The Gleaning: In the Blood, #2

By Rachel Glickler

It's been less than a month since the most catastrophic pandemic in recorded history decimated the world's population. Survivors are beginning to pick up the pieces of their lives while navigating their horrific new world. The infected are still roaming the streets, ripping apart those unlucky enough to cross their paths, but something has changed. They are not dying as quickly as they had when the virus was first released. In an Us versus Them world, survivors swiftly learn that it is not the infected or even the virus they should fear the most, but those most like themselves. Tess and Henry have picked up a passenger with a dangerous secret while, less than a mile away, Bunmi resolves to do all she can to create a vaccine.

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rachel Glickler
• Release date: Mar 13, 2025
• ISBN: 9798230692812

Book preview

THE GLEANING

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A novel by

Rachel Glickler

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Copyright © 2020 by Rachel Glickler

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First Printing, 2020

ISBN 9798653342066

Registration TXu 2-214-622

Cover Design by Rachel Glickler

Printed in the United States of America

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, evil corporations, events, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Okay, so the author might have humored a few friends and, after renaming them, had them bumped off in a manner she thought might please them best, but most of the characters stem solely from her imagination. Well, sixty percent of them at least. If you think a character might have been modeled after you, you might be right. Just remember that you gave the author permission and most of you expressly requested a fictional death by keystroke. If you don’t like how she disposed of you, better luck next time.

For my mother.

We will remember her.

May her name be a blessing.

Table of Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Acknowledgments

One

It’s been three weeks since everyone started dying. I think. It’s harder to keep track of days than people make it out to be. If you miss marking down a day, it can really throw you off. You start to wonder if you missed just one or if, maybe, you didn’t mark down the one before it either. Keeping track of days isn’t really something I’ve ever had to do anyway. Mom always did that for me.

I’m so tired all the time. I’m not sleeping enough because it isn’t safe and that makes it even harder to keep track. Days kind of run into each other, you know? For all I know, I did mess up and added too many marks inside my journal before I fell asleep and it’s only been two weeks. Maybe I didn’t add enough, and it’s really been four. Anyhow, it’s been a while.

It’s only been a few days, though, since I last heard a voice on the radio. I think I actually miss that more than I miss the music. I can sing and make my own music. I can’t make someone to talk to me.

I still have my cell phone even though it’s been completely useless even as a light ever since the battery died. I have nothing to plug it into and no reason to keep it, but I just can’t bring myself to throw it away. I got it for my fourteenth birthday. All my friends got phones when they were twelve or thirteen. A couple were even younger. I told my mom this, but she didn’t care. She kept talking about bridges and my friends jumping off them. In any case, I’ve only had it for four months and I’m not ready to let it go. It’s all I have left of her. I don’t even have a picture.

Wiley

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TESS SCRUBBED AT her eyes with the back of her gloved hand. She had slept horribly the night before and was in no mood to deal with anything the day had to throw at her and it was sure to throw everything it had at her. Why should today be different from any other? It wasn’t like life had been all that great even before people started looking like zombies straight out of some old fashioned black and white movie.

She shivered and pulled her coat closer to shield herself from the early morning chill, her eyes fixing somewhat reluctantly on a man at the far end of the block who was slowly lumbering toward her. He was moving as though his leg was injured. He passed sluggishly through a thin streak of morning sunlight that stretched from between the trees and spilled into the road. The brightness flashed over the man, illuminating him just long enough for a shock of brilliantly white hair to become obvious. Tess stifled a yawn as she shoved her thick, brown curls back up into a pile on top of her head and secured them with a hair tie from around her wrist. It was so stretched out from having been used so many times in attempts to contain her unruly tresses that it was all but useless. Surprisingly, it held once more. She rested one hand on the AR-15, her current rifle of choice, that was propped up against her leg and listened. There were no sounds from inside the RV beneath her. She was the only one awake. Excluding the man, of course. As awake, she mused, as a zombie can be.

The thing was, they weren’t really zombies. Everything would be so much easier, she thought for what felt like the hundredth time, if they were, but all those white-haired people with ghostly pale faces she had seen roaming streets aimlessly or swaying back and forth staring off into the distance had actually still been alive. Despite appearances, they had all been very much alive even if only for a short time. None had yet proven to be zombies like in the movies. Once they fell lifelessly to the ground, they never got back up. There was no reanimation, no lust for human flesh. This was nothing like the movies. They were all just sick people, feverish and mindless. When these people died, they were dead.

It was what happened to them before they finally died that bothered Tess and it took a lot to bother her. As prevalent as zombies and the dramatization of the threat of apocalypse had been in popular culture before the outbreak, Tess could not think of a single TV show or movie that had got it right. Not really. Nothing quite captured the horror of knowing that the person attacking you was not just a mindless creature, but a living, breathing person who was, as unbelievable as it seemed, just sick and dying. No, she frowned, horror movies don’t prepare you for real life horror. Not much does.

Even so, Tess’s childhood, if that was what it could be called, had prepared her for more than she had initially thought. It had made her, she believed, a pretty decent judge of character and quite good at responding quickly and calmly in difficult situations. She had also acquired several skills that would never even have crossed the minds of most girls her age as valuable or remotely necessary. For instance, she had never had to rely on a man to change her oil or deal with a flat and could hold her own in a fist fight. Unfortunately, she had been in several of the latter. She had gone home more times than she could count with a black eye or new bruise and, thanks to her mother or one of her many boyfriends, had left home even more often with that or worse.

Tess watched the progress of the shambling man and thought of her mother, her lips turning down automatically into a deeper frown. She would have liked to be able to credit her mother with something nicer than putting her in positions that made it vital to learn how to throw a punch without breaking her hand, but her mother had not been what anyone would have called stable or loving. From as early as Tess could remember, her mother had brought home a string of greasy and shiftless men. She had always pushed her daughter aside in favor of a new man when she wasn’t forgetting about Tess altogether. Either way, Tess learned early how to fend for herself. Often, filling her stomach meant clambering into a dumpster behind a restaurant to scavenge for scraps. Home-cooked meals were something illusive that she only saw pictured on the front of magazines in stores.

At first, her mother’s boyfriends considered Tess to be no more than an annoyance that could be shoved or thrown into another room. As Tess grew older, though, and started to look less like a scrawny boy and more like a young woman, the boyfriends began to notice her and want her around more than they did her mother. Neither Tess nor her mother, for different reasons, had wanted that. Life at home had certainly prepared her for being anywhere but.

Thanks to her mother or, rather, the absence of her mother, Tess had become many things; a street boxer, a makeshift mechanic, a pickpocket, and, probably most importantly, an escape artist. Still, she was sure none of it could have ever fully prepared her for any of this.

Tess shifted her weight, dragging the barrel of her gun against the roof of the RV as she rose to her feet. The noise drew the attention of the man on the street below. He jerkily raised his ashen face, his ice-blue eyes meeting hers. With one swift motion, her rifle was up and pointed directly at the mouth of the pale man as it stretched to gape open to release what she knew would be a piercing screech. Before sound could escape his lips, Tess pulled the trigger and sent him flying backwards onto the pavement where he skidded bumpily to a halt, his limbs splayed awkwardly about his body like he was nothing more than a chalk outline waiting to be drawn.

She was also a crack shot. That skill, however, could only be credited to her mother by considering that the woman’s neglect had landed Tess in her uncle’s care on several occasions to avoid putting her into the system. Her uncle had loved to hunt and had been pleased when Tess showed an interest in the sport. On his days off, when they weren’t hunting, he would take her down to the shooting range where it became clear that she had a talent that far outstripped that of men three times her age.

Below her, the door to the RV swung open and a man stumbled out. He scanned the street and, spotting the dead man on the sidewalk, swung his head almost drunkenly up toward Tess. A bit early, don’t you think?

Tess grinned at him as she turned to lower herself off the edge of the roof so that she could drop down onto the hood of the RV. Never!

It’s almost like you enjoy it, he replied as he ran one hand through his disheveled salt-and-pepper hair.

Tess pursed her lips tightly together and lay her gun on the hood before jumping down to the ground. Henry was giving her the same measured look he had given her at least once a day since they had met. It was the same look her uncle used to give her when he felt she was making a bad decision or behaving in a way similar to his sister, Tess’s mother. She grimly shook her head. Nah. But it’s gotta be done.

I don’t know how you do it so calmly. Makes me sick.

It makes me sick, too, she admitted, But less when I don’t think of them as being people.

But they are.

No shit, Tess turned away from Henry and collected her rifle. But we have to do what we have to do, and you know it. You just need to stop thinking of them as people because they can’t be saved, Henry. They can’t be fixed, not like how you want to fix them. There’s only one way to help them and that’s to put them out of their misery. It’s just easier if you pretend they’re zombies.

Henry was silent for several seconds. They both knew she was right. Finally, Henry sighed, rubbing his hand down over the dark beard that was quickly growing in and making him look several years older, but somehow wiser. The sprinkling of gray throughout it helped add his increasingly professor-like appearance. The only thing dampening the effect was his casual sense of style. It screamed mechanic or construction worker far more than it ever could professional. Everything would definitely be a lot easier if they were actually zombies, he conceded.

If this is how you guys normally start your day, then I’m gonna be a zombie myself before long, a voice grumbled loudly from behind her, Sleep is good for you, you know?

They turned as the third member of their group leaned out of the open RV door. She had only joined them the night before, knocking on their door and begging entry, and was the main reason for Tess’s lack of sleep. She could not quite place what was bothering her about the girl, but, deep down, she felt as though something about her was off. She simply did not trust the new girl.

Not yet, at least. Still, so much had happened over the past few weeks that Tess’s already lopsided world had turned completely topsy-turvy. There was no question that the same had happened to their newest companion, but something about her demeaner was off. After her initial emotional entrance, she had shifted to an almost calm and disinterested emotional state. Tess knew it would be impossible for even the most mentally sound person to remain unaffected by the wave of death that had swept rapidly over the country. Perhaps that was all that was making the girl seem odd. Perhaps she just handled stress better than others. Tess brushed the feelings of uncertainty away for the tenth time that morning.

Normal, Henry stretched, is not exactly part of our dictionary anymore. Breakfast, anyone?

The girl disappeared back inside, followed closely by Henry. Unlike Tess, he did not seem concerned about the girl in the slightest. On the contrary, Henry seemed almost relieved to have her with them. Tess hoped that he was not using her as a replacement for the person they had both recently lost.

Slinging her gun up over her shoulder, Tess pulled herself up into the RV. She cast one last glance up and down the road before closing the door behind her. They had come to Los Alamos without any real expectations and had found it to be no different from every other town they had passed through. Even this place, the place that had made Robby’s eyes light up every time he mentioned it, had not been safe from the reach of the supervirus.

A lump rose swiftly to Tess’s throat and stuck. She swallowed hard several times, trying to push it and all thoughts of her friend back down. In truth, even though they had known each other for such a short time, Robby had quickly become like family to her. Before the world had gone to Hell, she had been far more guarded, rarely letting anyone get close. In the past few weeks, she had grown very attached to two people and, despite her best efforts to keep him safe, watched one die. She kicked a black boot to the side with frustration. It thumped against the wall drawing both Henry and the girl’s attention. She ignored them, struggling to maintain the shreds of her composure while desperately wrestling with the emotions that were welling up inside her.

Robby had been better than family. Way better than hers, at least.

What’s the plan? Her voice was gravelly. She was relieved it had not cracked.

Henry shrugged and turned his back to her. He was ripping open microwavable dinner packages and lining them up to nuke. One of these days, Tess mused, she was going to have to teach him that there were better things for breakfast than frozen meatloaf. Guess we could stay a while.

No!

The suddenness of the girl’s outburst made Tess’s head jerk up. Henry, surprised, had dropped the meal he had been opening onto the floor. They stared at her, waiting for her to explain. When she did not, Tess sat at the kitchenette table and lay her gun across her knees. She searched the girl’s face as a mask of cool indifference began to sweep over it. Why not, Michelle?

Maddie. The girl, annoyed, her mask cracking slightly as she cast a quick look at Tess. Then, catching herself, she visibly pulled herself together. I just want to go home.

And that’s where again?

Up through the Jemez. Near the Pueblo.

Tess looked past Maddie at Henry. He had picked up the frozen meal and was dusting off the exposed top. He was looking at it like he was wondering if he should still nuke it. With a shrug, he opened the microwave and shoved it in. It was what Tess would have done. Anything else, at the moment, would not only have been an avoidable waste, but would have also taken too much energy to bother with. She bit her lip as she watched him.

He looked tired to her. They were both tired. It had been a long journey that had only just ended the day before with mowing down a mob of pale people outside of a hospital. Some had been wearing hospital gowns. Others had been dressed in scrubs. All of them had shared the same ghostly pallor and varying states of whitening hair. They would have died on their own eventually and, had things been different, they likely would have left them alone, but this particular situation had called for an immediate response.

She and Henry had not been left with much of a choice. They had been under attack. Most of those who had not been taken out by the RV, Tess had taken care of herself. She had wanted to clear them before Henry had to help, but he had exited the RV after her and had put down several pale people himself before they were done. It had been a necessity however emotionally and mentally draining.

Look, Tess breathed the word, turning her attention back to Maddie. We’re beat. Henry and I need to stop for a while. Get our bearings. You’re not the only one who’s been put through the ringer lately.

Maddie’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. I need to get home to my mom.

The microwave sprang to life and whirred gently. It was deafening in the silence that followed her statement. To Tess’s astonishment, it was Henry who broke it. She had figured he had decided to sit this conversation out.

I feel you, kid, he said, rubbing at his chin, and maybe we should get out of Dodge. Not much here for us anyway from what you told us last night, right?

Yeah. It’s not safe.

Tess scoffed loudly. Define ‘safe’.

Maddie spun around at her, her hands balling into fists. Tess straightened, but did not stand. She watched as the other girl self-corrected and calmed, her fingers stretching back out. You’ve been out there. You’ve seen what’s going on.

No different from everywhere else. Tess shrugged casually.

Yeah, well, it’s different at home. No one is sick there.

The microwave beeped loudly three times. Henry made no move to collect the food inside it. He was looking at Maddie with renewed interest. How do you know?

The girl leaned against the wall and stared across the RV at a cup on the table. She had really not told them much the night before. Just enough, Tess felt, to diminish the brunt of their mistrust. All they knew was that the people she had been with had fallen ill and died. She had somehow escaped infection and, finding herself alone, had gone out into the night in search of help. Tess had tried to get more out of her, but Henry had shot her a look that clearly said the interrogation could wait until the morning.

A softer look swept over Maddie’s face and she sighed. Her words were tempered with reluctance. We came down from my mother’s house to find this doctor. He was supposed to know all about the supervirus and how to stop it. We were going to help save the world.

Save the world. It was like the girl had leapt out of one of Robby’s superhero comics. Tess rolled her eyes. Nothing was going to save the world. It was too late.

What doctor? Henry had taken a step toward Maddie. The microwave beeped again, reminding him of its contents, but he ignored it. His eyes were fixed on the young woman.

Reed, she said, waving her hand dismissively. It doesn’t matter anymore anyway. He’s dead. They’re all dead.

At these words, Henry slumped back against the counter, a look of shock sweeping over his face erasing the excitement that had flashed over it at the mention of the doctor’s name moments before. Tess knew he was thinking that it had to be the same doctor that Robby had insisted on finding. As the news that the doctor had died finally fully sank in, Henry’s face fell and his mouth opened twice as if to speak then clamped shut in defeat.

Tess chewed at her lower lip, her own interest piquing. She thought back to how many times Robby had gone on about how he had read about a Dr. Reed. There had also been a radio broadcast that had mentioned where the doctor was located. He had firmly believed that the solution to what was going on with the world rested in the hands of a Dr. Franklin Reed who lived in Los Alamos, New Mexico. Robby was sure that this doctor must have had a heavy hand in the creation of the supervirus if not its release as well. Even though Robby was no longer with them, she and Henry had decided to honor his memory by completing their journey. Henry had confided in her after Robby’s death that he did not honestly think that they would ever actually find the doctor and, even if they did, that the man would likely not hold the key to saving the world. He, like Tess, had developed a more realistic idea of the state of things than had the young boy.

But he was here, Tess said slowly, splitting her attention between Maddie and Henry. He was looking almost as lost as he had when Robby died and it worried her. He had obviously held on to more hope than either of them had realized. The doctor was actually here.

‘Was’ being the operative word, Maddie responded somewhat snidely.

Listen, Melanie, Tess rose slowly, her eyes fixing on the far taller girl. If that guy, Dr. Reed, really was here, then I’ll bet all his research is here, too. This is a scientific community, right? How much you wanna bet there’s still a scientist or two hiding out around here who might be able to do something with that research?

Maddie squared up to Tess who unconsciously closed the small distance between them, craning her neck somewhat to maintain eye contact. She was several inches shorter than the blonde girl, but that sort of thing had never concerned her in the past and she certainly was not going to let it bother her now. Size meant little. Skill was everything. She did not yet know what, if anything, this model-like girl was capable of, but she was comfortable enough with her own abilities to not feel overly threatened. It also helped that the first thing Tess had done was thoroughly search the newcomer for weapons before even considering allowing her to enter the RV. Henry had thought it a bit excessive but had ultimately agreed that, considering the actions of the last stranger they had encountered, it was better to be cautious.

Having found no weapon on her, Tess had grudgingly stepped aside so that Maddie could go inside. When she had first appeared at their door, the girl had seemed scared, but nonthreatening. If anything, she had come across as sweet and innocent. However, after submitting to the search and then being questioned, more by Tess than Henry, Maddie’s attitude had begun to change. It had been a small change at first, barely perceptible, but had grown into a thinly veiled irritation that did not complement her original behavior.

Tess did not think Henry had noticed. He seemed more focused on the fact that she was a girl similar in age to Tess who was all alone and desperate to get home to the only family she believed she had left. Maddie’s story seemed genuine enough albeit thin in the details department. Tess had decided to chalk that up more to exhaustion than anything else for the time being and, at Henry’s insistence, had left the girl alone to sleep on what had once been Robby’s side of the pull-out bed.

Tess had opted not to share the fact that a veritable arsenal was hidden mere feet away in the storage space beneath the kitchenette bench. It was her uncertainty of the new girl that had kept her awake for the better part of the night. There had been something about her that had just rubbed Tess wrong. She hoped, for Henry’s sake, that she was mistaken and that Maddie was all that she had initially seemed; a lost girl in need of help. Just in case, though, Tess was sure to keep more than a couple weapons strapped to herself. She had made a point of letting Maddie see as she tucked a knife into a hilt built into her boot.

It’s Maddie.

Potato, potahto.

The taller girl’s eyes narrowed, and she spoke lowly through gritted teeth. It’s Maddie.

You’re right, Henry interrupted. He was no longer leaning against the counter and a look of clarity and excitement was beginning to spread over his face. "If this doctor did have anything to do with the supervirus, then I’m willing to bet he kept some sort of notes on it. And who knows? Maybe there are scientists still alive. Maybe they’re working on a cure right now!"

Maddie spun around to face Henry. I told you! They’re all dead! Everyone is dead!

Dead where? Tess asked the other girl’s back.

Dead whe...Dead here! In this town!

In their houses? The tall girl turned slowly to face Tess again, floundering for a response. Tess took advantage of the opening and continued, posing the question that she and Henry had wondered yesterday as well as pulling from conversations she and Robby had had, Did everyone just die quietly in their homes? I mean, we took out a few dozen at the hospital, but not enough to account for the whole town. And then there’s the labs. Who knows how many people are holed up in there? Isn’t it a secure place? Guarded by the military or something? Maybe there are tons of healthy people and they’re all just hiding up at the labs.

Exactly! Henry placed one hand on Maddie’s shoulder. Tess noted how the girl flinched at his touch but did not pull away. You say this doctor is dead, but how do you know for sure? Did you meet him? If you did, where? Maybe we could look through his things, find anything that has to do with the supervirus and—

And what? Maddie jerked her shoulder away and, spinning around in the cramped space, went toward the microwave. It had beeped several more times while they had been talking. She removed the meatloaf and set it on the counter.

And what? she repeated without turning back around. Take it to the lab? You think, even if anyone in there is still alive, that they don’t already know what’s up? Don’t you think that, if they could have done anything about the supervirus, they would have already?

As much as she disliked it, Tess had to admit that she had a point. There was no way she was going to tell Maddie that, though. Instead, she tore her eyes away from the other girl’s back and focused on Henry. He was looking deflated. She had not realized how important it was to Henry to complete Robby’s quest, for lack of a better term, to journey to Los Alamos and help save the world. She had been sure he believed in that possibility as little as she did.

Tess exhaled heavily and, slipping past him, leaned around Maddie to collect the cooked meatloaf. Grabbing a fork, she handed both to Henry who distractedly sat at the table and began prodding at a rectangular slice of formed meat disinterestedly. Tess popped the next meal into the microwave and waited, listening to the whirring of the machine. She stared down at the third microwavable meatloaf meal that sat defrosting on the counter for a moment then took another fork from the dish drainer by the sink. As soon as the microwave began to beep, she removed the food and, brushing past Maddie, joined Henry at the table.

Nuker’s all yours, Marcy.

​​Two

We had known this was going to happen.

No. They had known. We, on the other hand, had merely heard the rumors our parents repeated in hushed voices when they thought we were not listening. We were children and had not understood the gravity of those whispered words. Deep down, we had known what was well within the realm of possibility. Considering who our parents were, how could we have not?

Still, it had seemed at the time too wild to actually happen. It was too unimaginable. Things like this only happened in books and movies. It didn’t happen for real.

Until it did. And, because They had known it would, They were prepared.

We were not. Not all of us. Not really.

Priya

SUNLIGHT FLOODED INTO the study, washing over Bunmi’s face. She tucked her head down farther into her already folded arms and squeezed her eyes tighter, unwilling just yet to test them against anything brighter than the yellowy light that came from the small desk lamp next to her. She groaned, listening to footsteps muted by carpet patter back and forth around the room. A cup next to her clinked against a dish and, together, clattered noisily as their collector continued to putter around the study.

Her head was throbbing like she had spent the evening before drinking heavily. In a sense, she had. However, it was information rather than alcohol that she had taken in and it was still causing her head to spin. She peered hesitantly over her arm and blinked against the barrage of morning light.

A woman in scrubs was bustling about. She glanced over at Bunmi without stopping and spoke brusquely. Franklin used to fall asleep right there where you are. Doing the same thing, as well.

Bunmi dragged herself up and away from the desk in one motion that was surprisingly fluid for how she felt. Her mother had enrolled her in dance lessons right from when she was very small and had, despite Bunmi’s increasing objections as she entered her teen years, insisted that she continue.

It wasn’t that she disliked ballet. Quite the reverse, she had rather enjoyed it. Ballet had taught her dedication and perseverance. These were the skills that had made it possible for her to sweep through her high school years before her peers and had proven even more useful as she navigated her way through university. They had been the mental drive that had thrusted her through the next several years while she earned degrees in the medical field, both practical and research. Still, it was not until she had reached her thirties that Bunmi was able to truly appreciate what her mother had done for her. Until then, she had simply assumed that her mother had dreams of her being a professional ballerina and was living vicariously through her.

Good morning, Cora, Bunmi said as brightly as possible, offering the older woman a smile as she swept her long braids back over her shoulder.

Cora grunted in response and, having done all that she could do in the room, made her way toward the door. Bunmi watched as the woman shifted the dishes in her hand so that she could open the door.

Her mind shifted to James Wester, comatose in a neighboring room. He had been a friend to the recently deceased Dr. Franklin Reed in whose house they were currently staying. As the doctor had admitted, James had been second-best hope at containing the supervirus. He was their first-best now that the doctor was gone. It had been Dr. Reed’s intention that James learn everything he could about the supervirus in order to assist himself and Bunmi in finding a way to contain its spread and create a vaccine to help battle the effects.

The latter, even if it could be done, would be extremely difficult to come by without the right paraphernalia. The few supplies Bunmi and Frankie, Dr. Reed’s daughter, had collected from the local hospital would help with initial research, but Bunmi had to be realistic; no one was going to save the world with looted test tubes in the study of an old dead man’s home. She was going to eventually need access to some extremely expensive and difficult to obtain equipment. How she would ever manage that, she had no idea.

Have you looked in on Mr. Wester this morning? Bunmi called as an afterthought just as Cora was halfway out the door. She could have guessed the answer, but still had hope that, as a nurse, compassion for others in need would eventually overtake the woman’s personal fears.

The look on Cora’s face swept her hopes aside. Her eyes were red-brimmed and watery and filled with contempt. Without speaking, the older woman continued out the door, shutting it behind her with far more force than she must have upon entering. The sound would have certainly woken Bunmi well before Cora reached the curtains to open them.

Bunmi drew in a deep breath and held it for a few seconds before exhaling in a slow and measured way. In reality, any sensible person with a common blood type would have felt the same way Cora did about entering a room that contained a person infected with such a deadly disease. While somewhat irrational a fear in James’s particular case, Bunmi could still sympathize with her fears.

The supervirus was extremely contagious, transmitted easily and quickly through any contact with infected bodily fluid. It did not help that the majority of those infected did not respond the way James had. Most were not blessed with the relative ease of coma and the possibility of recovery with medical intervention. Most ended up roaming blindly until the infection ran its course and finally killed them. The process was swift and irreversible.

Any sane person would do all they could to keep as far away from any chance of being infected and that was exactly what Cora was doing. It did not matter to her that there was no way she could possibly become infected by James unless she herself made physical contact with any of his bodily fluids during his infectious period. Since the infection, thanks to James’s blood type being O-negative, had caused him to slip into a healing coma rather than respond in a manner comparable to that of a zombie, the chance of him forcing contact on her was impossible.

A soft booming noise outside jolted her from her thoughts. She couldn’t tell if the sound had come from a gun or from a car backfiring. Either way, judging by how quiet it had been, whoever or whatever it was was far enough away to not pose an immediate problem.

Her eyes drifted to a mug near the edge of the desk. Steam was rising from it and the tantalizing smell of coffee was being wafted toward her by a breeze coming through the half-opened window nearby. She leaned forward, reaching for it with gratitude. Cora might be controlled by her fears, but she had compassion for others. It was that or a lingering sense of duty as a caretaker. Either way, Bunmi would appreciate this offering of caffeine.

She sipped the coffee, closing her eyes briefly with enjoyment. As much as she wanted to, she knew she could not sit for very long. There was far too much to do. Before anything, she had to check on James’s progress. So far, he seemed to be making his way through the coma with relative ease. She was grateful that there had been no complications and mentally thanked James’s foresight to not only have them collect the medical supplies vital to keep him alive should he fall ill but to also locate a generator to keep everything running. Without all this, Bunmi doubted his chances would be as good as they were. Were he healthy, his body could survive several days without food or water. Infected and without aid of the IV to which he was connected, he might have succumbed within a day or two. She supposed, though, given his naturally strong constitution, his chances unaided would likely be a lot better than most.

Then there was dealing with the supervirus itself.

It was this task that had kept her up for the better half of the night. She had spent hours sifting through files in search of every last scrap of documentation concerning the manufacturing of the supervirus as well as any experimentation conducted using it. Despite the peculiar fact that