“Who’s this, hey?” said the tall banger, Sharp, as he approached and gestured at Lampert. Mellowman and Teresa followed a few paces behind. “Some new whitecoat y’all had hidden away in there or sumpin?”
“Uh, no,” said Justin, assuming his most authoritative Doctor’s voice. “I’m afraid that’s not the case at all. Now, as I recall, earlier, you asked what we were doing out here. Well, now I’m offering you something of an explanation, yes? You see, this is Mr. Lampert and he has, unfortunately, contracted a brand new strain of plague, called H5N3. In fact, it is very likely that all of us from the CDC have contracted it. Now, in cases like this, it’s often fortuitous that… um, that is, I uh…”
Suddenly Justin realized that he’d run out of lies; having told the basic story, he was now totally unprepared to back it up. His mind had gone blank and, wincing under Sharp’s intense stare, even the most basic elements of epidemiology had suddenly fled. Added to that was the fact that he’d never been a very good liar, even about innocent things, and suddenly he was floundering. Badly. He was about to panic when the Old Man (bless his shriveled old heart), sitting there in the hot sun looking like some kind of gnarled pink ape, shaded his eyes with one veined hand and spoke up.
“One thing’s for damned sure,” he said, talking to the lead Outlaws, “you do not wanna catch this shit. Lemme tellya. Hey you, Mohawk! How old you think I am? Just a guess.”
Sharp peered at Lampert, a mixture of curiosity, fear, and something else on his thin features. He looked over his shoulder at his companions, but they both just shrugged. The twenty or so other Outlaws shifted from foot to foot and muttered. Finally Sharp turned back to Lampert and gave a tough-guy shrug of his own.
“Dunno, dude,” he said. “Yer real old, so… fifty? Sixty?”
“Ha!” said Lampert, transforming a laugh into a very convincingly raspy cough. “Not even close! I’m only thirty years old! That’s what this new plague’ll do to ya! Ain’t that the shit? I mean, just look at me! I’m a goddamn walkin’ skeleton!”
The color drained from Sharp’s face and a note of agitation and alarm came into his voice. Some of the other Bloodclaws had begun to back away.
“But…,” Sharp said helplessly, “but you others don’t look sick, hey. Just this old fuck. And y’all said before that you didn’t have the Sick, so what’s the deal-o on that? Huh?”
“It’s a secret,” said Lampert conspiratorially. He motioned Sharp to come closer, but the young man stayed firmly in place. The Old Man glared up at him.
“Aw, you know how these government types are,” he said. “Or were, I guess. Always up to some kinda crazy secret shit, conducting experiments and all. And these other folks don’t look sick yet, but they are. Trust me. It just takes some time to get to ya.”
“So,” said Sharp, his brow wrinkled in thought, “this here’s some kinda new Sick?”
“You got it,” nodded Lampert. “Brand spankin’ new. And I don’t know about you, but if I was young and healthy, I’d stay the fuck away from anybody that had it. ‘Cause I’m here to tellya, it is no fucking fun. At all. You just waste the fuck away.”
But all Sharp had really registered was the word “new” and a stricken, dread-filled look now crossed his face. In fact, Justin saw with some satisfaction, the young man was terrified. Unwilling to lose face before his gang, though, he attempted a graceful—if hurried—departure. Behind him the others were already climbing into or onto their vehicles.
“Well hey, folks,” Sharp said, walking backwards, “good luck on that, hey? And I hope yer pal in there’s OK and all. No like, chargin’ for the help or nothin’. But, uh, we gotta get on our way, hey? Gotta get back onna road, hey? Like zoomerating time, heh.”
He’d backed up to his own car, an ancient but imposing-looking gasburner, and now climbed into it through the drivers-side window. There was a moment of nervousness for Justin as he watched Sharp have what looked like a rather heated discussion with Mellowman and Teresa, but finally Sharp seemed to get the best of the other two and, in a great roaring of dust and gasoline fumes, the entire gang turned around and drove back the way they’d come. In a matter of minutes, they were gone and the landscape was quiet again.
For the most part stunned to silence, the CDC group stood and looked at each other for some time. Justin watched the receding dust cloud, shook his head, and looked down at Lampert, who showed his yellow teeth in what passed for a smile.
“Toldya they’d be stupid,” he grinned. “Ignorant, at the least, but nowadays? Without little things like schools and such? Stupid, too. Well, anyhow, they’re gone. For now, anyway. But somebody’ll come for ya, that’s for sure. These dumb fuckers’ll tell people, those people will talk, etcetera, and sooner or later, somebody smart’ll hear about it and they’ll come lookin’. Just a matter of time.”
“Hmm, yes,” said Justin gravely.
“But hey!” said Lampert, mock cheerful. “Ya got ridda the dude in the Chevy Impala right? So that’s somethin’.”
Justin frowned. “I’m sorry,” he said, “chevy impala?”
“The car, Doc,” said Lampert wanly. “Vintage ‘32 Chevrolet Impala? One o’ the last great gas-burners?”
Justin just blinked. Lampert sighed and waved a hand in dismissal.
“The one Mohawk was drivin’,” he finally explained. “A classic old car, that’s all. Forget I mentioned it. The point is, the guy drivin’ it—and his little group—are no longer an issue.”
Justin frowned again. “Cold comfort. We still must find some fuel and get you to California.”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Lampert, heading for the MedCenter. “One day atta time, Just In Case. One fuckin’ day atta time. Now if you’ll all excuse me, I need to lie down before I have a fuckin’ stroke from this goddamn sun. Oh, and don’t bother to thank me for saving all of your asses. Let’s just call it a little payback for all the hospital care. Not to mention all that yummy dog food.”
And with that, he slammed the MedCenter door behind himself and was gone. In his wake, the CDC group shook their heads in bemusement, grinned at their sudden deliverance from the Outlaws, and then went stolidly back to their jobs.
For his part, Justin took up Lampert’s vacated chair, and sat there, staring at the Oklahoma hills and thinking, until the sun set the western sky afire. Why had Lampert helped them? Sentimentality? Altruism? Not bloody likely. So what? All Justin knew for certain was that if he could find some way to exploit it, whatever it was, it might make things a lot easier. After all, a patient who wants to live is generally a whole lot easier to keep alive than one who wants to die.
Finally, as the sky turned a deep shade of blue like velvet, Justin sighed and got up from the chair. Whatever Lampert’s motivation or past experience, they were safe for the time being. Tomorrow they would start all over again, trying to find some fuel for their vehicles, but as for tonight, as in the right now? Well, right now he needed something to eat, something to drink, and some uninterrupted sleep. Putting Lampert from his mind, he tried to put a brave look on his face and went to join the others.
Chapter Five
The Kid didn’t have a name. If he’d ever been given one, he didn’t know what it was. Likewise, he had no idea how old he was, where he was, or how he’d gotten there. All he really knew, in fact, was existence, the day-to-day fight for survival. All he was sure of was that he had to eat and to drink and to stay warm at night and cool during the day. These were the only things that mattered. Still, some part of his keen but stunted mind wondered sometimes about the things he found, the buildings and strange metal boxes with wheels, the flat black land, and those funny trees with the wires on them that lined the flat black places. But that was for rest time, when he’d eaten and drank and was warm and dry. Usually he was hard at work, just meeting the basic necessities.