Read Online Scavengers by Christopher Fulbright, Angeline Hawkes - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Christopher Fulbright, Angeline Hawkes
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MF packed the chutes incorrectly—
“We know you didn’t mean to shoot anybody, Matty. You just cracked, that’s all.”
“Well, thank God all of that is top secret, huh? No one would hire a doctor known for murderous rampages, now would they?”
“That was a long time ago, and it never happened .”
Robbins rubbed his face with his palms as Grant shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
“I’m sorry, Matty.”
Robbins waved the comment away. “It’s okay. I haven’t slept much, nerves are shot.”
“I understand,” Grant gave him a pained smile. “Shit, do I understand. If I’m lucky enough to live through this, my head will probably be on the block.”
“Do you have any symptoms?”
“I don’t think so. I’m a little run down, but aside from that, I feel normal. It seems some people and animals, like you and me apparently, have a natural immunity to the virus. But immunities don’t seem genetically inherited. From what I know, a body’s ability to fight off the disease is as random as the viral mutation.”
Robbins exhaled deeply and then was quiet for a moment, head sifting through the new information, eager to get at the answers on the flash drive, hoping he could actually do something with it. He looked down at the USB drive in his palm, then he regarded Grant as the man finished his coffee.
“So, where are you staying?” Robbins asked.
“In a storage room at H-systems.” Grant smiled grimly.
“You’re welcome to stay here. Kammie lives in Commerce in her own apartment these days. I’ve got plenty of room.”
“Thanks, Matty. I might take you up on that.” Grant stood to go.
Robbins knew Grant wouldn’t be back.
“Heading out?”
“Yeah. There’s a lot to be done. Lots of sick folks out at the facilities, too.” Grant put his hand on the door. “I mean it about you finding the antidote.”
“We’ll see. It’ll be damned difficult, if not impossible, without direct access to a research lab.”
Grant smiled. “I’ll call soon.”
“Okay. Take care of yourself,” Robbins said. Something in his gut told him this was the last time he would see Grant Weir alive. Grant wouldn’t have handed over classified information if he intended to be around to take shit for the crime after the fact. There wasn’t anything left to say. Robbins knew Grant well enough to trust that he understood the implications of what he’d done. He wouldn’t have done anything of the sort if it weren’t the last best chance to stop the epidemic. The gravity of it weighed him down, and he felt heavy with sadness as he walked Grant to the door.
“Thank you, Matty.”
“For what?”
“Being a friend.”
“Aw, now, Grant, us old guys have to stick together. There’s too much history between us.” Robbins smiled, and then he shook his finger at Grant. “And another thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t do anything stupid.”
Grant laughed, and then walked to his car. Robbins stood at the open front door until Grant’s car was no longer visible on the street. He closed the door and leaned against it. “Goodbye old friend,” he said to the empty room.
He took a deep breath and reached for that phantom pack of smokes. Instead of finding cigarettes, his hand brushed against the phone in his t-shirt pocket. At the thought of old friends, he remembered Hoover and Burt.
Robbins flipped open the phone and found he had an unchecked message.
Navigating the phone’s menu, he saw it was a picture message. From Hoover.
Heart pounding, he opened the message so it displayed the image of Burt — crazed and slick with blood, coming toward Hoover as he snapped the shot and sent it off.
Infected.
His heart pounding, Robbins punched in Hoover’s number. The phone rang and then automatically transferred to voice mail. “Damn. Damn. No. Aww, shit, not Hoover.” He slumped to the floor, cradling the phone in his hand.
CHAPTER 9
Dejah sat in her Pathfinder, overlooking the scene
“We know you didn’t mean to shoot anybody, Matty. You just cracked, that’s all.”
“Well, thank God all of that is top secret, huh? No one would hire a doctor known for murderous rampages, now would they?”
“That was a long time ago, and it never happened .”
Robbins rubbed his face with his palms as Grant shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
“I’m sorry, Matty.”
Robbins waved the comment away. “It’s okay. I haven’t slept much, nerves are shot.”
“I understand,” Grant gave him a pained smile. “Shit, do I understand. If I’m lucky enough to live through this, my head will probably be on the block.”
“Do you have any symptoms?”
“I don’t think so. I’m a little run down, but aside from that, I feel normal. It seems some people and animals, like you and me apparently, have a natural immunity to the virus. But immunities don’t seem genetically inherited. From what I know, a body’s ability to fight off the disease is as random as the viral mutation.”
Robbins exhaled deeply and then was quiet for a moment, head sifting through the new information, eager to get at the answers on the flash drive, hoping he could actually do something with it. He looked down at the USB drive in his palm, then he regarded Grant as the man finished his coffee.
“So, where are you staying?” Robbins asked.
“In a storage room at H-systems.” Grant smiled grimly.
“You’re welcome to stay here. Kammie lives in Commerce in her own apartment these days. I’ve got plenty of room.”
“Thanks, Matty. I might take you up on that.” Grant stood to go.
Robbins knew Grant wouldn’t be back.
“Heading out?”
“Yeah. There’s a lot to be done. Lots of sick folks out at the facilities, too.” Grant put his hand on the door. “I mean it about you finding the antidote.”
“We’ll see. It’ll be damned difficult, if not impossible, without direct access to a research lab.”
Grant smiled. “I’ll call soon.”
“Okay. Take care of yourself,” Robbins said. Something in his gut told him this was the last time he would see Grant Weir alive. Grant wouldn’t have handed over classified information if he intended to be around to take shit for the crime after the fact. There wasn’t anything left to say. Robbins knew Grant well enough to trust that he understood the implications of what he’d done. He wouldn’t have done anything of the sort if it weren’t the last best chance to stop the epidemic. The gravity of it weighed him down, and he felt heavy with sadness as he walked Grant to the door.
“Thank you, Matty.”
“For what?”
“Being a friend.”
“Aw, now, Grant, us old guys have to stick together. There’s too much history between us.” Robbins smiled, and then he shook his finger at Grant. “And another thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t do anything stupid.”
Grant laughed, and then walked to his car. Robbins stood at the open front door until Grant’s car was no longer visible on the street. He closed the door and leaned against it. “Goodbye old friend,” he said to the empty room.
He took a deep breath and reached for that phantom pack of smokes. Instead of finding cigarettes, his hand brushed against the phone in his t-shirt pocket. At the thought of old friends, he remembered Hoover and Burt.
Robbins flipped open the phone and found he had an unchecked message.
Navigating the phone’s menu, he saw it was a picture message. From Hoover.
Heart pounding, he opened the message so it displayed the image of Burt — crazed and slick with blood, coming toward Hoover as he snapped the shot and sent it off.
Infected.
His heart pounding, Robbins punched in Hoover’s number. The phone rang and then automatically transferred to voice mail. “Damn. Damn. No. Aww, shit, not Hoover.” He slumped to the floor, cradling the phone in his hand.
CHAPTER 9
Dejah sat in her Pathfinder, overlooking the scene
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