in the doors.” He sighed heavily and sat down again. “We were in a prime location with secured high ground and optimal viewing. All we needed was a bit more time to—”
“You disobeyed a direct order.” The captain’s voice cut him off. “You may not be a military asset, but you are still my responsibility. That means that you operate under my authority and follow my guidelines.” He turned from the man and reached for the door. “From now on, you will have an escort everywhere you go.”
“And if I step out of line, your soldiers will ‘tune me up’ again. Correct?”
The captain paused and fought the urge to raise his voice. “Trust me. You do not want to step out of line again.”
The two men watched the officer slip through the doorway and disappear down the hall. An imposing man in uniform stepped forward and stared through the glass.
“You pissed them off good,” Kevin stated as he slipped his lab coat on. “What the hell were you two thinking? I know your explanation to him was pure bullshit.”
Broussard rubbed at the back of his neck and slowly shook his head. “You’re not capable of understanding even if I told you.”
Kevin gave him a cold smile. “Oh, you might be surprised what I’m capable of.”
Simon pulled his trousers up and buckled them. He reached for the bottle of liquor and took a long pull, his head pounding again. He turned to see his woman curled in a fetal position, sobbing. “At least now you move around some,” he spat in her direction then turned and pushed his way back into the grocery store.
His lead hunter, Clyde, trotted toward him, a bow in his hand. “Come.” He waved him toward the front of the store.
Simon fell into step behind him and noted that the sun was almost down again. He could feel the fingers of anticipation crawling up his spine as the hour drew close. “Tell me they’re ready.”
Clyde slowed as they rounded the end of the aisle and pointed. “Many Quee sick.” He pointed to the mass of people lying about, some groaning as they held their middle, others pressing against the sides of their head. “No fight.”
“Fuck that.” Simon pushed past him and waded through the crowd. “On your feet!” He kicked at the men who lay curled into balls. “Move!”
Clyde grabbed him by the arm and shook his head. “Not ready. Sick.”
“The hell they are.” He jerked his arm loose then walked deeper into the mass of people. “They’re faking. They’re scared to fight!”
Clyde shook his head and stepped between Simon and the Quee. “Sick!”
Simon shoved the larger man back then gripped his boomstick. He leveled it on Clyde and rage flashed in his eyes. “Don’t make me kill you, asshole.” He narrowed his gaze at the tall, lean man. “I had high hopes for you, Clyde.”
He pointed to the people again. “SICK!”
Simon felt his lip curl in a snarl and pointed his boomstick toward the ceiling. He loosed a round and watched as the Quee all jerked or jumped at the sound, their eyes darting to their Alpha. “I say we fight.”
Clyde averted his eyes and seemed to deflate. “Too sick to fight.” His voice was barely a whisper. “Can’t walk.”
“They’re faking.”
Clyde looked up again and met Simon’s gaze. “Kill them.” He slowly squared his shoulders. “Kill them. No army to fight if Quee dead.”
Simon’s face fell and he gazed out at the people again. Most, if not all, were moaning in pain, some laying in their own excrement.
He felt a growl rise from low in his throat and he screamed. A long, lonesome, hoarse scream that seemed to echo outside of the store and between the buildings in the area.
“Great!” He threw his hands into the air then spun a slow circle. He glared at Clyde. “Come with me.”
Simon spun and marched down the aisle where the bitter pills were. He fumbled with the boxes on the shelf and eventually found the right one. He ripped the cardboard open and used his teeth to pull the plastic lid off. He jabbed his finger through the thin foil seal and shook out the bitter white tablets.
He shoved a few into his mouth and chewed; the bitter flavor told him he’d chosen correctly. He tipped his bottle and washed the pills down then turned back to Clyde. “Give them these.” He shoved the pill bottle into Clyde’s hand then handed him the bottle of liquor. “And have them drink this. They’ll feel better
