“Yes.” Lynne coughed. “He’s under a lot of pressure. Don’t tell anybody, but the vice president is fighting heart problems.”
Wow. So the guy could actually be named president. “Do you love him?” Nora asked. If she could keep Lynne thinking happy thoughts, that wouldn’t hurt.
Lynne shrugged. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think so, and then sometimes he turns into a narcissistic asshat.”
“Isn’t that the very definition of a politician?” Nora asked. Heck. “Doesn’t a person have to be a narcissist to want to be the president?”
Lynne snorted and rubbed her eyes. “Probably.”
The woman needed to rest. Nora forced a smile. “Why don’t you get some sleep, and if I hear anything, I’ll let you know?”
Lynne snuggled back against the pillows, and her eyelids lowered to half-mast. “First, talk to me about anything but Scorpius or my love life. Let’s talk aboutyourlove life. Tell me about your Scot and if you’re going to screw it up again.”
The mention of Deke seared heat through Nora’s abdomen. She needed to get back to the lab, but whether she wanted to admit it or not, her friend was running out of time, and this might be the last time they talked. The thought made her chest hurt. So she dropped into a chair. “I’m out of my depth.”
“Good.” Lynne grimaced and readjusted her blankets. “You love him?”
Nora frowned. “We just started dating again.”
“So the hell what?” Lynne whispered, her voice cracking. “I’m beginning to see how short life is. You’ve loved that man since you were sixteen. Why the hell are you waffling?”
Because she hadn’t really known him. After the previous night, she’d caught a glimpse of the dangerous being she’d always suspected of living inside Deacan McDougall. “He’s too much, you know?” she said softly. “It’s like he was born in the wrong time.”
Lynne’s eyes glazed. “Maybe he was born in exactly the right time.” Her voice dropped to almost dreamy, almost trance-like. “If not this illness, then the next one. Or the one after that.” Her eyes fluttered closed.
Nora stood and approached the plastic, a chill trickling down her spine. “What do you mean?”
Lynne sighed. “At some point, human beings are done. You know that. Just waiting for the right pandemic.”
Nora gulped down fear. Sure, as a scientist, she knew the human race was due for a natural disaster, be it illness, comet strike, or nuclear bomb. But as a human with hope, she clung to faith that she’d survive it. “What’s your point, Lynnie?”
Lynne’s eyelids fluttered open. “We’ve forgotten that living and surviving are two different things. They require different skills.” She shut her eyes again and curled onto her side. Her voice, slight and whispery, continued. “Your Scot, dark as he may be, is a survivor. Don’t let go of him.” She fell into sleep.
Nora’s shoulders trembled, and she clasped her hands together. It was just the fever. Lynne had been talking nonsense from the fever. Yet no matter how hard she tried, how hard she rubbed her arms, Nora couldn’t ban the chill of truth.
At some point, human beings are done.
Chapter Twelve
Week 3
2,017 people dead
Likelihood of Scorpius Containment: Poor
Only the dead have seen the end of war.
—PLATO
After four full days of hunting Zach Barter, Deke was ready to kill somebody. He strode inside his temporary office at the CDC and tossed his phone across the desk. Fuck it all to hell. He’d stalked Barter through three states, only to come up empty in Virginia. The bastard was smart . . . and raping his way across the East.
When he wasn’t attacking women, he was spitting in restaurant salad dressings.
The determination to infect people might be part of the illness, but Deke didn’t give a shit.
Barter needed to be taken out, and now.
Infections were springing up in hospitals throughout the East, and soon the CDC would have no choice but to make an announcement. Hell on earth was about to break out, and although the government currently had a blanket over all news, at some point the truth would get out. Hell, the bloggers were already announcing a new pandemic.
