Brett Battles - Sick

Ash made no reply.

The man rubbed his arms with his hands. “It's a little chilly out. So if you’re ready to go, I’d love to get back in the 'Bago.”

Ash hesitated a moment. The thought of going it alone once more passed through his mind. But the conclusions he’d come up with before hadn’t changed, so he grabbed the messenger bag off the other seat and got out. Immediately, he pulled his jacket tight around his neck. Though it had been cold in the car, it was near freezing outside.

“We've got coffee in the motor home, if you'd like,” the man said, then nodded toward the woman. “Janice just heated up a pot before we turned off. If you're hungry we can cook you up something, too. There’s plenty of leftover chili from lunch. I'm Mike, by the way.”

He held out his hand. Ash shook it.

“Coffee sounds good. My name’s-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I already know who you are. You're Sam Wolverton. I’d recognize you anywhere.”

Apparently Craig Thompson was out, and Sam Wolverton was in.It was as good a name as any, Ash thought.

Mike and Janice led him over to the Winnebago, then inside where the temperature was a wonderfully bone-thawing forty degrees warmer. Ash slowly stretched his stiff cold fingers then rolled his shoulders, trying to bring his muscles back to life.

Janice pointed at a table in the rear. “If you want to have a seat, I'll get that coffee while Mike gets us back on the road.”

“Thanks,” Ash said.

He pulled off his jacket and sat down. Between the heat and the feel of movement and the calm exuded by Janice and Mike, some of the tension he’d been holding on to began to ease away.

It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be okay.

The next thing he knew Janice was touching him on the shoulder.

“You all right?”

He jerked in surprise, then looked up. “I’m fine. Thanks. Just…trying to warm up.”

She set a cup of coffee in front of him. “This’ll help.”

“Thanks again.”

The coffee mug had a lid on top that allowed a person to drink without the liquid inside sloshing out while traveling. Ash took a sip. It was hot and delicious. In fact, it was the best cup of coffee he’d had in a long time.

The Winnebago took a turn to the right and began increasing speed. Ash could see they were transitioning back onto the interstate, but he missed the sign so he still had no idea which one they were on.

He took another, longer sip.

“Mind if I join you?” Janice asked from over at the stove.

“Not at all,” he told her.

She poured herself a cup of coffee then took a seat across the table from him.

“Do you…do this often?” he asked.

She cocked her head. “Do what?”

“Pick up strangers on deserted roads.”

A half-smile graced her lips. “You're not a stranger, Sam. We've known you for years.” She lifted her cup and took a drink.

“But we just-”

“We just what? Pulled off the highway so we could stretch our legs?”

He studied her face for a moment. “Who are you people?”

“Mike and Janice Humphrey. Your old friends from college.”

“I don’t care about any cover story. There’s no one else around. I’d just like to know who you are, and why you're helping me.”

“You sure want a lot for someone whose life is being saved.”

“How do you know that? I thought you didn’t know anything about me. How do you know you’re saving my life?”

“How do I know? I don’t. It was just an educated guess, and by your reaction, a fairly accurate one. And you’re right. We don’t know anything about you. But even if we’re not saving your life, we’re saving you from something. I would think you’d be grateful for that.”

“I am,” he said quickly. “Very grateful. I’m just…confused. I don’t know what’s going…what’s going…”

His vision suddenly blurred.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

He opened his eyes as wide as he could, but was unable to focus on anything. As he raised a hand to rub them, vertigo raced through his head like a wave. He no longer knew which way was up and which was down. He reached out for the table to try to steady himself, but he missed and fell sideways, dropping onto the floor. Janice was immediately at his side, her hand moving under his head. But her touch seemed distant and disconnected.

“Relax.” Her voice was a million miles away. “You're going to be fine. You just need a little sleep.”

He tried to speak, to tell her he wasn't fine. That nothing was fine. But his lips refused to move.

A moment later, the unfocused world he’d been seeing turned black.

If Ellison had been in a humorous mood, he would have thought it ironic that the car he escaped in belonged to Major Littlefield, but he knew humor would never enter his life again.

The whole time he was hotwiring it, he was sure the major would come charging out and find him, then drag him back into the facility before initiating Protocol Thirteen. But the engine finally roared to life, and he sped away without seeing the major or anyone else.

Just before he reached the far end of the valley, the building exploded, lighting up the sky. Even though he’d been expecting it, it still caught him by surprise. He jerked the wheel to the right and nearly ran off the road.

At least the explosion meant that he was safe for the moment. With the major and the small team at Barker Flats no longer in the picture, anyone the project would send after him was at least a few hundred miles away.

All he had to do was find a pay phone before that.

And torch the car.

And die.

It was an easy enough plan in theory, but after an hour of driving through the empty desert, he was having a hard time keeping his eyes open. He needed to get some rest. He couldn’t afford to crash. Not only would he be unable to deliver the message, but anyone who came to his aid would be in danger of being infected.

Just a couple of hours-a nap, really-that was all he needed.

About five minutes later he spotted an old dirt road. He turned onto it and drove far enough that his car wouldn’t be spotted from the highway, then crawled into the back seat.

When he woke, the sun was high in the sky. Panicked, he pushed himself up but immediately dropped back down. It felt like his brain was trying to push out of his skull. Even his eyes ached.

More slowly this time, he rose into a sitting position. As he tried to take a deep breath, it caught in his throat and he began to cough.

Ellison was not the kind of man who would delude himself. Sure, he could have pretended he’d only caught a bad cold or maybe the flu. But the truth was he was infected with the KV-27a virus, and unless he had an immunity that worked like Josie Ash’s had, he was going to die.

He forced himself to get back behind the wheel. His time was severely limited now. He figured he had no more than two hours to find an isolated pay phone. If he failed to locate one in that time, he would have to forget about the call and concentrate on eliminating his chance of infecting anyone else.

“Should have stayed in the building,” the disease in his head said. “Should have let the fire take you.”

He ignored it and used every ounce of concentration to keep the car on the road. Even then, he often found himself veering dangerously close to the opposite lane and then overcompensating by weaving back the other way and onto the shoulder. God forbid he came across a highway patrol car. They’d pull him over for sure.

He passed a few possibilities, wide spots in the road with two or three restaurants and a gas station, but there were always too many people around. After ninety minutes, he started to think he would have to give up the idea of reporting in. But then he saw a little gas station along an otherwise deserted stretch of the highway.