Patient Z Read Free

abandoned deli they’d raided ashore. Cal checked the tub and sipped the soup. “Homemade,” Mitch said and wondered why. He wasn’t here to sell their catering services to Cal.
    They ate in silence, with occasional glances at each other. Mitch felt guilty every time he looked at Cal. It felt like peeping on a guy in his bedroom, since Cal couldn’t leave and escape his gaze. They had at least erected a half-height screen in front of the chemical toilet in the corner of the room so he could get some privacy there. Mitch had another source of guilt, though, aside from the intrusion on Cal’s privacy.
    “I’m sorry about the gag.”
    Cal looked up from sipping on his paper cup of coffee. He didn’t look overly impressed with the brew. It was impossible to find any coffee that wasn’t stale anymore.
    “Yeah, you fucking should be,” he said. “Enjoy that kind of thing, do you? Make you feel like a man in front of the women?”
    “No!” Mitch snapped. “I had no choice. Doctor Burnett is the only doctor we have, and I can’t do anything to risk her life.”
    “You’d have shot me dead if I’d made any kind of move against her, wouldn’t you?”
    “Me or Bren, yes. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is.”
    “I get it.” Cal shrugged and lounged on the cot, the chains clanking as he moved. “She outranks me.” Cal finished his coffee, tossed the paper cup on the tray, and put the tray on the floor. He shoved it toward Mitch with his foot, sending the things on it scattering across the deck. Was that provocation or a test? Did he want to see if Mitch would clear up after him? Mitch stayed in his chair.
    “Can I get you a book or anything?” Mitch asked.
    “Got a big library here, have you?”
    “Not bad.” They brought books back with them every time they went ashore, raiding abandoned libraries and bookstores. Books that taught them everything they needed for survival. Books for the children, liberated from schools. Lots of fiction—almost the only entertainment they had around here, barring board games and a couple of guitars. “I can have someone bring some down for you. What do you like?”
    “Maybe later.” Cal lay down, an arm across his eyes. Mitch watched him, wondering if he was going to sleep. That was a symptom, wasn’t it? By day four or five, an infected person started sleeping almost continually, as if they were already dead. Except you could wake them. Wake them and beg them to stay with you. Beg them not to be dying. Beg them…
    He quickly turned aside from the morbid thoughts. Cal didn’t look ill. Not day-four ill anyway. The doctor had said he was recovering, getting stronger. Maybe he really had been bitten by a dog. And if he had, if in a few days they were letting him out of those chains, a fit, healthy, and damn fine-looking man? What then?
    No sense in thinking about it until it happened. No sense thinking about the possibilities if Cal stayed. Mitch’s gaze roamed over the lean, toned torso and well-defined arms. But he chided himself for it. What made him think Cal even swung his way? Dex always used to say Mitch had the gaydar of an especially dense rock.
    Cal wasn’t sleeping. He sighed heavily and let the arm that had been covering his eyes flop onto the cot. He looked at Mitch again. The guy sure had a direct stare. When he frowned at you, you knew you’d been frowned at. When he’d been giving Mitch a good scowl while they’d had him gagged, Mitch had had to fight a strong urge to back away. He wasn’t frowning now, but it was a hard stare, and it made Mitch uncomfortable. It made the silence oppressive. When it was clear Cal wasn’t going to break that silence himself, Mitch spoke.
    “So, how did you end up on the boat?”
    “You really want to know, or you just making conversation?”
    “Fine.” Mitch sat back in his chair, cradling the rifle in his arms. Just one sign, just one… Cal would thank him for it—from heaven, at least. Better to be