Search & Destroy

by Julie Rowe

  DS smiled. “I’ll see who I can find hiding under the rocks.” He strode toward a knot of nurses.

  That left John Dozer, who was waiting with more patience than she’d expected him to display.

  “Let’s check on the status of the confirmed and suspected measles patients.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said in almost the same respectful tone Travis had used.

  She shot him a dirty glare.

  “It’s a compliment,” he said, leaning in to drop the words into her right ear. “You had all of those men, even DS, at attention, then gone to carry out your orders.”

  “Even you?” she asked, shocked by his observation.

  He leaned in a little closer. “Especially me.”

  They had to go outside to get to the section of the building that housed the isolation ward. The interior hallways were completely blocked by debris, smoke, and firefighters. From the outside, however, it was possible to truly see the scope of the damage.

  One side of the building had been completely blown out.

  “This is much worse than I thought,” she said softly to John.

  “Reminds me of the Oklahoma City bombing back in 1995,” he replied. “Not quite as large, but…” His voice trailed off. “We don’t have a casualty list yet, do we?”

  “No, but I suspect it’s going to be higher than anyone is anticipating.”

  Less than an hour later, on Carmen’s recommendation, the mayor requested State assistance, who activated a second National Guard medical unit.

  They spent the next couple of hours working with hospital administration, various law enforcement agencies, and the American Red Cross to sort out how to get everyone—staff, patients, and public—to the hospital in Kissimmee.

  As soon as the National Guard’s medical staff began arriving, they were able to focus on the outbreak, because more people were showing up with presumptive measles. The news that the hospital had been bombed hadn’t yet gotten to everyone. A lot of the incoming sick were children.

  One family drove their Jeep over what had been a landscaped area, knocking aside benches, in order to get help for their two kids.

  They drove their vehicle right up to a knot of uniformed guardsmen.

  “Please, help us,” a woman, said jumping out through the passenger door. “Our kids are burning up, and I can’t wake them.”

  Carmen hurried over.

  The children, a boy and a girl too small to have started school, were strapped into car seats in the back.

  She didn’t even have to put a hand to their skin to know they had high fevers. Both kids were flushed and sweating enough their hair and clothing were soaked.

  With the help of John and a couple of guardsmen, they got the kids onto the pavement so she could properly assess them. Their temperatures were 107 degrees—practically cooking themselves. She checked under their clothing and discovered they didn’t have the typical measles rash. There were some raised bumps, but they seemed to congregate in the hot spots—armpits, neck, groin.

  They would need to be cooled down, given IV fluids, and a whole lot of prayer if they were going to make it. All of that was now in short supply.

  “We need to take your children to the hospital in Kissimmee,” she explained to their parents. She had her fingers on the pulse of the little girl and it was much, much too fast. Under her hand, the child began to shake.

  Febrile seizure.

  Damn it.

  “Wait.” She looked at John. “I need as much ice as you can find. Bring it here. We’ve got to cool down these kids.”

  “Ice?” he asked, and his tone told her he thought she was asking for the impossible.

  “Rob a convenience store if you have to,” she said between clenched teeth.

  His expression cleared, turning hard and determined. “Don’t go anywhere without me.”

  She gave him her get-lost expression. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Tuesday, April 1, 1:16 a.m.

  Dozer caught DS before he got more than twenty feet away from Carmen. “I’ve been sent for ice. She’s with a family with two kids who are burning up. Make sure nothing gets to her.”

  DS nodded and moved toward her.

  It took Dozer ten minutes to get a half dozen bags of ice from the nearest convenience store. He had to convince a cop it was in his best interests to get Dozer there and back, but between his ID and the chaos, the cop hadn’t taken long to decide to go along with it.

  Both of them carried three bags each and hurried them to where he’d left Carmen, the family, and DS. The two kids had been laid out on the pavement on top of an open sheet. As soon as Carmen got hold of the first bag of ice, she ripped it open and poured it over the girl.

  “Take three bags and do the same for the boy,” she ordered.

  DS and the cop covered the boy with ice, while he and Carmen finished covering the girl.

  “Take the sheet and wrap them up. Get as much ice over as much of them as you can.”

  “Won’t this hurt them?” their mother asked, her hands trembling even as she held on to her husband’s fist.

  “Their body temperatures are dangerously high. This will help bring it down.”

  “What happens if it doesn’t come down?”

  Carmen didn’t answer right away. After several seconds of silence, she said, “The high fever can cause brain damage, blindness, even—” She cut herself off. “We need to get your children to the hospital in Kissimmee.”

  A group of uniformed guardsmen ran over with two gurneys. They loaded the kids and took off for the road, the parents running with them.

  Dozer’s phone went off. Rawley.

  “Dozer,” he said.

  “I expected you and Dr. Rodrigues to be here by now.” Ooh, the man sounded bitter.

  “The damage to the hospital here is more extensive than we thought. We’ve been trying to assist with triage and getting people moved to you, but it’s a mess here. People are still showing up with sick friends and family members.”

  The was a long moment of silence. “Many injured?”

  “Yeah, over a hundred and fifty at last count. Thirty-two dead.”

  “That is a lot worse.”

  “We’re picking up the pieces, literally, and trying to manage the transfer of people from here to you, but things are chaotic. Panic is also starting to spread.”

  “Do you need my assistance there?”

  Dozer asked Carmen the question.

  She held out her hand for the phone. “Agent Rawley, how are things there?”

  “Calm, orderly, organized.”

  “Good. We’re sending you a couple of buses full of sick and injured. Treat them all as if they’re confirmed as having measles and are contagious.”

  Dozer could hear the other man try to argue, starting with a shouted “But.”

  Carmen just kept talking. “I’m counting on you to keep things calm, orderly, and organized. These people are hurt and frightened out of their minds. I need strong leadership from you. Can I count on you, Agent Rawley?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the agent said, his voice clear across the short distance between Dozer and Carmen. “When can I expect you to arrive?”

  There you go, that’s the right question.

  Dozer sighed. Took him long enough.

  “If all goes well, one to two hours.”

  “If it doesn’t go well?”

  “Either Dozer, DS, or myself will keep you appraised.” She ended the call and handed his phone back.

  It did indeed take two hours for Carmen to wrap things up and get to the hospital in Kissimmee.

  The moment they got off the bus, the mood in the air was noticeably different. There was no frantic rushing around, just people moving with purpose. No screaming and shouting, only calm conversation.

  A police officer wearing a mask, safety glasses, and disposable gloves came up to the bus and waited for the door to open. “Dr. Rodrigues? Agent Rawl
ey asked me to escort you to the decontamination area, then the command tent.”

  She hesitated. “I need someone to direct my people and these patients.”

  “Yes, ma’am. A triage team is coming. They’ll get everyone where they need to go.”

  A dozen people headed their way at a trot. All of them wore the same protective gear, along with armbands with red crosses on them.

  She saw them, nodded, then said, “Lead the way.”

  The young man turned, and Carmen, Dozer, and DS followed him.

  “Command tent?” she muttered under her breath.

  Dozer exchanged a look with DS. “Some people have delusions of grandeur.”

  The old man snorted. “Or just delusions.”

  They went through a decontamination tent, removing their old protective gear, washing hands and exposed skin, then put on the fresh masks, glasses, and gloves.

  The tent the young officer took them to was forty feet by forty feet. One of the structures the CDC used when arriving in an area without enough infrastructure. They could be used as housing, an operating room, or a school. Whatever was needed. Apparently, this one needed to be a smaller version of a government office, complete with a generator powering several computers and screens and a number of people working at either data entry or some other administrative task.

  “Is he attempting to show off, or does he just like to micromanage everyone?” Carmen asked of no one in particular.

  “I think it could be both,” Dozer answered.

  “I think he’s an asshole,” DS said. “An organized asshole, but still an asshole.”

  Dozer looked at him and grinned. “How did you get to be so smart?”

  DS grunted. “It was either learn something or get dick-slapped fifty times a day.”

  A blush spread up Carmen’s neck and face.

  “If you two make me laugh, you’re both fired,” Carmen said under her breath.

  “Well, now, how can you expect a man to resist a challenge like that?” DS asked.

  Dozer elbowed him. “Shut up, old man. I actually like working with you.”

  “Aww, you like me,” DS said with way too much glee in his voice. “Too bad you’re not my type.”

  “I work with men masquerading as ten-year-olds,” Carmen muttered.

  “But handsome ten-year-olds,” DS said.

  Dozer laughed.

  Rawley strode up to them with FBI Agent Ketner only a step behind. “What’s so damn funny that you can laugh while all of this”—he gestured with one hand at the doorway—“is going on?”

  Did the man have to sound paranoid all the time?

  Dozer opened his mouth to tell him he was an ass, but Carmen spoke before he could.

  “Laughter decreases stress, anxiety, and blood pressure,” she said, keeping her tone and body language calm. “It boosts creativity, memory, and intelligence. When people share a joke, laughter creates an emotional bond between them. It helps teams work more productively together. Laughter is one of the most powerful coping mechanisms we have for dealing with difficult or dangerous situations. I would think,” she said with a surprisingly hard edge to her voice, “you would be more likely to promote an activity with so many benefits.”

  “I laugh,” Rawley said, his lips twisting like he had a mouthful of lemons.

  Ketner watched them talk, his gaze moving from person to person, glee all but oozing out of him.

  Creep.

  “Not with us, Agent Rawley, not with us.” Carmen tilted her head to one side. “I wonder why that is? Give me a report, please, on everything you’ve done since arrival.”

  Rawley’s eyes flared hot, and for one awful moment, Dozer was pretty sure if the man weren’t wearing a mask, they’d see his nose and mouth pulled back in disgust.

  “I thought we worked things out,” Dozer said to the agent. “Has something changed?”

  Rawley stared at him with fury incandescent on his face for another couple of seconds before he got himself under control. “Agent Ketner brought some FBI intel. There have been threats made against nearly every international airport in the country.”

  “Oh?” Dozer said. “Any idea where these threats are coming from?”

  “Burner phones and bouncing IP addresses,” the agent in question replied. “We haven’t been able to nail the origin yet, but we’re continuing to work on it.” He paused, then asked, “Why aren’t you using any anti-viral medications?”

  “Because they don’t typically work for measles.” He opened his mouth, but Carmen kept talking. “I know there are a couple showing promise in early lab testing, but we have no way of knowing how they would perform in humans.”

  “I’d say now is a good time to find out.”

  “When it might make things worse instead of better?”

  “I have an expert source who thinks differently.”

  “Who’s the source?”

  “My girlfriend, Sarah. She’s a virologist.”

  “Working where?”

  “One of the biggest pharmaceutical companies in the world.” He said it like it was a revelation. Like he had all the answers.

  “That just happens to have anti-viral medications in medical trials?” Carmen shook her head. “I wish I could try it, but administering an untried drug to already sick people could result in a lot of unnecessary deaths. I swore an oath to do no harm. A cure is no good if it kills the patient before the disease.”

  He looked like he was going to argue some more, but Rawley spoke first.

  “The bomb squad told me about the bomb and the bomber.”

  “Sounds like the FAFO is making a serious play,” DS said, ignoring Ketner’s stiff posture.

  “Don’t say that out loud,” Rawley said in a low tone. “A number of reporters have been trying to get a statement out of me since I got here.” He turned to Carmen. “You’re going to have to give one, just to keep them from getting in our way, but telling them about the FAFO—”

  She cut him off with a raised hand. “I’m only authorized to provide information on the disease, and I need all the latest data first.”

  Rawley nodded briskly, looking a little happier. “This way, ma’am.”

  He led her past Ketner and over to a computer station.

  The FBI agent looked around the tent, as if cataloguing its contents, then brushed past on his way out.

  Dozer stayed where he was and took a good look around the space, trying to figure out what Ketner might have seen. Everything looked picture-perfect. Huh. Maybe he should invite Rawley over to clean his apartment.

  “Did you know Ketner was in the navy before he went into the FBI?” DS said, moving to stand next to Dozer.

  “No.” Dozer studied the old man’s masked face. “A former SEAL?”

  “Nope, washed out of BUD/S training.”

  Dozer grunted. “Not a surprise.”

  “I was surprised to find out Agent Rawley isn’t a military veteran,”

  “Oh?”

  “He’s got a degree in psychology and a master’s degree in business from Yale. He was recruited by Homeland Security right out of university.”

  Dozer knew all that, but why DS felt the need to investigate was interesting. “So?”

  “So…” DS scanned the tent. “Look around. Not a speck of dirt anywhere, everything in its place, and everyone where they’re supposed to be, doing what they’re supposed to do. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’d been a career warrant officer.”

  Dozer shrugged. “So he’s neat. What’s wrong with that?”

  “Discipline like this comes from somewhere.”

  “Maybe his parents were veterans. Maybe he’s the oldest kid out of five. Maybe keeping things neat is how he copes with chaos.”

  DS shook his head. “Or maybe I’m just a paranoid old grouch.” He looked around. “I’m going to find out who’s who here. Get an unofficial report.”

  “Outstanding,” Dozer said. “You know where you can find me.”


  He walked over to where Carmen was looking at the computer while Rawley spoke: “…have another fifty beds set up in about two hours in two satellite tents. I’ve requested more National Guard medical people to help.”

  “That wasn’t your call to make,” Carmen said.

  His protest was immediate and loud. “You weren’t here.”

  “I have my phone with me at all times. All you had to do was call.”

  “You were busy, and we need the help.”

  “I wouldn’t have made that decision,” Dozer said, entering the conversation. “And I’ve been working with the CDC for eight months. You’ve only been on the job a day.”

  “It was, however, the correct decision,” Carmen said. “So you get a pass on this one, but don’t make that kind of decision again without talking to me first.”

  Rawley nodded and managed to keep his mouth shut.

  Carmen’s cell phone went off. So did Rawley’s and Dozer’s. It was Dozer’s alert ping.

  They all looked at their phones.

  A text from the head of the CDC: Turn on the news.

  His face grim, Rawley attacked the computer keyboard, bringing up one of the twenty-four-hour news feeds.

  A reporter wearing a surgical mask stood in front of a tall fence. In the distance behind him was a lot of pavement with large, well-lit buildings some distance away. And lots and lots of airplanes.

  “Since the bombing of the Orlando International Airport a few hours ago, an anonymous account posted the following message to several social media sites: ‘To free the United States from the influence of the one percent, Free America From Oppression has delivered disease and disaster to theme parks, hospitals, and airports.’

  “Authorities have cordoned off all entrances to the airport. No one is allowed in or out. Three airport staff members died in the explosion that also killed the person driving a car full of explosives.

  “According to the latest numbers, the death toll at the hospital bombing stands at forty-seven, with two hundred and four injured. Those numbers are expected to rise as rescuers comb through the wreckage.

  “The outbreak has killed fifty-six and sickened more than three hundred people. Experts believe these numbers will rise exponentially, due to the extreme contagiousness of what they believe is a new kind of measles.”