Denton?" She spoke in a breathless whisper. She might have been asking whether it was him or if he was alright, but the ambiguity didn't matter. When their eyes met, all answers were forgotten.

He shoved Radnor off and let the man's limp body roll into the snow. The blood matting his hair drew a streak, like an errant brush on a blank canvas.

Linda stood there holding the tire iron in both hands as though it were a broadsword. Her heather gray coat puffed out at the chest with each labored breath. Her white woolen cap sat slightly askew and her hair poked out from one side.

"Is that Cole?" she asked, as Denton got up.

He wiped his mouth on his sleeve leaving a glistening, dark trail behind. Blood continued to drip, warming the corner of his mouth. He sucked in his lip and grimaced at the sharp taste.

"Yeah," he said looking at the body, tempted to give it a kick. Radnor's face was relaxed, as if he were sleeping. It was the only time he had ever seen Cole Radnor look peaceful. "At least it was."

Linda pressed herself against him. Her hug drew his arms tightly against his sides.

"Do you think I killed him?" Worry was deeply ingrained into her words. Her eyes were locked on the seeping head wound.

Even though the voice in his head thought, I hope so, Denton said, "No, I think he'll be okay."

"I can't believe I found you. I've been looking for you everywhere. Thank god, you're alright." Her hands traveled up to his shoulders. She stood on her toes and moved to kiss him on the lips.

Denton pushed her back. "Don't. I'm sick."

She pressed her lips together tightly, draining their color, while her eyes narrowed, registering her hurt. Even in the depths of the worst February flues, they never refused to kiss each other. Their beings had always been too intertwined to care if they shared an illness. Their lives were lived too closely to harbor the expectation that avoiding contact could prevent infecting each other.

Denton turned away from her cold stare and saw Kaling and Strasser moving toward them. They had left their position by the elm and were closing in fast. If it weren't for the elderly couple walking side by side blocking their path, they would have already reached Denton and Linda.

In frustration, each man leaped into the snow on either side of the old people and hastily trudged through to pass them.

"We need to go." Denton grabbed Linda by the hand and pulled her away. The move was quick and decisive, and she didn't resist.

Through his glove, the bones in her hand felt delicate, like the rib cage of a small animal. He was grateful for the leather and the felt lining. There was something shielding her skin from his diseased flesh.

"Listen." Denton glanced back at her. "I don't know what Bill's told you, but I'm not crazy. Everything I said in my email is true. There's a virus in town that is making people psychopathic."

"That's nuts," Linda said. "A disease can't do that?"

"You've met Cole? You've talked to him? Did he ever strike you as homicidal before?" The path they were on began to curve as it left the thicket of trees and entered the emptier area of the park, where the farmer's market convened in the summer.

Linda chewed her lower lip. Denton gave her a second to ponder the man named Cole Radnor, but he knew the answer to his questions. He had always been a little creepy and occasionally annoying, but despite all his great talk, Radnor was timid at heart.

"If you hadn't shown up, he would have killed me," Denton added. Over Linda's shoulder, Kaling and Strasser were helping Radnor up. He was conscious again and they'd managed to get him standing on his uncertain feet. He shook his head as if he were trying to get bees out of it.

Seeing the concern in Denton's eyes, Linda turned to see what was happening behind her. He hastened his pace and tugged on her hand to keep her looking forward. He sensed her stumble, as though it had been choreographed ahead of time, and moved to steady her. Their bodies met, her weight against his chest, hands still clasped together, his other hand on her waist.

When was the last time they had danced together? A friend's wedding? A university fundraiser? At least four years ago, probably more. One more regret to add to the pile.

"Here, I'll hold on to that." He carefully took the tire iron from her and continued on, heading for Market Street, like their sudden, intimate contact hadn't happened.

"I know it sounds like the stuff of bad B movies. Believe me, I know. But Radnor is sick, infected with a virus that drove him stark raving mad. And he infected me."

Part of him wanted to just stop and hold her. Put his head in her lap and have her tell him everything would be okay. But Kaling and his little gang of the damned were less than twenty yards away. He needed to do something to put distance between them and Linda. And he had to do it fast.

"How can you be sure? How can you be sure of any of this?" Her words came out broken by pauses from heavy breathing. They were only walking quickly. She was showing more signs of exertion than she should have. She must have ran to intercept Radnor when she saw Denton in trouble. How had she known it was him? How did she know he needed help? Did she sense it the same way he had just felt that she was about to trip?

"He did it intentionally," Denton answered. "He actually licked his hand and rubbed it on my burn." He let go of her and held up his arm, the sleeve fell back demonstrating the wound.

"Eww."

He tucked his wrist away, uncertain if her disgusted look had been with Radnor's actions or the mottled mess of red blistered skin.

He stepped out onto the sidewalk. The Buick was parked a block and a half away on a side street. He headed for it.

"It doesn't mean you have anything? It's disgusting, but it's not like he gave you an injection. And you do remember that you're a hypochondriac, right?" The question sounded familiar like a refrain from a song. He had heard it before, perhaps while sitting at the breakfast table, kneading a migraine out of his forehead, worrying that it might be symptomatic of a tumor.

"I'm not making this up." He felt the irritation in his voice as it escaped his mouth. The police didn't believe him. That ER doctor didn't believe him. Bill didn't believe him. But Linda not believing him scratched at an old wound. Not a deep cut, but a nebulous rash that comprised of all the petty annoyances that had accumulated over the years of their marriage: dish towels left in the sink, empty toilet paper rolls left on the spindle, dirty coffee cups left in the studio, the obligatory eye roll at his home improvement attempts, and her belief that he was prone to exaggerate things.

"Stop." Her voice was no longer close behind him.

Denton was halfway across the street. She was still standing on the corner. She was defiant, with a hand on her hip. He jogged back to her and reached for her arm.

"We have to keep moving there are more of them out there. It wasn't just Radnor."

She deftly avoided his grasp and turned to search the park. "There's no one back there."

They must still be helping Radnor. The trees blocked them from view.

"Look, no one knows what you went through in that cabin." Linda placed her hands on his arms just above his elbows, in that way of hers that said, I understand you, but looked as if she were trying to shake sense into him.

He avoided her gaze. Their restaurant was right across the street. It was packed to overflowing with a festive Christmas crowd. Everyone seemed to be happy and laughing without a care in the world. If he could rewind time, what steps would he have to take differently in order to be one of those people?

"You have to see it's not a coincidence that just days after you went through that, you came up with this strange conspiracy theory," Linda said.

"I wasn't traumatized by what happened there." Denton turned back toward her. "Honest." He adjusted the cap on her head and brushed the strands of hair back under it. He cursed his stupid leather gloves.

He wanted to rip them off. He wanted to feel the softness of her hair. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted her to talk him into going to the hospital and get help. He wanted to believe he was wrong, so badly.

Kaling stepped out from behind the black tree trunks and into the open.

"We have to keep moving."

"I'm not going anywhere until you call Bill."

Kaling was making a beeline for them with the other two close behind.

"Call him. If what you say is true, he'll look into it," she said. "If it's as big a problem as you say, what are you going to do? Stop it all by yourself?"

"Okay, I'll call." He gave in, feeling frantic at the rapidly approaching threat. "But let's get somewhere safe first."

"Promise?" she asked with a mock frown.

She could have been standing in the doorway of their house with Denton about to go to work. I'll pick up the milk on my way home. She pretends to pout, promise. Promise, he says, then kisses her goodbye in their Morse code of affection.

"Promise," he said with his hand against his chest. "But we have to get out of here, now."

"Okay, then. If it'll make you feel better," she sighed.

He took her by the arm and rushed her across the street, dodging an SUV.

"Where are we going?"

"Da Vinci's." The pizza parlor was just off of the Square on 9th. They'd eaten there and picked up dinner countless times. It was one of the best places for pizza and subs in town and had been their favorite since moving to Bexhill.

"Why there?"

"Brightly lit. Lots of people. And they have a payphone, so I can call Bill."

"I have my cell." She patted her purse and slowed down a step. "Either way," Denton said, getting her moving again. He didn't dare look back. They turned down 9th Avenue. He could see the pizza joint's archaic neon sign at the next corner. "Let's just get there, first. We'll be safer in there than out here."

Storefronts rushed past them, as he accelerated to a jog. His eyes were fixed on the outline of a red arrow that flashed in a four part sequence, pointing out the door to the restaurant.

Linda hastened her stride and got beside him. "We've known each other a long time," she said. "And you know I love you." The gaps in her words weren't just an expression of her exertion. She was hesitating, slowly bringing out her thoughts into the open. Whatever she wanted to say, it must be bad.

"Yeah." Denton wasn't sure he really wanted her to continue.

"I just can't help but feel that you might be making a bigger deal out of this than it is. No, don't interrupt. You've always had a way of blowing the smallest thing up into an epic disaster. Remember the mouse?"

Good grief! Is she really bringing this up now?

"This isn't like finding a dead mouse in the garage, Linda. This is about the fate of mankind."

"See. And didn't you say the mouse was a sign of a major infestation."

The exterminator found no trace of any other rodents in the house. For his time and a few precautionary traps, it cost them five hundred dollars. She had never let him live it down.

"There is no comparison." His voice was as tight as piano wire. They might be killed by a gang of homicidal maniacs at any moment. He couldn't believe they were having this argument.

"All I'm saying is take a breath, Dent. This probably isn't nearly as bad as it seems."

They were there.

"Let's just get inside. I'll call Bill, and then we can sit there and talk about this. Okay?"

"Okay," she said, smiling tenderly at him.

He let go of her arm and pulled the door open. The smell of the wood fired ovens and a torrent of voices drifted out to greet them, awaking memories of comfort deeply ingrained in Denton's psyche. He could picture himself sitting down at one of the tiny Formica tables with Linda just like on any other night. Kaling and Radnor liked to keep to the shadows; they would be safe in there with the bright lights and white tile walls. He might even have the time for one last slice of Da Vinci's pizza and the time to tell Linda all the things he never had a chance to—all those things that had been cycling through his mind, and he thought he'd never get the chance to say. There might be time for that before the police came to pick him up.

Holding the door open, he made a sweep with his hand that would have looked gallant except for the tire iron it held.

Linda smiled at his gentlemanly behavior as she stepped in.

Denton slammed the door shut behind her and slipped the steel bar between the two handles, creating a rudimentary lock.

"Denton!" she screamed. Linda rattled the door trying to force it open. For a second, the tire iron looked as if it were going to fall out of its perch, but it held.

"I'm sorry," he said loud enough to be heard through the glass. "This is for your own safety."

"Open this door right now," she yelled. Faces in the restaurant turned toward them.

"Goodbye, Linda." He could feel himself losing it as he looked at her. Her face was red and her mouth was contorted in anger. But tears welled up in his eyes. He could feel a sob forming in his chest. As much as he wanted to give up and be with her, even if it were for just a few more minutes, he couldn't. He had to hold it together. Hold on for another hour or so and put an end to it, so she would never face the threat of this madness.

He had made a vow to himself long ago. Long before they were even married, he had sworn a silent oath that he would never let any harm come to her. It was a promise that superseded all others.

"Denton!" She hit the window with her fist.

He took his glove off and placed the palm of his hand against the spot where her fist lay. The tears began flowing fast.

"Goodbye," he said again and his voice caught in his throat. Her hand flattened out and pressed against his. Her eyes moistened at the sight of his pain.

"I love you," Denton said. It wasn't loud but the shapes his mouth formed the words clearly.

Her eyes went wide, perhaps realizing that he was leaving her, realizing she might never see him again.

"No!" she howled. Notes of anguish penetrated the glass and ran through his fingertips. Her distress may have been from her final comprehension of his motives, or it may have been from the sight of the men coming up behind him.

Rough hands grabbed Denton and pulled him away, throwing him onto the street.