“Okay, Mr. Know-It-All. No one cares. Let’s just get to work.”
He nods with his stupid head. “I’ve been ready. First I want to reassess the patients you have.”
You know, if it weren’t for the condescension in his tone, I wouldn’t have snapped back. “By all means. Let’s redo all my work. I won’t take it personally.”
“Good,” he says. “We have a lot to get done. We’re wasting time.”
He turns his back on me and I consider stabbing him in the jugular with my stylus. It’d be a somewhat painful death, but no less than he deserves. The prick.
I should probably stop fantasizing about ways to kill him.
Even I know we need him. Maybe after he makes a cure for this damn disease no one will notice if I sneak him away and feed him to one of those Big Birds up on the mountain. Except it would probably give them a stomachache.
“Are you listening?”
“Were you saying something important?”
“Everything I say is important.”
He makes it too easy. I know I have to focus, though, so I let the opportunity to insult him pass. There will be many more, I’m sure. “What were you saying?”
“I’d like to reevaluate all your patients for the progression of the disease. If we can map its life cycle, maybe we can target a weakness for the vaccine. I have equipment to synthesize potential treatments, but it’ll take some time.”
“I’ve sent you my notes—”
“I’d like to see them in person.”
I grind my teeth together. “Fine. There are ten still in the Med-Bay isolation units. We can start there.”
It’d be easier if I didn’t like his demanding nature as much as I hated it. I’ve always been in conflict with authority figures. It’s what got me into so much trouble on Earth II. He orders me around the Med-Bay from patient to patient, shoving a tablet at me to take notes on his observations like I’m some sort of fucking secretary.
But if I were being honest with myself…
Maybe I like it a little bit.
Like the way his lips press together when he’s thinking too hard or when he rolls up the sleeves on his lab coat, showing off his forearms that are encased in his tight, protective suit that reveals every curve and vein. I never thought I had a forearm fetish, but Avrell’s make my mouth water.
If only the body weren’t attached to the brain, I wouldn’t be so against “mating” with him. I could use a bout of stress relief after all the shit I’ve been through.
“You know I could design a device for you.”
I pull myself back to reality. “A device?” I ask. Had I said that out loud? My cheeks burn. God, I hope not.
“For your concentration problems. Maybe a collar that sends out a jolt of electricity. That way, when you get distracted, it’ll provide sufficient inducement to stay on topic.”
“You want me to wear a shock collar?”
“Perhaps it would help keep your mind from wandering.”
“Why don’t we shove it up your ass instead? It must be better than the stick you already have up there.”
His brow furrows and his lips press together. Then he waves a hand. “As I was saying, this patient shows a much better resistance to the virus. Take a blood sample so we can analyze it.”
“Yes, sir.” I give a mock salute.
At my words, his shoulders stiffen, then he stalks off to his make-shift desk. Was it the salute, or did he like hearing me call him sir? If I can’t kill him, maybe I can tease him to death until he comes up with a cure. If I don’t, I may go a little mad from having to put up with him.
It’s going to be a long race to the cure.
2
Avrell
Six Solars Until Kevins Arrive…
I’ve wasted too much time. Testing and retesting. Nothing makes sense. Hadrian’s and Theron’s blood seems no different than my own. They appear to be immune, though I can’t know if that applies to me too. And while many of the females contracted The Rades and have been terribly ill, and in some cases perished, some like Zoe also seem immune.
There is nothing under the magnascope that shows any correlation.
Exposure seems important, though. As though some beings—both mort and human—have immunities that quickly defend The Rades. I’m missing something and it’s driving me rekking mad.
It’s been at least eight solars since I traveled to Exilium with the purpose of discovering a cure. I’ve been nothing but a failure. More questions than answers.
My mask is suffocating me. I wear it at all times, protecting myself from the unknown. With each solar that passes, I grow more agitated at having to wear it. What would happen if I just ripped it off and shared the air with the ill? Would I fall victim to the disease or would my body fight like so many others have?
Time is moving by all too quickly.
The Kevins will be here before we know it. Oz has been working diligently on the weapon that I am certain he’ll perfect soon. It’s my hope that he’ll kill them, and it’ll no longer be of our concern.
Our concern is life.
The continuation of our species and the hybrids so many are giving birth to. Molly just had not one, but two, mortlings yesterday. Lyric and Willow are pregnant now too. Our future is precious and delicate, barely balanced on a mountain of what-ifs and a whole rekking lot of hope.
We need certainty.
We need a cure.
We need our population to grow and thrive and once again overtake this planet that rightfully belongs to us.
Think, Avrell. Think.
Perspiration rolls down my temple, tickling my flesh. I need to breathe and think. My stomach grumbles. And eat.
“Here,” Zoe snaps, dropping a plate of seared meat on my desk, though I don’t know from which beast it comes from. “Compliments of Hadrian’s recent hunt. Take a break in your room so you can unmask and eat.”
Normally, I have words for her. Lots of them. This solar, I am weary.
“Many thanks, stormy one.”
She flinches like I’ve struck her. Immediately, concern washes over me.
“What is it?” I ask, cocking my nog to the side to assess her for signs of illness. “Are you feeling unwell?”
Her gray eyes are blazing with intensity as she narrows them at me. “I was thinking you were the unwell one.”
I rise from my seat and take a step toward her, making a mental list of all that seems to be wrong with her.
Hunching shoulders.
Almost sad frown.
Dark rings around her eyes.
Defeat in her gray eyes that have lost their fire from moments before.
“I’m on the cusp,” I murmur as I step closer, wishing I could scent her without the mask between us. “I can feel it. I just…I need to think. Time is slipping away and it’s rekking distracting.”
Her features soften, making her seem so delicate. I have the urge to peel away my glove and touch her skin to see how it feels. Would she feel softer than the other females I’ve come in contact with?
“I…” she trails off. “I need to go check on Julie.”
As soon as she scurries off, I frown in confusion. Did we…Did we just converse without arguing? We must both truly be losing ourselves to the madness of this disease we can’t seem to figure out.