Exhausted, drained, Angela stepped back. "I'm gonna put the discs out. Twenty feet?"
He nodded, smothering a yawn as he handed her the wrist band controller. "Two rows. One at 20 and one at 30."
She did it like he had shown her and Marc watched for a minute, then got slowly to his feet in the light breeze. "You want a cup?"
The wind gusted as Marc's eyes went over the distant, but clearer shapes of the mountains to their south, bringing the stench of rotting fish. He kept himself from gagging only by sheer will, his whole body suddenly feeling foreign, clammy.
"I'll get it. Sit back down, will ya? That was enough dope to knock you out," Angela scolded, finished.
When he didn't answer - only put a hand on the hatch for support - she went to him, slipped an arm around his lean hips. "Come on, Brady. Time to hit the rack."
"Been waitin' weeks to hear that," he joked tiredly and she surprised him by laughing. "Well, wait a while longer, Romeo. Come on now, slide in."
Marc eased onto the stiff bed, and she tossed the two top blankets over him. When he looked at her, his deep blue eyes were full of fear instead of the male pride she had been expecting. "I'll get sick now, right?"
She didn't even consider lying to him as she brushed dust from her jeans and then leaned inside to pull up his blankets. "Maybe."
"Will I die?"
"Oh, God no!" she exclaimed, sliding in to sit next to him. "At the worst, you'll be tired, have diarrhea, and throw up, but it'll only last a couple weeks because you're in great shape."
"So, I'll just feel like I died."
She grinned, running her hand over his clammy brow to smooth his hair back, loving the feel of it against her fingers. "That's the worst. We handled it quickly. You might be a little queasy for a couple days, but probably not even that. You'll be fine."
Marc sighed, relieved, and she stayed with him until he fell asleep, staring at her until he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer.
The chill in the wind made Angela shiver as she stepped out to repack everything, and she loaded it quickly so he wouldn't get a draft. The heater's batteries were dead, all the propane cylinders gone, and they couldn't waste the quarter tank of gas they had left to run the engine while they slept. Body heat would have to do.