a/n: People are starting to die, so proceed with all appropriate caution. Thank you for the comments! 3

what has happened will never be undone
but tomorrow i think i'll just try to keep the day wide open
and as much as they will have me be with people that i love
The Avett Brothers, "I Should've Spent the Day With my Family"

June 23 - Shoyo, AR
Nick wasn't asleep when he felt the vibration from his phone. It was nearly nine AM, and he hadn't heard from Sheriff Baker, Doc Soames, or anyone with any breakfast for his prisoners. Kai had texted a few hours ago to say Jane Baker seemed to have had a rally, but the Sheriff was going downhill fast.

He didn't want to check his phone. He knew what it would say, and if he just left it in his pocket, pretended he hadn't felt it, then he could go on living in a world where Sheriff Baker was still alive. A man who had been kind to him in ways he'd assumed human beings just didn't do. A man who'd treated him with respect and dignity and trust, given him a job and, more, a purpose.

He maybe could've found his place here in Shoyo, with these people. A place like Kai had in Abilene, but with less relationship drama.

He wandered back to the cells. Mike Childress was sprawled across the bunk, and he didn't look good. Vince Hogan was wide-eyed and pale, and Nick could see the telltale swelling under his jaw. Only his third guest, Billy Warner, seemed more or less okay, but he'd gone from defiant and furious to scared and begging.

Nick couldn't let them out. He'd made a promise to Sheriff Baker, and he wasn't going to let him down. He wondered if Kai could drive them all up to Camden, the Calhoun County Seat. He could ask her to call on his behalf to figure out the details, and then…

Except apparently she was wanted by the cops (or someone) for her boyfriend's "murder," and for all Nick knew there might be posters or something with her picture. Or one of the cops would recognize her from the bulletin. No, getting Kai any nearer to law enforcement than she currently was didn't seem like a good idea.

His phone vibrated again.

With a silent sigh he fished it out and checked the messages.

- Dr Soames just left. I'm sorry, Nick, he's gone. About 30 minutes ago.

- Hey, are you there? Pls let me know you got my message. Mrs Baker v upset, obvs. Gonna stay w her a little longer, wait for funeral home, then head your way. K?

He rubbed furiously at his eyes and dropped down into the desk chair. Gone. Almost an hour ago now. Nick didn't believe in God, and he wasn't the praying type, but he sent a thought out to the ether for someone to look out for John Baker, a good man who defied stereotypes and who hadn't deserved to die like that. He should have gone peacefully, as an old, old man, surrounded by all the people who loved him.

He needed to answer before Kai started to worry. Frowning down at his phone, he typed, - Fuck.

A few seconds passed before it vibrated an answer. - I know. I'm so sorry. I know he was good to you. He was good to me, too.

She didn't know just how good, because Nick hadn't told her about the BOLO. He'd figured it would just upset her, and he didn't need her to tell him she hadn't killed Remy. He knew that already. But Sheriff Baker had trusted Nick's word, and his instincts about her, and hadn't called the number or otherwise turned her in.

- How's Mrs B?

- Holding it together. Still feeling okay; just coughing/sneezing some. Do you think she could defy the odds and get better? Maybe that dr on tv just hadn't seen many patients.

He sent a fingers crossed emoji. Then, - I have to figure out some breakfast for these guys. Childress is sick af, Hogan's meh, but Warner's okay, and hungry.

- I'll call in an order at Ma's. I'll head your way after the funeral home gets here. There was a long pause, then the bubbles appeared again. - I think they're backed up. A lot.

He fought a shiver. - Fuck.

- Again, both succinct and accurate. Gotta go, Mrs B's tea's ready. Talk soon.

He typed and erased four or five emojis before deciding on a peace sign. He wished she were here or he were there. Something about her made him feel steadier and more sure of himself, like a type of psychic ballast.

He tucked the phone back in his pocket and wandered toward the Sheriff's office. It probably wasn't a good idea, but he wanted to check the TV. Maybe there'd been some kind of miracle cure discovered, or the talking heads were saying something new about survival odds. He turned it on and stood back to watch, but what he found dismayed him.

Most channels were playing infomercials. CNN was broadcasting a rerun of Anthony Bourdain: Parts Unknown. MSNBC had on Rachel Maddow from a week ago. Even Fox News was showing some old interview with President Orange. Soap operas or game shows on the major networks and Downton Abbey (of all things) on PBS.

Apparently that avenue of information had been shut down.

He turned it off again and pulled out his phone. When he hit the web browser, a spinning wheel appeared and went round and round until he got a time-out message. Every website he tried gave him the same. He frowned at the symbol in the top right corner: no signal. Wifi, but no cell service. He had just been texting with Kai!

- Hey, are you getting this? My phone's showing no signal. I've got wifi, but can't get on any websites or anything. Also tv is showing nothing now, reruns and crap.

He hit send and waited. And waited. After about two minutes a little red exclamation point appeared next to his message. Send failure. She didn't have an iPhone, so the messages couldn't send over wifi.

"Fuck," he mouthed, silently, and shoved a hand through his hair. It seemed to be the sentiment of the day.

That fast, someone somewhere had flipped some kind of switch, and they were cut off. No cell signal meant a lot people didn't have any sort of phone, and apparently somehow the internet had been shut down too. He had no idea how that worked, or why they'd bother leaving people with wifi that didn't do much good, but maybe the latter was to keep everyone watching Netflix while the world burned.

Nick didn't have Netflix, but he did have what felt like a front row seat to the apocalypse. It was a shitty show, all told, and he wished he could get his money back.

"Goddammit," Edie muttered at her phone. Yes, it was a cheap piece of shit burner, but it had worked fine up until now. It had been a few hours since she'd talked to Nick, and the funeral home had just called to say they were finally on the way. When she tried to text to let him know, she got a send failed message…and she had no cell service.

That seemed ominous.

She knew the home phone worked; that was what the funeral home had called; but fat lotta good that did her trying to talk to Nick. Maybe if Mrs. Baker had an iPhone she could text him over wifi and tell him to download some kind of instant messenger app that she could use on her phone too.

She tiptoed down the hall to the Bakers' bedroom. Jane hadn't left her husband's side in the hours since he'd died early that morning. Edie had been bringing her tea, and toast with honey, but the food largely went uneaten. She waited in the doorway until Jane lifted her head and offered a wan smile.

"Somethin' you need, hon?" she said. Her voice was scratchy and a bit weak, but that might just be from crying. She didn't seem to be running a fever, and her cough wasn't as bad as it had been.

"Sorry to bother you. I was just wondering if your cell is working? I was trying to text Nick, but I don't have any service and my messages are bouncing back."

"Hmm." Jane picked her phone up off the nightstand and inspected it. "I'm not showin' a cell signal either, but I do have wifi. I think I have that iMessage thingie, if Nick does. That works over wifi, doesn't it?"

Edie relaxed into a smile. "Yeah, it does. Do you mind—?"

"No, of course not. You tell him I said hello, and to take care of himself. I don't want him gettin' sick too." She handed the phone over, and Edie stepped closer long enough to put a fresh mug of tea at her elbow and to take the old one away.

"Thank you, ma'am. I'll get it back to you soon."

"No rush, sweetheart. I'm just sayin' goodbye to my John before the funeral home gets here." She sniffled and squeezed his hand. "Not too long now. Oh!" she said. "I hear a car outside. It might be them now. Be a lamb and go see for me?"

"Of course, Mrs.—Jane. I'll send them back."

It was them, two large men in suits and one thin one. Edie pointed them toward the bedroom and could hear the thinner man speaking to Mrs. Baker in hushed tones. She offered them all tea or coffee, but they declined. They were obviously in a hurry, but still they were respectful and kind.

They looked exhausted, and all three had some version of the sniffles.

They wheeled the Sheriff's body out on a gurney and boosted it into the back of a van with the home's logo on the side. Jane signed some papers and stood on the porch with Edie until the van was out of sight.

Jane let out a strangled little breath. "Well. After all that."

"They were…efficient," Edie offered, gently.

"Yes. Which I appreciate. I can pick out a suit for the funeral and—" She broke off into an abrupt, violent cough that staggered her tiny frame. "Dear me," she said when the fit passed.

"You should go lie down," Edie said. "I'll take Nick and his prisoners some lunch while you rest, but if you need anything at all, call down to the station. The landlines still work."

"Were you able to get through to him with my phone?"

"I didn't have a chance to try." She pulled the phone from her pocket and typed in Nick's number.

- It's Kai, on Mrs B's phone. Mine own't send texts.

The wait for an answer was a short one. - I tried to msg you and they all bounced back. Cell phones are down. Wifi here still works, but tv is just reruns. What the hell is going on?

Edie let out a relieved breath. "It went through. He said he doesn't have a cell signal either, but wifi down at the station still works."

She replied, - Trying to prevent panic, I guess. More panic. I'm going to make y'all some lunch and head down there. The funeral home just came for sjb.

The phone was silent a long time, to the point that Jane craned her neck to peer at the screen. "Where did he go?"

"Good question. The message went through."

Then, - Only need lunch for 3. Mike Childress is dead.

"I got here as soon as I could," she signed as she burst through the station's front door. "Are you okay? Where is he? What about the other two? Nick, Jesus, I'm so sorry!"

He was amazed that her hands could move that fast, especially with a basket looped over one arm. "He's still in his cell. I'm not sure what to do with…the body. Vince Hogan is sick as hell, but Billy Warner doesn't seem much worse than earlier. Scared, more than anything. Don't blame him."

He paused. Then, "Also hi."

"Sorry," she said. "Hi. I'm just—" She broke off with a gesture of frustration. She wasn't sure what she was. Exhausted. Terrified. Heartbroken. Too many things to put into words.

"You don't have to explain. I am too."

She set the picnic hamper of food down on the desk and boosted herself up beside it. Pulled her feet up to sit cross-legged and reached into the basket for a sandwich, which she tossed to him. He caught it with one hand and thanked her with the other.

"I hope no one's allergic to peanuts. It seemed like a peanut butter and jelly sort of day."

"Works for me," he said. He sat in the chair she normally took, the one next to the desk, and moved the hamper so he could see her while he ate. "Aren't you hungry?"

"Not really," she said. "I've been trying to get Jane to eat all morning, so I've been nibbling."

He eyed her, then passed her half his sandwich, which she took with a brief smile. She was touched by the simple kindness of the gesture, and for a moment tears threatened, but she managed to blink them away.

He noticed, of course, but he didn't comment.

They ate in silence, punctuated for her by the sound of coughs and sneezes coming from the cells. For him it was just quiet, and, for the first time all day, peaceful.

"You could call the same funeral home that took Sheriff Baker," she said after a time, "but it took them seven plus hours to get to us, and that was for the Sheriff."

"A dead prisoner wouldn't exactly be a priority."

"Nope."

He chewed a bite of peanut butter and jelly. Crunchy, with strawberry. His favorite. The bread was some of the best he'd ever had. "Did you make this? It's good."

"Just spreading peanut butter and jelly on bread, Nick. Not that hard."

He shot her a glare. "You know what I meant."

Her mouth twitched. "Yes, I made it. Honey oat with walnuts. You like it?"

"Fucking amazing. Didn't know bread could taste like this."

She ducked her head to hide her expression from him. Her hair fell in a curtain so he couldn't see how her cheeks glowed at the praise. The quickest way into her good graces was to enjoy her food, and she was especially proud of her bread.

"Maybe if we make it through this I'll make you cinnamon rolls."

"You mean those things that come in a can? With the little cup of icing?"

It was his turn to tease her now, and she stuck her tongue out at him. "Smartass."

He lifted his brows in an innocent shrug. Then he smiled, sweet and slow and almost wistful. He reached over to tap her knee with two fingers. "We'll make it, Kai. I'm not dying of some fucking flu with a stupid name, and neither are you."

"Stupid name?" she said. Her eyes flicked to where he touched her, then back to his face. "What name?"

"Apparently they're calling it Captain Trips," he signed, with both hands, and missing his easy, casual touch made her restless. She pushed off the desk and took a moment to peer through the blinds out into the empty street.

"Captain Trips," she said with a snort. "That is a stupid name."

"Told you," he said. He stood and joined her at the window. "I was exploring some earlier. There's a basement that's cooler than up here."

Her mouth fell open. She shut it again with a snap and swallowed hard. "Yeah. That's a good idea."

"I can probably do it alone," he said.

Her head tilted as she studied his earnest expression and shadowed eyes. "No," she said, slowly, and with a troubled shake of her head.

"I don't mind. I mean—I can handle it."

"I'm sure you can." She touched his cheek, a feather-light brush of her fingertips across the butterfly bandages there. "No doubt you can. But you're not."

He looked down—not very far; at six feet he probably only had four or five inches on her—to watch her face rather than her hands as she said it. He felt for her then an overwhelming, oddly familiar wave of trust and…something else. Hope, maybe. That thing with wings that was normally such a stranger to him, except for lately. When he was with her. He tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear and gave it a little tug. His mouth quirked in a rueful half-smile.

"I wish—"

She stopped him with a quick tap of her fingers against the back of his hand. She wasn't sure what he was about to wish, but she had an idea, and thought it was better left unsaid. "None of that," she signed, brisk and clipped. "We're here, now, in this up to our goddamn eyeballs. Only forward, Nicky. Never back. Or—sideways."

She'd used his name sign and said Nicky—he recognized the shape of it on her lips—and for a moment he had to close his eyes, to just breathe in the silent dark, and when he opened them again she was giving him a curious look.

"You're right," he said. He squared his shoulders and lifted his chin in the stubborn way she'd already come to recognize. "Only through."

"Good." She took a deep breath and stepped back to tie her long hair up in a ponytail. "Which means we should get this over with. It's not going to get any more pleasant the longer he lays there."

He grimaced in acknowledgement and gestured for her to follow him back to the cells. She grabbed the two other bagged lunches and a couple of bottles of water on the way. Billy Warner accepted his with a mumbled thanks, but Vince Hogan barely stirred off the cot.

"He's real sick," Warner said. "Doc ain't been in since last night."

"The doctor's a little bit busy right now," Edie told him. "Lots of people are sick."

"You just gonna leave me in here with him? And with Mike?! He's dead!"

She glanced at Nick, then back at Warner. "We're moving him right now. Eat your lunch. Make sure you drink all your water. Try to get some water in your friend, too."

He gave a phlegmy snort. "Look at you, talkin' to me like you give a goddamn shit. I kicked your friend's ass, Miss Highfalutin', and I'd do it again gimme half a chance."

She put on her sweetest smile and leaned in close to the bars. "I know you would, sugar. That's why he's not opening this cell for you any time soon. Maybe change your fucking attitude and you might get lucky."

He might have reached for her then, grabbed her, but he was slow with fever, and she pulled back before the thought fully formed in his fogged brain. "Come back over here, sweetheart, and we'll see who gets lucky," he said with a leering wink.

Nick took her arm and pulled her away. "Don't," he said. "Guy's mean, stupid, and scared. It's a bad combo."

"I'm feeling at least two out of those three," she signed without speaking it aloud. "I'll let you guess which two."

His face scrunched in commiseration before he waved her toward the other cell. Mike Childress lay where Nick had found him, sprawled out on the floor, his head against the bars and his feet against the can. The glands under his jaw and in his arm pits were hugely swollen, and flies collected in the snot that covered his face.

"I'll drag him out," Nick said. "Then you grab the feet and I'll get the head. Okay?"

She couldn't take her eyes off his body. Jane Baker had kept her husband cleaned up, and he'd looked almost peaceful when the funeral home boys arrived to take him away. Childress looked like he'd died exactly as he had: alone and afraid, a rat in a cage.

"I think you have to let them go," she signed. "Especially if Hogan…it's not right, Nick. People weren't meant to die like this."

He took one of her hands and turned her face away from the gruesome sight. Her eyes followed more slowly, but finally they darted up to meet his. "I will," he said, patiently and gently. "But right now we have to take care of Childress. You don't have to do this, Kai. I told you that."

"No," she said. She closed her eyes and took a slow breath in and out. Gave herself a little shake. "No, I'm here. Let's do it."

He nodded with far more bravado than he felt. Inside his stomach quaked and churned. It was all he could do to keep from bolting. But he had a responsibility, and this was part of it. He gave her shoulder a reassuring pat and turned to unlock the door.

When he grabbed Childress' shoulders, a small cloud of angry black flies erupted from his mouth. Nick stumbled back; would have fallen if she hadn't been there to catch him. She shot a glare over her shoulder, no doubt at Warner and some smart remark that Nick couldn't hear, and then offered Nick a reassuring smile.

"That was gross as shit," she said.

He nodded adamant agreement and took a moment to collect himself before he reached for Childress again. The body was stiff, but the smell wasn't as bad as he was expecting. He dragged him clear, and Kai moved around to his feet. She knelt, grabbed his ankles, and lifted.

The steep stairs to the basement were tricky, but they managed it without incident, and finally they had him stretched out on the basement floor. Nick crossed Childress' arms over his chest while Kai found a tarp to drape over the body.

"Should we say something?" she said.

He shrugged. "Fuck Captain Trips."

"Fuck Captain Trips."

They stood shoulder to shoulder looking down at the draped body, until at last she pulled away and mounted the stairs. He lingered only a little longer before following. He flipped off the light and shut the door behind him, and when he walked out to the main office she was nowhere to be seen.

He frowned and glanced down the hall. The bathroom door was open, the light on. He wandered that way to find her bent over the sink soaping and scrubbing her hands. He took the sink next to her and washed his, counting to thirty in his head as he did so, but even after he'd finished and dried them she was still scrubbing.

Steam rolled up from the tap and when he caught a glimpse of her face in the mirror he saw that she was crying. Shit, he thought. He reached around to turn off the water. Gently turned her toward him and patted her hands dry with a paper towel.

"I think you got it," he said.

"I'm sorry."

He wiped the tears off her cheeks and tossed the towel in the trash. "What for?"

She sniffed. "I'm really not losing it. I promise."

"I know," he said.

"You're very calm."

A laconic shrug. "I have lots of practice acting like things don't bother me."

"Of course," she said. "Bullies can smell weakness like sharks smell blood." She slumped against the wall next to the sink and let her head fall back to rest on the cool tile. "I should get back to Mrs. Baker."

"You should try to get some rest," he said. "I don't think anything'll be any easier for a while."

"You should too. Your prisoners aren't going anywhere."

"Okay. I'll take a nap if you will."

Her lips curved, briefly. "Deal." A long sigh and she hauled herself upright. "When Dr. Soames came by to pronounce Sheriff Baker he told me he has a little cabin up by a lake about an hour from here."

"Is he going there?"

"No," she said. "He said he's sticking it out until every last patient is either recovered or gone. He said we should go there."

He frowned. "I don't understand."

"He knows we aren't sick. Whether we're immune or not is a different question, in his mind, but since we haven't caught it yet, he thinks we should get away from people until things die down. He said he keeps it pretty well stocked with non-perishables, and fishing in the lake is good." She peered at him. "Do you fish?"

He gave a silent laugh and shook his head.

"That's okay; I do. There's a solar generator in case the power fails, and it's on well water."

"What about Nebraska?"

"We're still going to Nebraska," she said. "But…things are going to be hairy for a while. You saw the news before they cut it off. People are rioting, the military is out there doing God knows what. Until…" She paused for a deep breath. "Until the flu does its work, it'll be mayhem out there, and it might be better to find a place to lie low for a week or two before we head for Nebraska."

He hadn't thought of that, but she was right. Scared, desperate people did scary, desperate things, and he'd already had his monthly ass-kicking. He wasn't looking for another one any time soon. He had no doubt Kai could defend herself, but he didn't want her to have to unless absolutely necessary. He felt a quiet, distant urgency to reach Hemingford Home and Mother Abagail, but the feeling probably wouldn't be either quiet or distant if their presence was immediately required.

"Do you know how to find it?"

"He gave me directions. And the keys."

"You're right," he said. "It's a good idea." He scrubbed a hand down his face, wincing at his busted nose, swollen eye, cut cheek, and split lip. "I feel like fuckin' Frankenstein."

"Look a little like him too," she said with a sympathetic grimace. "But, like, in a cute way. Soft Frank."

"My face is normally kind of okay. At least"—he shot her a quick smirk—"no one's ever kicked me out of bed for eating crackers."

It made her laugh, as he'd meant it to. "Who could, with eyes like those?"

Funny, he wanted to say but didn't, I've thought the same thing about you. Instead he just grinned and shrugged. Then, "Go check on Jane, then lie down. I'll text her number if anything happens."

She nodded. "Yeah, okay. And I'm sorry again about…" She waved a hand toward the sink, but he just shook his head.

"Don't. No need." He stepped closer, as though to put his arm around her, but at the last minute twisted away and gestured for her to precede him. "I'll walk you out," he said.

She hesitated. Then, in a rush, "I don't like to be touched. Casually."

A thoughtful tilt of his head. "I got that impression. If I made you uncomfortable—"

She held up a hand to stop him. "I don't mind. When it's you."

His full mouth eased into one of those slow, wry smiles. "I don't much like to be touched either," he said.

"Okay," she said. "As long as we're clear on that."

Their eyes met, dark brown on brilliant gray-blue, and he held out his hand. The tension drained from her shoulders. She laced her fingers loosely through his. He ran his thumb across her knuckles, and neither of them let go until she walked out the door and onto the hot, empty sidewalk.

Edie was in the Bakers' kitchen working on a batch tea cakes when the doorbell rang. Jane was finally asleep after a long, restless afternoon of fever-driven hallucinations punctuated by periods of lucidity when she mourned for her husband. Edie had slept a little, but only an hour or two, and at this point she was running on caffeine and adrenaline, so the sound of the bell nearly gave her a heart attack.

She pressed a hand to her chest and took several deep breaths. Calm the fuck down, D'Arnaud, she told herself. It's only the end of the world.

That thought made her giggle (she was very tired), and she dropped the spoon into the bowl and went to answer it. She checked the peephole, and when she opened the door her eyes were wide with surprise. "Nick! How did you get here? Are you okay? What's going on?"

He shook his head and gestured inside.

"Yeah, of course, come to the kitchen. Mrs. Baker's sleeping and I've been working. Do you want something? Coffee? Tea?"

He felt some of his exhaustion slip away the second he saw her, and at the mention of hot caffeine he perked. "If you have fresh coffee I'll love you forever."

"Ahh…" She laughed a little and looked away. "You must be as tired as I am. This way."

He followed her down the hall, his steps slow and shuffling, and sank gratefully into the chair she offered. She brought him coffee, but he shook his head at the milk and sugar. He did shove two entire still-warm teacakes into his mouth and let his head fall back as he chewed. He gave her a thumbs-up before taking a long sip of coffee and swallowing it all down.

"Well," she said. "I guess it has been a while since pb and j."

"Sorry," he said with a grimace.

"Nothing to apologize for. They were made to be eaten. Can I make you something more substantial?"

"Maybe in a little while. I need to…" He blew out a breath that ruffled his hair and drank some more coffee. "Vince Hogan died a few hours ago."

"Shit," she said.

"Yeah. It wasn't really a surprise, but…" His face scrunched. He made a pattern in the crumbs on his plate and studied it like a Rorschach test. "Why am I so bothered by it? Those guys could've killed me. Booth wanted to kill me, because I punched him, but Doc Soames drove up and they ran off. I might be in traction or the morgue right now if not for him, but I feel sorry for these two dead idiots rotting up the Shoyo jail!" He threw both hands out in a gesture of frustration and slumped back in his chair. "It's fucking stupid."

"No it's not. It's compassion, Nick. Those assholes couldn't beat it out of you."

A frustrated snort. "They sure as fuck tried."

"For what it's worth, I'm glad they didn't."

He shifted restlessly. "Yeah. I guess I am too."

She replaced his empty plate with her own. He gave a nod of thanks and nibbled one of the cakes before setting it down again. He had the urge to get up and pace, but he was too tired.

"What happened to Billy Warner?"

"Let him go," he said. "Like I said I would." He frowned. "I would have anyway. I know Sheriff Baker gave me an important job, but I think even he'd recognize that these are unprecedented circumstances."

"I think he would," she said, mildly.

"How's Mrs. Baker?"

Now it was her turn to get restless. She rose from the chair and went back to her mixing bowl. Gave it a few halfhearted stirs. The oven timer went, and as she opened it the room filled with steam and the delicious scents of strawberry and…roses? Yeah, roses. The two he'd devoured had been vanilla, but apparently she had more exotic recipes on deck.

"Not great," she finally said. "Her fever came back. Worse than ever, I think. I've been giving her Tylenol for it, and bathing her in cool water and alcohol, but it's not helped. She's finally sleeping now." She slumped against the counter with a grimace. Rubbed the back of her neck. Squeezed it and arched her back to stretch the aching muscles there.

Nick was proud that even in his worn-down state he still managed not to ogle her chest as she did it. She must have noticed, because when he finally did look at her, she was giving him a knowing sort of smirk.

"How did you get here?" She knew he didn't drive. Maybe he had a bicycle she didn't know about? Or had managed to hitch a ride?

He thrust a hand into his hair and then waved it toward the street. "Walked," he said. "It was only a few miles, but after carrying Hogan to the basement—"

"Alone?! Nick, I would've helped you!"

"And getting my ass kicked the other night," he continued like she hadn't moved, "it seemed a lot further."

"Were you able to sleep this afternoon?"

He shrugged. "A few hours. You?"

"About the same."

He finished off his coffee and pushed to his feet. "You go rest. I'll sit with Mrs. Baker for a while."

"Are you sure?"

"I'll come wake you up when I need you to spell me. We can trade off, so she's not alone."

She shifted her weight uncertainly. Glanced over her shoulder at the counter full of finished teacakes and raw batter. "I was going to make you something to eat."

"I can manage. Go to bed!"

"You're so fucking bossy," she said with a scowl.

"Only sometimes." He flashed a tired, drunken grin. "And I don't think you mind as much as you pretend to."

She lifted a brow but decided to let that lie. "Fine. Their bedroom is at the end of the hall, third door on the right. I'll be in the guest room, first door on the left. They have their own bathroom, but there's also one across the hall from the guest room. Don't let me sleep too long, Nick, I mean it."

"I won't. I promise." He waved her off, out the door and into the hallway. "Go!" He followed her down the hall, shooing her the whole way, and just before the bedroom door closed behind her she shot him the bird. He grinned at the shut door a moment before giving himself a little shake and continuing on to the Bakers' bedroom.

Kai had left a small lamp burning on Jane's vanity. It was just enough to keep the room from being dark without disturbing her as she slept. Nick stepped closer to the bed and pressed the back of his hand against her forehead, but before he even touched her he could feel the heat radiating off her skin. There was swelling under her jaw, too. That was usually the last stage, but it wasn't too bad yet, so that gave him a sliver a hope.

Jane stirred, shoving the covers off with an irritated gesture, and opened her eyes. "Nick," she said. Her lips moved in a beatific smile. "How wonderful to see you."

He smiled back and pointed at her. Then he frowned and pressed his hand to his forehead. Waved like he was fanning himself.

"Fever's bad," she agreed. "Edie brought me a cool cloth earlier. Could you rewet it for me? It was helping, I think."

He nodded and grabbed the washcloth and basin off the nightstand. In the bathroom he let the tap run until the water was as cold as it was going to get before filling the bowl and adding some rubbing alcohol. He hated the smell of it, alcohol. It reminded him of those days in the hospital after his mother's accident, sitting by her bed wondering if she'd ever wake up. More recently it recalled the fresh pain of his beating, and Doc Soames' well-meaning but stinging first aid.

Back in the bedroom Jane was shifting restlessly in bed. "Can't get comfortable," she said. "Everything hurts."

Nick nodded in commiseration and handed her the wrung-out cloth.

"You're an angel. Where did Edie get to?"

He folded his hands against his face to mime someone asleep.

"Good. That poor girl is running herself ragged." She eyed him. "You don't look much better. I know you children are young, but you still need your sleep." She sighed (or so he thought) and her expression turned dreamy and faraway. "Of course, you don't get much sleep when you're young and in love. John and I sure didn't."

He gave her an odd look. Pointed at himself, then over his shoulder toward the hall and shook his head.

"I know John's not here," she said. "You don't have to tell me that. He's down at the station. Winning that election means so much to him. He really wants to do right by this town."

That, of course, wasn't what he'd meant, but he had a feeling Jane didn't know exactly when or where she was, so he let her talk. She meandered on about John and their courtship. The wedding. The honeymoon.

Her eyes began to drift closed, and Nick gently took the washcloth from her limp hand. "My honeymoon dress," she said.
His head tilted in a question.

"It's there, in the closet. Pale blue with lace. You'll know it from the lace." She turned her head to cough, then looked at him again. "Bury me in my honeymoon dress, Nicky. Please."

He gave a firm shake of his head and pointed at her. Wagged his finger like he was scolding a child.

She smiled just a little, a wavering curve of her chapped lips. "That's very kind, but we both know where I'm headed. It's okay." She patted his hand. "It's okay. I'll be with my John." Her eyes closed. "My John…"

He watched carefully to make sure her chest still rose and fell, and when he saw it he sat back with a relieved gust of breath. He'd thought that was it, that he'd have to go wake Kai and tell her Mrs. Baker had died while she (finally) slept, and she'd missed it.

She began to shiver, so he pulled the covers up over her again. Gradually she relaxed, but her breathing remained rough and irregular. He was glad he couldn't hear how it sounded; that would probably make things worse. He shoved his hands into his pockets and wandered to the bedroom window. Outside the street was empty, illuminated by cold, impersonal LED streetlights that cast wide white pools on the asphalt. In the distance lightning flashed, a great fork of it.

Maybe it would rain and break some of the heat. That was always the wish as June spun toward July, and the number of hot, endless days stacked up behind you seemed the same as the number ahead.

Hopefully there wouldn't be a tornado, since there wasn't anybody out there to warn them about it. Would his phone do its warning thing? Or did someone have to push a button somewhere for that?

Something moving out on the street caught his eye. A dog? A healthy dog?! It stepped from the shadows into the light and he saw at once that no, it wasn't a dog. It was a coyote. Just one, alone, mangy-looking and skinny. Its gold eyes seemed to fix themselves on Nick, as if such a thing were possible through a window, and he thought he saw an old, wicked knowing there, even from such a distance.

He was imagining things. Spooked by the day and the days and the coming storm. The coyote watched him, calmly, and Nick reached up to close the blinds.

Imagining things or not, coyotes were his, and Nick wanted no part of them. He'd had no idea coyotes even lived in Arkansas. And didn't they usually run in packs?

I'm not your roadrunner, motherfucker, he thought. I'm your anvil from the clear blue sky, and I'm not afraid of you.

had to do an extra-long one today, kids, or it would've been a super short one tomorrow. and you did vote for it, after all!