The next few hours passed about how Elliot expected. After heat-treatment in the sacrificial toaster-oven, he went out to make purchases of supplies around town, always getting the maximum possible change for each transaction. If he had to spend some of the money anyway, he went shopping as though he was about to go on a long camping trip. Plenty of cans and non-perishables, a new camp stove, some fuel.

Incidentally, many of the same things he might need if they were about to disappear into the Rockies for a few weeks.

By the time Elliot returned, the weight of exhaustion hung heavy on him, no doubt the product of that long night and not enough sleep. He had to last a little longer, until Sam got off work and could help with the final stage of the plan.

"Don't you think this is a little paranoid?" she asked, under the amber lights of a parking lot. He'd bribed her with a meal and a beer for her help, including the willingness to drive out to a church parking lot he knew wasn't watched by any cameras.

"Feels like you've wrapped a book in this thing. Just throw it out if you don't want it. Don't have to keep it in your car."

She had one of the body panels opened, wedged wide enough to squeeze the plastic-wrapped notebook inside.

"Just pretend it never happened," Ruby said, from the passenger seat. There was no one nearby--no lights on in the building, and nothing but the occasional rumble of tires as cars passed along the road. "Hopefully it doesn't matter, and we can all just forget we ever had anything to do with it."

Sam shrugged, wedging the little notebook inside, then took up her little can of spray-foam from the ground. "If that's what you want, whatever. If it felt like there was powder in there, I'd tell you no. But if you wanna get silly about a book, fine."

She did some other things--scratched up several other parts of the car, so her work in one place wasn't quite so obvious. But Elliot tried not to watch as much as possible. The less she knew about the process, the easier it would be to plead ignorance without needing to act.

He cracked open another energy drink and powered it down while Sam finished. By the end, he felt functional, enough that he could probably make it through a shift without collapsing on his feet.

"I'd be happier if you called out," Ruby said from the driver's seat about half an hour later, as they finally pulled up to the diner. "You look terrible, Elliot. Not the charming kind."

He buttoned his black shirt, then lifted a crumpled apron out from the corner. "Kinda feel it too," he admitted. He could start to feel it in his voice--raw, from all that planning and shopping and careful strategy. "But I can't. If there's a sickness going around, don't want to make it look like I've come down with it, you know?"

He drained the last few sips of chemical slurry from a colorful energy can, then held still as Ruby kissed him on the cheek.

"I'll pick you up in the morning," she said. "Don't even think about walking."

He wouldn't. He might've thought about riding back, though of course since they had driven him to work, that wouldn't be possible. Sam got out and took his seat, giving him a greasy two-fingered salute as she shut the door.

"Fight on, paranoid schizophrenic. May the aliens never abduct you to wherever Elvis is hiding. Or... whatever sleep deprivation did to you."

Elliot was too tired for an appropriately sharp reply. He stumbled in through the door, fixing his uniform as he went.

His diner looked different than the night before in one critical way: it was spotless. Gone was the thin layer of grime on every surface, the discoloration on the wallpaper, the old grease stains on every booth. Instead, the smell of harsh chemical cleaners dominated the air. Someone had moved most of the booths, spreading them out in a way he'd never seen before, leaving not-so-subtle discoloration on the floor between them from where the setup had been altered.

There are two missing. Someone who wasn't a regular might not even realize that things had changed, or at least not how. But after spending so many restless hours staring at the diner, Elliot saw it instantly.

The night manager was even there, rather than failing to show up for his shift without so much as a text message. He had a few words with Elliot before he began, complimenting him for the way he handled the "uncomfortable events" of the night before. Though he did have one difficult question that Elliot couldn't explain.

"More representatives from the base were here earlier today, with a crew to make sure everything was clean. Wanted to grab all our camera footage, except..."

Oh no. Horror washed over him, as he realized what this was about to mean. The diner's cameras must've captured that notebook, or maybe the enormous 'tip' that the fleeing Dr. Zalenka gave him. It wouldn't matter how well he hid it if CCTV showed the whole thing. I'm going to jail for life, aren't I? There are undercover cops eating in that booth near the office right now.

He folded his hands together on the old desk, fixing Elliot with a sudden, intense stare. "Turns out the system stopped recording, right after that guy walked in. You're handing him his menu one second, then... black. Tell me how that happened."

Elliot relaxed visibly. Maybe if he was a little more awake, he might have managed to keep his expression a little more neutral. But he was too exhausted for any real deception. "No idea, boss. I don't even have a key to the security closet, you know that."

Only the managers did, which included his boss, the night manager. Who hadn't sent a single message about why he wasn't there. If he had falsified his timecard again, that would even put him as on duty when the whole thing happened, yet unseen by the visiting soldiers.

"Yes, I do. But there are other ways to..." Mr Moon ran one nervous hand through his own hair, sweeping back the thinning black mass. "There has to be an explanation. Cameras never failed on us before. Whole system goes down all at once like that..."

Elliot shrugged. "You said I was on camera giving the guy a menu when they malfunctioned, right? So clearly I had nothing to do with it." He stood up, pushing back the chair. "Sorry boss. Nothing I can tell you there."

This strange new salvation left Elliot with something new to contemplate during the shift. An unusually busy night, giving him very little time to rest. Many were students, wanting somewhere late to eat while they studied for the upcoming finals. Many even brought books or flashcards in, and sat with their friends to study.

He must look particularly bad if even the customers started noticing he was struggling. He did his best not to mix up any orders, fighting to stay on his feet until it was finally time to change over to the day shift.

Ruby was waiting near the back in his old car, engine running and looking far better than he felt. At least one of them got sleep. "Not feeling any smaller, are you?"

He fixed her with a flat glare, then slumped into the seat. "Don't think so. Uniform still fits. Can we sleep now?"

He must've been particularly exhausted, because Elliot slept at least ten hours after work that day. It was already almost dark by the time he stumbled from the bedroom, feeling like he'd barely just lain down. He found Ruby at a folding desk against the wall, surrounded by textbooks and several colored highlighters.

She waved at him with a few, though she didn't get up. Voices muttered to each other from the laptop balanced on a nearby bookshelf, probably her fellow students. Good, she's getting to study after all. Elliot smiled back at her, then continued into the kitchen to find something to eat.

But the idea of going through the effort to actually make anything felt overwhelming--far beyond whatever energy he had. He settled for half a glass of apple juice, carrying it to the kitchen table and sitting down across from Sam. "Hey."

Sam lifted her head from the tools in front of her--bits of leather, fasteners, punches, and other things he had no names for. A few scraps clung to her damp skin, wedging in around her face. "Hey Elliot. Hope I didn't... get you sick." Her voice was low and gravelly, even for Samantha. "Looks like I might."

He set his glass down in front of him, without taking a sip yet. "I'm not sick. Just... catching up from some sleep debt."

She shrugged. "Hope so. Client a few days ago had six little nightmares in her stupid minivan. Had to bring them all in for a stupid oil change, coughing and sneezing and dripping all over everything. Thought maybe I got the bandanna over my mouth in time, but..." she shrugged. "Guess not."

Elliot took a few sips from his glass. The flavor was wrong, the usual sweetness and rich flavor of the fresh apple juice replaced with only a faint undercurrent of sugar. "I can't get sick right now," he said, as though he could declare it so by will alone. "Finals are always the most important nights of the year. I can't call out!"

She shrugged. "If it makes you feel any better, seemed like it was just a cold. I've got some... pills and stuff in my bathroom cupboard. Go ahead and steal 'em if you need. Since it's... my fault."

She lowered her head back to the table, resting up against the sheets of uncut leather. "Sorry. Would've kept my distance if I thought... and it's probably too late for Ruby too. Maybe she can take her finals before she gets hit."

From her obvious energy, his girlfriend didn't seem like she'd been affected. She talked animatedly about some cellular process or another, using words he couldn't pronounce. Smart, pretty, and loyal. I don't deserve her.

"That why she's over there?" he guessed. "Doesn't want the mange?"

Sam nodded without lifting her head, more twitching against the table. "Doubt it will help, unless you start sleeping on the couch."

"I will," he decided, without hesitation. Even if it was just a cold, he would've kept his distance from Ruby, if that meant a better shot she could take her finals with all her faculties intact. But this might not be a cold.

"Suit yourself," she said. "Ruby was gonna run for chicken soup after she finished. I'll tell her to bring some for you too."

That sounded wonderful about then, about as wonderful as climbing back into bed and sleeping another 10 hours. But work would be expecting him in four, so there was no time for that.

Elliot took another energy drink, then shuffled his way to the bathroom to clean up. He did so, checking the scale twice to confirm. He weighed a little more than the last measurement, not less. I'm normal. Nothing's happening. I'm not gonna end up like Dr. Zalenka.

He felt much better after a hot shower, and long enough for the energy drink to finally take effect. Not 100%, he still had a fever and a steady flow of slime trickling down his nose. But a cold had never slowed him down before.

He dressed, then crossed the hall to Samantha's bathroom, which he almost never used. The inside was much too messy for him to use normally, with empty bottles and makeup containers covering every inch of counter space. But the mirror on the cupboard was clean, enough to show his reflection staring back as he tugged it open.

He looked worn out, though that was to be expected. Yet with the gel still drying in his hair, it did look a little... different. Was that his imagination, or was it longer? Not only that, but Sam's choice of mismatched light bulbs made his hair look almost bluish near the roots.

I'm not infected, he thought. It's all in my head. It's just the lights.

Another twenty minutes and the cold medication later, and Elliot felt much closer to human. The worst-timed cold in the history of the human race would not be enough to stop him now.

But something else might be. He found a message waiting on his phone, apparently arrived a little before he woke up.

It was from his boss. "Elliot, there's gonna be a few people from the base to talk to you when you get here. Not sure what it's about. Please think long and hard about everything you remember from two nights ago. They're threatening to call the health inspector. You better say everything they want to hear."

Elliot slumped against the wall, sliding all the way down to the floor. Shit.

Elliot had a decision to make.

1. Call in Sick. You caught a cold from a roommate, that was all. They'll recognize the need for caution.
2. Go anyway. You've got nothing to hide. Down some DayQuil and show how healthy you are.
3. Run! Even a small chance that this little cold could be connected might mean vanishing into an unmarked van. Time to go camping!

Author's Note

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