Page 56 of Sick of You

“You made up that statistic.”

“What? No! Hashtag science.” There weren’t many other people I could joke around with like this, instead of having to be the perfect, serious doctor—but I wasn’t sure jokes were enough to keep his mind occupied.

He tapped the remote three more times, then stilled. “I maintained Napa Health’s biologic emergency information sheets.”

I was silent for a long time, trying to find the right words. All too often, my patients’ lack of medical knowledge was a hindrance to their treatment, as we’d have to expend time and effort explaining why each step was medically necessary in the wake of Internet “experts.”

But Davis was literally the man who knew too much now. “Think about all the headlines you’ve seen over the years about fake attacks.”

He nodded. Not convinced.

He couldn’t sit here and stew about the possibilities. “I can probably get to your phone if you really want. Is there any contact info you need—”

“No.”

“Anyone I can call for you?”

Davis met my eyes, and this time, his were steeled. “No.”

“Okay, great.” As much as I wanted to pry further, I couldn’t forget how he’d argued with me every time I’d come close to talking about his brother. Silence settled over us, punctuated only by my breathing apparatus, and Davis began tapping the remote again.

A bell began ringing like an old-school alarm clock. Davis looked up. “What’s that?”

I had to mentally run though my PPE systems to find the cause: I’d been in this PPE for more than thirty minutes. Even with minimal movement, this was the maximum I could make it on this oxygen tank. “It’s a low-air alarm.”

Davis met my gaze. I would have to leave him.

I stepped forward and gently took the remote from his hands. I obviously didn’t have time to channel surf at work, but I quickly found the History channel. Anything to keep his mind off his anxiety. “Here. AppreciateAncient Aliens.”

He gave me a mock salute. “All right.”

“And... avoid any apprehension. Okay?”

He nodded.

“You’re in good hands, I promise.”

Davis raised an eyebrow, eyeing my hands, encased in solid PPE. In a very literal sense, he was not going to be in anyone’s hands for a long time.

Before I could recover with another joke, Davis met my gaze again. “Thank you.” His voice was low, soft and husky.

“You bet,” I said, turning away before I could betray any emotion. With a final wave, I left for the HEPA hallway and degowning anteroom. As much as I wanted to rip off every piece of the heavy, suffocating suit, I had to slowly and carefully remove each piece to not contaminate anything else.

I ripped apart the Velcro holding the flap down to access the zipper pull on the giant metal zipper. The gloves were not designed for maximum dexterity, but I managed to grip the pull and tug (and tug and tug) it open.

Careful not to touch the contaminated outside of the suit, I maneuvered myself out of the hood and the hump, as it was so adorably named. Try as I might, I couldn’t pull the suit off once, twice—before I realized it was stuck on my air tank, which was still ringing. I glanced back at Davis. Of course he had to be watching me through the glass doors.

I flashed him a thumbs up, and he returned the sign.

At last, I extricated myself from the suit and secured it in a biohazard bag. At the next stop in the corridor, I removed my breathing mask, finally turning off the tank’s alarm, and washed and removed my inner gloves and then washed again.

At last I was out of the suit and out of the corridor. The cool air over my sweaty scrubs felt amazing, as did drawing a full breath, and I couldn’t wait to find my water bottle.

Leaving Davis behind, on the other hand...

I looked back through the glass doors to his isolation room, watching Davis as he settled in to stare at the screen. At the last second, his gaze flicked to mine, watching me instead until I waved goodbye.

This was all terribly wrong—Davis being attacked, Davis stuck here, Davis alone.

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