Patient Z (2 page)

“Mitch, I have to get close if I’m going to examine him,” the doctor said.

“Okay, Mr. Richardson,” Mitch said. “I’m asking for your cooperation.”

Damn
. Cal knew exactly who talked like that. And what they did to you if you didn’t cooperate.
Cop.

“I want you to back up to the wall, just there. You see it?” Cal saw it. Restraints welded right to the wall, shoulder height and ankle height.

“You want to fasten me to the wall? And then you’re going to throw knives at me? Saw that act in Vegas once.” Mitch slipped something else from his pocket. A stun gun.
Oh, lovely
. “Okay, keep your pants on. I’ll do it.” He didn’t have much choice. He still felt pretty tired and sick, and he didn’t think he could take Bren in a fight, let alone Mitch, and certainly not both of them. So he backed up and fastened three of the restraints himself. He’d been in restraints before, usually in a more intimate setting than this. To be honest, it wasn’t really his thing, but sometimes you had to be accommodating. Mitch approached cautiously when Cal had only his left hand free. He’d holstered his pistol but still held the stun gun.

Cal’s breathing sped up as Mitch stepped right in front of him. He could feel the heat radiating from the guy. He could smell soap and sweat. His body responded to the nearness of the man, and he flushed and hoped like hell he wouldn’t get a hard-on. Not until they were alone, maybe. God, it had been too long. Mitch closed the manacle around Cal’s left hand. It was all Cal could do not to arch his body toward Mitch.
Now. Touch me now. Kiss me.

“I’m going to gag you.”

Cal snapped out of his little fantasy and stared.

“You are not!” Mitch took a leather gag from his pocket. “For fuck’s sake, you said yourself; the urge to bite comes after revival.”

“I’ve seen people bite before that.”

So had Cal. Ones who’d been bitten and knew they were dead meat in five to seven days. Some people killed themselves when they were bitten. Others, in bitter despair, tried to take as many other people with them as they could. Even before revival, their bite could carry the infection.

“I am not infected, and I’m not going to bite anyone.”

“I’m sorry.”

Cal strained against the wall, trying to fight, but he had no chance as Mitch fastened the gag around his face. His protests were abruptly muffled. He yelled into the soft cotton lining on the inside of the gag.

“Okay, Doctor,” Mitch said, but she was already at his side, scowling at Mitch.

“That really isn’t needed, you know. And it means I have to hurry.” She shook her head, looking disgusted. Cal was still straining against his bonds, and he bashed his head back into the wall a couple of times. He hated this; he fucking hated it. But he calmed as his common sense told him the sooner he let the doctor do her exam, the sooner they’d let him out of the hated gag.

So he relaxed, leaning against the metal wall. It was cold against his bare back. He pretty much ignored the doctor as she went about her business, pressing a stethoscope to his chest. Instead, he gave Mitch the full power of his glare. And it was a hell of a glare. People had told him that before. It was the eyebrows. As thick and black as his hair, they didn’t meet in the middle, but they came close when he scowled. Mitch stared impassively back. The stun gun no longer rested loosely at this side, but was raised and ready for action. A couple of yards away Bren had her rifle pointing at Cal’s head. He held very still.

They were damn serious about protecting the doctor. A doctor was a rare treasure in this world. This gnarled and bent old woman was worth a hundred times as much to these people as Cal. They’d kill him without hesitation if he made the smallest threat to her. That was the world they lived in now, where all lives were not equally valuable. Those with rare and special and essential skills were the elite to protect at all costs. And women… He glanced at Bren. Women of childbearing age were a commodity. But Bren there sure didn’t look like anyone’s commodity. He had to get the hell out of this dank little hole and see what the setup was around here.

“Cal, I’m going to take a blood sample now,” the doctor said. She had to stand on a box, Mitch steadying her with one hand, his stun gun still ready in the other. The doctor swabbed the inside of Cal’s elbow and stuck him with the needle. Cal’s eyes remained locked on Mitch’s. Mitch’s attention didn’t stray once toward the arm and the needle. Focused or squeamish? Seemed ridiculous to imagine a man could continue to be squeamish in this world.

The needle didn’t hurt much, and Cal kept his wince under control. He could be macho too, like the cop. He felt embarrassed suddenly about his tantrum over the gag. His anger wouldn’t help him here. It had sometimes, when it had kept him going despite exhaustion and fear. But here he needed to stay cool, see what he could learn, what he could gain from his time here.

His time that might be very short indeed.

The doctor stepped back, capping the needle. Bren backed up too, but Mitch came close again and, to Cal’s intense relief, took off the gag, loosened one of the restraints, and backed away. Cal got himself out of the other restraints and treated Mitch to the full force of his glare again. He didn’t say anything. Nothing he could say was suitable for the ears of an elderly lady.

“He’s getting stronger,” the doctor said. “Recovering from the dehydration and exposure. His heart and lungs sound good. Even if he was bitten only a day before he arrived here, his lungs would be filling with fluid by now. That’s the normal progression of the disease.”

Mitch nodded. “Thank you, Doctor. Please let me know as soon as you’ve analyzed the blood sample.”

“Right. Meanwhile, he should rest and drink plenty of fluids.”

She left, and Cal turned from watching her go. “She said it. I don’t have the disease. You can let me out of these chains. And if you try to gag me again, I swear I will kick your fucking ass.”

Bren chuckled. “He’s fierce, isn’t he? If looks could kill, we’d be in trouble. You know, if we didn’t have the guns.”

Cal treated her to the glare too, but she only looked amused. Not gloating, not enjoying the position of power or anything. Just rather amused at his pointless raging, like an adult indulging a child. It calmed him down a bit, making him feel ridiculous.

“So what now?” he asked.

“You’ll stay here in quarantine for the next five days,” Mitch said.

“I was on that boat at least three days,” Cal said. “You know damn well that if I had the disease, I’d be showing symptoms by now, like the doc said.”

“Sorry,” Mitch said. “We can’t take the chance.”

Cal gave up. Too tired to argue. He flopped on the cot, grabbed a plastic bottle of water that stood beside it, and downed most of it. Doctor’s orders, rest and fluids. He could pretend he only had the flu. Dream of his mom bringing him ginger ale and crackers. Not that she ever had, but he’d read that was what happened in normal families. He looked at Mitch and Bren still watching him like they were at the zoo.

“Who do I have to blow to get something to eat around here?”

Chapter Two

Mitch returned from the mess with a tray of food. Cal had lain down on his cot, ignoring Bren as she kept guard over him.

“Go get dinner,” Mitch told her, setting his tray on a table. “I’ll take the watch tonight.” Cal leaned up on his elbows, looking speculative. Mitch ignored him.

“Okay,” Bren said. She handed the rifle to Mitch. “Any trouble…”

“I know. Pull the alarm.”

“I was going to say shoot him in the head, but the alarm is good too. See you in the morning.”

She took her leave. Mitch took sandwiches and a coffee mug for himself off the tray, then put it on the floor and pushed it close enough for Cal to reach.

“Am I supposed to eat it off the floor like a dog?” Cal asked.

“Just pick it up.” Mitch couldn’t be bothered with the sulking. “If you don’t want it, I’ll take it away again.” Cal shrugged and collected the tray, placed it on the cot, and started eating a sandwich from a paper plate.

“There’s soup in that tub,” Mitch said, nodding at a takeout-style carton. Actually, no takeout-
style
about it. It was from a takeout, an abandoned deli they’d raided ashore. Cal checked the tub and sipped the soup. “Homemade,” Mitch said and wondered why. He wasn’t here to sell their catering services to Cal.

They ate in silence, with occasional glances at each other. Mitch felt guilty every time he looked at Cal. It felt like peeping on a guy in his bedroom, since Cal couldn’t leave and escape his gaze. They had at least erected a half-height screen in front of the chemical toilet in the corner of the room so he could get some privacy there. Mitch had another source of guilt, though, aside from the intrusion on Cal’s privacy.

“I’m sorry about the gag.”

Cal looked up from sipping on his paper cup of coffee. He didn’t look overly impressed with the brew. It was impossible to find any coffee that wasn’t stale anymore.

“Yeah, you fucking should be,” he said. “Enjoy that kind of thing, do you? Make you feel like a man in front of the women?”

“No!” Mitch snapped. “I had no choice. Doctor Burnett is the only doctor we have, and I can’t do anything to risk her life.”

“You’d have shot me dead if I’d made any kind of move against her, wouldn’t you?”

“Me or Bren, yes. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is.”

“I get it.” Cal shrugged and lounged on the cot, the chains clanking as he moved. “She outranks me.” Cal finished his coffee, tossed the paper cup on the tray, and put the tray on the floor. He shoved it toward Mitch with his foot, sending the things on it scattering across the deck. Was that provocation or a test? Did he want to see if Mitch would clear up after him? Mitch stayed in his chair.

“Can I get you a book or anything?” Mitch asked.

“Got a big library here, have you?”

“Not bad.” They brought books back with them every time they went ashore, raiding abandoned libraries and bookstores. Books that taught them everything they needed for survival. Books for the children, liberated from schools. Lots of fiction—almost the only entertainment they had around here, barring board games and a couple of guitars. “I can have someone bring some down for you. What do you like?”

“Maybe later.” Cal lay down, an arm across his eyes. Mitch watched him, wondering if he was going to sleep. That was a symptom, wasn’t it? By day four or five, an infected person started sleeping almost continually, as if they were already dead. Except you could wake them. Wake them and beg them to stay with you. Beg them not to be dying. Beg them…

He quickly turned aside from the morbid thoughts. Cal didn’t look ill. Not day-four ill anyway. The doctor had said he was recovering, getting stronger. Maybe he really had been bitten by a dog. And if he had, if in a few days they were letting him out of those chains, a fit, healthy, and damn fine-looking man? What then?

No sense in thinking about it until it happened. No sense thinking about the possibilities if Cal stayed. Mitch’s gaze roamed over the lean, toned torso and well-defined arms. But he chided himself for it. What made him think Cal even swung his way? Dex always used to say Mitch had the gaydar of an especially dense rock.

Cal wasn’t sleeping. He sighed heavily and let the arm that had been covering his eyes flop onto the cot. He looked at Mitch again. The guy sure had a direct stare. When he frowned at you, you knew you’d been frowned at. When he’d been giving Mitch a good scowl while they’d had him gagged, Mitch had had to fight a strong urge to back away. He wasn’t frowning now, but it was a hard stare, and it made Mitch uncomfortable. It made the silence oppressive. When it was clear Cal wasn’t going to break that silence himself, Mitch spoke.

“So, how did you end up on the boat?”

“You really want to know, or you just making conversation?”

“Fine.” Mitch sat back in his chair, cradling the rifle in his arms. Just one sign, just one… Cal would thank him for it—from heaven, at least. Better to be finished off quickly than become one of those things.

“Okay, fine,” Cal said. “I stole the boat, obviously.” He sat up on the edge of the cot and gave Mitch an assessing look, as if waiting for a reaction. Mitch didn’t react. You couldn’t call it stealing or looting anymore. The world lay out there rotting away. You had to take things while they were still usable.

“Couple of weeks ago I ran into a group,” Cal said. “Mostly men, couple of women, and I traveled with them for a while.”

“Safety in numbers.”

“Maybe,” Cal said. “We came to a fork in the road, you might say. I wanted to go one way, to Santa Monica. They were heading to LA.”

“Why Santa Monica?”

“The bars and the beaches, of course.” Cal smirked.

“Is that where you’re from?” Mitch asked.

“No, I’m from New York. But I left a long time ago. Long before all this. Anyway, I wanted to go to Santa Monica because I’ve been there before. Had a good idea of places I could get myself some winter supplies. But my new friends decided I was coming with them whether I wanted to or not.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they thought I looked tasty.”

“Tasty?” Mitch’s mind rebelled at the first interpretation of the word. He couldn’t mean it literally. There was livestock wandering around the landscape just waiting to be shot and stores piled high with canned and dried food that might take the remaining humans fifty years to eat. It was hard to tell, because they couldn’t get news from most of the rest of the country, never mind the rest of the world, but Mitch thought only 5 percent of the population remained uninfected. Resources were not a problem. Getting to them was.

“There’s some very strange shit happening out there,” Cal said. “Don’t suppose you see it, safe on your oil rig.”

“We aren’t self-sufficient here, you know. We go ashore every few weeks for supplies.”

“Right.” Cal went quiet for a moment and then picked up the story. “I got away from them, but they came after me. My car ran out of gas, and I got away into the brush on foot, but they were still coming.”