Thinking back to the long car ride from the city, Jack realized it would have been hard for them not to have contracted his illness. During the ride Jack’s symptoms were peaking, and symptoms of the flu often peaked with maximum viral production. Each of Jack’s sneezes and coughs had undoubtedly sent millions of the infective virions into the car’s confined space.
Still, Jack couldn’t be sure. Besides, his real worry was facing the Black Kings in the morning. He had more pressing concerns than the health of his captors.
Jack yanked futilely at the drain with the short chain between the handcuffs. All he succeeded in doing was to make a racket and abrade his wrists more than they already were.
“Shut up!” Richard yelled after having been awakened by the clamor.
He switched on a table lamp, then was immediately overwhelmed by a fit of coughing.
“What’s happening?” Terese asked groggily.
“The animal is restless,” Richard rasped. “God, I need some water.”
He sat up, waited for a moment, then got to his feet. “I’m dizzy,” he said. “I might even have a fever.”
He walked hesitantly into the kitchen and got a glass. As he was filling it, Jack thought about knocking his legs out from under him. But he decided that would only win him another blow to the head.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” Jack said.
“Shut up,” Richard said.
“It’s been a long time,” Jack said. “It’s not as if I’m asking to go for a run in the yard. And if I don’t go, it’s going to be unpleasant around here.”
Richard shook his head in resignation. After he took a drink of water, he called out to Terese that her services were needed. Then he got the gun from the kitchen table.
Jack heard Richard cock the gun. The move narrowed Jack’s options.
Terese appeared with the key. Jack noticed her eyes had a glazed, feverish look. She bent down under the sink and unlocked one side of the handcuffs without a word. She backed away as Jack got to his feet.
As before, the room swam before his eyes. Some escape artist, he thought cynically. He was weak from lack of food, sleep, and liquids. Terese relocked the handcuffs.
Richard marched directly behind Jack with the gun at the ready. There was nothing that Jack could do. When he got to the bathroom he tried to close the door.
“Sorry,” Terese said, using her foot to block it. “You lost that privilege.”
Jack looked from one to the other. He could tell there was no use arguing. He shrugged and turned around to relieve himself. When he was finished he motioned toward the sink. “How about washing my face,” he asked.
“If you must,” Terese said. She coughed but then held herself in check. It was obvious her throat was sore.
Jack stepped to the sink, which was out of the line of Terese’s sight.
After turning on the water, Jack surreptitiously got out his rimantadine and took one of the tablets. In his haste he almost dropped the vial before getting it back into his pocket.
He glanced at himself in the mirror and recoiled. He looked significantly worse than he had that morning, thanks to the new laceration high on his forehead. It was gaping and needed stitches if it was to heal without a scar. Jack laughed at himself. What a time to worry about cosmetics!
The trip back to the spot of Jack’s internment was without incident.
There were a few moments when Jack was tempted to try something, but each time his courage failed him. By the time Jack was again locked up under the sink he felt disappointed in himself and correspondingly despondent. He had the disheartening sense that he’d just let his last chance of escape slip by.
“Do you want any soup?” Terese asked Richard.
“I’m really not hungry,” Richard admitted. “All I want is a couple of aspirin. I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck.”
“I’m not hungry either,” Terese said. “This is more than a cold. I’m sure I have a fever too. Do you think we should be worried?”