“Where am I?” he finally ventured to ask, and the two male doctors quieted and turned to him with the same detachment that the woman had had.
The white doctor stepped closer, clipboard in hand, looking like the pompous jackass that Brandt had expected. “What is your name?” he asked, and Brandt scowled.
“I want to know where my wife is, damn it,” Brandt replied. “Where is Cade?”
Just at the periphery of his hearing, he heard the female doctor let out a surprised gasp.
“Your name, sir,” the doctor repeated, pen poised over the clipboard in anticipation of his answer.
“Brandt—Michael Brandt Evans,” Brandt said in frustration. “Where is everyone from Woodside?”
“Are you currently experiencing any pain?” the doctor prompted.
“Who are you people?” Brandt asked.
The doctor looked unaffected by his reticence. “Are you currently experiencing any pain?” he repeated.
“Yeah, in my ass,” Brandt snapped, and he heard the female doctor let out a little giggle.
“Are you feeling any nausea, fever, delirium? Any confusion or abnormal thoughts?”
“I’m experiencing plenty of confusion, doc,” Brandt said. “Because nobody’s answering my fucking questions!” His voice reverberated off the tile and the concrete walls, and the doctors flinched at the sound.
Finally, the gray-haired doctor sighed and beckoned to the two soldiers. “He seems fine. Secure him and take him to his cell. I’ll let the major know that he’s conscious and available for questioning.”
The two soldiers saluted and moved toward the bed. His restraints were unfastened, but before he could make a move, he was hauled into a sitting position, and his hands were cuffed behind his back. “Off the bed, please,” Hutcherson said.
Bayer let the side rail down so Brandt could get up.
“Would someone please answer my questions?” Brandt asked. “Where am I?”
The female doctor seemed to take pity on him, because she stepped forward and held up a hand to signal for the soldiers to wait. “You’re in CDC medical facilities that have been established in conjunction with the United States military,” she explained, in an accent remarkably similar to Cade’s, only thicker.
Relieved that he was finally getting some of his questions answered, he asked, “So where are these facilities?”
“I can’t give you an exact location,” the woman said apologetically, “but I can tell you we’re near Bowling Green, Kentucky.”
“Kentucky?” Brandt repeated. “What the hell am I doing in Kentucky? And what happened to the rest of the people from my community? And why was I taken into custody?”
The black doctor cleared his throat and said quietly, “We don’t know anything about anyone else or any community. You were the only person brought in. As for why, we don’t know. That’s something that you’ll have to ask the major.”
“Okay, that’s enough,” the gray-haired doctor said. “Get him moving to his cell. We don’t have all day.”
Before Brandt could protest, he was hauled off the bed to his feet and steered toward the hospital room’s door. It expelled him out into a hallway that was empty save for him and the two soldiers. But not for long; seconds later, he heard the click of high heels against the tiles as someone hurried to catch up with them. He glanced over his shoulder to see the dark-haired woman walking at a brisk pace, following them through the winding halls of the facility and down multiple flights of stairs until they reached a bona fide prison cell with a solid steel door and a single slot to, presumably, slide food through. Bayer opened the door and swung it wide, indicating that Brandt should step inside.
“Excuse me,” the female doctor said, moving to intercept. “I need to take his vitals before you lock the cell, please.” She swept her hand toward the cell and addressed Brandt. “If you’d please sit on the edge of the bed?” And to the soldiers, “And if you’d wait at the door for me, it will only take a second.”
Brandt obeyed, partially out of curiosity. He sat on the edge of the bed and watched as she placed a bag onto the absurdly thin mattress beside him. She opened it, pulled out a stethoscope, and plugged it into her ears. Then she leaned over and pressed the cup to his chest.
“Don’t react. Just listen,” she whispered as she pretended to examine his lungs. “Deep breath,” she said loudly.
He obeyed.
She continued in the same hushed voice as before. “Things aren’t what they seem here. Don’t tell them anything.”
He schooled his features into impassivity as she moved the stethoscope’s cup to his upper back and added, “As for your community, I’m not sure it exists anymore.”
It took everything in Brandt to not respond, to not react in the slightest to her statement, but he did manage to whisper, “What makes you think that?”
“I overheard Major Bradford talking,” she said. “I don’t know what everything he said meant, but he mentioned a MOAB, and I know what that is.”
“Oh hell,” Brandt breathed, and he closed his eyes.
“Just…don’t tell them anything beyond what’s absolute necessary,” the woman said. “And don’t worry. I’ll get you out of here as soon as I can.” She stepped back and pulled a blood pressure cuff from her bag.
“What’s your name?” Brandt asked when she leaned down to wrap the cuff around his arm and take his blood pressure.
“Lindsey Alton,” the woman said, and Brandt could have sworn he felt his heart stop.
“Lindsey Alton?” he repeated, almost too loudly.
“Yes, Lindsey Alton,” she confirmed. “And if I’m not mistaken, you know my sister. And when I get you out of here, you’re going to help me find her or die trying.”
Table of Contents
From the Journal of Remy Angellette
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
The Becoming (Book 4): Under Siege Page 28