Defiant: Quantic Dreams Book 2 by Elizabeth McLaughlin (reading list txt) 📗

it would force me to institute a longer term one. An indefinite one. Gabriel would be forced to go along with it, regardless of the outcome of the vote, but failing to identify this outbreak before it spread was going to end badly for me.

Frank was waiting outside the infirmary when we arrived. When he saw me he finger combed his hair but nothing could disguise the redness in his eyes. His hands shook as he gave a weak wave in my direction. As we got closer to him, I wrinkled my nose. He stank. The scent of exhaustion and fear wafted from him in waves so strong it was hard for me to approach him at all. The question flitted through my mind as to what the appropriate thing to say was.

“I’m so sorry, Frank.”

He flinched as if the words cut into him like knives, but met my eyes. “Thank you.” His voice was rough, and he coughed, fresh tears welling up in his eyes. I motioned for Phoebe to get me a bottle of water and uncapped it, passing it to him. He drank gratefully and passed it back.

“Can I get you anything?” I thought of my wife’s death, so sudden it had ripped a piece of my soul away with her. People had been quick to offer their condolences and sing her praises when in reality I would have been far more grateful to have some time alone.

Frank shook his head. “No. Thank you.”

“I’m here to see her, Frank. I’d like to say goodbye and arrange for her funeral.” I had almost said ‘disposal of the body’. Gabriel had rubbed off on me in so many little ways I was discovering them all the time. “Is it all right if I go in?” He looked at me, his eyes empty. I wanted to tell him I knew what it was like, but the truth was that no one could compare to this kind of pain. The pain of watching your wife, the very other half of your being suffocate to death. The horror that must have shone from her eyes as she endured the agony, fully conscious of what was going to happen.

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” I touched him gently on the shoulder and went inside. The scene in front of me was considerably more calm than I expected. Allison’s body lay in the middle of the room, a sheet placed over her face. There were no bloodstains, no signs to betray that her last moments had been torture. They had disconnected her from the breathing machine and the multitude of tubes that had kept her alive for her last day. The machines sat against the wall, cleaned and neatened up as if nothing had happened. Shannon appeared from behind the office door and I extended my hand to her. She took it and I squeezed her hand, a nod passing between us. “Could you remove the sheet, please?”

Shannon went to the gurney and pulled the sheet back to Allison’s collarbone. The women had done a good job; if I hadn’t known better, I would say that she was sleeping. Her eyes had been shut and her hair combed back. A serene portrait of death. I reached for her forehead and Shannon caught my arm.

“You can’t touch her, Jacob. Remember?”

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” This woman, this beautiful, brilliant, hardworking human being was dead because of me. I let my hands hang at my sides. I didn’t know what else to do with them. In my haste to expedite the exit from the shelter, I was going to be responsible for the death of hundreds. Maybe even all of us. Gabriel had been right all along. Fresh horror filled me.

“Sophia’s daughter is worse, Jacob.” Shannon stood a couple of feet back from me. “Rather than keep her here next to Allison, I have her with her family in their quarters. There isn’t much use isolating her from them. They’ve all been exposed. Sophia is doing her best, but she isn’t feeling optimistic about it.”

“Okay.” Not only had my carelessness killed someone, I was responsible for the murder of two people. Worse yet, a child. I was dimly aware of a cramp making itself known in my leg. It was as if I was a statue. The pain registered its presence and the rest of my body screamed at me to move, do something to alleviate the problem, but I couldn’t move. “Is Frank ready to move her?” The world had reduced itself to rote tasks. I didn’t think, only acted. A dead body couldn’t be left in the infirmary.

“I think so, yes.”

“Okay. You’ve got it?”

“Yes, I’ve got it. Are you all right?” She appeared in front of me, brow furrowed.

“Yes. I need to leave now.” I pushed the doors to the infirmary open and left. I barely registered my passage through the corridors and walked without direction or purpose. Before long, I found myself standing in front of the inner door to the shelter. I put my hand on the cold steel and sat down as my father had for so many nights throughout his life. He always took care to keep us kids from knowing how often his insomnia struck, but I caught Mom bringing him back to our quarters at least a few times a week. One night I pretended to be asleep so I could listen to their conversations. He said that he could hear the wind howling through the door. Perhaps he was facing the same dilemma I was. Knowing that he had made a decision that he was responsible for the lives of hundreds.

It occurred me that I could probably get the door open myself, if I really wanted to. It would be so easy to stand on the dark abyss separating death by drowning in my own body fluid or dying by exposure. Maybe I’d get ripped apart by some kind of animal. I stood and tested the handle. It took a considerable amount of