"Thanks, Doc," the black man said. "Myname's Mort. We appreciate it." He held out his hand to her, and Joanshook it gracefully.
"I'm Joan. Oh, and here. Why don't you take this,you'll probably need it." Joan handed Mort the notepad and the pen. He shovedit into the large pocket of his secondhand military jacket and then had Blakethrow an arm over his shoulder. As he bent down, he winced at the pain in hisknee.
"You ok?" Joan asked.
Mort shook his head. "It's nothing, just hurt myknee a bit."
Joan shook her head. Men, they were always the same. Evenin the midst of an apocalypse, they refused to take care of themselves. Joanpatted the table, and said, "Get up here. Let's take a look."
"No, it's nothing, Doc. I got it covered."
"Stop being a stubborn shit, and get your ass onthat table."
Blake stood up and wobbled over to a small chair in thecorner, holding onto the bottle of painkillers. "Well, since you put itthat way," he said. Mort flopped on the table, sighing as he laid down.Joan pulled his pant leg up and sighed in frustration as she looked at Mort'sswollen knee.
"How the hell have you been walking around on thisthing?"
"Ain't had no choice. Out there, it's either move ordie. I'm not much into dying."
Joan pressed on the knee, testing it. She made him bendit and flex it. She sighed. "You're damn lucky. I don't think there'sanything structurally wrong with it, but if you keep pushing it, it's going toget worse, and you'll injure it further. So," Joan pointed back and forthat both of them, "the two of you need to drag your butts down to get somefood, find some cots, take three of those pills, and get as much rest as youcan. You, grab some ice. It'll help reduce the swelling in your knee and hishead."
"Sure thing, Doc."
"And if I see you two up and walking around, I'mgoing to have those soldiers strap you down to your cots and make sure you getthe rest you need. Got that?"
Mort shook his head and got up off the table. He gaveBlake a shoulder to lean on and they disappeared from the room. Joan ploppeddown in the chair that Blake had vacated. What was she doing? The end ofthe world was out there and here she was playing doctor. She supposed she justenjoyed being needed. In here, she was still relevant, still important. Out inthe real world, she was a liability, a brain without the ability to take careof itself. She was dead meat walking on her own, amongst the other dead meat.
She leaned forward and put her head in her hands. Thetears came, for the first time, and they came with force. The tears were lacedwith a fear that she could taste in her mouth, metallic and sharp. The prospectof her own death flooded her brain, and she began to think about what a wasteher entire life had been. She had worked hard to become a doctor, and then,once she had become a doctor, that's all she had done. There was no family, nofriends, just work, some acquaintances, and a cat that seemed altogetherindifferent to her.
Thoughts of her cat stuck in her apartment sent a newwave of sobbing through her. She wanted to kick her feet and scream and roll onthe floor, but she didn't; she just sat in her chair smashing her hands intoher face to hide the shame of her emotional breakdown. Fuck it. She hadearned it.
"So you are human," a voice said.
Joan couldn't even pull her hands down to look at Clara.Another sob tore through her body. She felt awful acting this way. So manypeople had lost so much more than her, and yet here she was wailing like ababy, and now Clara was seeing it all.
Then there was an arm on her shoulder, comforting her.Somehow, that made it even worse. Clara, who had lost her soulmate, wascomforting Joan who had lost nothing but the status of being a doctor and acat. Joan laid her head on Clara's breast and the sobs came, along with thetears and the snot. She wanted to stop, but she couldn't. Her arms reachedaround Clara, grabbing handfuls of her shirt, and together they sat in a roomin the underground of the Memorial Coliseum, while above them the dead milledabout, searching for a way to get at all the living people inside.
When the sobbing had subsided, Joan lifted her head, hereyes red, her nose runny, and said, "I'm sorry. I don't know why I'mcrying."
Clara smiled at her and said, "It's ok. I knowwhy."
"Sure you do?"
"Yeah. I do. You're crying because it's all goingaway. Change is hard, and though these changes are fucked up and crazy, what itcomes down to is that this is all basically just change. We'll cry, and thenwe'll adapt."
Clara's words were hardly comforting, but something aboutthe way she said it calmed her down. There was a bit of logic in there that sheclung to. It was all just change. As horrible as everything was, it all camedown to change. Joan could change. She may not be fit for this world anylonger, but she could change. She could grow and adapt.
Joan looked at Clara and smiled. "I'm glad you'rehere."
"Yeah. I'm glad you're here too."
The subsequent silence was awkward, like the type ofawkward when lovers first declare their love for each other, wondering if theother had really meant it or had just said the words back to be nice. Joancleared her throat and stood up, rubbing at her eyes.
"I must look like a mess." She walked over tothe sink in the room, and turned on the water, slurping it down straight fromthe faucet.
"We've got to get out of here," Clara saidabruptly.
It took a moment for Clara's words to register in Joan'smind. "What do you mean?"
"We're not safe here."
Joan laughed, a short sharp laugh with the ring
