Carol shook her head. “If the infection was rampant enough to tip her to feral, I’m almost certain it would be on her hands.” She crossed her arms and gave him an expectant look. “Maybe we just got lucky; maybe it’s not transferrable.”
“I’m not ready to make that conclusion.” He turned and stared at the acrylic cells. “We need an oral culture.”
“A what?” the soldier asked, almost positive he knew what the doc was about to ask.
“We need to swab one of their mouths.” Broussard continued to stare at the rabid humans. “The larger the sample, the better.”
“Oh, hell no.” The soldier came to his feet and shook his head as he backed away. “One of them actually ATE my buddy.”
“We’re not asking you to try to obtain one,” Carol added quickly.
“Good.” The soldier seemed to grow taller as he squared his shoulders. “The only way I’d even attempt that is to shoot first, swab later.”
Broussard shook his head as he slowly came to his feet. “That wouldn’t be prudent,” he stated absently. “After all, we are trying to save their lives.” He turned and gave Carol a wry smile. “Feel like going fishing?”
“Excuse me?”
“We dangle a piece of raw meat into the chamber with them. Once they sink their teeth into it, we reel it back and examine it.”
The soldier slowly shook his head. “I don’t think they’d go for that, doc.” He swallowed hard. “I’ve heard rumors.”
“Of?” Carol asked.
“They like their food to scream when they eat it.”
Broussard stiffened. “We won’t be feeding them anything alive, I assure you.” He turned and eyed the soldier carefully. “Are you sure it’s the scream? Or perhaps that the meal is warm and bloody?”
“I heard it was the screams.” He looked away sheepishly. “But rumors are pretty bad down here. You hear all sorts of things.”
“Like what?” Carol asked, doing her own fishing.
The soldier shrugged. “Just stuff.” He reached for his weapon and shouldered it. “You know. Scary stories to keep people in line. That kind of thing.”
“I don’t suppose any of the soldiers were bitten during the scuffle?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Not on the skin.” He tapped the plastic guards strapped to his arms. “We had a few try to chew through the armor, though.”
Broussard gave Carol a knowing look. “Where can I get some of that armor?”
Simon winced as Vee changed his dressings. “This is looking really good.” She laid the pad aside and brushed an iodine solution across the stitches. “You’re healing fast. Before you know it you’ll be ready for physical therapy.”
“If you say so, Doc.” Simon looked away as she wrapped a fresh dressing over the wound. “Still hurts like you were digging inside.”
“And it will continue to hurt for a while.” She gave him an understanding look. “I’m sure your fingers probably feel numb, yeah?”
He nodded. “Most of the time. The rest of the time they burn.”
She patted his hand. “It will be like that for a while. That’s the nerves trying to heal after all the swelling.” She pulled a piece of tape and bit it free before laying it across the bottom of the dressing. “It’s the inflammation that is aggravating them. Once it lessens, you’ll start getting the feeling back.”
“Will I be able to play the piano?” he asked hopefully.
“Sure! Provided you knew how to play it before the gunshot.” She smiled at him knowingly. “That’s an old joke, Simon.”
He shrugged slightly, the corner of his mouth pulling into a grin. “I had to give it a shot.”
She taped the top of the dressing then leaned back. “There ya go. You should be good for another day or two.” She patted his leg as she stood. “I’ll check on you tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Doc,” Simon muttered as he sat back in the chair. “I always enjoy our little chats.”
Vee smiled down at him. “No you don’t.” She fished in her shirt pocket and handed him a joint. “To help with the pain. We don’t want you to become dependent on those opioids.”
Simon accepted the prescription with gusto. “Thanks again, Doc.”
“Yeah, now you’re happy to see me.” She chuckled to herself as she reached for the door. “Don’t let him play any contact sports for a while. No football or baseball for at least a week.”
Simon chuckled, but Lana looked alarmed. “What?”
“Relax, sweetie. I was joking.” She opened the door and startled when she found Trent standing outside, his hand raised to knock. “I was just leaving.”
Trent gave her a broad smile. “And I was just coming.” He stepped aside and let her pass. “See you tonight?”
“You still cooking?” she asked, a vaguely seductive tone to her voice.
“You know it.” He gave her a wink as she stepped away.
“Then I’ll see you tonight.”
Trent watched her walk away and grunted at the sway of her hips.
“Can I help you?” Lana asked, breaking the spell cast by the good doctor’s derrière. Trent’s head snapped around and he gave her a sheepish grin.
“I was just stopping by to see how y’all were doing.” He looked at her expectantly. “Can I come in?”
“Might as well.” She held the door while he stepped into the RV. “It’s been grand central all day.”
Trent side stepped and found a chair. As he lowered himself into it he gave Simon a nod. “Sorry to just drop by.”
“I assume you have a reason.”
Trent nodded embarrassingly. “I, uh…”
“Just spit it out,” Simon said as he slipped the joint into his vest pocket.
“Well, uh…after the get together, people were talking and…”
“And you want us to leave,” Lana stated flatly.
Trent’s head popped up and he shook it, his shaggy mane reminding her of a lion. “Oh, no. Not at all.”
“Spill it, ‘Squatch,” Simon stated as he dropped his feet to the floor, his eyes leveled on the large man.
Trent met his gaze and gave him a tight-lipped smile. “We were…uh…” He cleared his throat nervously. “We have some guys here who used to be bikers.”
