“Easy, easy,” Darla said. Her messenger bag was empty and light. She set it down on the table slowly and then kicked out a chair and sat down. Plates with the remnants of their breakfast were beside her, and Darla took her pointer finger and made lazy circles with the leftover syrup. Then she brought her finger to her tongue and licked the syrup off with a deliberate smack. Lucy had left a bite of sausage and Darla ate that too. If it bothered Spencer, he didn’t say. Instead, he watched her curiously and anxiously as he leaned against one of the walls, his gun at his side.
After a moment, he cleared his throat. “Enough. I’m waiting.”
“I’m about to honor your request.”
“I hope so. Or why are you here?”
“An unobtainable, rare, valuable product. For your own personal use, if you desire. Or for sale. I don’t care what you do with it once it leaves my hands.”
“My curiosity is piqued.”
“Sure, sure,” Darla waved him away with disdain. “Let’s set the ground rules. First, let her out of the cuffs.”
Spencer blinked. “I don’t know. She’ll bolt.”
“Let her out of the damn cuffs.”
“Tell me what you brought for—”
Darla pulled her firearm out of its holster like lightning and pointed it at Spencer; only her hand and arm had moved—the rest of her body had remained positioned calmly in the chair. “You’ll want what I’m selling and if you don’t then you lose the product and the girl.”
With Darla’s gun still pointed in his direction, Spencer bent down and unlocked one side of the handcuffs. Lucy’s hand fell into her lap. It was numb and sore, a red, raw indent surrounded her wrist and she cradled it gingerly against her body.
“Come over by me,” Darla instructed to Lucy. Whether or not she wanted to bolt, Lucy realized that fighting her request would be useless. So, Lucy slid herself over to Darla’s feet and then wobbled upward. Her legs ached.
Darla pulled her messenger bag down off the table and flipped it open. She reached inside and pulled out a brown box with a lid. Dropping her bag on the floor, she lifted the lid, and Lucy saw that the box was packed with packing balls. They fell to the floor as she reached in and grabbed a plastic baggie. She ripped open the top of the bag, held out her hand, and rolled out four vials.
“This better be good,” Spencer mumbled, clearly unimpressed.
“This,” Darla held the vials in her hand, “is a cure.”
Spencer looked at her uncomprehending. “A cure.” He ran the back of his hand over his nose and cracked his head to the side.
She rose to her feet and held the vials outward, but when Spencer took a step forward and tried to reach for them, she drew her hand back and waved her free pointer finger at him. “Ah-ah-ah…not so fast.”
“You mean…a vaccine.”
Darla smiled, her large, evenly spaced teeth flashing. “Now you’re catching on. I’m holding the only known and only available vaccine against the virus that was unleashed on our dearly departed Earth. Four vials. There is one for you for sure. I have three more…but we’ll discuss their fate next.”
She let the news settle and when Spencer opened his mouth, she continued, without waiting.
“I know you’re incredulous.”
“To say the least,” was his response.
“Of course. I waltz in here, purport to have some cure for a quick-killing tool of genocide used by bioterrorists. Hard pill to swallow?”
Spencer motioned for her to continue.
Following every word with growing anxiousness, Lucy slid her body down into Darla’s now empty chair and rested her elbows on the table.
Darla reached into her bag once again and pulled out a sheet of white computer paper and a digital camera. Still with the vials in her grip, she brandished the paper, like a gift, and placed it in Spencer’s hand. He shifted his rifle to his back and held on to the sheet with two hands, his brow furrowing as he read. “This could be forged,” he mumbled.
“Oh really? With my endless hours of available free time and design experience?”
“You could have traded for it. How the hell am I supposed to know?”
“It’s not a forgery.”
“It’s a scare tactic.”
“You’re right. It’s scary…but it’s no tactic.”
“What does it say?” Lucy said and she stood up.
With a sigh, Darla turned to acknowledge Lucy. The strange woman had deep, dark brown eyes with a tint of green along the edges and long, make-up-less lashes. “It’s a document from a government-run laboratory. Some timeline information about experiments involving the virus.”
“How did you get that?” Lucy asked. But Darla shot her a murderous look and Lucy lowered herself back down into her seat. “I was just asking,” she tried to add, but no one seemed to hear her.
“It says that most victims die between twenty-four hours to thirty-six hours after exposure. Quickly. Instant death. Ninety-eight percent of all…human subjects…did not last beyond that timeframe. Then there is a second wave. The outliers. After exhibiting no symptoms, no reaction to exposure at all…after one-hundred-forty-four hours to one-hundred-sixty hours…another two percent.”
“One-hundred percent death rate?” Lucy said and she looked up. She let that tidbit of truth wash over her. No one would survive this without that vaccine.
“Excellent math skills. Did our fine establishment help you with that ability?” Spencer shot a look upward and then back down at the camera. “So, what Darla,” he said her name with a sneer, “is trying to say is that we just entered a time period where we are all at risk again. Is that right?”
Darla shrugged.
“And how opportune…I mean, what a great fortune for me that she has the perfect recipe to save my life.” Spencer rolled his eyes. “I don’t buy it.”
“The way I see it,” Darla answered without missing a beat, “is that I can win this thing two ways. One, you realize I’m right, and you let me buy Lucy with the vaccine. Or two, you think I’m wrong and you die of the virus. I walk out of here with Lucy either way.”
“Then wait for me to die,” Spencer invited with a toothy smile.
“Happily,” Darla replied. “That was certainly my vote anyway. However, here is the problem.” She frowned. “I need some things. Some big things and unfortunately, you’re the only one I know who can get them for me.”
Lucy’s heart began beating ferociously. She didn’t want to interrupt and ruin Darla’s rehearsed dialogue, but she needed to know if she was in danger. She thought of Salem and Grant out there, outside, somewhere, not knowing that a second wave would soon hit them. Getting out of the school and finding them was key, even if she hoped that Darla’s dog-and-pony show was an act.
“That is an interesting predicament,” Spencer said, assuming his administrative tone, a cross between condescending and authoritative. “So many coincidences. I’m in danger today, but behold…you have just what I need.”
“And if you don’t give me what I need, then yes, you will die.”
Spencer debated, his eyes flashed. “So, what do you need?” he asked.
“Antibiotics. And a doctor.”
He laughed at her. “Those are no easy feats. What makes you even think I can do that?”
“Because if you don’t agree to it…you’ll die,” Darla answered.
“Right, I see. Well, I don’t have antibiotics right now,” he told her unapologetically. “And you think I can just call up a doctor? How exactly do you suppose I go about making that happen for you?”
Darla leaned in closer. “I know how this works. You need specific things and you put different items in the window to call the looters. The traders. The Raiders, like I call them. Right?”