Page 25 of Player Misconduct
I rub at my temple, forcing my brain to focus on rational probabilities instead of spiraling into panic. The odds are low. The CDC would’ve seen symptoms by now. I repeat it like a mantra.
Five minutes stretch into twenty. Then thirty. The clock ticks louder. The desert wind rattles the thin windowpanes, and I wonder if Aleksi got himself kicked out of quarantine for raiding the vending machine.
When the lock finally rattles, I jump.
The door swings open, and there he is—hair damp from washing, hoodie unzipped, mask hanging from one ear—arms overflowing with plastic bags, bottles, and an alarming number of snack wrappers.
“Delivery for Mrs. Mäkelin,” he announces, dropping everything onto the dresser in one loud rustle.
“You were gone forever.”
“Had to negotiate,” he says, completely unbothered. “The vending machine only took quarters, and the front desk guy said he’d trade me for autographs.”
“You bribed someone in the middle of a CDC lockdown?”
“I bartered,” he corrects. “Economy of survival.”
He starts unloading the haul: six bottles of water, an army of candy bars, trail mix, a pack of gummy worms, two bags of chips, and—because of course—three tiny hotel bottles of wine that he must’ve charmed off someone.
“Where did you even get those?” I ask, pointing to the wine.
“Don’t worry about it. We’re celebrating survival. Day One.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, but I can’t help the small laugh that slips out. “You realize this is probably how zombie movies start, right? Someone breaks quarantine for a bag of Doritos.”
“Then I’ll die happy. Want to know a fun fact about Ebola that I just learned?”
“A fun fact about Ebola?” I ask, and then I realize this is Aleksi and of course he researched it and has fun facts. “Okay, hit me with them.”
“First thing, you’re not contagious until you start showing symptoms so you haven’t give me anything. Second, it doesn'tspread through the air so it’s unlikely that the entire plane caught it. It’s direct contact with bodily fluids so unless Steve sneezed on you or something, your probably safe. Want to know the best one though?”
His fun facts are helping… a little. I already knew that contracting it wasn’t a huge likelihood but the CDC still found it necessary to quarantine us overnight so if they are taking precautions, that means something to me.
“Okay, what's the best one?” I ask, because now I am curious that there is a ‘best one’.
“If we contract it and don’t have symptoms we could carry antibodies for the next ten years that will keep us from getting it again. We’ll be invincible, with super human abilities.”
“We didn’t get bit by a radioactive spider. We’re not Spiderman.”
He just shrugs and then digs into one of the bags and tosses me a water. I catch it just in time.
“If you could have a superpower, Doc, what would it be?” he asks.
“I think teleportation would be cool. What’s yours?”
He stares at me for a moment and then says. “I would have given anything to have read your mind on that bench earlier today when you were taping me up.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, twisting off the cap.
“Anytime, wife.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Can’t. You’re wearing my ring.”
I glance down—and then blink.
Among the vending machine loot on the dresser are at least a dozen condoms in bright foil wrappers, gleaming under the lamp.
