Plague World (Ashley Parker Novel) (7 page)

“That man does not want to talk to us,” JT said, staring after Josh with a raised eyebrow.

“You noticed?

“Hard not to.” He took a prodigious bite of burger and chewed happily.

“Yeah, well tough shit for him,” I said grimly. “I need some answers.” Shoveling the last of the fries into my mouth, I stood up and said, “I’ll be right back.” JT made a little “go” motion with his fingers and continued chowing down on his second burger.

I marched over to the table where Josh sat.

“Got a minute?” I plunked myself down across from him. “Good. I need to talk to you about Lil.”

“I told you,” he said, sounding pissy, “that Dr. Arkin does
not
have time right now.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“Fine. Which is why I’m talking to you.”

Josh looked up from his bowl of vegetable beef soup.

“I’m kind of busy.”

“Yeah, it takes a lot of focus to eat without dribbling,”

I said just as a piece of barley fell off his spoon on the way to his mouth. He glared at me.

Oops. Guess it really does.

“Look,” I said, trying to be patient, “Lil needs medication. I think she’s bipolar, and she’s been off her meds for at least four days. We need her as a functioning member of our team. Do you see the problem here?”

Josh heaved an aggrieved sigh.

“Fine. What do you want to know?”

I restrained an impulse to reach across, grab him by his thick brown hair, and shove him face-first into his soup.

“I need to know what to give her.”

“It’s not that simple.” He sighed again, with slightly less impatience. “First of all, it depends on whether she’s bipolar or schizophrenic.”

“She hasn’t mentioned hearing voices,” I said doubtfully, “but she’s definitely got a manic streak going on.”

“Hmmm.” Josh looked thoughtful. “That being the case, Clozaril is a possibility, but without lab monitoring it could cause a fatal drop in her white blood cells, and very quickly. Other alternatives would be Haldol and Thorazine, but those would severely impede her ability to think clearly, which could be fatal, given the situation.” He paused briefly, as if rifling through a mental file cabinet. “Newer medications like Zyprexa and Seroquel are better. There’s a version of Risperdal given as a shot every two weeks… or perhaps Geodon, given every month. Risperdal is stronger…”

I felt my brain glazing over.

“Lithium would work for her mood swings,” he continued, “but once again she’d need monitoring, which could be difficult when she’s out in the field. Straight mood stabilizers like Tegretol, Depakote, or oxcarbazepine are helpful, but wouldn’t help the paranoia.” He stopped and took a spoonful of soup.

I stared at him blankly.

“Right,” I said. “So what do we give her?”

He rolled his eyes.

“Didn’t you listen to anything I just told you?”

“Uh-huh. Narrowing it down would be helpful.”

“Do you have any idea what she was on before?”

“Something like chloradine or companzie.”

“Clozapine.”

I nodded. “That’s the one.”

“That makes it easier.” Josh tore a piece off his roll and dunked it in his soup. “If she was on clozapine before, the odds are good that she’s only bipolar and she was most likely monitored by her doctor regularly up until the incident in Redwood Grove.”

Incident
. A nice sanitized way to describe a horrific slaughter.

“So look for clozapine or Clozaril,” he said.

“What’s the difference?”

“Clozapine is the generic, Clozaril is the more expensive name brand.” He took another spoonful of soup. “Either one will do.”

“Do you have any of it here?”

“In the lab?” He shook his head. “Doubtful. We have access to the pharmacies on and around campus.”

Okay, that’s good news.
“Where’s the nearest one?”

“The nearest pharmacy? It’s off of Parnassus.”

I did a quick mental calculation, trying to picture the layout of the nearby streets in my head.

“That’s not too far away, right?”

“Not as the crow flies, but you’d have to either go back up Medical Center Way, or through the adjacent complex, none of which have been cleared.”

“So you’re saying it won’t be easy.”

“I’m telling you it’s a no go,” he said, looking at me as if I were riding the short bus. “And if you try it, you seriously deserve a posthumous Darwin Award.”

I stood, pushing my chair back with a satisfying screech. Then I walked over, standing next to his chair, leaning forward until I was way into his personal space. I stared down at him. He gulped visibly at what he saw in my eyes.

“I’m not asking these questions for my health, or to annoy you,” I said softly. “I’m asking because this is one of those life-or-death-type situations, and I need to find a solution. If this isn’t a solution, fine. But if you treat me like an idiot for asking, you’ll find yourself short-listed for one of those Darwin awards.” I poked him in the middle of his lab-coat clad chest. “Do you get it?”

“Um. Yes. I get it.”

“Good.” I handed him a napkin. “Please write down those names for me.”

He took a pen out of the breast pocket of his coat and scribbled stuff on the napkin.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll check the lab and see if we have anything in stock,” he said as he wrote. “I don’t think we do, but it’s worth checking.”

“Thanks,” I said, meaning it. “I’d really appreciate that.”

His relief was palpable as I moved away.

“No problem.”

* * *

I rejoined JT at our table where he was finishing his meal.

“Done intimidating the natives?” He grinned up at me.

I shrugged, only slightly embarrassed.

“I wouldn’t do it if they’d cooperate.” I picked up my dishes and stacked them on my tray. “Time to go check on Lil. I’ll see you later.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?” JT asked.

“Yup,” I said. “I don’t know if Lil is ready for company she doesn’t really know.” I wasn’t even sure Lil would want to see me, let alone a relative stranger, but kept that particular fear to myself. “Thanks, though.”

“Let me know if you need any help, okay?”

“With what?”

“With anything.” He shrugged. “But especially any kicking of douche-nozzle asses.”

I laughed. “It’s a deal.”

The dorm part of the facility was laid out in a rectangle like your basic motel. Luckily the rooms were numbered, or I’d never remember which one was which. Lil’s was number twenty-four, same floor as mine but on the opposite side.

So when I got off the elevator, I headed away from my room, which meant less of a chance of running into Griff. I really hated the fact that he had the power to make me uneasy like that.

Lil’s door was shut when I reached it so I rapped sharply right below the 24.

No answer.

No big surprise. She hadn’t said more than two words since we’d gotten off the elevator. To my knowledge, she hadn’t left her room other than to use the bathroom. And given the unholy glee she normally took in zombie slaying, the fact she’d missed today’s outing worried me more than anything else.

The doors didn’t have locks, so I pushed it open and found Lil lying on her bed, covers pulled up so high that only the top of her head was exposed—an unkempt and unwashed mass of light brown hair tumbling over the navy blue polyester coverlet. A tray of food—chicken soup, some sort of sandwich, and an apple—sat on the bedside chest of drawers, untouched, along with a couple of white pills and a glass of apple juice.

This wasn’t good.

“Lil?”

Still no answer. The Lil-shaped lump remained still, other than a slight up-and-down movement that showed she was breathing.

“Lil, I know you’re awake.”

There was a brief pause in the rhythm of the breathing, before it regained its too-perfect regularity. I gave a quiet sigh and sat on the edge of the bed, touching the unkempt mop of hair.

“Look, I know you’re hurting.” I paused, trying to pick my words carefully without even knowing what I wanted or needed to say. “I miss him too.”

I heard a slight hitch in her breathing, and the covers jerked slightly. Encouraged, I continued.

“But you can’t just lie here forever.”

A pause.

“Why not?”

Even muffled by the covers, Lil’s voice was rusty from lack of use and too much crying. It was also unusually bitter—the polar opposite of her normally sweet tone.

A dozen answers sprung to mind, but I chose the one closest to the truth.

“Because we need you,” I said simply. “Mack fought until the end. He’d expect you to do the same.”

“Mack
died
because of me.”

The covers erupted with the suddenness and violence of Mount St. Helena as Lil sat bolt upright in bed. I suppressed a gasp at the sight of the nearly purple circles under her eyes. The formerly soft curves of her face had been replaced by haggard hollows under her cheeks. My first impulse was to wrap my arms around her in a comforting hug, but the stiff set of her shoulders told me it wouldn’t be appreciated. So I settled for words instead.

“No,” I said as calmly as I could muster, “he died because of those assholes in black who ambushed us.”

“If I hadn’t hit that man’s rifle… the bullet wouldn’t have hit Mack.”

I shut my eyes and struggled for words. One of the goons who’d kidnapped Gabriel had been about to shoot me when Lil had charged him. If she hadn’t, I’d be pushing up daisies. But the bullet had ricocheted off the metal catwalk and caught Mack under one arm. He’d bled out before we even knew he’d been hit. She’d saved my life, but Mack had died in my place.

“If you hadn’t done that, Lil… I’d be dead. You can’t blame yourself.”

“Then maybe I should blame you.” She glared at me with what looked like real hate, and my heart broke a little.

“Are you sorry I’m still alive?” I tried to keep my voice steady, but it broke on “alive,” and I felt the hot sting of tears behind my eyelids.

Lil’s stony expression wavered just enough for me to see the heartsick kid underneath.

“No.” She shook her head, teeth digging into her lower lip to keep it from trembling. “But… but I don’t want Mack to be dead.” She pulled the covers around her. Fat tears rolled out of her eyes and plopped onto them, practically bouncing up before rolling down the cheap polyester fabric.

“I don’t either,” I said simply.

With a body-wrenching sob, Lil threw herself into my arms. I held her as she cried with a violence that would have frightened me if I hadn’t understood its source all too well.

I wished I had magic words to make everything better. Hell, I wished I had the cure to the whole zombie plague, or at least a way to bring back our friends. But I didn’t and I couldn’t, so I settled for letting Lil cry out her sorrows as best she could.

When the storm of tears finally subsided, I handed her the box of tissues someone had thoughtfully put on her bedside table, and brushed a swatch of damp hair out of her face.

“You look like shit,” I said bluntly.

Lil sniffled and blew her nose into a tissue with impressive volume.

“I feel like shit,” she said.

“Let’s see what we can do to fix that.” I got up, went into the bathroom, and ran cold water on one of the white washcloths stacked next to the sink, wringing the excess liquid out before taking it back into the bedroom.

Lil was sitting up, wiping her eyes and nose with more tissues, long mass of hair matted and tangled around her shoulders. I sat down next to her and gently swabbed her face and the back of her neck with the damp cloth. She let me do it, leaning against me like a little kid in need of comfort. Setting the cloth aside, I just held her and brushed her hair back from her forehead with one hand, the way my mom used to do whenever I was sick.

“Think you could maybe eat something now?”

Lil nodded.

“Maybe a little.”

I smiled. “Good. Let’s see what we have here.”

A quick dip with a finger told me the soup was tepid. The sandwich, some sort of meat and cheese, looked like a better bet. I figured whatever the pills were, they’d probably stay down better after she’d eaten.

“Here.” I handed her the plate with the sandwich.

“What is it?”

“Some sort of mystery meat,” I shrugged. “But my guess is turkey.”

She picked it up and wrinkled her nose.

“It’s either that or lukewarm soup,” I said. “Your choice. But you need to eat, okay?”

Lil took a small, reluctant bite. When it didn’t kill her, she took another, larger bite, and then downed the rest within minutes. If she hadn’t eaten since we’d arrived, I wasn’t surprised at her appetite. Being a wild card used a lot of energy—our metabolisms burned hot and fast.

I handed her the bowl of lukewarm soup. She ate it without complaint. The apple followed.

Then I held out the glass of juice and the pills. She eyed me suspiciously.

“What are these?”

“I have no idea,” I answered honestly.

“Because I don’t want any pills.”

Ooo-kay.
This did not bode well.

I scrutinized one of the tablets, holding it up to the light.

“Bayer aspirin,” I said, reading the small print. “Nothing that’s gonna knock you out or make you larger or smaller.”

And the one that mother gives you won’t do anything at all.

“I don’t want them.” She glowered at me, her mood dark and angry again.

“Well, unless you hurt, you don’t need them,” I said mildly.

“My head hurts.”

“Then maybe you should take them.”

Lil glared a few more seconds before reaching out and snatching the pills and the glass of juice from my hands. Popping the aspirin into her mouth, she tossed down the juice and swallowed, still looking daggers at me.

“What?” I said. “I didn’t make you take them.”

“I wouldn’t have taken them if you hadn’t come in here.”

If Lil had been wearing a mood ring, it would be switching colors like a strobe light.

“And you’d still be buried under polyester blankets. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

She took another swallow of apple juice, ignoring my question. So I sighed and stood up.