“The what?” Yulen questioned. “What about the—” His face also went deathly pale, and he looked at his wife. “You sneezed while you were cooking the squirrels. You averted your head, but your saliva still could have landed on the meat. Plus, you carved the meat and served it to us.” He gave Lucien a terrified look. “She touched the meat she gave us.”
“She may have contaminated the meat,” Iain confirmed the battle lord’s worst fear.
“And you, Lucien, and Atty haven’t had the virus,” Renken noted.
“Or Johna. Johna hasn’t had it, either,” Lucien reminded them.
“So, by this time tomorrow, the rest of us could be showing symptoms,” Iain predicted.
Mastin groaned. It was followed by a loud sigh from the battle lord. “We knew this might happen,” Yulen regretfully admitted. “We knew that by bringing you with us, and away from the safety of the compound, we were taking that risk.” He bowed his head. “Iain, if you get sick, there will be no one capable enough to tend to the others.”
“Don’t write me off so easily,” Iain said. “I may not get it.”
“There is that chance,” Renken commented. “The doc washes his hands so often, he smells like a damn brewery.”
Lucien kept his attention on his mother. Now that her secret was out, she wasn’t trying to hide her increasing discomfort. In fact, she was now leaning against Yulen, who had a protective arm around her shoulders to help keep her propped up.
“Cole, inform the men we’re camping here tonight, but they need to move off the road and out of sight. Allow them to pitch their tents, and they can remove their heavier armor. A small fire is okay as long as they keep it trenched and shaded. Tinsdale, your men will take first shift guarding our perimeter. As soon as Grimsy and his squad returns, have him report to me. Iain, you’ll spend the night in our tent tonight. I want you by Atty’s side at all times from here on.”
Lucien saw his father’s gaze rake over him, then Johna. “The second either of you start to feel any symptoms, you let me know. That’s an order. Understand me, Lieutenant?” This wasn’t his father speaking. It was the battle lord. Harsh, demanding, and immovable.
Lucien straightened. “Yes, sir.”
“As soon as you’ve set up your tent, I want you both to report to Iain so he can do a full examination.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll get your tent set up immediately,” Mastin told the battle lord, and hurried away.
Lucien gestured to Johna. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“Over to the wagon to retrieve our tent.”
“Our tent? Am I…”
“You’re spending the night with me tonight,” he told her as she trotted to keep up with his long-legged pace.
“Are we being quarantined?”
He gave a quick shake of his head. “Not really. More like…contained.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The other men have had the virus. That’s why they were selected for this mission. For some reason we don’t understand, any Normal who’s had it and survived seems immune to it. They don’t catch it again.”
“Then why are we being separated?”
They reached the wagon where a soldier standing inside it handed over Lucien’s tent to them. Taking it, he headed back in the direction where his parents’ tent would be erected.
“Because we’re an anomaly. No one knows how our bodies will react to the virus. They don’t know whether we’ll take on the symptoms Normals do, or the way Mutah do. And if we survive, there’s no way to know if we could become Damaged.”
“Are you telling me that, of all the people living at Alta Novis, and all the other compounds the battle lord has under his banner, that we’re the only two half-Mutah, half-Normal people to come in contact with the virus?”
They’d reached a small clearing within eyesight where his parents’ shelter was being staked. Stopping there, he dropped his tent and faced her. “We know the odds are good there are other hybrids like us out there. But, personally, we don’t know of any. You and I both know that Mutah still tend to marry Mutah, and Normals to Normals. In addition, my father and Liam went to great lengths to protect the people of his compounds, both Normal and Mutah. Some of the restrictions were tough to accept. But when the virus eventually hit us, the death toll was minimal compared to what we’ve heard from others. And I give most of the credit for that blessing to Dr. MaGrath. So, to answer your question, yes. Right now, the two of us are the only hybrids facing this disease. Which means everyone will be watching and studying us like a Wolfen stalking prey.”
“Because they fear what we might become if we survive. That we might try to attack them or others,” Johna remarked.
Lucien shook his head. “No. Because they fear we won’t survive.”
She snorted. “You mean you. You’re the one they care about. You’re the one they hope survives.”
“You’re wrong there, too, Johna,” he hotly argued. “Whether you want to believe me or not, we all care about you, too. I care about you. Now, help me with this tent. Dad’s expecting us.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Weakness
Yulen pulled Atty into his arms and pressed a kiss to her forehead. She radiated excess heat, and sweat droplets dotted her skin. Her face was flushed, and when he looked into her eyes, he could see a slight glazing over. She was losing focus, a symptom he well remembered from the time he’d fallen victim to the virus, even though it was more than two decades ago.
Lowering his face to her shoulder, he closed his eyes. The worst was yet to come. The pain, the feeling of suffocating with every breath she’d try to draw, the vomiting and loss of consciousness—his heart withered at the thought of what she would suffer.
Although there were some differences between how Normals and Mutah reacted to the disease, there were a few of the symptoms both peoples were forced to endure. The victim wouldn’t be able to lie down, or else they’d suffocate as their lungs filled with fluid. That’s what would inevitably kill them if they didn’t remain upright to cough up the crap. Or if a physician without the proper knowledge or skill to treat them didn’t routinely drain the fluid from their lungs.
But for Mutah, it was worse. In addition to the pneumonia-like symptoms, their fevers would rage to the point of almost boiling their brains in their skulls, which was why so many who miraculously survived ended up mentally unbalanced. Or, as they’d been labeled, Damaged.
Unfortunately, it took a few days to discover whether a Mutah who survived the worst of the virus would come out of the ordeal with their minds fried. Until then, the patient had to be kept bound to his bed.