Infection Runs Deep

CHAPTER FORTY: WEIGHTED SCALES

The day was endless. All I had to do was wait.

Pretend everything is normal, Luke suggested, as if it were an easy task.

We needed to throw off suspicion, so we had to go about our normal lives. It was torture. Brutal, unending agony.

I didn't understand how intelligence officers and undercover cops did it. They infiltrated the enemy group and waited. I hated waiting. I felt useless.

So, I stayed in the clinic, pacing and jumping at every sound, every sharp glimpse of movement, including myself in the mirror. With my bruised throat, cut up face, and broken ankle, I looked like some sort of vicious mobster with a penchant for starting fights, a certain air of you should see the other guys badassery. But I didn't want that. I wanted normalcy, the classic innocence of a newbie doctor. I didn't think that there would ever be any going back now.

My body shook from more than just anticipation. It was almost time for the shift change. Meaning Oliver was coming to take my place. I didn't want to see him. Never again. I was done. I deserved better than that, didn't I?

Marge didn't comment on my new cuts and bruises, biting her tongue in the most helpful way. If anyone said another word about it, I might burst into tears and have a whole meltdown. I was fine. Everything was fine. But if one more person asked me if I was okay, I would not be okay.

We hadn't had any patients this morning, unsurprising since there weren't that many people on the base. A typical military base held anywhere from a few hundred people to almost 250,000 people depending on whether it was an outpost or a city. Fort Bishop was small compared to a city or even a larger base, but much bigger than I would have expected with a max capacity of 5,000 people. The numbers now were nowhere near that high. Many people were deployed and some others left after the infected numbers spiked, leaving us with around 3,000 people, similar to a small college campus. And I was a student anxiously awaiting the bell to get the hell out of here.

A hard rap on the door relieved me from my panic. My head whipped around as I jumped to my feet, ready to treat whatever random illness or wound that came my way. All I got was a soft smile and gleaming green eyes.

"Hey, darlin'." Luke held up a styrofoam cup as he leaned against the doorframe. He pushed off of it with a certain grace, stiding the few extra steps to where I sat instead of waiting for me to get to him. "Thought you might need a little pick me up."

"Thanks," I murmured, accepting the cup as he sat next to me on one of the waiting room chairs.

He brushed a hair out of my face, gently tracing his finger around my new bruise, the skin still tender and purple. "It's better than yesterday." He was such a liar. The bruise had morphed from instant red to a dark purple, spreading over my cheekbones to the depths of my undereyes. He dropped his hand, but not my gaze.

"How's the plan?" I asked, nearly breathless. "Have you talked to Ian?"

He shook his head. "I am escaping my duties for the moment, but I have to go back soon. I wanted to check on you before I start the rest of my shift on guard duty." He scrubbed a hand over his face, his cheeks coated with soft stubble and his eyes darkened from a lack of sleep. "I know you've been up all night too."

"Coffee is an insta-cure." I took a long sip, savoring the bitter tang of the black coffee. It was hot enough to burn, but at least it was a feeling. So much better than the numbness and wallowing of fear and pity. "Thank you for thinking of me."

His cheeks flushed ever so slightly. "You never leave my mind, darlin'." He pressed me into a quick hug, squeezing me tightly before letting go. "I'll catch up with you later, once we get a SITREP from Ian. Hopefully it'll be over soon."