His lip curled up, like it was all he could do to not stand up and smash Cooper’s head into the TV. Cooper didn’t know what to say.
Blackmon continued to babble, but Cooper wasn’t paying any attention. He used the remote to turn the TV off. “Dude, just take it easy, okay?”
Jeff’s lip returned to normal. He blinked a few times. The hate left his eyes.
“Oh, wow, man,” he said. “Sorry about that. This bug has me in a s.h.i.t-a.s.s mood, I guess.”
Cooper shrugged. “Don’t worry about it.” He felt a wave of relief — for a second, he’d thought his best friend was going to get out of that bed and come at him.
Jeff rubbed at his face. “No, it’s not okay. I can’t talk to you like that. Sorry.” He looked up and forced a smile. “So that s.h.i.t they were talking about on TV, that medicine. When do we have to take whatever it is they’re pa.s.sing out?”
“I don’t know,” Cooper said. “You want me to turn the TV back on?”
“No. Whatever it is, it’s not going to be here in the next six hours. I’m going to get some more sleep. Really awesome vacation in the Windy City, eh?”
“My kind of town. Old Blue Eyes was full of s.h.i.t, if you ask me.”
Jeff laughed, which quickly turned into a heavy, ripping cough that curled his body into a fetal position. Cooper plucked a pair of Kleenex from the box and offered them. Jeff had his left hand over his mouth, but reached out with his right to take the tissues. He pressed them to his mouth as the cough racked him again. He rolled to his back.
“Aw, f.u.c.k, Coop — that s.h.i.t hurts.”
Jeff pulled the Kleenex away from his mouth and looked at it. Amid a glob of greenish-yellow were bright streaks of red.
“Dude,” Cooper said, “that’s not good.”
Jeff balled up the Kleenex and tossed it away. He waved a hand as if brushing away Cooper’s thoughts.
“Ain’t the first time I’ve coughed up a little blood, bro. Don’t worry about it.” He rolled to his side, rested his head on the pillow. “I’m going back to sleep. Turn off the lights, man. If you make any more noise, I’m going to hurt you.”
Cooper froze. Was Jeff joking, or threatening? It didn’t sound like a joke. Cooper stared for a moment, once again suddenly aware of the size difference between them. Jeff was bigger, stronger … and Jeff knew how to fight.
Cooper slowly reclined on the bed, careful not to make too much noise. Maybe he didn’t feel like he’d been face-f.u.c.ked by a rabid buffalo, but he sure as h.e.l.l didn’t feel like singing and dancing, either. He was exhausted; sleep would be good.
And maybe when he woke up, Jeff would be back to normal.
GUINEA PIG
Paulius Klimas sat at the SPA’s conference table. He stared at a blank screen, waiting for a call. Once the call began, he’d get one minute. Even that much was a blessing, a courtesy done for him by Murray Longworth.
Paulius had lost men before. Five so far, all on missions that had never been announced, never been recorded. Every one of those deaths had been hard. Each time he’d questioned his leadership abilities, wondered if he could have done something different to bring that man home alive.
But this was the hardest of all.
Longworth had needed a volunteer. Since Levinson couldn’t fight, Paulius gave the man first dibs. Levinson understood that if he didn’t go, another SEAL would go in his place.
So Levinson had accepted.
Now, Paulius was about to hear the results.
The screen flared to life. He found himself looking at Levinson: in a hospital bed surrounded by clear gla.s.s walls, but bright-eyed and smiling.
“Commander,” Levinson said. He saluted.
Paulius returned the salute. Some of his pent-up stress bled away.
“You look good for a lab animal,” Paulius said. “What have they told you?”
“Looks like that awful c.r.a.p Doctor Feelygood brewed actually works. I’m eighteen hours in. If I was infected, I’d probably have a sore throat, fever and aches, but I feel fine. Other than where I was shot, I mean. That still hurts like a b.i.t.c.h. They said painkillers could mask infection symptoms, so this little piggy gets none.”
More of the stress eased. Paulius hadn’t realized he’d carried the pressure in his chest — it suddenly felt much easier to breathe. Levinson seemed fine. More than that, the mission to recover Feely, Montoya and their research had turned out to be critical after all.
Even though the infection had somehow escaped the task force, he and his men had made a difference.
The screen beeped: time was up.
Paulius saluted. “Your courage is immeasurable, Roger. If you don’t turn into a plant, drinks are on me.”
The wounded man returned the salute. “As long as it’s something besides what Feelygood makes, I’ll take you up on that offer.”
The image blinked out.
Paulius stared at the blank screen. He and his men had twelve more days of quarantine, as did Feely, Otto, Montoya and the Coronado’s crew. He’d given his men a few hard-earned days off, but no more — it was time to start combat drills.
He and his SEALs were immune. If the s.h.i.t hit the fan, they might be called upon once again.
They would be ready.
DAY EIGHT
#TAKETHEMEDS
@DrDurakMerc
Don’t be a sheeple! Trust the government to give you your shots? Then you get what you deserve.
@ARealGirl
What the f.u.c.k is wrong with you anti-vaxers? This disease turns people into MURDERERS. Drink the f.u.c.king inoculant already, or you’ll kill us all.