Brett Battles - Sick

She worked her eyes open again, then rolled over and looked at the spot where Ben had been sleeping. He wasn’t there.

Probably decided to move when he realized I was sick, she thought.

She raised herself up on her elbows. She could hear sniffling elsewhere in the dining area, and even a couple of coughs, her friends all dying with her.

“You’re up.”

She looked over her shoulder. Ben was standing behind her. He must have been in the kitchen. Though he was smiling, she could tell by his red nose that he was sick, too. That depressed her even more. She liked him, and had been hoping that maybe he’d be the one to survive.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re all sour face.”

She lay her head back down. “I guess I was kind of hoping we wouldn’t get it.”

“Right,” he said, his smile widening. “You’ve been asleep.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come on. I’ll show you.”

With more than just a bit of effort, Ben helped Martina to her feet, then led her to the front of the cafe. Most of the others were there, all but one or two showing signs of the flu. The TV on the counter was on, tuned to PCN. At the bottom of the screen was a banner that read: Quarantine Partially Lifted .

“Lifted?” Martina said. “But we’re all sick here.”

“Yeah, and we’re still in the quarantine zone, but not for long,” Ben told her.

“What are you talking about?”

“Maybe he can tell you,” he said, nodding at the next booth over.

She turned and saw Paul sitting on the end of the bench seat. He looked tired-exhausted, actually-but what other signs of the illness he’d had seemed to be gone.

“You owe me a glass of orange juice,” Ben said. “I believe that was our bet.”

“He’s all right?” she asked quietly.

“He’s recovering from the illness, but I don’t think he’d say he’s all right.”

Of course. His brother and his girlfriend.

“They’re saying on the news that there have been over five hundred new cases in the last thirty-six hours, but most haven’t resulted in death. People are being asked to voluntarily stay home until the flu has disappeared, but the quarantine is expected to be fully lifted by tomorrow night.”

“So…what? It just stopped killing people?”

“Apparently.”

She couldn’t believe it. “We’re going to live?”

Ben smiled again. “Didn’t I tell you this wasn’t going to be your last morning?”

“Would you like me to play it again?” the Director of Preparation asked.

There were head shakes all around the table.

“Do you really think she’s alive?” the Director of Facilities asked.

“How would Captain Ash have known her name otherwise?”

They had just watched Ash and an unidentified woman rescue his children from NB7. The video had lasted right up to the point when the flames flared up. Ash had clearly stated the name Olivia and mentioned she’d been left for dead.

At the end of the table, the Principal Director leaned forward. “I think it would be unwise to assume Olivia is still alive based solely on a single brief conversation. But I also think it would be unwise not to try to find out more.”

“Yes, sir,” the DOP said. “I’ll get a team right on it.”

“There are several things, though,” the Principal Director went on, “that concern me more at the moment, lapses of security on this operation that were totally unacceptable. The loss of the NB7 facility, in particular, does not make me happy.”

“Yes, sir,” the DOP said. “I agree with you one hundred percent. Though it should have been unnecessary, we will definitely learn from these mistakes. To that end, if I may…” He glanced at the Principal Director, who gave him a nod. “Bring up channel four, please.”

The monitor came back to life, this time showing what looked like a conference room.

Sitting on one side of the table was Mr. Shell, and on the other, the soon-to-be former Director of Recovery. Ostensibly, the meeting was for the DOR to critique Shell’s performance during the outbreak. That in itself was highly unusual, given that project members almost never met face to face with the Directors, but it was not entirely unprecedented. Given the gravity of what had just played out over the last several days, neither man questioned its necessity.

The DOP used the remote to turn up the volume.

“…more. You must understand that,” the DOR said. “These kinds of slips are completely unacceptable.”

“Yes, sir,” Mr. Shell said. “I understand. There were problems that were unforeseen.”

“Nothing should be unforeseen!”

The DOP couldn’t resist the opening. He touched the button for the microphone that was clipped to his collar. “You’re absolutely correct. Nothing should be unforeseen.”

Both men on the screen looked up toward where the voice must have been coming from.

“The Directorate would like to thank the Director of Recovery and Mr. Shell for their contributions to the project,” the DOP went on. “It is our unanimous decision that neither of your services will be further required.”

“What?” the Director of Recovery said. “Wait. You can’t-”

The DOP hit the mute button. “Terminate,” he said.

He waited until the two men in the other room started choking as the air to their room was cut off, then had the monitor turned off. He looked back at the group.

“Even with these unfortunate incidents, there is much good news. From Dr. Karp’s own calculations, we know that the effectiveness of KV-27a exceeds our hopes. Even the safeguard that he encoded into the virus of turning it into a simple flu after the fifth or sixth host worked perfectly. And with the discovery of the Ash family’s immunity, we should have a working vaccine within weeks. It is unfortunate that the doctor isn’t with us anymore, but his work still goes on. I think we can safely designate stage one of the delivery agent complete. That is, unless anyone has any objections?” He looked around the table, but no one said a word. “We will concentrate on stage two now, which is already well on its way. At this time, I see no threat at all to the implementation timetable.”

The Principal Director leaned forward again. “What about Captain Ash? He’s still on the loose.”

“He is, sir. But I don’t believe he’s any kind of problem. He only wanted his children.”

“And these missing journalists?”

“We believe they were scared off, sir, and will resurface soon. When that occurs, they will be dealt with.”

“Yes, but who is helping these people? They couldn’t have done this all on their own. And if Olivia is alive, where is she?”

“We’re looking into all of that, sir, but, again, we don’t think any of it is a serious threat. The boulder is running downhill. It’s too late for anyone to stop it.”

As they sped away from NB7, Chloe called Matt, requesting a safe house and a doctor. They were directed to the home of an elderly woman in a small, Western Idaho town. Despite the fact the sun had yet to come up when they arrived, she smiled at the children and told everyone to make themselves at home, then disappeared into a room in the back.

Ash hunted down some aspirin for Chloe, then found a couple of bedrooms upstairs and told Josie and Brandon they could use them. But instead of separating, they chose to share a room. He could tell they were still unsure if it was really him, but he didn’t want to push himself on them.

After they were settled, he cleaned out his wound again. The first time he’d done it had been in a gas station restroom, not exactly the most sterile of places. This time he found some rubbing alcohol in the medicine cabinet, and poured it into the groove on his arm. It burned worse than when he’d actually been hit, but he knew he had to do it, and dumped nearly half the bottle over the wound before he stopped.