Kit smirked.
“What’s my rules here, Kit? Can I leave him with Ada or do I need to be by his side?”
“He’s fine if Ada is around. I just don’t know this Hollywood person.”
“Well, as it is a cooking show, maybe I’ll introduce her to you since Kat wanted to rush home for this special meal you do.”
“Hey, now don’t knock my Monday Madness Meal day.”
“So this is every Monday?”
“Yep.” Kit nodded.
“Good thing for you she’ll be in town another week. You may get your chance.” Cass backed up. “I’ll let you go. Have a good night.”
“Cass. Did you… did you wanna stay for supper?” Kit pointed back. “You’re welcome to. We have plenty.”
“Kit, I don’t ever think I’ve been in your house before. Or invited in.”
“You’re not the most social person you know. Or haven’t been over the last few years.”
“You’re right,” Cass said.
“But you gotta do what you gotta do to get through,” Kit stated. “So what about staying. I know you’re just gonna hit the BBB for a burger. Have a home-cooked meal.”
“You really made green Jell-O?”
“Every Monday.”
“Then thank you. I think I will.”
Kit opened the screen door for her. “On one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“No talk of sick deer, car accidents, the indiscretions of the chief of police, or end of the world.”
“Good lord, Kit.” Cass walked into the small house. “You just scratched off all of my hot topics. What am I gonna talk about?”
“How about for starters, how much you’re gonna love”—Kit showed her the kitchen table—“Hamburger Helper tacos.” He pulled out a chair. “Sit down. I’ll get a place setting for you.” He backed away and hollered, probably forgetting Cass was so close. “Kat! Now! Dinner!”
His loud voice made Cass jump a little, but then she laughed. She looked at the dinner set out on the table. Sure enough Hamburger Helper inside of taco shells.
It smelled good. Cass wasn’t sure how it would taste, but she knew one thing: the long day with odd events had been triggering things she hadn’t had triggered in a while, and dinner with the Kit-Kat combo, delicious or not, would be a perfect diversion.
May 6
Crete, Nebraska
It was his duty to do what needed to be done. Niles Proctor arrived at the fourth hospital in twenty-four hours. The British-born doctor had been in Lincoln when the call came from the small university hospital in Crete. But he saw it on the bulletin board.
A simple notice if anyone had time to help out.
He knew no one had time.
Niles did.
He used that final text message from a colleague as inspiration to go on. He couldn’t right the grievous wrong he played a role in, but he could do what needed to be done to try to make up for it, and to also ease his own guilt.
Guilt that was genuine but unnecessary. Everything he and his colleagues had done was for the betterment of mankind, to save mankind. No malice whatsoever, but any good they’d done had been overshadowed in the previous forty-eight hours and they were perceived as opportunists.
Niles was a tall man, slender in build. Thick dark brown hair with a dash of gray here and there.
People who knew him called him distinguished; they said he spoke that way. Niles laughed it off saying they were American and all British folk sound distinguished compared to them.
In his car, just outside the packed driveway before the hospital, Niles looked down to that text message.
“We failed,” it read. “It proceeds despite our best efforts. Please get to a safety zone ASAP, there’s nothing left to do.”
Niles disagreed.
He had plenty left to do.
He knew well what he was facing and what was coming. He prepared to face that, not hide and protect his own life. He did, in a sense, his best to stay safe and not run.
He donned a protective suit he’d taken from the lab, plenty of oxygen packs, and began his road trip.
Before stepping out of his car, he placed down his phone and grabbed the hood to his suit.
He stepped from his car, connecting the oxygen, checking his levels, then placed on the head covering. He went to the back of his SUV where he grabbed a pair of gloves, booties, and duct tape, then carefully sealed his wrists and ankles.
Lifting his case from the back end, Niles made his way to the hospital.
With each place he stopped it was both progressively worse and better.
Better because there wasn’t as much suffering.
He walked into the hospital. It was quiet. No movement, no sound.
Slowly, Niles walked up to every single person there. Whether they lay on the floor of the waiting room, on a gurney in the hall, or slumped over their desk.
He examined and checked them.
He looked at the devastation upon them. A skin rash so raw that flies darted in and out. Some lay on their sides, bloody vomit expelled from their wide-open mouths.
There wasn’t a single case there that wasn’t unique in some way—the route of transmission was different for everyone.
All evident upon seeing them.
“Help… me,” a weak voice called out.
Niles turned to where the sound had come from. Two gurneys up the hall he saw a twitching arm. He rushed to the woman. Her face completely covered in the rash, she coughed, expelling droplets of blood.
“Help.”
“I will. I’m here. I’ll help,” Niles said, giving a reassuring grip to her arm before lifting the lid to his case. Inside he had hundreds of prepared syringes. He used less each place he went. He retrieved one from the case and tried as best as he could to convey a compassionate look to the woman as he injected the syringe into her arm. “I’m very sorry this happened to you. Rest.”
He waited with the woman until she closed her eyes, then her labored breathing slowed to a halt.
Nile moved on.
He felt like a revolutionary soldier on the battlefield, going through the injured soldiers, one by one, and putting them out of their misery.
That was what he did.
A doctor of death.
Only Niles felt he was a doctor of death days before the ‘dusting’ went bad.
He would walk the entire Crete hospital, then disinfect and move on.
He’d stop at every facility on his way to his destination, realizing that in twelve hours it would be in vain. He’d still do it.
Niles was certain there were plenty of places to check on his way to Griffin, Arizona.
<><><><>
When Ada first saw them, she didn’t know what to say. Were they actually food? A pot pie size nest made out of hash brown potatoes, lined with sausage and an egg was in the middle. But that wasn’t all.
It was a bountiful breakfast laid out. So much food she was glad that Eb stopped by to give an update on the bus. At least he’d eat.
“What did you do?” Ada asked Lena. “Stay up all night.”
Lena chuckled. “Oh, no. I do this all the time. Not to this extreme. But it’s all a matter of timing. You can get this all done in ninety minutes. Not bad at all. I wanted to show you what you could serve if you made this a bed and breakfast.”
“This is amazing,” Eb said. “The coffee is out of this world.”
“It’s store brand,” Ada replied.
“No,” Lena said. “I had that in my bag.”
“Really?” Ada rushed to the coffee pot. “Then I have to try.”
“I’ll get it for you. Sit. Eat,” Lena instructed. “Cass, Kat, and Brian will be here soon.”
“Why Brian?” Eb asked.
“Cass said something about her wanting him to do a real human-interest story.” Lena shrugged.
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