Free Blood on the Bayou by Stacey Jay

the next six months.And I most certainly cannot tell you that testing positive could result in you being taken into military custody and held in isolation at Keesler’s Biloxi base, pending a second internal review of your conduct.”
    What the . . . ?
    Who knew Jin had it in him to make sense for so many consecutive sentences?
    Who knew that the FCC could become so completely whacked?
    This is nuts. I’ve never heard of anything like this. The FCC doesn’t drug test their employees or pull them into military custody for a little drug use. After the emergence, Keesler Air Force Base in Biloxi was fortified with iron and redesigned to make room for the families previously living off base. Most military operations were moved to the National Guard base in Gulfport, where immune air force personnel work with the FCC to supervise the camp for the infected. The Keesler camp keeps everyone plenty busy. They don’t go looking for FCC ops to arrest. Only the worst of the worst end up in solitary in a Biloxi prison cell. It’s like I was thinking on the bridge—immune people can practically get away with murder. I know I messed up when I tied up that Breeze addict and left her in the bayou in August, but the FBI found her a few days later. She’s fine, I’ve been reviewed by a respected member of the New Orleans FBI, and all the hand-slapping should be behind me.
    But it isn’t behind me, and this is a lot more serious than a slap on the hand. I don’t do any recreationaldrugs that would show up in a test, but what about the injections? Will they show? Will my cure become my curse when I’m forced to pee in a cup in a few days? If so, how will I explain what I’m on without breaking the promises I’ve made to the Big Man? Even locked up in a military installation, I won’t feel safe. If I break my word, he will find me and kill me. I know that. I know it.
    “This is not fair,” I whisper.
    In another rare display of compassion, Jin-Sang says, “It will be all right.” He must think this is bullshit, too, or he wouldn’t be giving me the heads-up. “Don’t hurry to come in on Wednesday. Take as much time as you need to make sure you’re clean.”
    “Of course I’m clean.” I try to muster up some righteous indignation, but I don’t sound very convincing.
    Ferret Face smirks another knowing smirk.
    “Good.” Jin-Sang doesn’t sound convinced, either. “Then you will do what the people are asking for some weeks, show everyone this is unnecessary precautions, and I will petition to discontinue the testing.”
    “Okay,” I grumble.
    “And then you will move on to your future. Hopefully, that will be here with us.”
    “You really want me back?” I ask, no longer able to keep my surprise at this lovefest concealed.
    “My cousin’s maternity leave ends in three weeks,” Jin says. “She is very excited to show all the baby pictures. She would be sad to learn I let one of her field agents leave the office without protest.”
    “Oh . . . well . . .” I’ve missed Min-Hee; I want to see the baby pictures. I never wanted a stupid transfer, but now I might have no choice. I have to find out if that shot is going to screw me.
    I add another burning question to my list of things to drill Tucker about and tell Jin-Sang, “Thanks. For . . . yeah. See you soon.”
    I hang up the phone to find an eager-looking Ferret Face leaning across the desk with a handful of tea bags. “Tea time? Do you have any scones?”
    He grins, the nicest grin I’ve seen from him so far. “This ain’t just any tea. It’s caterpillar fungus from Tibet. They only make a hundred pounds of this shit a year.”
    “Caterpillar fungus. Yummy.” The deadpan delivery works its magic on FF, who graces me with a grunt-laugh.
    “It tastes like ass flakes. But it works. Haven’t had a positive piss test in six months. We got a fresh shipment in about an hour ago. I bagged it up myself.” He motions for me to hold out my hand and tips the