The McClane Apocalypse Book Three Read Free

tasting,
sterilizing, mouth solution. She tastes like a mixture of mint and
a chlorine chemical factory, but on the bright side she no longer
has morning breath.
    "Samantha, keep an eye on the patients for a
moment while I confer with Dr. McClane," Grandpa says lightly.
    The young girl looks confused.
    "But I thought that you were Dr. McClane,
sir," Sam says.
    "We're both Dr. McClane. She's just the
young pup version, and I'm the older, more distinguished gentleman
version," he tells her.
    Grandpa shows her how to hold the breathing
treatment mask on Garrett's small face. Then he follows Reagan
outside with both clipboards.
    The sun is just starting to rise as they
both sit on the cement stoop outside of the shed. John stands
behind them with his rifle in both hands.
    "Look at these notes. I've been scratching
my head all night over them. I sure wish I could get into a lab
right now and look at all of this under scopes, grow a culture and
get some chest x-rays done," Grandpa bemoans.
    "I know. A CBC, liver enzyme check and some
specimens would be great at this point. This sucks. This wasn't
exactly how I thought I'd be spending my first year in medicine. I
was about a second away from hitting that kid with adrenaline. This
is like some Old Testament shit. Maybe we should sacrifice one of
those damn goats and see what happens. Might work better," she
complains, and John and Grandpa both chuckle softly. Their laughter
is short-lived, though, as the situation is grim and downright
depressing, and they all know it.
    "Doc, should Reagan have given that kid
mouth to mouth? I mean, couldn't she get that sickness from him?"
John asks.
    He's standing behind her, his voice etched
with concern. John's turning into her constant protector, it seems,
and it's not something she likes to dwell on. There are a lot of
things between them lately that she doesn't want to dwell on.
    "She sterilized afterwards, and she's been
vaccinated for just about anything you can possibly catch. You
probably have been, too, being in the Army. But this could be
something we've never seen before," Grandpa says.
    "How's that?" John asks.
    Reagan cuts in on this one, "Because
sickness can morph, change, become resistant to drugs and transform
into what you could call biological warfare or super bugs capable
of wiping out millions of people or animals. They can change into
something that we can't cure because we can't research them and
come up with drugs that will kill them. Not anymore. Unless someone
knows how to get into the Center for Disease Control. Hell, that is
if it's even still there," Reagan explains sarcastically and looks
up at John.
    He shrugs, but Grandpa puts in, "The C.D.C.
is still there for now. Or at least it was six months ago when I
last heard and could make outside contact. There isn't much they
can do other than keep it locked down. The C.D.C. and W.H.O.
centers have so many biological weapons-grade diseases stored for
research and for use to make cures that there's no way they could
completely close it. At least they can't unless they are going to
destroy all of the samples first. But for all we know, the people
there could've abandoned it."
    "I'm sure they did. If they had families,
too, then they probably left," Reagan agrees with a nod. "I
couldn't go to sleep last night. It just kept bugging me. This
presents like bronchitis or pneumonia, but the blood, the weakness,
dehydration and liver damage points to something else."
    There were other reasons she couldn't go to
sleep last night, but they had nothing to do with sickness and
disease. She'd been hypothesizing about the night she and John
returned from the city and he'd kissed her in her closet before
they went to bed. She'd written it off to being too exhausted, his
irrational kissing of her. Had he actually wanted to? Doubtful. But
sometimes when she actually makes eye contact with John, he looks
at her that same way he had right before he'd kissed her two nights
ago. He's staring at