By the time the line outside Chris's door was finally drawing down, we'd identified eleven new positives. Most of them weren't even dead yet. And we'd learned that every single person already on antibiotics had started to progress. Every single one of them. Some at much slower rates than others, but Chris had been keeping careful records of everyone's larvae-to-blood-cell ratios, and the progression was undeniable.
The shittiest part of an already really shitty day, though, was still yet to come.
Shawn had been lingering discreetly near the end of the line.
When his turn finally arrived, he stepped into Chris's room and sat on the stone ledge. Chris slipped a butterfly needle into Shawn's forearm, drew a blood sample, and put a drop under the microscope.
He peered into the lens for only a moment and looked at Shawn apprehensively.
"Positive," he said quietly. "Really sorry. Dude. You're somewhere right in the middle of stage two."
Shawn nodded slowly as if he'd expected this news.
Shawn was positive?
But suddenly I understood. "It was from Lindsay," I said quietly.
Shawn looked at me, surprised. He touched my elbow and edged me out of the room. "I need to talk to you, Ash."
We stepped into a dim ally-like space between the stone walls.
". . . How did you know?" Shawn whispered, guiltily.
"I saw Lindsay give you, like, a look this morning," I said. "When you raised your hand."
My husband drew in a deep breath. "I tried to tell you last night. I just . . . I didn't think you had any feelings at all for me anymore, then everything happened so suddenly. I was just so surprised." He shook his head and looked away. "You're my wife. I know. But I shouldn't have let anything happen between us last night. I should have told you I've been seeing someone else."
"So you have been seeing her, then? Lindsay Tripp? You've been sleeping with her?"
Suddenly, everything made sense. How had I not suspected this earlier? I thought about the cool, laconic confidence that had overtaken Shawn's personality. Not to mention the unusual risks he'd taken that day at the football field. How had I not suspected that he was positive? Somehow I'd just assumed that Shawn wouldn't have slept with anyone else—especially not Lindsay Tripp, of all people. But he had. She must have gotten TGV from Bryce, and, now, she'd passed it to Shawn.
"What did you do to her?" I asked, suspiciously, suddenly horrified that Shawn may have forced himself onto Lindsay.
I took a step backwards.
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