C.E. Murphy - Coyote Dreams

That thought got me through the next several hours, in which Erik got up and vomited again and Clara discovered neither parent was at home anymore and cried until her face turned purple. Robert got Jacquie and himself breakfast while I cleaned up after Erik’s Technicolor splatters, but Clara was too busy hyperventilating to eat. I liked kids in a sort of abstract way in general, and Billy’s kids in particular, but by the time Gary showed up at ten-fifteen with my work gear, I was trembling with exhaustion. I had no idea how Mel got through a single day of this, much less three hundred-sixty-five of them, year after year.

Gary got Clara to stop crying by picking her up by the ankles and carrying her around like a sack of flour. Within ten minutes she was giggling and willing to eat breakfast, and I was collapsed on the living room couch staring at the old man in admiring disbelief. “I thought you didn’t have any kids.”

“Don’t,” he said. “Old army technique. Distract and redirect. Works, too, don’t it?”

I said, “You’re a god among men,” which Gary rewarded me for with a toothy white grin.

“’Course I am. That kid called while I was at your place, to say he had a nice evenin’ and to check up on you. You went out with him, Jo?”

“I—” I shot a guilty look at the kids that Robert, at least, read clearly. “Yeah,” I mumbled. “Last night. I kind of crashed the evening by having a vision and passing out, though. And if I hadn’t maybe I’d have been doing something useful and Mel wouldn’t be in the hospital right now.”

“Mebbe,” Gary said. “Mebbe not. The last few weeks you’ve been steppin’ up to the plate with your shamanism, and I’m proud of you, doll, don’t get me wrong. But runnin’ away from the rest of your life ain’t gonna help matters any.”

“Damn it, Gary.” Great. I sounded like Morrison. “I’m sorry, but at what point did you turn into Mr. Bossy Telling Jo to Get Her Life Together, anyway? Who says you get to do that?”

“You.” Gary sat down in Billy’s easy chair and kicked it back, folding his arms behind his head and giving me a steely gray-eyed look. “Or didja forget the part where you said you had lots to learn from this old dog?”

I really hated it when people got all supercilious at me. Especially when they were right. I was searching for a biting rejoinder when I noticed there were four small people watching Gary and me as if we were the final pair at Wimbledon, bright interest writ large across their little faces. I said a word I absolutely should not have in front of Billy’s kids, and they all brightened even further. I lifted my hands in defeat. “All right. Maybe you’re right. I’ve got to get to work, Gary. Can you keep an eye on them until Brad gets back? He should be here any minute.”

“Yeah. Told dispatch I was runnin’ late today. Who’s Brad? You got another guy on the line, Jo? Good for you. About time, I say.” Gary looked pleased and I smacked myself on the forehead, then ran for the door, leaving poor Robert to explain who Brad was.

I made it to the precinct building in the nick of time, bewildered to find plenty of parking. The building itself needed expanding, and the parking lot was always full. I climbed out, looking around in confusion, and patted Petite’s roof. “Stay brave, girl. Don’t feel lonely. I’ll be back for you.” There were cars in the lot, including a news van a dozen spaces down from me, but it wasn’t overflowing. That was even weirder than me having a date.

I turned away from Petite to find Morrison striding across the lot toward me, and hoped he hadn’t heard me talking to my car. “Whatever you do,” he said as soon as he was close enough to be heard without shouting, “do not talk to the press.”

“What?”

Down the row, the van’s sliding door rumbled open, and a pleasant, neutral expression slipped over Morrison’s face. Only his eyes told me to get the hell out of there, and for once I was in complete agreement with my boss. I gave him a quick nod and managed about six steps toward the precinct building when a woman’s curious, professional voice said, “Joanne Walker, right? We met in January at Blanchet High School in the aftermath of the murders.”

I set the edges of my front teeth together in a grimace, then made it into a smile as I glanced over my shoulder. A lovely woman, her ethnic background clearly involving at least Asian and Caucasian, had climbed out of the van and was smiling at me. “Laura Corvallis, Channel Two News.” She offered a hand and I found myself casting what I hoped was a well-disguised helpless look at Morrison as I turned to shake her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you again,” she said. “I see you haven’t been stricken by the Blue Flu. Do you have any comments on the illness that’s bringing Seattle’s police force to its knees?”

A muscle cramped in my neck as I tried not to look at Morrison. I had no idea what she was talking about, and worse, no idea if I should. My tongue felt like it’d swollen to choke my throat, which, all things considered, was probably good. It made it very difficult for me to say the wrong thing. I could practically feel Morrison telegraphing keep quiet! at me, and after a few seconds I got my tongue loose enough to croak, “I don’t, Ms. Corvallis. No comment. Nice to see you again. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get to work.” I tilted my head at the building, nodded at Morrison, said, “Captain,” just like a good little police officer and made a break for it.

“Don’t you think it’s rather odd that a quarter of the North Precinct police force can’t get out of bed this morning?” Corvallis called after me. “How do you suppose you’ve escaped the illness, Officer Walker?”

I nearly tripped over my own feet. A quarter? That explained the empty parking lot. I was afraid to look over my shoulder and see Morrison’s expression, and I still had no idea how to respond to Corvallis. I repeated, “No comment,” in a strangled voice and tried not to actually run for the building. Corvallis let me go, turning her shark’s smile on Morrison instead. I ducked into the building hyperventilating and feeling sorry for my boss.

A quarter of the force? It didn’t seem possible. The lot was empty, but that empty? It’d only been Billy, yesterday, and Mel this morning. Hollow laughter built inside me and faded away again. Funny how I assumed it was the same thing striking everyone, but Corvallis had said people couldn’t get out of bed. I didn’t know how else to construe that.

Morrison was going to want to talk to me. Morrison was probably going to want to kill me, but if I got into uniform before he came back into the building, maybe it’d remind him he shouldn’t go around killing police officers. I barged off to the locker rooms, which were noticeably emptier than was normal a few minutes before shift change. I changed clothes and escaped the echoing chamber feeling like I was getting out of solitary. For a moment I just leaned on the wall outside the locker room, eyes closed and my cheeks puffed out. This was not going to be a good day.

What a firm grasp of the obvious I had. I huffed a breath and wrinkled my face, eyes still closed. Someone chuckled. “That’s not such a good look for you.”

My eyes popped open. Thor had just exited the men’s locker room, the door swinging shut behind him. He looked, as usual, like a thunder god, all blond and broad-shouldered and chisel-jawed as he grinned at me. “Thor.” I’d been going to try to call him by his real name. That was one of my new Joanne resolutions. “I mean, uh, Ed. Hi.”

“Edward.”

“What?” I needed a better comeback than that, for when I missed a beat. I felt like I was saying, “What?” a lot lately.