hated herself for it.
The first isolation ward had been set up within an hour of Mack’s arrival two days before. This was standard protocol at any outbreak site, as a means of quarantining and treating the sick. Problem was, no one had been sick. Just dead.
Three distance barriers covered the entrance to the ward, as well as a separate isolated exit, which held a contaminated-materials bin and disinfectant boot baths. A rough structure—the camp’s former medical center— built from wood and canvas. Mack’s team had duct-taped layers of plastic sheeting over the flimsy walls and across the dirt floor, sealing in the room except for small vents in the ceiling. A portable air conditioner run by a rumbling generator pumped in cold air. Rikki felt the chill of it race across her skin, then Mack pulled her to a curtained area just outside the ward. Floodlights burned. Mosquitoes buzzed.
Mack brought out a bottle of bleach. Rikki’s heart jumped.
“We need to get this over with,” he said. Rikki nodded, jaw tight as steel, and watched as he began diluting the disinfectant with water. He poured it all in a pump and screwed on the hose. Ready to spray her within an inch of her life and send every germ packing to hell.
“I’ll do it myself,” Rikki said.
“You can’t reach everywhere,” Mack replied.
“Still looking for an excuse to see my ass?”
The skin above his surgical mask reddened. “You know the protocol.”
Yes, she did. She’d been the one holding the hose on several occasions, and this, she figured, was karma coming to kick her derriere. “Bend the rules, Mack. I’m trained. I won’t miss any spots. I’ll come out of here so clean I’ll be raw.”
Mack hesitated, then shook his head. “I know how to be impersonal. Let’s just do it fast and get it over with.”
Not the words she wanted to hear. Panic touched her throat. Walls, closing in. Rikki reached for the hose, but Mack pulled it away, out of reach. She tried again and he did the same, frowning. “Rikki. Let me.”
“Jesus, what am I, five? I’m a big girl.” She tried one more time to take the hose, but Mack stepped back, eyebrows furrowed in an obstinate frown. It was a look she wanted to wipe right off his face. Her hand closed into a fist. He gave her an even sharper look. Rikki did not care. She wanted to hit him. She was desperate to hit him.
Get hold of yourself. It’s not his fault. He doesn’t know. He wasn’t there.
Just doing his job. Being thorough. Refusing to leave her the hell alone.
Rikki held her ground. She did not unclench her fist. Mack stared like he was seeing her for the first time, and she supposed he was. She just did not want him to see the rest of her.
The plastic curtains rustled. One of the nurses poked her head in. Her name—RUTH—was scrawled in black letters on the forearm of her biohazard suit sleeve.
“The other man is prepped and ready to be disinfected,” she said, talking slower and slower as her gaze darted between the two doctors. Picking up on the tension.
Rikki still held Mack’s gaze. Her fingers uncurled, painful. “Take him first.”
Mack’s eyes narrowed. “No.”
“Fuck you, Hardson.”
“You first,” he replied, so quiet anyone else would have thought he was being gentle—except for that edge, that soft edge. “Now get undressed. We have to get you clean. There’s still a chance.”
“I am not getting naked in front of you.”
“Then Ruth.”
“No.”
“For fuck’s sake, this is serious. You need help—”
The curtain rattled, interrupting him. Ruth—who had been shamelessly watching their exchange—yelped rather loudly as a long dark hand reached around her. It was the man. And he was naked.
Rikki tried not to look, but there was too much muscle and smooth rich skin, and his eyes—those eyes watching her like she was a prism burning rainbows—were so intensely hot she felt branded with his stare; cut, cocooned, pinned, and wrapped so tight
The first isolation ward had been set up within an hour of Mack’s arrival two days before. This was standard protocol at any outbreak site, as a means of quarantining and treating the sick. Problem was, no one had been sick. Just dead.
Three distance barriers covered the entrance to the ward, as well as a separate isolated exit, which held a contaminated-materials bin and disinfectant boot baths. A rough structure—the camp’s former medical center— built from wood and canvas. Mack’s team had duct-taped layers of plastic sheeting over the flimsy walls and across the dirt floor, sealing in the room except for small vents in the ceiling. A portable air conditioner run by a rumbling generator pumped in cold air. Rikki felt the chill of it race across her skin, then Mack pulled her to a curtained area just outside the ward. Floodlights burned. Mosquitoes buzzed.
Mack brought out a bottle of bleach. Rikki’s heart jumped.
“We need to get this over with,” he said. Rikki nodded, jaw tight as steel, and watched as he began diluting the disinfectant with water. He poured it all in a pump and screwed on the hose. Ready to spray her within an inch of her life and send every germ packing to hell.
“I’ll do it myself,” Rikki said.
“You can’t reach everywhere,” Mack replied.
“Still looking for an excuse to see my ass?”
The skin above his surgical mask reddened. “You know the protocol.”
Yes, she did. She’d been the one holding the hose on several occasions, and this, she figured, was karma coming to kick her derriere. “Bend the rules, Mack. I’m trained. I won’t miss any spots. I’ll come out of here so clean I’ll be raw.”
Mack hesitated, then shook his head. “I know how to be impersonal. Let’s just do it fast and get it over with.”
Not the words she wanted to hear. Panic touched her throat. Walls, closing in. Rikki reached for the hose, but Mack pulled it away, out of reach. She tried again and he did the same, frowning. “Rikki. Let me.”
“Jesus, what am I, five? I’m a big girl.” She tried one more time to take the hose, but Mack stepped back, eyebrows furrowed in an obstinate frown. It was a look she wanted to wipe right off his face. Her hand closed into a fist. He gave her an even sharper look. Rikki did not care. She wanted to hit him. She was desperate to hit him.
Get hold of yourself. It’s not his fault. He doesn’t know. He wasn’t there.
Just doing his job. Being thorough. Refusing to leave her the hell alone.
Rikki held her ground. She did not unclench her fist. Mack stared like he was seeing her for the first time, and she supposed he was. She just did not want him to see the rest of her.
The plastic curtains rustled. One of the nurses poked her head in. Her name—RUTH—was scrawled in black letters on the forearm of her biohazard suit sleeve.
“The other man is prepped and ready to be disinfected,” she said, talking slower and slower as her gaze darted between the two doctors. Picking up on the tension.
Rikki still held Mack’s gaze. Her fingers uncurled, painful. “Take him first.”
Mack’s eyes narrowed. “No.”
“Fuck you, Hardson.”
“You first,” he replied, so quiet anyone else would have thought he was being gentle—except for that edge, that soft edge. “Now get undressed. We have to get you clean. There’s still a chance.”
“I am not getting naked in front of you.”
“Then Ruth.”
“No.”
“For fuck’s sake, this is serious. You need help—”
The curtain rattled, interrupting him. Ruth—who had been shamelessly watching their exchange—yelped rather loudly as a long dark hand reached around her. It was the man. And he was naked.
Rikki tried not to look, but there was too much muscle and smooth rich skin, and his eyes—those eyes watching her like she was a prism burning rainbows—were so intensely hot she felt branded with his stare; cut, cocooned, pinned, and wrapped so tight
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