Buck nodded slowly. “Kind of what I was thinking.” He stood taller and took a deep breath. “But we need more shooters.”
“Agreed.” Hatcher pushed off the wall and turned back toward the compound. “So we go home, collect anybody who can squeeze a trigger and we come back.”
Buck placed a hand on his shoulder and slowly shook his head. “We only need to kill Simon.”
“You buying that whole story that he’s leading them?”
Again Buck shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.” He glanced to the sky then back toward the store. “If there is a cure out here, the others deserve a chance.”
“They attacked us last night. They killed Big Mike and a handful of others. Maybe even Roger.”
Buck lowered his eyes to the ground and pursed his lips. “And if they’re infected, they can’t be held responsible.” He looked up again; his face was stone. “But Simon? He warranted a death sentence before he was infected. He damned sure warrants one now.”
Hatcher hated to agree with him, but the kid made sense. “Anybody ever tell you that you’re wise beyond your years?”
Buck chuckled. “Not even close.”
Andre Broussard sat back and rubbed at his eyes. “This isn’t making sense.”
“Perhaps you need rest?”
Andre shook his head at the medical officer. “I’m sure we both do, but I need to isolate what’s causing Kevin’s…er…Dr. McAlester’s infection.” He glanced again at the man’s name tag. “Dr. Miller, is it?”
The medical officer nodded slightly as he prepped another sample for DNA analysis. “Am I doing this correctly?”
Broussard glanced at the tray and nodded. “Yes, that’s fine.” He stood and stretched, his eyes instinctively searching for the coffee pot. “I need a refill.”
“And me as well.” Dr. Miller shut the door on the machine and stepped back, rubbing at his neck. “And about fifteen hours of sleep.”
“Agreed.” Broussard poured two cups then sat back at the workbench. “I truly appreciate your help.”
Dr. Miller sipped the bitter coffee and sighed. “You are more than welcome.” He took another sip then set the mug down. “To be honest, for the most part I hand out antibiotics and ibuprofen. Occasionally on a really busy day, I might even hand out a cream for a rash. To me, this is rather exciting.”
“I feel I’m missing something. Something simple.” Broussard took a long swallow from the mug and went back over his notebooks. “Do we have the printout on his last bloodwork?”
Dr. Miller spun in the chair and pulled a sheet from a pile. “I believe this is it.”
Broussard went over it and shook his head. “This isn’t…this can’t be right.” He pushed the paper away and wiped a hand over his face. “I really wish that Dr. Chaplain was here.” He turned and gave his colleague a tight lipped smile. “She had the uncanny ability to think creatively. She could redirect my thinking when I began to chase things obsessively down the rabbit hole.”
Miller stared at him a moment then slowly stood. “Let’s try that, then.” He paced slowly, his hands crossed in front of him. “What do we know?”
Broussard began to tick off certain points. “We know that Kevin…er—”
“The subject.” Miller gave him a quick nod.
“Right. We know that the subject was the first to be exposed to the cure.”
“And he hasn’t been exposed to the original virus, so it must be something with the cure,” Miller added.
“Correct.” Broussard stifled a yawn. “And since he’s been exposed, we’ve seen no other symptoms.”
“Other than anger and madness.” Miller continued to pace. “So we can be relatively certain that it was exposure to the cure that has caused this…”
“Psychotic break?” Broussard sighed. “Who are we kidding? This isn’t a mental thing. He’s infected with the rage virus.”
“But his scans came back negative,” Miller added hopefully. “So it can’t be the original virus.”
“Which is worse,” Broussard groaned. “That means that the treatment that will cure the Zeds will cause the uninfected to act infected.”
“Not necessarily,” Miller added quickly. “You were exposed, as were the majority of the men aboard this vessel. To date we haven’t had any other cases of—”
“But the, er, subject was the first to be exposed to the cure.” Broussard sighed and pressed his forehead to the cold metal workbench. “It’s just a matter of time.”
Miller stopped pacing and eyed him. “Is it?” He began to roll up his sleeve. “As I recall, I caught that strep variant almost immediately. Probably from all the men coming into my office coughing and complaining of sore throat.” He held his arm out. “Test me. See if I share the same viral sample as our subject.”
Broussard’s brows knitted. “What are you thinking?”
Miller sighed. “I know it’s a longshot, but what if your cure, or a very small portion of it, is mutating in the vats? Changing before it ever gets a chance to be applied to the environment?”
Broussard’s eyes widened. “A mutation within the treatment itself? Without environmental influence?”
“It’s possible, isn’t it?”
Broussard stared at him open mouthed. “I…I don’t know.”
Miller held his arm out again. “Let’s find out.”
Broussard reached for the syringe then froze. “I have a better idea.”
Miller raised his brows. “What’s that?”
“Let’s test the vats.”
“Don’t touch that,” Simon hissed as he pulled his wounded arm away.
The female glared at him as she reached out and took his arm in her hand. “It needs to be cleaned.” She bent her head and licked at the seeping wound.
Simon stared at her for a moment then shook his head. “I don’t think that’s how you should do it.”
She slapped her other hand to his chest and held him down while she licked at the wound. Simon stopped struggling and watched her, an arousal forming in other areas.
With his good hand he reached past her and squeezed her bony ass. She ignored him and continued to clean his wound. Once she was satisfied that her job was done,
