Pocket Apocalypse
Page 31
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“You’re very kind.” I reached over Shelby and fumbled on the bedside table until I found my glasses and pushed them on, squinting as my focus adjusted. “We’ll be down in a minute.” This was the second time one of the Tanner sisters had been able to sneak up on me while I was sleeping. I was starting to give serious thought to belling the door.
Gabby dimpled at me. “It’s all part of the service. You’re a lot more cute than you looked under that stuffy academic shirt, aren’t you? I’m starting to see what Shelly finds so appealing.”
“I will end you,” said Shelby, voice muffled by the pillow.
“Love you, too,” said Gabby, and fled the room before sororicide could become a genuine threat.
Shelby groaned and pushed herself up onto her elbows, shooting a halfhearted glare in my direction. “Whose idea was it to come back to Australia again? Because at the moment, I’m inclined to blame you.”
“They’re your family,” I said. “You’re the one who asked if I would help them.”
“Right. Damn.” She stood, stretched, and began recovering her clothes from the floor. “I need to duck down the hall to get something suitable for the breakfast table. You going to be all right on your own?”
“I think I can manage getting dressed and walking down the stairs,” I said.
Shelby grinned. “I’m never sure with you.” She stepped into her shorts, pulled her shirt on over her head, and then she was gone, out the door and on the way to her room.
I took more time getting dressed, although I didn’t linger over anything beyond getting my weapons secured inside my clothing. The mice hadn’t made an appearance by the time I had my shirt buttoned and my shoes tied. I glanced around nervously, half expecting to see a mouse head on the floor under the edge of the bed. The wildlife of Australia was nothing to fuck around with. Neither were the Aeslin mice.
If any of them had met an unfortunate end, it wasn’t apparent from the contents of my room. I shook my head, grabbed my jacket off the door, and left the room.
As before, the smell of food greeted me when I reached the head of the stairs. This time, it was accompanied by voices, clear and loud and close. I followed them to the kitchen, where I found the Tanners—minus Shelby, who was still getting dressed—sitting around the kitchen table, passing a platter of ham and another of fried eggs around. Only Gabby looked up when I entered, and her quick, sly smile confirmed that she hadn’t informed her parents about my sleeping arrangements of the night before. For whatever reason, she was keeping that part between us . . . for now.
“Oh, hey, you’re not dead.” Raina raked her eyes along the length of my body before passing judgment: “You still look kind of dead. Maybe you need to sleep more. Sixteen hours out of the last twenty-four isn’t excessive, if you’re a housecat. Are you a housecat?”
“Good morning, Alex,” said Charlotte, apparently deciding that ignoring her middle daughter was the better part of valor. “How did you sleep?”
“Very well, thank you,” I said, following her lead. “I’m not adjusted to local time yet, but I think I’ll be there before much longer.”
“Good,” said Riley. Unlike his wife and daughter, he didn’t sound chatty: he sounded like a man who’d been waiting to get down to business for the better part of an hour, and was ready to go. “Grab a roll and some ham, and let’s get out of here. I have Cooper standing by at the medical station. We’ve cleared the whole thing for your use.”
I nodded. “All right.” I had been expecting something like this, although to be honest, I had been hoping it would happen on the other side of several cups of coffee.
“Here’s a fun fact for you: one in three wildlife rescue stations in this part of the country is run either wholly or in part by the Society,” said Charlotte, her eyes on her husband. “Come on, Riley, let the boy have a decent breakfast before you set him to brewing magic potions to save us from the werewolves.”
“Oh,” I said, unable to come up with a more intelligent response. The thought of having that sort of resources at our disposal was staggering. Most of the time, we had to make do with whatever the local cryptids had set up for themselves, or visit helpful veterinarians who had seen one too many immature lindworms presented as “iguanas” to remain in denial over the cryptid world. Then I paused. “Wait, what is it you’re expecting me to do?”
“You said you could brew the stuff to keep us safe from the werewolves,” said Riley. “So you’re going to do that. You’re going to keep us safe from the werewolves.”
“I also said that it’s not a vaccine, and it’s potentially fatal,” I protested. “It’s an after-the-fact treatment, and while I’m more than happy to mix some up as a last resort, it isn’t going to keep you ‘safe from werewolves,’ and it needs to be made fresh because it doesn’t keep for more than three or four days. If I made enough to treat the whole Society, I’d blow through all the supplies I brought with me from the States and then some, and it would all be bad inside of the week. Small batches are the only way to make this work.”
“How small?” Riley seemed suddenly more tightly wound, like something I had said had caused the string that ran through the center of his body to contract, drawing him inward. It was unnerving, like watching a snake coil in preparation for striking. “Could you treat a dozen people without endangering your precious supplies?”
I tensed. If that was the number of new infections he was expecting within the next week, the situation was even worse than I had suspected. “A dozen I could do,” I said, fighting to keep my tone level. “It would also be useful to start stockpiling more supplies, just in case they’re needed. They hopefully won’t be, but again, I was limited by the carrying capacity of my luggage.”
“Good,” he said. “We’re going to the med station, and you’re mixing up enough to offer the treatment to every Society member who’s been exposed. Am I clear?”
Oh. “Yes,” I said. “I’ll be ready in a minute.” The people who had been bitten before I got to Australia were on the cusp of crossing the line from “may still be saved” into “lost forever.” The treatment could work right up until the first transformation, theoretically, but we had no confirmed instances of it working after fourteen days.
Gabby dimpled at me. “It’s all part of the service. You’re a lot more cute than you looked under that stuffy academic shirt, aren’t you? I’m starting to see what Shelly finds so appealing.”
“I will end you,” said Shelby, voice muffled by the pillow.
“Love you, too,” said Gabby, and fled the room before sororicide could become a genuine threat.
Shelby groaned and pushed herself up onto her elbows, shooting a halfhearted glare in my direction. “Whose idea was it to come back to Australia again? Because at the moment, I’m inclined to blame you.”
“They’re your family,” I said. “You’re the one who asked if I would help them.”
“Right. Damn.” She stood, stretched, and began recovering her clothes from the floor. “I need to duck down the hall to get something suitable for the breakfast table. You going to be all right on your own?”
“I think I can manage getting dressed and walking down the stairs,” I said.
Shelby grinned. “I’m never sure with you.” She stepped into her shorts, pulled her shirt on over her head, and then she was gone, out the door and on the way to her room.
I took more time getting dressed, although I didn’t linger over anything beyond getting my weapons secured inside my clothing. The mice hadn’t made an appearance by the time I had my shirt buttoned and my shoes tied. I glanced around nervously, half expecting to see a mouse head on the floor under the edge of the bed. The wildlife of Australia was nothing to fuck around with. Neither were the Aeslin mice.
If any of them had met an unfortunate end, it wasn’t apparent from the contents of my room. I shook my head, grabbed my jacket off the door, and left the room.
As before, the smell of food greeted me when I reached the head of the stairs. This time, it was accompanied by voices, clear and loud and close. I followed them to the kitchen, where I found the Tanners—minus Shelby, who was still getting dressed—sitting around the kitchen table, passing a platter of ham and another of fried eggs around. Only Gabby looked up when I entered, and her quick, sly smile confirmed that she hadn’t informed her parents about my sleeping arrangements of the night before. For whatever reason, she was keeping that part between us . . . for now.
“Oh, hey, you’re not dead.” Raina raked her eyes along the length of my body before passing judgment: “You still look kind of dead. Maybe you need to sleep more. Sixteen hours out of the last twenty-four isn’t excessive, if you’re a housecat. Are you a housecat?”
“Good morning, Alex,” said Charlotte, apparently deciding that ignoring her middle daughter was the better part of valor. “How did you sleep?”
“Very well, thank you,” I said, following her lead. “I’m not adjusted to local time yet, but I think I’ll be there before much longer.”
“Good,” said Riley. Unlike his wife and daughter, he didn’t sound chatty: he sounded like a man who’d been waiting to get down to business for the better part of an hour, and was ready to go. “Grab a roll and some ham, and let’s get out of here. I have Cooper standing by at the medical station. We’ve cleared the whole thing for your use.”
I nodded. “All right.” I had been expecting something like this, although to be honest, I had been hoping it would happen on the other side of several cups of coffee.
“Here’s a fun fact for you: one in three wildlife rescue stations in this part of the country is run either wholly or in part by the Society,” said Charlotte, her eyes on her husband. “Come on, Riley, let the boy have a decent breakfast before you set him to brewing magic potions to save us from the werewolves.”
“Oh,” I said, unable to come up with a more intelligent response. The thought of having that sort of resources at our disposal was staggering. Most of the time, we had to make do with whatever the local cryptids had set up for themselves, or visit helpful veterinarians who had seen one too many immature lindworms presented as “iguanas” to remain in denial over the cryptid world. Then I paused. “Wait, what is it you’re expecting me to do?”
“You said you could brew the stuff to keep us safe from the werewolves,” said Riley. “So you’re going to do that. You’re going to keep us safe from the werewolves.”
“I also said that it’s not a vaccine, and it’s potentially fatal,” I protested. “It’s an after-the-fact treatment, and while I’m more than happy to mix some up as a last resort, it isn’t going to keep you ‘safe from werewolves,’ and it needs to be made fresh because it doesn’t keep for more than three or four days. If I made enough to treat the whole Society, I’d blow through all the supplies I brought with me from the States and then some, and it would all be bad inside of the week. Small batches are the only way to make this work.”
“How small?” Riley seemed suddenly more tightly wound, like something I had said had caused the string that ran through the center of his body to contract, drawing him inward. It was unnerving, like watching a snake coil in preparation for striking. “Could you treat a dozen people without endangering your precious supplies?”
I tensed. If that was the number of new infections he was expecting within the next week, the situation was even worse than I had suspected. “A dozen I could do,” I said, fighting to keep my tone level. “It would also be useful to start stockpiling more supplies, just in case they’re needed. They hopefully won’t be, but again, I was limited by the carrying capacity of my luggage.”
“Good,” he said. “We’re going to the med station, and you’re mixing up enough to offer the treatment to every Society member who’s been exposed. Am I clear?”
Oh. “Yes,” I said. “I’ll be ready in a minute.” The people who had been bitten before I got to Australia were on the cusp of crossing the line from “may still be saved” into “lost forever.” The treatment could work right up until the first transformation, theoretically, but we had no confirmed instances of it working after fourteen days.
