“Okay, now get to it,” Terese said. “I’ll be outside.”

Terese strode to the door. “Do it quickly, but don’t make a mess,” she said. Then she was gone.

Silence settled over the room. Richard didn’t move. He only turned the gun over slowly in his hands, as if he were inspecting it. Finally, Jack spoke up: “I don’t know whether I’d listen to her. You might face prison for the outbreaks if they can prove it was you behind them, but killing me like this in cold blood means the death penalty here in New York.”

“Shut up,” Richard screamed. He rushed into the kitchen and assumed a shooting stance directly behind Jack.

A full minute went by which seemed like an hour to Jack. He’d been holding his breath. Unable to hold it any longer, he exhaled-and immediately began coughing uncontrollably.

The next thing he knew, Richard tossed the gun onto the kitchen table. Then he ran to the door. He opened it and shouted out into the night: “I can’t do it!”

Almost immediately Terese reappeared. “You goddamned coward!” she told him.

“Why don’t you do it yourself?” Richard spat back.

Terese started to respond, but instead she strode to the kitchen table, snapped up the gun, and walked around to face Jack. Holding the pistol in both hands, she pointed it at his face. Jack stared back at her, directly into her eyes.

The tip of the gun barrel began to waver. All at once Terese let out a barrage of profanity and threw the gun back onto the table.

“Ah, iron woman isn’t as hard as she thought,” Richard taunted.

“Shut up,” Terese said. She stalked back to the couch and sat down. Richard sat across from her. They eyed each other irritably.

“This is becoming a bad joke,” she said.

“I think we are all strung out,” Richard said.

“That’s probably the first thing you’ve said that’s true,” Terese said. “I’m exhausted. What time is it?”

“It’s after midnight,” Richard said.

“No wonder,” Terese said. “I’ve got a headache.”

“I’m not feeling so great myself,” Richard admitted.

“Let’s sleep,” Terese said. “We’ll deal with this problem in the morning. Right now I can’t even see straight.”

Jack woke up at four-thirty in the morning, shivering. The fire had gone out and the temperature in the room had fallen. The rag rug had provided some warmth. Jack had managed to pull it over him.

The room was almost completely dark. Terese and Richard had not left on any lights when they’d retired to separate bedrooms. What little light there was drifted in from outside through the window over the sink. It was just enough for Jack to discern the vague shapes of the furniture.

Jack didn’t know what made him feel worse: fear or the flu. At least his cough had not worsened. The rimantadine had seemingly protected him from developing primary influenza pneumonia.

For a few minutes Jack allowed himself the luxury of contemplating being rescued. The problem was that the chances were minuscule. The only person who knew that the National Biologicals probe test was positive with the plague culture was Ted Lynch, not that he could know what it meant. Agnes might, but there was no reason for Ted to tell Agnes what he’d found.

If rescue was not a viable possibility, then he’d have to rely on escape. With numb fingers Jack felt up and down the length of drainpipe to which he was shackled. He tried to feel for any imperfections, but there were none. He positioned the handcuffs at various heights and, with his feet against the pipes, pushed until the handcuffs cut into his skin. The pipes were there to stay.

If he were to escape it would have to occur when he was allowed to go to the bathroom. How he would actually do it, he had no idea. All he could hope was that they’d become careless.

Jack shuddered when he thought of what morning might bring. A good night’s sleep would only toughen Terese’s resolve. The fact that neither Terese nor Richard could shoot him in cold blood the night before was scant reassurance. As self-centered as they both were, he couldn’t bank on that continuing indefinitely.

Using his legs, Jack succeeded in getting the rag rug to fold over him again. Settling down as best he could, he tried to rest. If an opportunity of escape presented itself, he hoped he’d be physically able to take full advantage of it.

CATSKILL MOUNTAINS, NEW YORK

The hours had passed slowly and miserably for Jack. He’d not been able to fall back asleep. Nor could he even find a comfortable position with his shivering. When Richard finally staggered into the room with his hair standing on end, Jack was almost glad to see him.

“I’ve got to use the bathroom,” Jack called out.

“You’ll have to wait for Terese to get up,” Richard said. He was busy rebuilding the fire.

The door to Terese’s room opened a few minutes later. Terese was dressed in an old bathrobe; she didn’t look any better than Richard. Her normal helmet of highlighted curls looked more like a mop. She was without makeup, and the contrast with her normal appearance made her seem exceptionally pale.

“I’ve still got my headache,” Terese complained. “And I slept lousy.”

“Me too,” Richard said. “It’s the stress, and we never really had any dinner.”

“But I’m not hungry,” Terese said. “I can’t understand it.”

“I’ve got to go to the bathroom,” Jack repeated. “I’ve been waiting for hours.”

“Get the gun,” Terese said to Richard. “I’ll unlock the handcuffs.”

Terese came into the kitchen and bent down to reach under the sink with the handcuff key.

“Sorry you didn’t sleep well,” Jack said. “You should have joined me out here in the kitchen. It’s been delightful.”

“I don’t want to hear any mouth from you,” Terese warned. “I’m not in the mood.”

The handcuff snapped open. Jack rubbed his chafed wrist as he stiffly got to his feet. A wave of dizziness spread over him, forcing him to lean against the kitchen table. Terese quickly relocked the handcuff around Jack’s free wrist. Jack wouldn’t have been able to resist even if he’d had the intention.

“Okay, march!” Richard said. He was training the gun on Jack.

“In a second,” Jack said. The room was still spinning.

“No tricks!” Terese said. She stepped away from him.

As soon as he could, Jack walked to the bathroom on rubbery legs. The first order of business was to relieve himself. The second was to take a dose of the rimantadine with a long drink of water. Only then did he hazard a look in the mirror. What he saw surprised him. He wasn’t sure he would have recognized himself. He looked like a vagrant. His eyes were bright red and slightly swollen. Dried blood was on the left side of his face and spattered on the shoulder of his uniform shirt, apparently from the blow he’d received in the car at the tollbooth. His lip was swollen where Richard had split it. Dried mucus stuck to his formidable stubble.

“Hurry up in there,” Terese commanded through the door.

Jack ran water in the sink and washed his face. Using his index finger, he brushed his teeth. Then with a little water he smoothed his hair.

“It’s about time,” Terese said when Jack emerged.

Jack suppressed the urge to give a clever retort. He felt he was walking a tightrope with these people, and he didn’t want to push his luck. He hoped they wouldn’t lock him back to the kitchen drain, but the wish was in vain. He was marched right back to the sink and secured.

“We should eat something,” Richard said.

“I got cold cereal last night,” Terese said.

“Fine,” Richard said.

They sat at the table a mere four feet away from Jack. Terese ate very little. She again mentioned that she just wasn’t hungry. They didn’t offer any cereal to Jack.