The Girl Who Punched Back (Death Fields 2)

Chapter 17

Quarantine sucks, and by day two I’m considering breaking out. We’re not here because of the Eater virus. The vaccine works, but whatever illness Paul and the others from the evacuation center have hasn’t been identified. The doctors want to make sure it’s not contagious and that we’re not infected with whatever it may be.

So we’re stuck in a medical building on the far side of the camp for at least another twenty-four hours.

Wyatt and Parker use the time to sleep. I know from experience, Wyatt is not a fan of tight spaces and doing nothing, but like the rest of us, exhaustion is never far away these days and having forced rest helps in that aspect. They go off to their separate rooms and I haven’t seen either, other than brief trips to the bathroom, in over a day.

In contrast, Davis has dismantled, cleaned, and reassembled every gun in the unit. Four times. One of the doctors finally gave him a jigsaw puzzle scavenged from somewhere. He’s been quiet ever since.

Jude, to my surprise, has spent our time here with his nose in a book. The Bible, actually. I leave him to it.

And Paul? Well, I’ve been sitting in a chair next to his bed since we got here, hoping he’ll regain consciousness. All of the people we found at the evacuation center have been unresponsive, and are being monitored in various beds around the quarantine clinic. They were dehydrated and feverish. All of them absolutely filthy. While Paul was being washed, the nurse discovered the dark bruises and needle prick scars on his arms.

I’m determined to see my friend survive, and to find out more about what happened and exactly who did this to him and the others.

A worker comes by the tiny room and knocks, holding out a thermometer. I sigh and wave her in. “I feel fine,” I tell her for the hundredth time in two days.

“Open wide.”

She places the old-fashioned thermometer under my tongue—no electronic or digital here—and after a minute removes it. “Still normal.”

“What about him?” I ask, nodding to Paul on the cot.

She squeezes past me and takes his temperature. After reading it, she presses a hand to his forehead. “It’s down.”

“It is?” That’s the first time since we found him. “What about the others?”

“They’re next.”

She leaves the room and I prepare to settle back in my seat until the next interruption, but I notice a slight movement on the cot and lean forward.

“Paul?” I say, quietly. His eyelids flicker and I move to my knees and touch him gently on the arm. “Can you hear me? It’s Alex.”

He blinks and his hand claws at this throat. I grab the bottle of water next to the bed, helping him lean up a little as he takes a small sip.

“Alex,” he says with a scratchy voice. “I thought I was dreaming.”

I smile. “Nope. Not a dream. How do you feel?”

“Better—I guess. Tired.” He looks around the room and for the first time, I see his eyes. They look darker than I remember. “Where are we?”

“At a medical clinic.”

His eyebrows knit together and his entire demeanor changes. “A clinic? Where? What do they do here?”

He’s completely agitated—shifting nervously, those dark eyes panicked. “Hey, it’s okay. My sister and my dad run this place. Remember? I was looking for them? This is why.” He settles under the blanket, but probably more out of exhaustion than from being reassured. I take his hand; it’s warm but not the blazing, feverish heat from the last couple of days. “Can you tell me what happened, Paul?”

He laughs. “Starting when? That day I left you in the truck? Or when I got sick.”

“All of it. We thought you were dead—in the explosion on the bridge.”

Paul reaches for the bottle of water and takes a long drag. With a heavy sigh he begins to speak, describing the scene on the bridge. “Just like we thought, they checked us for the infection and divided us into two groups before loading us on the buses. I just remember that helicopter overhead being so loud, and everyone panicked when it started shooting.”

“Everyone on that other bus was infected?”

He shook his head. “No. They also asked us a question before splitting us up. They asked if we were willing to make a sacrifice for the survival of the country. The bus they destroyed held the people that said no.”

“Wait, what?”