“Come on, Doc,” Richard urged. “Don’t make me have to hit you again.”

“What difference does it make?” Terese called from the couch.

“It makes a lot of difference,” Richard said. “There’s a good chance my strain was the strain that caused the great flu epidemic of 1918. I got it in Alaska from a couple of frozen Eskimos who died of pneumonia. The time frame was right.”

Terese joined him in the kitchen. “Now you’re getting me worried,” she said. “Do you think he has it and has exposed us?”

“It’s possible,” Richard said.

“That’s terrifying!” She looked down at Jack. “Well?” she demanded. “Were you exposed?”

Jack wasn’t sure if he should admit to his exposure or not. He didn’t know which would anger them more. The truth or his silence.

“I don’t like it that he’s not answering,” Richard said.

“He’s a medical examiner,” Terese said. “He had to have been exposed. They brought the dead people to him. He told me on the phone.”

“I’m not afraid of that,” Richard said. “The exposure to worry about is to a living, breathing, sneezing, coughing person, not a dead body.”

“Medical examiners don’t take care of live people,” Terese said. “All their patients are dead.”

“That’s true,” Richard admitted.

“Besides,” Terese said, “Jack is hardly sick. He’s got a cold. Big deal. Wouldn’t he be really ill by now if he’d contracted your flu bug?”

“You’re right,” Richard said. “I’m not thinking straight; if he had the 1918 flu bug he’d be flat out by now.”

Brother and sister returned to their couches and collapsed.

“I can’t take much more of this,” Terese said. “Especially the way I feel.”

At five-fifteen, exactly one hour after the previous call, Richard phoned Twin. This time Twin himself picked up.

“What the hell are you pestering me for?” Twin asked.

“I want to offer more money,” Richard said. “Obviously a thousand wasn’t enough. I understand. It’s a long drive up here. How much are you looking for?”

“You didn’t understand me, did you?” Twin said irritably. “I told you I couldn’t do it. That’s it. Game’s over.”

“Two thousand,” Richard said. He looked over at Terese. She nodded.

“Hey, man, are you deaf or what?” Twin said. “How many times…”

“Three thousand,” Richard said, and Terese again nodded.

“Three thousand bucks?” Twin repeated.

“That’s correct,” Richard said.

“You are sounding desperate,” Twin said.

“We’re willing to pay three thousand dollars,” Richard said. “That should speak for itself.”

“Hmmm,” Twin said. “And you say you have the doc handcuffed.”

“Exactly,” Richard said. “It will be a piece of cake.”

“I tell you what,” Twin said. “I’ll send someone up there tomorrow morning.”

“You’re not going to do what you did this morning, are you?” Richard asked.

“No,” Twin said. “I guarantee I’ll have someone up there to take care of things.”

“For three thousand,” Richard said. He wanted to be sure they understood each other.

“Three thousand will be just fine,” Twin said.

Richard replaced the receiver and looked over at Terese.

“Do you believe him?” she asked.

“This time he guaranteed it,” Richard said. “And when Twin guarantees something, it happens. He’ll be here in the morning. I’m confident.”

Terese sighed. “Thank God for small favors,” she said.

Jack wasn’t so relieved. His panic rekindled, he determined he had to find a way to escape that night. Morning would bring the apocalypse.

Afternoon dragged into evening. Terese and Richard fell asleep. Unattended, the fire died down. A chill came with the darkness. Jack wracked his brains for ideas of escape, but unless he was freed from the drainpipe, he didn’t see how he could get away.

Around seven both Richard and Terese began to cough in their sleep. At first they seemed more to be clearing their throats than coughing, but soon the hacking became more forceful and productive. Jack considered the development significant. It gave support to a concern he’d been harboring since they both began complaining of chills: namely, that they had caught the dreaded flu from him just as Richard suspected.

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 my 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.”