Jessie’s heart flipped in her chest with worry. “Monica’s the most responsible person I know. She’s always been determined to make her own way. She’d never run away with any guy. It’s just not the way she’s built.”

Walt studied the map. “Ice Queen,” he whispered.

“What’s that?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. So we agree that she didn’t run off, and she’s not in a hotel.”

“Or if she was in a home, a cabin, something… and the next quake came along…” God, Jessie hated to think like that. But something was keeping her sister away. They processed Monica’s personality and the map.

“It was a big jolt,” Walt said. “I called the clinic after it hit. Portions of it came down. Luckily Monica had already moved the patients from that section when she noticed dust coming down a couple of days before.”

Monica’s bossiness followed her everywhere. “Her common sense wouldn’t have put her in a crumbling house. Even for great sex.”

“Where does that leave?”

“Open spaces? Secluded beach? I wish I knew this Trent guy better. Knew what he did around here.”

“Monica wouldn’t have volunteered for a helicopter ride.”

“Right. Hates heights.” Jessie was glad to know Walt knew that much about her sister.

“That leaves something close by.” Walt tapped his hand on the map.

“You’d think.”

Jessie swallowed the lump in her throat. “You’d think.”

Something shook his leg, waking him. Trent opened his eyes to complete darkness.

Like a blind man waking for the first time in a dark world, it took him a moment to process where he was, why he couldn’t see, and what had woken him.

The shaking started again. Accompanying it was a moan. Monica’s moan.

He dropped a hand to her shoulder, expecting to wake her from a dream, only to remove his wet palm.

She shivered again, a violent trembling movement that should have woken her, but didn’t.

Inside he started to panic. He ran a hand over her forehead, felt the heat radiating from her, the sweat.

“Monica? My angel?” His words were whispered at first and then became louder when she didn’t wake. “Monica!”

She woke saying, “I’m cold.”

Those two words let him know she was alive, coherent. “You’re burning up.”

He fumbled around in the dark for his phone. It took a few seconds to locate it and turn it on. The battery power showed half strength.

Her blonde locks were flush against her head, her face rosy with too much color.

Even in the dark, he noticed her eyes lose focus before finding him. “Motrin.”

The backpack holding her belongings was under her leg. He lifted her injured limb away and once again fumbled around until he found what she needed.

Motrin would take care of it. It’s just a fever. Everyone gets them from time to time.

Yet even as he thought the words deep inside he knew the larger danger. She’d been working with the sick, the injured for over a week. He’d seen her leg earlier in the day when she didn’t think he watched. The angry skin had turned red and swollen beyond any wound he’d ever seen. She’d hid it from him quickly when he’d turned and looked.

He poured two pills into his hand and helped her sit up to take the medicine.

She swallowed the medicine with pinched lips. “Thank you.”

Trent pushed her hair behind her ears. “You’re hot.”

She smiled, licked her lips. “You’re not so bad yourself, Barefoot.”

How could she joke? “C’mon, Monica. I’m out of my element. What can I do?”

“Is it cold in here?”

“No.”

“Do I feel hot?”

He nodded. “Like hell on fire.”

Her eyes dropped closed before she reached down and slowly removed her shirt. Her pink bra sat on pasty skin in the dark cave. She handed him her shirt. “Soak it in water.” A tremor shook her as she spoke.

When he returned to her, soaked shirt in hand, she attempted to place it back over her chest. Her fingers fumbled in the task, her eyes sought his for help.

Trent slid the cool clothing over her hot skin, and tried not to wince each time she shivered. “I’ve got to stay cool.”

“What’s happened?” As if he didn’t know.

“I don’t think it-it’s Ebola,” she managed.

“That’s not funny, Monica.”

A smile met her lips, her glazed-over eyes found his. “Infection. Open fractures do that,” she said.

“We cleaned it out.”

She shrugged. “With dirty water at best.” A shiver raked her frame, making her teeth rattle.

The light from his phone turned off and he grabbed it to make it light up the room again. Crazy how such a small thing lit a room.

“What can I do?” He’d never felt so helpless in his life.

“Keep me cool. Even if I beg, keep me cool.”

Beg? Why would she beg? Then it dawned on him. Movies portrayed the sick as incoherent, unable to see reason. He’d never seen anyone lose it. Yet he sat there with a nurse who’d probably seen all that and more.

“I’m a sucker for a begging woman.”

She licked her already dry lips, sipped more water, and lay back down. He had no choice but to return to his post as her personal pillow.