"Hello, Ra, you old bastard." Ob smiled. "Like what you see? Run along and tell Daddy. He always liked you better anyway."
Laughing, Ob turned and walked inside. He summoned his lieutenants and ordered the city searched from top to bottom, beginning at the outskirts of the five boroughs and working inward. Nothing was to be left alive-no people, no livestock. The countdown to extinction had begun.
The sun did not return that day, lost beneath a layer of haze. It saw what was happening, and stayed behind the dark and heavy clouds. The heavens wept.
"Here comes the dawn," the doctor murmured, looking out the twentieth-story window, "but I don't think we'll see the sun today. Looks like rain."
A pretty young nurse with chestnut hair nodded, and then finished bandaging Jim's shoulder.
The doctor shined his light into Danny's eyes and then turned it off.
"Open your mouth for me, Danny."
Danny looked at his father for reassurance and Jim nodded, wincing as the stitches in his head pulled tight against his scalp. His shoulder had been re-stitched as well, and the pus-covered homemade sutures lay discarded in a plastic trashcan with a biohazard sticker.
"You must be feeling better now, Mr. Thurmond," Quinn said. He leaned against the back of the closed door. Except for the poster on the wall beside him- Have you received your FLU SHOT yet? Remember: Ramsey Inc.
Employees Receive Them For Free-and the window, the examination room was featureless and sterile. After weeks of living with rot and decay, Jim found the change strangely disquieting.
"Not really. I still feel hot, and I'm weak as a kitten."
"That's the infection," Dr. Stern told him, staring down Danny's throat.
"You've got a low-grade fever. It's really a wonder that it's not more serious. Luckily, you've got a strong constitution, Mr. "Thurmond. I've seen people come in with half the damage you seem to have taken and be in far worse condition. What did you do before this?"
"I was a construction worker down in West Virginia. Built new homes, mostly."
Stern pressed his fingers against Danny's throat, and then shined the light in the boy's ears.
"West Virginia, eh? I knew you must be from the South, by your accent. You're a long way from home."
"While you were passed out in the chopper, Danny said you came looking for him," Quinn said. "That true?"
"Yeah. But I didn't do it alone. I had some help. We traveled up through Virginia and Pennsylvania and into Jersey."
The pilot whistled. "That's pretty impressive. You're all lucky to be alive. Can't believe you made it."
"Not all of us did."
Jim nodded, his thoughts on Martin. He still couldn't believe that the old preacher was gone. He felt in his pocket for Martin's bible, reassuring himself that it was still there.
They were quiet while Stern checked Danny over. Then the doctor turned back to Jim.
"Do either of you have any medical conditions I need to know about?"
"Like what?"
"Epilepsy? Diabetes? Things like that? Allergies, perhaps?"
Jim thought the question was strange, but answered truthfully. "No. Danny's allergic to bee stings, but that's about it."
"How about drug allergies? Penicillin?"
"None that I know of."
Stern wrote the information down and placed it in a folder with Jim and Danny's names handwritten on them. Then he handed it to the nurse.
"Kelli, could you file these for me, and then check on Dr. Maynard?"
"Sure thing, Dr. Stern."
"What's that?" Jim asked.
"Your medical records," the doctor answered. "If you're going to be members of our little community, then I'll be your doctor."
"Oh." It seemed strange to Jim. Things like regular doctors visits and paying the bills and driving to the grocery store and watching football on Sunday seemed like dreams-a distant past. Life had become nothing but running from hiding place to hiding place, surrounded by the dead; a constant battle simply to stay alive. He struggled with the adjustment.
Kelli walked out of the room, files tucked under her arm. Quinn turned and watched her ass, smiling to himself.
Dr. Stern stepped back. "Well, Danny, you seem to be in fine shape, if a little dehydrated."
"What's that mean?" Danny asked.
"It means you need some water. And I bet you're hungry too."
The boy nodded.
"Well," the doctor reached into a drawer and pulled out a lollipop, "you can start with this, I suppose. In a few minutes, we'll show you gentlemen to your room. If your father is feeling up to it, we'll show him where the cafeteria is. Then you can get some real food. I bet you like pancakes, don't you?"
Danny's eyes lit up. "Yeah!"
"Then you'll like what we're having for breakfast. But I don't want you to eat too many of them, okay? You need to start out slow."
Smiling, he handed Danny the lollipop and then turned to Jim.
"Is he going to be okay?" Jim asked.
"He'll be fine." The doctor lowered his voice. "I don't think we need to run an IV, but we do need to get some fluids into him. And some food.
But all in all, he'll be okay. There's no sign of reactive psychogenic shock."
"What's that?"
"It's something that happens when a human body is exposed to high levels of fear or stress. Your pulse increases but your blood pressure drops.
Physically, your son is in good shape, all things considered. He has no infections or wounds. No physical damage, other than the slight dehydration. It's really quite remarkable, Mr. Thurmond. Things could have been a lot worse. Be thankful that you got to him when you did. How long was he alone?"
"A week."
The doctor's hushed tones became a whisper.
"I don't imagine his hair was turning that color when you last saw him either."
"No." Jim's voice cracked.
Stern placed a hand on Jim's good shoulder and squeezed. "Well, he's a resilient young man, much like his father. Frankly, I'm amazed. The Big Apple is rotting-literally. Just the biological threat from those things down there alone is enough to make you both sicker than you are-not to mention the wounds you've suffered. We know of a group that was hiding out in a publisher's building on Broadway. One zombie managed to get inside. They destroyed it before it could murder any of them, but the disease on the corpse killed them all within days."
Jim whistled. "I never even considered that, and I've had some pretty close contact with these things."
"You're very lucky. This other group wasn't."
"How did you stay in contact with them?"
"Radio," Quinn said. "Hell, they radioed us even after they were dead."
Stern put his pen back in his shirt pocket. "I think you'll both be okay, though I want to keep an eye on that shoulder of yours. I'm giving you some strong antibiotics to help with the infection, but both of you are to take it easy for at least a week. Everyone pulls their own weight here, and you'll have plenty to do soon, depending upon your skills-so think of this as a one-week vacation."