Robin Cook - Contagion

Richard dashed over to Jack. En route he’d picked up the gun, which he now held by the barrel as if it were a hatchet. “One word and so help me I’ll bash your head in,” he growled.

Jack looked up at Richard. He could see the man’s determination. Outside he could hear a car come to a stop followed by the muffled sound of Terese’s voice.

Jack was faced with an unreasonable quandary. He could yell, but how much sound he could make before being incapacitated by Richard was questionable. Yet if he didn’t try, he’d soon be facing the Black Kings and certain death. He decided to go for it.

Jack put his head back and started to scream for help. As expected, Richard brought the handle of his gun crashing down on Jack’s forehead. Jack’s scream was cut off before he could form any words. A merciful darkness intervened with the suddenness of a light being switched off.

Jack regained consciousness in stages. The first thing he was aware of was that his eyes wouldn’t open. But after a struggle the right one did, and a minute later so did the left. When he wiped his face on his sleeve he realized that his lids had been sealed together with coagulated blood.

With his forearm, Jack could feel that he had a sizable lump centered at his hairline. He knew it was a good place to be hit if you had to take a wallop. That part of the skull was by far the thickest.

He blinked to clear his vision and looked at his watch. It was just after four, a fact confirmed by the anemic quality of the late-afternoon sunlight coming through the window over the sink.

Jack glanced around the living room, which he could see from under the kitchen table. The fire had burned down significantly. Terese and Richard were sprawled on their respective couches.

Jack changed his position and in the process tipped over a container of window cleaner.

“What’s he doing now?” Richard asked.

“Who the hell cares,” Terese said. “What time is it?”

“It’s after four,” Richard said.

“Where are these gang friends of yours?” Terese demanded. “Are they coming by bicycle?”

“Should I call and check?” Richard asked.

“No, let’s just wait here for a week,” Terese said irritably.

Richard put the phone on his chest and dialed. When the phone was answered he had to ask for Twin. After a long wait Twin came on the line.

“Why the hell aren’t you here?” Richard complained. “We’ve been waiting all day.”

“I’m not coming, man,” Twin said.

“But you said you were,” Richard rejoined.

“I can’t do it, man,” Twin said. “I can’t come.”

“Not even for a thousand dollars?”

“Nope,” Twin said.

“But why?” Richard demanded.

“ ’Cause I gave my word,” Twin said.

“You gave your word? What does that mean?” Richard asked.

“Just what I said,” Twin said. “Don’t you understand English?”

“But this is ridiculous,” Richard said.

“Hey, it’s your party,” Twin said. “You have to do your own shit.”

Richard found himself holding a dead telephone. He slammed the receiver down. “That worthless bum,” he spat. “He won’t do it. I can’t believe it.”

Terese pushed herself up into a sitting position. “So much for that idea. That puts us back to square one.”

“Don’t look at me. I’m not doing it,” Richard snapped. “I’ve made that crystal clear. It’s up to you, sister. Hell, all this was for your benefit, not mine.”

“Supposedly,” Terese retorted. “But you got some perverted enjoyment out of it. You finally got to use those bugs you’ve been playing with all your life. Yet now you can’t do this simple thing. You’re some sort of…” She struggled for the word: “Degenerate!” she said finally.

“Well, you’re no Snow White yourself,” Richard yelled. “No wonder that husband of yours left you.”

Terese’s face flushed. She opened her mouth but no words came out. Suddenly she lunged for the gun.

Richard took a step backward. He feared he’d overdone it by mentioning the unmentionable. For a second he thought Terese was about to use the gun on him. But instead she flew into the kitchen, cocking the gun as she went. She stepped up to Jack and pointed the gun at his bloodied face.

“Turn away!” she commanded.

Jack felt as if his heart had stopped. He looked up the quivering barrel and into Terese’s arctic blue eyes. He was paralyzed, incapable of following her command.

“Damn you!” Terese said through a sudden flood of tears.

Uncocking the gun, she tossed it aside, then rushed back to the couch to bury her head in her hands. She was sobbing.

Richard felt guilty. He knew he shouldn’t have said what he had. Losing her baby and then her husband was his sister’s Achilles’ heel. Meekly he went over to her and sat on the edge of the couch.

“I didn’t mean it,” Richard said, stroking her back gently. “It slipped out. I’m not myself.”

Terese sat up and wiped her eyes. “I’m not myself either,” she admitted. “I can’t believe these tears. I’m a wreck. I feel awful too. Now my throat’s sore.”

“You want another aspirin?” Richard asked.

Terese shook her head. “What do you think Twin meant about giving his word?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Richard said. “That’s why I asked him.”

“Why didn’t you offer him more money?” Terese said.

“He didn’t give me a chance,” Richard said. “He hung up.”

“Well, call him back,” Terese said. “We have to get out of here.”

“How much should I offer?” Richard said. “I don’t have the kind of money you have.”

“Whatever it takes,” Terese said. “At this point money shouldn’t be a limiting factor.”

Richard picked up the phone and dialed. This time when he asked for Twin he was told Twin was out. He wouldn’t be back for an hour. Richard hung up.

“We have to wait,” he said.

“What else is new?” Terese commented.

Terese lay back on the couch and pulled a crocheted afghan over her. She shivered. “Is it getting cold in here or is it just me?” she asked.

“I had a couple of chills myself,” Richard said. He went to the fire and piled on more logs. Then he got a blanket from his bedroom before reclining on his couch. He tried to read, but he couldn’t concentrate. He was intermittently shivering despite the blanket. “I just thought of a new worry,” he said.

“What now?” Terese asked. Her eyes were closed.

“Jack’s been sneezing and coughing. You don’t think he was exposed to my flu strain, the one I put in the humidifier?”

With the blanket wrapped around him, Richard got up and went into the kitchen and asked Jack about it. Jack didn’t answer.

“Come on, Doc,” Richard urged. “Don’t make me have to hit you again.”

“What difference does it make?” Terese called from the couch.

“It makes a lot of difference,” Richard said. “There’s a good chance my strain was the strain that caused the great flu epidemic of 1918. I got it in Alaska from a couple of frozen Eskimos who died of pneumonia. The time frame was right.”

Terese joined him in the kitchen. “Now you’re getting me worried,” she said. “Do you think he has it and has exposed us?”

“It’s possible,” Richard said.

“That’s terrifying!” She looked down at Jack. “Well?” she demanded. “Were you exposed?”

Jack wasn’t sure if he should admit to his exposure or not. He didn’t know which would anger them more. The truth or his silence.

“I don’t like it that he’s not answering,” Richard said.

“He’s a medical examiner,” Terese said. “He had to have been exposed. They brought the dead people to him. He told me on the phone.”