Outer Banks (13 page)

“Yes?”

“Dillon?” Corey's voice came through.

“Yep.” I looked at Emery who glanced over at me. “What's up? You okay?”

“I need to ask you something and I want you to tell me the truth,” he said.

“Okay. There is no Santa Claus. Sorry, but that's the truth. Pretty sure there's no Tooth Fairy, either. Jury is still out on the Easter Bunny.”

“Shut up.” He didn't even laugh.

“What's wrong?” That was gold. He should have at least chuckled.

“You remember the last time you were here?”

“Yeah.”

“You asked me to talk to someone on the street.”

“Right.”

“Well, I went to find her the other night. Maybe put in a good word for you. She's gone.”

“I see.” I didn't know if I would need to keep this a secret from Corey. “What kind of good word were you going to put in?” I asked.

“The point is she's not here anymore. I asked a guard and he said she probably baked herself on the beach, but I'm not sure.”

“If the guard thinks that's what happened to her then that must be what happened,” I said.

“You're sure? I mean, you didn't…”

“I don't know what I can say.”

With that, Emery came over to the table and took my phone.

“Hi, Corey. How's the rash?”

“Oh my God!” I heard him shout while Em laughed.

Shit. That was not smart. What if someone was listening?

“Don't worry about Dillon. He's a good guy. He wouldn't hurt anyone.”

“I didn't think he would. I just…”

“Sure. Take care of yourself.” She handed my phone back with a wink.

“Does that answer your questions?” I shook my head as I got back on the line. What was done was done.

“You dog!” he chided me.

“It's not like that.”

“Wow. I have never wanted to be a hot, blonde chick more than I do right now.” He snickered.

“It's a job,” I said with a wince. “She's a doctor. She's giving us
hope
.” Not that I could say what that hope was.

“I didn't really think you would have done anything bad to her.”

I rolled my eyes. “Thank you.” Such high expectations I was living up to.

“So no Santa, huh? That's harsh.”

“Sorry to break it to you.”

“Well, have a good time with the doctor.” I gave up. There'd be no convincing him there was nothing going on here. “Guess I'll talk to you later.”

“Later.” I disconnected the call and picked up a roll. “That wasn't smart, but thanks for reassuring him,” I said to Emery as I pulled off a piece of the soft, warm bread and popped it in my mouth. “At least he's not thinking the worst.”

“He looks up to you. We couldn't very well have him doubting the ethics of his hero.”

“I'm no hero.”

“You're not a hero or a prince? What are you, Dillon McAllister?”

“Not much. Just a guy with a van.” I shook my head and looked down at the table.

She raised her brow. “I don't believe that.”

Before I was finished with my second roll, the baked ziti came out of the oven and was placed on the table. I watched as she put a berry cobbler in the oven next.

“Em, I feel bad.”

“You don't like ziti?”

“It smells delicious, though I've never had it before. It's just hard to appreciate it when you can't eat it too.”

She laughed at me. “I don't want any of this. I just enjoy cooking it. I sure don't want to go to all this effort just for it to be thrown away. I'll enjoy watching you enjoy it.”

I tilted my head. “Join me.”

“I can't—”

“No. I know. I mean, with something that is more appealing to you.”

Emery made a face. “I can't drink blood in front of you while you try to eat your dinner. That's disgusting.”

“It's not disgusting, Em. I'm fine with it.” I shrugged and looked at the dish. “Please eat with me so I can enjoy my amazing meal without the guilt.”

“Oh, fine!” She threw her hands in the air and went to the refrigerator. She got out a bag and then retrieved a wine glass from the cabinet. After pouring the blood into the glass she came to sit with me.

I got an extra plate and put it in front of her with some food on it, and then served myself.

“What is this?” She pointed down at the plate in front of her.

I smiled. “That's my seconds. You're just looking after it for me.”

“So, sitting with someone who isn't eating bothers you, but this,” she tapped her wine glass, “doesn't?”

“That's right.” I dug in. I didn't even try to suppress how good it tasted.

“I can't tell you the last time I've had food that hasn't come from a fast food joint or a microwaveable box. This is spectacular.”

“I'm glad you like it.”

“So… Any big ideas yet?” I almost whispered.

“Nope!” The “P” came out like a popping sound.

“Maybe we should try again tomorrow?” I suggested. “Maybe steak would be more inspiring.” I raised my brows, making her laugh.

We talked for a while as we cleaned up from dinner.

“I'd better go do some work,” she sighed once the kitchen was clean again.

“All right, good luck.” I looked around the living room for something to keep me occupied.

“Do you want to watch?” she asked sheepishly.

“I won't be in the way?”

“In the way of what? I haven't done anything yet.” She snorted and started back down the hall. “Though you do take up a lot of room.” She looked me up and down. “You're big.” She pointed out.

“Slightly larger than average,” I corrected.

“Uh huh.”

I took her up on her invitation to sit with her. After-midnight television sucked anyway.

I pulled one of the stools over to the wall and sat out of the way while she chuckled and shook her head. It might have seemed silly, but I sure didn't want to be the reason three hundred thousand people didn't get a cure.

She washed her hands with antibacterial gel, put on gloves and laid out a thick paper towel. She opened a drawer, pulling out a few more things. I couldn't really see from over by the wall. I probably wouldn't have known what it was anyway.

She wrapped a large round rubber band around her left biceps and pulled it tight with her teeth. Uh oh.

I sat up straighter, and looked at the counter. A needle.

“What are you doing?”

“I'm taking a fresh blood sample so I can study the alien fluid. Despite what you might have heard, it's not all alien—there are traces of human blood left throughout the ichor. We think it's used as a kind of map to let the fluid mimic key functions in our organs.”

“Does it have to come out of
your
body?”

She made a show of looking around the barren room. “I don't see any other candidates. However, I could use some of your blood too if you don't mind. Tons in the fridge, but fresher is better.”

“Uh… I guess so.” She pulled the needle out once the syringe was full of dark black goo.

She arranged another set of supplies and turned to me with a fresh needle and syringe.

“Your turn.” She twitched her finger for me to come closer. I cautiously obliged. “I'm a doctor, Dillon. Relax. It's not going to hurt.” She tied the tourniquet around my arm.

“That's a lie right there,” I mocked. “It's a needle, going into your skin. Of course it's going to hurt.”

“You're done.”

I looked down to see her holding a cotton ball over my tiny wound. The syringe in her hand was bright red. “You big baby.”

“Huh!” I said in surprise as she rolled her eyes.

I went back to my stool and watched as she prepped a few slides and put them in the microscope.

She stood up and looked at the ceiling as if the answer was written on the tile. I even looked up to make sure it wasn't.

“Hmph,” she grunted and went back to the microscope again. She switched slides and then put drops of our blood on the same slide.

I remembered being eight, and making a blood bond with the boy next door. Tim was his name. He moved away two months later and I never saw him again, but it had been a sacred moment of friendship. This kind of felt similar. Stupid, I know, but it's how I felt.

I started to get sleepy and when I looked at the clock on the wall, I realized why. It was close to daybreak.

“Time for bed, Dr. Mitchell,” I announced.

“I was just about to—” The alarm on my phone went off.

“It doesn't matter what you were about to do,” I interrupted. “It will be here waiting for you when you wake up.”

“I can finish this,” She looked at me and then back to the microscope.

“You can fall face first in a petri dish is what you can do. Come on. I know you can feel it, stop pretending.” I held my hand out toward the door. “Let's go,” I ordered.

We didn't make it. I reached for her just as her eyes closed and her face dropped to the table. She was out cold.

“Shit.” Thankfully, I was able to carry her to bed. I closed the drapes in her room. The windows were UV protected, but it still made me nervous to see the sun shining on her skin.

Once I made sure she looked comfortable, I left and locked the door.

As I passed the lab I went in and checked the slide in the microscope. The slide that contained both our blood.

I was no expert, but it appeared as if her blood was
consuming
mine, making the entire sample black. That was disturbing. No wonder transfusions alone didn't work.

I backed away from the equipment and went to my room. It was perhaps the first thing about the Haunts that truly creeped me out, though I would never tell Emery that.

It took me a long time to fall asleep. I kept seeing the black cells in my mind. I turned on the TV and the talk shows put me under in minutes.

When I got up I had a bowl of Cheerios, watched some TV and did a load of laundry. I unlocked Emery's room and went on the deck to watch the stars come out until she woke up. A little while later my phone rang. I recognized the area code. Corey.

“Don't start,” I greeted him with a warning.

“Hey, Dillon.” His voice was strained.

“What's up?” I could tell the answer wasn't going to be good from his tone, but it seemed reasonable to ask. “What's wrong?”

“I got beat up—” The phone cut out as expected. It was that time of night.

“Are you okay? Did they try to take your game? I told you to just give it up. I didn't want you getting hurt over it.” I stood up and started to pace.

“I'm fine now. They didn't get it. I hid it. The batteries are dead because I couldn't charge it, but I still have it. It's mine,” he said firmly.

“Sorry,” I offered, covering many different things. I was sorry I ever took him there. Sorry I'd given him something that made him a target. Sorry he was too stubborn to see it wasn't worth getting beaten up over.

“When do you think you'll stop by next?”

“Probably not for a while.”

“You'll be hangin' with the doctor?” he said, his voice full of scandal.

“Yes.”

“
Ooooh.
Dillon and the doctor!” he sang.

“I told you not to start.”

“So how's it going with the whole
hope
thing?” he said. Maybe he did have a clue what I'd meant by that.

“Slow.”

“Figures. By the time I get the chance to eat real food again, I'll need dentures.”

“I'll see what I can do about speeding up the schedule.”

I rolled my eyes for my own benefit as Corey chuckled. He was family. Distant, yes, but it still meant something.

“Later, Dillon.”

“Later, brat.”

Emery came out a bit later. Her hair was in a ponytail and she was wearing workout clothes.

“Going for a run?”

“More like a fast paced walk. You want to come along?”

“I probably should.” My protective instincts were at play. I knew CPR. I sure didn't want to have to use it on Emery.

“Sometimes ideas came to me during my runs.”

“All right, well, let's go see if we can chase one down.” I smiled. “Give me a minute to change.”

When I came downstairs she was already outside looking up at the stars.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Yep.”

“Try to keep up,” she joked and took off.

She did pretty well, managing a jog rather than just a fast paced walk. She was faster than any Haunt I'd seen before. Not that it lasted very long. She needed to stop for a break after just a few minutes.

“This sucks!” She kicked the stones by the side of the mountain road. “I hate being like this!” she screamed. Her voice echoed back to us, multiplying her anger.

She sat on the dirt road and put her head on her knees.

“Emery?”

She looked up at me.

“Everyone faces challenges in their lives. They can be used to defeat us or make us stronger.”

“Are you saying I need to stop feeling sorry for myself?”

“I tried to make it sound a little nicer.” But she was right. There were plenty of uninfected people who couldn't go out for a run either. Look at that Hawking guy. She needed to focus on the things she could do instead of what she couldn't.

“I still don't have a clue. What am I supposed to do, Dillon?”

“Relax. I think maybe chasing an idea is the wrong approach. Maybe you should lie in wait, ready to ambush it when one comes out of hiding.”

Her brows rose. “Where do you suggest I lie in wait?”

“Where every brilliant idea lurks. In front of the television, of course.” I sniffed, making her laugh.

“I guess I can give it a try,” she conceded as we walked back to the house at a leisurely pace.