Free Slow Burn (Book 3): Destroyer by Bobby Adair Page B

unrealistically.”
    “I’m learning new degrees of pessimism every day, but I do know that good things can happen, even with everything that’s going on. Hoping that Steph or any of these other people will be okay isn’t the same as believing they will be.”
    Dr. Evans gave me a half-dozen nods, I guess to emphasize his agreement. “We’re on the same page, then. I don’t know if Steph will make it, but I’m sure some of the seventeen will. At least for me, that was more hope than I came down here with. Let me ask you, Zed. Now that you’re here, are you staying?”
    “No.” Through all the morning’s blood and despair, I’d chosen a path to my hope, and my own hope lay with those that desperate, shared struggle had bonded to me, my new family. “I have people to get back to.”
    “Leaving will be harder than coming.”
    “I don’t know. Coming was pretty hard.”
    “Yes, I guess it was.”
    “Listen, after you finish your experiment with the volunteers, get up on the top floor, stay quiet, and don’t let the infected see you. Eventually, they’ll leave you alone.”
    “I appreciate the advice, and we may do just that, but please do talk to Sergeant Dalhover. He has some opinions about the behavior of the infected that you might find interesting.”
    “Like what?”
    “I’m not in agreement, so it would be better if he explained his position.”
    “Okay. Listen, after I get out of here, I’ll try and find a way to get back in contact with you. My buddy and I are both slow burns; we can move among them without too much danger. We may be able to help you if you start running low on supplies.”
    “Why don’t you both join us?”
    I stifled a sarcastic laugh, “We haven’t had much luck with the uninfected so far.”
    Dr. Evans put a fatherly, trusting hand on my shoulder. “You won’t have any problems here. I know you’re not a danger.”
    “You’re the first.”

Chapter 10
    With a small Styrofoam pitcher full of water—the kind put on the bed trays of patients—along with a few single-serving containers of applesauce, I sat on a chair by Steph while I waited for Dalhover to finish his rounds.
    “You should eat some of this applesauce,” I said, holding a plastic spoonful up to her mouth.
    She shook her head, “Zed, I may still turn. The food shouldn’t be wasted on me.”
    “Drink some water at least.”
    After enough convincing, she finally did.
    “Dalhover hasn’t shot anybody, and he’s almost done. Is that a positive sign?
    Steph shook her head, “I count seven or eight that are acting out. I’m surprised that he didn’t shoot them. Maybe he doesn’t feel comfortable doing it while you’re here.”
    “Why?”
    “Who knows? Maybe it’s guilt. He probably feels bad enough doing it already, and having a stranger watch him do it makes it too hard, too monstrous.”
    “How long have you been a nurse?” I asked.
    “That’s a change of subject,” Steph smiled in surprise.
    “Just curious.”
    “Seven years.”
    “Really?” I hadn’t expected that number.
    “What does that mean?”
    “Ah… I was gonna say that that would make you thirty or thirty one…”
    “Thanks,” Steph said insincerely.
    “But you don’t look that old. I mean, you seem mature but you look like you’re in your mid-twenties.”
    “Mature?”
    I shrugged as I fished for the right words. “Confident. Strong. Not hung up in your pretending you are or aren’t something. Like back in the triage tent. You seemed in control. That was a crazy night, and everything could have fallen apart so much faster than I guess it eventually did. But you’re one of those people who’s kind of like a rock in a storm. It calms the people around you.”
    Steph smiled and almost laughed, “That’s the nicest I’ve heard it said.”
    “What’s that?”
    Steph nodded over at Jeff, “He says I have a stick up my ass all the time.”
    It was my turn for muted laughter.
    “Thanks.” Sarcastically,