H10N1 (11 page)

It would serve him right, after being such a shithead. He’d pissed the Doc off one too many times.

Maybe she’d take out one of the dogs with a wheel as she sped away.

CHAPTER NINE

Every nerve in Taeya’s body prickled when she heard a dog growling under the van. She dropped the toolbox and snatched her gun out of her pants, aiming at the open passenger door as she crept forward. Was it some drifters and their dog?

She took quick glances out the windshield, while keeping her gun trained on the door. Nothing. Then hunkering down between the seats, she crawled onto the driver’s seat and peeked out the rearview mirror. No desperados were edging their way up the side of the van.

But the grumbling dog had grown more frantic. It sounded like her brother’s yellow lab when those two played tug-of-war with a rawhide bone. Craning her neck up higher, Taeya caught sight of the hindquarters of a dog, digging his back claws into the pavement and tugging. Who was he with?

She ducked back down and crawled into the foot-well on the passenger’s side. If she stuck her head out the door, would someone blow it off? Why hadn’t she closed the door when she got back in the van? Then she could at least check the rearview mirror before leaping out to her death.

Rick’s next cry sounded desperate. Surely, he wouldn’t coax her out to an impossible situation. If there were men with guns, wouldn’t he warn her away?

She eased her gun out, then her head.

A dog crouched halfway under this side of the van as well, his hind quarters missing patches of fur. As the dog’s claws dug into the road, scrabbling to back out, Taeya heard Rick bellow. She squeezed off three quick shots. The dog yelped and flipped onto its side, its hind legs quaking. Its mouth snapped twice in a reflex, and then gaped open.

Taeya charged past the dead dog to the back of the van, then skidded to a stop and slammed against the side panel. Maybe whoever owned these dogs was lurking in the tunnel, allowing his lead team to do the dirty work. Then he would step out of the shadows, finish her and Rick off, and take the van. She squinted as she scanned the dark cavern ahead. The rising sun cast a good beam of light into the far end but she saw nothing. So were these dogs wandering on their own—wild? Rabid?

Holding her gun in front of her, Taeya stepped around the corner of the van.

A huge black dog with a massive jaw leaped into the air, straight at her. His front paws hit her in the shoulders, sending her reeling. She felt herself tumbling backwards, the dog’s claws raking down her chest. She squeezed the trigger twice before her head cracked on the pavement. Her teeth slammed together. Pain exploded in her skull. She couldn’t see past the tracers zipping in front of her eyes.

A sudden calm washed over her and her eyes rolled back in her head.

Then a split second later, the dog’s lifeless body crashed onto her chest, driving the butt of the pistol into her sternum. She gasped for air, felt warm blood spread across her belly.

One thought. Get the dog off. She released her grip on the gun, let it flatten on her stomach. Air, she needed air.

Gripping the dead dog by the neck, she tried to roll it to the side. He gave a short yelp and came alive. His legs scrabbled to gain traction. It snarled and lunged at her with jaws that snapped like a steel trap. She dug her fingers deep into its matted fur and pushed.

He inched his way closer, his teeth clacking, his hot breath smelling of carrion. Her arms trembled as she fought to hold him back. Closing her eyes, she lowered her chin to protect her throat and braced herself for the attack.

Over the years, she’d played out different scenarios of her demise. A crash in one of the puddle-jumpers she flew in, caught in the crossfire of mercenaries. She’d never envisioned herself reaching old age, but she never dreamed it would end like this either.

A gunshot rang out and warm blood rained on her face. The dog’s head slumped onto her shoulder, its lips quivering as blood oozed over its lolling tongue. Two more shots rang out.

She felt a blissful weightlessness like she was floating. Was she dying?

Pain at the base of her skull jangled all the way down her spine, so she wasn’t dead yet. She eased open her eyes. Rick was on his knees beside her, panting.

Ever so gently, he brushed a lock of hair off her face. “Sanchez?”

She made a slow assessment. Her neck turned without snapping, her fingers moved, her toes curled.

When she tried to sit up, Rick slipped a hand under her neck and helped her. The motion sent her equilibrium on a roller coaster ride.

She heard Rick’s voice echo from far away. “Maybe you should lie back down.”

Bile gushed up her throat. She rolled onto her elbows and retched. Concussion? Headache and nausea, certainly. But had she lost consciousness? She didn’t feel confused. She remembered the whole attack, from the time Rick yelled until the dog somehow got off her chest. Had Rick dragged it off?

She eased to sitting and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. No blurred vision. But what she saw was startling. Tears had pooled in Rick’s eyes. He quickly blinked them away.

“You scared the hell out of me, Doc.”

“Yeah.” Her voice came out breathless. She inhaled deeply to settle her stomach and calm her still-trembling hands. Blowing out a gust of air, she sighed. “What a way to start the morning.”

She glanced up at Rick, but he didn’t look too happy. His left hand supported his right elbow, and his right wrist was dripping blood onto the gun still in his fist.

“Oh, God!”

He gave her a weak smile. “The bastards tag-teamed me.”

In an instant, she was on her feet. She gripped his elbow and twisted it upward to get a better look at the bite. A dull pop shocked her.

Rick let out a scream that echoed in the tunnel. Then he gently rotated his shoulder. “Huh.” He shrugged a little. “Well that took care of the dislocation.”

Where was her professionalism? She needed to slow down. And get Rick into the van for a proper examination.

She studied the deep gashes on his wrist as she ran through a list of drugs she had brought from the hospital. Broad-spectrum antibiotics, anti-viral medications, heavy-duty pain relievers. She’d been so worried about her long trip to Arizona by herself that she’d even brought along Elavil and Valium. But it never occurred to her to bring rabies serum. She didn’t even recall seeing any vials in the cabinet at the Center.

Symptoms raced through her head, the throat spasms and paralysis, the convulsions and delirium as the rabies virus made its way to the brain, and finally death. Rick probably never thought his life would end this way either.

“Take it easy, Doc.” He pulled his arm free. “I didn’t think you people got sick at the sight of blood.”

She shook her head, unable to make eye contact. “I can’t do anything about it.”

“Come on. It’s not that bad.”

He didn’t get it. She made herself look into his eyes. “It’s not the blood. It’s the bite. If the dog had rabies—” She let the sentence hang.

It would be two weeks before they even knew if he had the virus. And then it could be weeks of progressively worse symptoms until he finally succumbed. She couldn’t even be sure if he would come to a swift ending with cardiac or respiratory arrest, or if he would merely slip into a coma.

Rick gave her this lewd grin and cocked an eyebrow. “Do you remember how I told you I’ve been planning this trip for a long time?”

He directed her to a cupboard where he kept his own first aid kit. She ripped it open and pawed through bandages and bottles. Her numb fingers plucked out the tiny vial. “You brought rabies serum?”

“Yeah, well, where I’m going, it seemed like a good idea.”

While she ripped open a pack of sterile cotton, she nodded at his cot. “Let’s get the wounds cleaned and see what kind of damage we’ve got. Take off your pants. I need to see every place you were bitten.”

He hesitated with his fingers clenched on his jeans. Typical male reaction. A woman doctor ordering him to strip down. She turned to give him some privacy and searched for antiseptic wash and clean gloves.

When she turned back, he was sitting on his cot. His pants were gone, but he had his tee shirt balled in his lap. Like she might sneak a peek? Puh-leeze.

A gash ran from his knee to his ankle in a dot/dash pattern of surface abrasions and deep lacerations.

“Did the dog do that?”

“No. That was a rusty bolt.”

“Swell,” she said. “When did you have your last tetanus shot?”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“Okay.” She pursed her lips as she twisted the cap off the antiseptic. “Let’s get started.”

Just as she expected, he whined like a kid when she scrubbed the wounds. Men were such babies. She injected serum around the site at his wrist, then the rest into his hip. “You’ll need another shot in three days, another in seven, and the last in fourteen. I can show your friends how.”

She threaded a needle, but when she aimed for his leg, he growled. “Jesus, Doc. Aren’t you going to at least numb it first?”

Stifling a grin, she explained that the wash she used contained Zylocaine. She even jabbed the needle into his skin to show him. He snarled, his eyes squinted tight, so she backed off. She was having way too much fun torturing him.

While she stitched, she took a stab at a normal conversation. “So did you play basketball in high school?”

“No, I was a loser in high school. We moved around too much to be good at anything but getting high.”

“Was your father in the military?”

“No, he was a drunk.”

His surly attitude was getting old. “When I get done with your leg, I think I’ll slip a few stitches in that mouth of yours.”

“Mmm, Doc,” he crooned. “Getting feisty.”

“Is that what you’re into?” She asked. “Hard women who don’t take crap from anybody? Well, I’ve never mud-wrestled, or been in a beer-drinking contest.”

“And what are you into?”

She paused, like she was straining. “Let me see if there’s anything you can relate to. How about baseball? I used to keep up with the L.A. Dodgers.”

“You do know they were originally from New York,” he said.

“Really?” She gave him her best dizzy-blonde expression. “Is that why they were called the Brooklyn Dodgers?”

“Who played in the last World Series?”

She choked back a chuckle. “What? Are you testing me to see if I’m knowledgeable enough to have a conversation about baseball?”

He stammered and fidgeted.

Closing her eyes, Taeya shook her head. Didn’t women ever challenge this man?

“The last World Series went six games,” she said. “Philly beat Boston, four out of six.” She went back to stitching.

“Sorry,” Rick mumbled.

There was no point in rubbing the man’s nose in it. She was shocked he actually apologized.

“So, who was your team?” she asked.

Rick gave her an indignant look like there was no question. “The Yankees.”

“Of course. Team of the up and coming third-baseman Jake Peterson, whose home plate slide dislocated his knee.”

Rick’s jaw dropped open.

Throwing a hand in the air, she asked. “Who slides in spring training?”

As though some invisible barrier had been broken, they dropped their defenses. Rick harped on what he termed ridiculous mid-season trades, they agreed on the worthlessness of the all-star game, and gossiped about the pitcher for the White Sox who got a sixteen year-old girl pregnant. They even discussed the perfect ballpark frank. Taeya discovered they both ate them loaded, with extra onions.

By the time she finished, it had taken Taeya twenty-seven stitches to close Rick’s leg, and another ten for his wrist. He stared at her as she packed away her supplies.

She felt a surly annoyance rising to the surface. “What!?”

He winked an eye shut and gave her a smile that he probably practiced in his bathroom mirror. “You’re a really good shot. I checked out that dog. You got him square in the head. Two to the chest.”

“Wasn’t that the point?”

“Where did you learn to shoot? You and hubby belong to some exclusive gun club?”

She opened her medical bag again and pulled out her otoscope. “I need to check your ears. You don’t seem to hear very well.”

Rick’s face wrinkled in confusion.

“I’m not a Park Avenue doctor. I’ve never owned a car, or a house, or a pair of three-inch heels. I’ve lived in tents, huts, and hovels that would repulse even you.”

For emphasis, she tossed the otoscope back in the bag, then stood and stretched her back. “I need a walk.”

“Hang on now.” Rick sat up on his cot. “You’ve got doggy goo all over you.”

He circled a finger around his face and she crinkled her cheeks. The blood was beginning to dry and stiffen.

She pulled a big hunk of cotton from a roll. Reaching for a bottle of water, she soaked the cotton, and dabbed at her face. The water and blood ran down her neck and into her shirt.

“Wait a minute.” Rick took the bottle away. “You’re just smearing it around. That shit’s even in your hair.” He tucked two more bottles of water under his arms. “Come on.”

He slid open the door and took a good look around before easing out on his good leg. “You might as well get that shirt off. It’s toast.”

She hopped down, then hunched over and raked the shirt off from the back to keep from getting more blood on her face. When she straightened and shook her hair away from her face, she glanced down. Her camisole was soaked, too.

“Mmm. Lovely,” Rick muttered. Then his face flushed. “I mean the shirt.”

She wouldn’t have given his first remark another thought, until he threw that in about the shirt.

He covered nicely by carping at her. “Just bend over.” He twisted open a bottle of water and aimed it at her head. She leaned out, wrapping a fist around her hair.

He poured the water slowly and she rubbed with one hand.

“Give me that.” He gripped her ponytail while brushing her hand away. “Now scrub.”

As Taeya rubbed, he directed: up to the left, over by your ear, get the hairline. She eased her fingers over the tender lump swelling on the back of her head. There was no break in the skin.