Brett Battles - Sick

She was about to ask Bobby what was so special about the guy when the man turned, suddenly bringing his whole face into view.

For several seconds she forgot to breathe. Finally, she pulled her eye from the viewfinder and allowed Bobby to take the camera from her.

“What is it?” Joe asked.

Bobby gave him the camera.

“Oh, my God,” Joe exclaimed once he’d gotten a look at the man.

They had all made the same connection.

Standing a little over a hundred feet away from them was the man who’d killed Tamara’s brother.

The orderly checked on the children one last time. Their vital signs were stable, and their breathing deep and even. He made sure the IV tubes would not get caught on anything when the beds were moved, then exited the room.

His colleague had finished packing up the pharmaceutical supplies and their workstation, so the orderly did a final walk-through to make sure they hadn’t forgotten anything. They hadn’t.

He picked up the radio from their desk and said, “Station K. Ready and awaiting removal.”

“Roger, Station K. Removal team should be there in two minutes.”

“Copy that, Control.”

Together, he and his colleague double-checked all the latches on the containers to make sure everything was secure.

“I think we’re good,” his colleague said. The orderly was just starting to nod in agreement when the other man blurted out, “Wait.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Did you check the room at the end?”

The orderly shook his head. As far as he knew, there’d been no reason to go in there.

“I used the bathroom in there this morning,” the other man said, already starting off down the hall. “I think I might have left a tissue on the sink.”

“Jesus. Get it. We’re not supposed to leave anything.”

“I know. I know.”

His colleague headed quickly down the hall and disappeared into the last room on the right. When he came back out several seconds later, he held up his hand. In it was a couple of unused tissues.

The orderly was about to read him the riot act for being sloppy, but right then the removal team arrived and he soon forgot.

“What should we do?” Bobby asked.

Though Tamara barely heard the cameraman speak, the only thought she had was that she was looking at the man who had put a bullet through her brother’s back. Without even realizing it, she started walking toward him.

“Hey, where are you going?” Joe asked.

She didn’t answer.

“Tammy. That’s not a good idea,” Bobby said.

Still, she didn’t reply.

Footsteps ran up behind her, Bobby on one side and Joe on the other. Each grabbed one of her arms, stopping her.

“Snap out of it,” Joe said. “Going over there isn’t going to accomplish anything.”

She struggled to pull free. “I want to know his name.”

The four men on the tarmac seemed to realize something was going on. They glanced in the PCN team’s direction, but then, as one, their gaze swung to the left. The two men who had separated from them earlier were jogging rapidly toward the helicopters. One of them was waving the other men toward the aircraft.

“No!” Tamara yelled as the man who’d killed her brother disappeared inside the helicopter.

Bobby grabbed her around the shoulders, holding her back.

The last man had barely gotten on board when both helicopters rose into the air and shot off toward the North.

“No!” she repeated.

“It’s okay,” Bobby said. “You wouldn’t have been able to do anything.”

“But he shot my brother. I…I don’t even know his name.”

“I got him on tape. If there’s a name on his uniform, I probably got that, too.”

“Hey, you guys all right?”

The three of them turned and saw Peter Chavez stepping out in their direction from under the canopy.

“We’re fine, Peter,” Joe said.

“You sure?” Peter asked.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

As soon as the wire-service reporter returned to the shade, Tamara whisper, “I want to check the video.”

Bobby nodded.

As they walked quickly back to where Bobby had set down the camera, she touched his arm, slowing him and putting a little distance between them and Joe.

“I want you to cut a shot of the guy into the story,” she whispered.

He pulled back a little. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“I don’t care if it’s a good idea. Will you do it?”

He grimaced, but then nodded. “I’ll do it.”

Paul was covered in dust. It had even gotten under his helmet and into his month. He tried spitting out what he could, but he was already parched. What he really would have loved at that moment was a nice long drink of water, but that would have to wait until he found civilization. His bottles had been in his backpack the men from the helicopters had taken.

So far he’d been able to make pretty good time. The roughest part had been right after he left the canyon. The gentle slope there had been deceiving. Decades of rainwater had carved out gullies that seemed to appear out of nowhere. If he had hit one of those too hard, he would have wrecked and broken his arm or worse.

But now he was on smooth, level ground so he was able to ramp up the speed. He figured the area was probably the bed of the ancient ocean that used to cover this part of the desert. Sarge would have known for sure.

He allowed himself a quick look around. Brown for as far as he could see. He glanced at his gas gauge. He had maybe another sixty or seventy miles left. Reluctantly he backed off on the accelerator. If he kept his speed down a bit, he might be able to squeeze out another ten or twenty miles. That could make all the difference in the world.

He let his eyes settle on the hills in front of him. Another fifteen minutes and he’d be there. If he figured it right, once he reached the top he’d be out of the quarantine zone. The thing he didn’t know was how far he’d still have to go to reach anyone after that. The map his dad had given them was also in the backpack.

To this point, he’d focused all his thoughts on surviving-going as fast as he dared, keeping the bike upright, looking for holes in the ground. But the thought of the map brought everything back.

Mom and Sarge. Leaving home after the sun went down. Racing through the dark desert.

Nick.

Lisa.

The girl who meant everything to him and his best friend in the world-both dead.

The thing he kept coming back to was that he’d sat there and done nothing. He had watched the men raise their rifles. He had watched them fire.

And he had done nothing .

Maybe he could have created a distraction. Maybe it would have been enough for Nick and Lisa to get away. Would it have worked? Probably not, but, dammit, he should have given it a try. He should have-

He didn’t see the rock.

One moment his eyes were tearing up with anger over his inaction, and the next he was flying over his handlebars, landing hard against the desert floor.

He lay on his back for a moment, groaning with the pain. The worse of it seemed to be coming from his left knee. He pulled off his helmet then felt his leg, checking if it was broken.

When his hand reached his knee, he nearly jerked back. It felt wrong. He tried to sit up, but that just made the pain worse, so he only raised his shoulder and tilted his head so he could see what was going on.

Immediately, he knew what had happened. He’d seen something similar before, during P.E. at school. They’d been playing soccer, and Ryan Young had tried to kick the ball but had stepped awkwardly and fallen to the ground.

Like Ryan’s had been then, Paul’s kneecap was sticking out like a shelf off the side of his bent leg, dislocated.