Pandemic Page 111

… and a body.

A b.l.o.o.d.y mess of a body, a man, still wearing a black suit, facedown, arms spread out across blood-streaked carpet. His head looked dented, smashed and cracked beneath a wet mop of black hair. In front of him lay a folded metal chair, the side of the seat streaked with blood and matted with bits of that same hair.

Cooper heard the door quietly close behind him.

“We have to hide,” the girl said. “Fast, they’re coming.”

He heard noises outside the door, had images of a horde of villagers storming down some gothic German street, torches raised high as they came to kill the monster — except he was the monster they wanted dead.

Hide? There wasn’t any place to hide. He was in a hotel conference room.

“Please,” the girl said. “I … can’t stand. Help me.”

He turned to look at her. So pale. The pistol hung heavy in her grip, as if it was all she could do to keep it from falling to the floor.

So easy to take it from her …

He pushed the thought away, moved to the back of the room. He tipped two of the round tables on their edges, tops facing the door. Tablecloths fell into wrinkled piles. The tables’ metal legs kept the round tops from rolling.

The end of the world had come, and his defense against the boogeymen was a child’s fort.

He rushed back to the woman. “Come on,” he whispered. “We can lie back here. If they do open the door, maybe they won’t see us and they’ll move on.”

He helped her walk behind the tables.

She stared down at them doubtfully. “This is the best you can do?”

“I left my army tank in my other pants.”

He helped ease her down gently. As soon as she sat, he saw her relax, the last of her fight slipping away.

The girl looked at him through half-lidded eyes. She whispered: “What’s your name?”

“Cooper,” he whispered back. “Yours?”

“Sofia.”

“That’s a s.e.xy name.”

He gave his head a sharp shake. What the h.e.l.l was he doing? Was he hitting on this girl? Now? Or maybe it was a nervous thing, an impulse to make this insanity feel at least a tiny bit normal.

“That’s funny,” she said, “I don’t feel all that s.e.xy right now.”

The noises outside the room grew louder. Whoever it was, they were coming close. It wasn’t just the sound of people talking loudly — Cooper heard doors opening.

Sofia lifted the gun again, but this time b.u.t.t-first. She offered him the handle.

He took it. His hand slid around the grip, his finger felt the cool rea.s.surance of the trigger.

The room’s lights went out — the sensor that detected motion didn’t pick up their movements from behind the tables.

Cooper made himself as small as he could. Gun in hand, he waited.

The room door flew open, letting in dim light from the hall. Cooper gripped the gun tighter … should he pop up and fire? No, no he would wait just a moment more, maybe the person would leave.

On the other side of the overturned table, just fifteen feet away, someone was standing in the doorway.

Cooper waited.

Seconds later, that angular swath of light narrowed, narrowed, blinked out accompanied by the door latch’s soft click.

Cooper leaned to the side, peeked out under the edge of the round tabletop.

It was too dark. He couldn’t see anything.

His right hand held the gun out in front of him. With his left, he reached up above his head and waved.

The lights blinked on: the room was empty.

“They’re gone,” he whispered.

She leaned against him. “Thank G.o.d.”

Sofia slid down to her side, rested her head in his lap. He started to stroke her hair, an automatic movement. Then he realized that while she had checked him for triangles, he had never checked her.

“Your tongue,” he said. “Let me see it.”

She didn’t complain. She looked up at him, opened her mouth wide and stuck out her tongue.

Normal.

“Thanks,” he said.

She put her head back in his lap. He resumed stroking her hair. They were two strangers trying to deal with the incomprehensible, finding small comfort in physical contact.

“Cooper, you got a phone?”

He nodded. “You?”

“Battery’s dead,” she said. “I called 911 about a hundred times. No one answered. I called all my people, same thing. Think maybe I could use yours to call my son?”

Cooper pulled his phone out of his pocket: his battery icon showed one bar out of five. Not much power left. He handed it to her.

She took it, grat.i.tude in her eyes. She slowly dialed a number, put the phone to her ear.

Cooper watched, waited. Sofia’s face held only a shred of hope, a shred that didn’t last long. Cooper heard the mumbled words of someone’s voice mail, then the beep.

“Baby, it’s Momma,” Sofia said. “I’m still alive. If you get this, call me at this number, okay? Please, baby. I love you.”

She disconnected but held the phone to her chest. “I’m sorry to ask this, but do you mind if I hold on to it? I … I just wouldn’t want to miss the call, if it comes in.”

Cooper started to say no, but who was he going to call? Jeff wasn’t answering. Neither was 911. Cooper didn’t know a soul in Chicago. If it gave this woman some comfort to hold on to the phone, that was fine, as long as they stuck together.

“Sure,” he said. “Listen, I’m not a doctor, but maybe I should look at your wound.”