Grease Monkey

by Tymber Dalton

  “Dammit,” Papa muttered. “He says reports and current sat data show 2 is impassible through the mountains. And the National Guard is funneling survivors east to Barstow. North through Santa Clarita is going to be our best bet.”

  Mark frowned. “I don’t like it, but we’ll try it. Your friend knows more than we do at this point.”

  “Even better, we have a side mission.” Papa looked at Dolce. “Guess we get to see how good a sniper you really are.”

  “What?”

  “Our mole has been sent to El Segundo, to get Dr. Perkins and bring her in.”

  “How did the mole know that?”

  “Bubba told Arliss we have her. Arliss sent Macaletto out here so we can take him out.” He scrubbed his face with his hands. “Okay, this farking earthquake really messed us up. Mark, I’m going to need your help picking out a meeting spot where we can set up an ambush.”

  “I think I know exactly the place. But tell Arliss to stall. We need to send a couple of scouts out first to make sure we can even get there and that it’s not overrun with earthquake survivors. We’ll need an extra day. With the earthquake, that won’t raise any alarms with your mole.”

  Papa nodded. “Recon in the morning then. Let’s get this place buttoned up. I want double sentries, four-hour shifts.”

  Alpha straightened. “Orders?”

  “Anyone tries to break our ranks, use extreme prejudice.”

  “What does that mean?” Ak asked.

  “Shoot to kill,” Dolce said.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  It was well after dark when they finally had their camp set up. Clara was staring at her monitor that reported on the conditions of the samples. “Did we verify all those cold storage units in the RV are plugged into genny power when we switched over from the solar?” Clara asked Doc as they prepared to leave the RV. “It looks like the temp is creeping up on one of them, like maybe it’s not plugged in.”

  “I didn’t. I thought you all did that.”

  “Would you mind looking?” she asked him. “I’m not sure I can move them around by myself, and there’s not room for both of us in there.” Sin, Q, and Canuck had already left the RV and removed their protective suits. It wasn’t worth making one of those two men get suited up again.

  “Sure.”

  Doc turned around in the back compartment and edged his way around the coolers and other cases of equipment and supplies there.

  “You find it?” Clara called to him.

  “I’m looking for it,” he said. “Kind of dark in here.”

  “It’s night.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered.

  “Want me to bring you a flashlight?”

  “Yeah, maybe I need one.”

  He felt the RV rock a little on its springs as she worked her way down the galley, past the stuff there, toward the back. “Don’t these things have levelers or something?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I think so. Wh—”

  A thump and scattered rolling, rattling sounds across the RV’s roof scared the crap out of her, and him. She let out a startled shriek while he jumped, reacting to both the noise on the roof and Clara’s cry. The flashlight beam madly bounced around the RV’s cabin, cutting through the dark.

  A sharp, slicing pain shot through his left thigh. “Motherfucker,” he muttered, unable to see what he’d done to himself.

  The thumping on the roof scrambled, running quickly down the RV until, about halfway down, it sounded like the critter leapt for the tree.

  Clara laughed. “I think it was a damn squirrel.” The flashlight’s beam focused on the floor as she made her way back to where he was. “Farking things, they—” Her words cut off with a gasp.

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  He looked at her face, then realized her gaze was low and on him. He followed the path of the flashlight beam and looked down.

  There was a slice in the left leg of his protective suit, and blood visible through the gap.

  “Shit.”

  “Doc—”

  “Don’t. It’s okay. It’ll be okay.” He felt his pulse even out, even as his blood ran cold. “Clara, put the flashlight down on that box there.”

  “But, Doc—”

  “Clara,” he quietly said. “Do it.” He didn’t want her touching him, even through their protective suits. “Go. Get out of here.”

  “You’re bleeding.”

  “There’s a first aid kit up front. I’ll take care of it.”

  “I can’t just—”

  “Go!” he roared.

  She flinched.

  He felt badly about that, but he needed her to go. To get the fuck out of there.

  Because he didn’t want her seeing how badly he was going to be shaking when he started giving himself the stick tests.

  And he definitely didn’t want her telling Pandora how scared he looked.

  Dammit.

  She finally sat the flashlight down and backed up. He waited until he heard the side door close, and the sound of her spraying herself down with disinfectant, then scrambling out of her suit, followed by running footsteps and her trembling voice as she called out for Papa.

  He finished getting the sample cooler’s loose electrical plug shoved into its socket so the damn thing didn’t warm up. Then he grabbed the flashlight and forced himself back down the passage to the door, snapping the lock shut. He didn’t want anyone else in there with him. And he knew damn well Tango would have his hands full trying to keep Pandora from losing her friggin’ mind over him.

  He sat on the sofa and pointed the flashlight beam at his leg. Yep, whatever he’d sliced his leg on, it had gone through the damn suit, through his trousers, and right into his flesh. It wasn’t a very deep wound, but, depending on what he’d cut it on, that might not matter.

  Most of the equipment in the RV had been exposed in the lab when the earthquake knocked stuff over. Yes, they’d disinfected as much as they could, but it wasn’t perfect.

  Nothing was.

  Okay. Relax. You can do this.

  He was reaching for the first aid kit when he heard the doorknob rattle, followed immediately by someone pounding on the door.

  “Open up, Doc,” Tango yelled.

  “Nope,” he called back. “You know the drill.”

  “You were just cut. Open up.”

  “Clara? You out there?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Explain things to him, please,” he said as he opened the kit and found antiseptic, gauze, and a bandage.

  He also spied a package of test strips and pulled them out.

  He’d need them. Fortunately, despite being almost six months old, they hadn’t reached their expiration date yet.

  He heard voices talking outside, but too low for him to make out exactly who or what they were saying. “What time is it?” he called out as he ripped open the package of gauze.

  Papa answered. “Ten seventeen.”

  “Someone keep time for me, please.”

  “Why don’t you come out here?” Papa said. “Why keep exposing yourself?”

  “Better me than all of you,” he said. “Can’t risk it. Won’t risk it. You know the protocols. Better me in here than me out there.”

  He cleaned out the gash with the gauze and antiseptic, because there was no reason to risk an infection of the more mundane kind. After putting a large bandage on it, he sat back and eyed the test strips.

  Yes, it was too early, but he had to know.

  He grabbed a strip from the kit and stuck himself, breathing out a sigh of relief when it remained clear in the flashlight’s beam.

  Okay. You can do this. Easy. Like when Tango went through it, it’s just hard on the nerves.

  Well, that was the understatement of the century.

  He ran a quick inventory of his test strips. He’d have three extra from the small kit after finishing all his required testing, so he’d need to be careful.

  Now all he could do was settle back and wait to see wh
at happened.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  A little before daybreak, Doc was feeling less than relieved. Despite the test strips staying clear, he felt like he was developing a fever.

  Yes, it was generally too soon to develop Kite symptoms. Usually, it took at least a couple of days.

  But he was still clear.

  That didn’t matter, because something nagged at him.

  He took his temperature with a digital thermometer and confirmed he was running a slight fever.

  No use telling anyone that yet. He didn’t want to worry them over nothing.

  They’d stashed food and water in the RV before they’d left the safe house, in case of an emergency. He had the head right there as well. He’d napped throughout the night, but not well, and didn’t feel rested at all.

  As his fever started climbing, he stared at his next test strip on the table, debating whether or not to stick himself. He knew he had to.

  He just didn’t want to.

  Finally, he did it.

  Clear.

  Maybe it’s just a regular bug and a coincidence. Flu, a cold, anything.

  He hoped. He didn’t think it would be something like sepsis or blood poisoning. Or Kite. Not that soon. Maybe a day later. But hours? Wouldn’t that mean he’d been infected earlier?

  I hope Tango and Pandora and everyone aren’t infected.

  Someone knocked on the door. Tango. “How you doing in there?”

  “Still alive and kicking and clear.” Technically he still had a couple more tests to make sure, but he was feeling worse by the minute.

  Then he looked at the unused test strips again and had a thought. “Hey, go into my big medical bag and get me a small travel pack of strips and make sure the expiration dates are fresh.”

  Tango’s tone changed, wary. “Why?

  “No reason.”

  “Bullshit. What’s up?”

  “I’m still clear, but these are like first-gen strips. For my own peace of mind, I’d like fresher ones.”

  “But if you’re feeling okay, there’s no reason not to trust the test strips.”

  Dammit. “Will you please just go do it for me?”

  “You’ll have to unlock the door for me to get in.”

  “Nope. I’ll open the window on the driver’s side.”

  He waited for a moment and then stood to go check. Sure enough, he spotted Tango heading to the tent he and Pandora had been camped out in.

  Closing his eyes, he leaned his forehead against the wall. He’d pulled the bunny suit off hours ago. If he was going to catch something, he’d catch it. If he was okay, he was okay.

  But he wanted to be sure.

  * * * *

  Tango brought him the new test strips and pushed the box of them in through the small gap in the driver’s side window where Doc had opened it a couple of inches. Tango stood there, watching, while Doc pulled a strip out and tested himself.

  Clear.

  Tango smiled. “That’s good, right?”

  When he turned to meet Tango’s gaze through the window, his partner’s face fell. “What’s wrong?” Tango asked.

  “I feel like shit.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m running a temp and it’s getting worse. I feel like shit.”

  “So? You’re testing clear.”

  “Awfully coincidental that I get a cut the way I did, and a few hours later I start feeling sick, isn’t it?”

  “Exactly. It’s a coincidence. I’ll go get you a few doses of pycracillin. I bet you’ll start to feel better immediately with some of that in you.”

  He wasn’t so sure, but he nodded, not wanting to argue. “Hey, don’t tell Pandora what you’re up to.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t want her worried,” he said. “I don’t want anyone worried.”

  While Doc was waiting for Tango to return, he thoroughly washed his hands and prepped a few test tube sample vials for both Kite analysis and to spin out to look for other infections. It was a little tricky to tighten the tourniquet on his left arm with one hand, and then stick himself to draw the blood samples, but he managed it.

  After he had three vials, he put them on the counter where they wouldn’t roll off and stuck a bandage on his arm.

  He heard a tap on the driver’s window and walked back to the cockpit to find Tango standing there with Clara. She looked concerned.

  “Let me in, please?” she asked. “I’ll suit up.”

  As crappy as he felt, he stopped trying to argue. He nodded. Besides, he was rusty on what to do to spin out the samples and run the tests. It was better she do it.

  She got suited up and joined him, her attention immediately drawn to the sample vials on the counter. “What’s going on?” She grabbed a digital thermometer and took his temperature from his ear.

  “I got something fighting inside me, and it isn’t good.”

  “Throat sore?”

  “Nope. Not yet, at least. But I feel like shit warmed over.”

  She prepped one of the antibiotic boluses she’d brought in with her and gave him the injection in his upper arm. Then she took his vitals, noting them and the time on a piece of paper. “Your BP and pulse are normal. Look, let’s get the sofa bed pulled out for you and relax on it. I’ll get an IV started and hang some Ringers Lactate to keep you hydrated and push some more meds as the day goes on. You’re still clear, right?”

  He nodded. “But I feel like crap. And I’m getting a headache.”

  “Leave it to you go get strep throat or some bullshit in the middle of a damn plague.” She smiled, but it looked both tight and worn at the same time.

  “How’s Pandora?”

  “We told her you’re clear but you’ve got a flu and headache or something coming on, just normal stress. We’ve got her under control.”

  “Don’t let her come in here.”

  “No worries. Pandora isn’t setting a foot in here.”

  “If the others want to come in, you know, Q and Sin, so they can work, it’s okay.”

  “Um, yeah, about that.”

  “What?”

  “Let’s just hold off on that. We’ll be moving again soon. And you’re sick. We got everything shut down and secured. I’d rather not ramp up again just to have stuff bouncing off the freaking walls.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m going to have them bring me a bowl of soup for you. I want food in your stomach while we’re pushing meds so you don’t start throwing up.”

  “You need to get at least one of them in here,” he said. He nodded toward the sample vials. “Have them check those.”

  “Fine, we will check them. But it’s not Kite. You’re not blue.”

  “I don’t care.”

  An hour later, Q wore a grim look inside his protective hood. Clara sat back. “What?”

  “It’s Kite, isn’t it?” Doc asked from the sofa bed. He was stripped down to his boxers now, his body bathed in sweat, the fever raging.

  “I do not know,” Q said. “It is not any of the standard things I have seen, but it is not quite Kite, either.”

  “Not quite Kite?” Doc wasn’t so far out of it that the shrill edge of Clara’s voice didn’t pierce through to the thinking part of his brain. “What does that mean?” Clara asked.

  “It means that it might possibly be a Kite mutation,” Q said.

  “But the test strips are clear!” she insisted. “I’m running them myself. We checked through our supplies and used ones from different manufacturers and manufacturing batches.”

  “I know,” Q said. “Unfortunately, I have never seen any other samples that look like this. And the samples are not testing positive for other kinds of infections.”

  “So I’m going to die?” Doc asked. Besides the headache and fever, now his entire body ached, from hair to toenails. “Because if I am, just tell me now and give me a po-clo bolus.”

  “No,” Q said. “I do not know what it is I am seeing. I am not
going to make any rash judgments or take any hasty actions. We have you isolated, we can take care of you without exposing others, and we are going to see this through.”

  “Promise me,” Doc said to Clara. “Promise me, if I get bad, fucking do it. Don’t let me become a Kiter. I don’t want to take anyone else out with me.”

  “I’ll promise you if it looks like that’s the only option, yes. But unless or until that happens, I’m not fucking letting you take that route. So don’t you dare give up on us yet when we don’t even know what the hell’s wrong with you.”

  * * * *

  Tango felt helpless. By the end of the day, everything else had been put on hold, including their mission to take out Macaletto. Bubba had passed info on to Arliss, who’d ordered Macaletto to remain at El Segundo until further notice. The earthquake was working in their favor in that one way, allowing them a little cushion of time to stall for the day.

  Doc’s condition had worsened, and even after running through a couple of different antibiotics, nothing had helped.

  No one wanted to state the obvious, but it was looking more and more like one of them had finally lost the lottery that was life after TMFU.

  But just as no one wanted to state the obvious, no one wanted to make the final call, either.

  Especially since Doc still wasn’t testing blue.

  Everyone not on watch around the perimeter of their current safe house stood around the RV, either listening on the periphery, or directly involved, as Papa discussed the situation with the scientists and Clara.

  “So what are our options?” Papa asked Clara, since with Doc out of commission she was now the unit’s de facto medical officer because Tango was only a medic. While Q and Sin were doctors, everyone had deferred to Clara, who had the practical medical treatment experience with large quantities of patients. The other three doctors, despite their brains, were mostly lab rats.