We are not traitors

He stays in the apartment long enough to change his clothes--he doesn't think that stolen hospital scrubs are exactly the thing to be wearing out on the street--and then stumbles out again. There's blood on the floor, bloodstained kitchen shears nearby, broken glass everywhere. His own apartment feels like a tomb. Outside the streets are eerily empty but a couple of store windows are broken and twice he passes what look like fights in alleyways--fights or something worse. Maybe he's a coward for not trying to help. Maybe it's just the same instincts that have kept him alive this long.

An hour ago, be broke out of quarantine. It hadn't been difficult. Pick his way past the lock on his room's door, wait until the hallway was briefly clear, grab some scrubs from a cart on the way out and change into them in a janitor's closet. No one had looked at him all the way to the lobby, and no one tried to stop him as he walked out the front doors.

They're all too distracted by the sick, he supposes.

Neil.

Twenty-four hours before he'd been put into quarantine by a pleasant doctor who nevertheless made it clear that he'd use sedatives to make Mike behave if necessary. It was as they were taking Neil away, rolling him off on a fucking gurney, and Mike had just about killed someone right there, except for the new wave of fear hitting the sides of his head.

Sir, were you exposed? You're going to have to come with us.

Sixteen hours before, a nurse wearing a facemask had come in to give him some food and he had begged her to tell him how Neil was. Begged her with fucking tears in his eyes, begged her when all the time he was trying to resist the urge to grab her and smash her head-first into the nearest wall, because anything between him and Neil needs to fucking die. Fourteen hours back and she had returned.

No change in his condition.

The fuck does that mean?

It means he's stable. They're doing everything they can.

Then,

Do I have it?

She had consulted a chart. When were you exposed?

Your blood's negative so far. You probably won't get sick, then--whatever this is, it works fast.

That had been all he needed to hear.

He's replaying the conversation over and over in his head as he wanders through the dimness in a daze, all the conversations, the parting glimpses of Neil surrounded by nurses, pale. Like he was already gone.

He doesn't mean to go to Andrea's building, but when he manages to look around him, there he is, and he isn't going to argue with it. He makes his way up the steps, hits the buzzer and half falls against the door.