Unsafe Haven

by Betsy Ashton

  Five faces stared at me, two with knowing expressions, three without.

  “That was Ducks, my home-school teacher. He and my granddaughter—”

  “The special child?” Dr. Running Bear asked.

  “The special child.” I held up my hands. “I’ll explain later. He said we’re asking the wrong question. We should be asking how. The how will lead us to the who and why later.” I repeated the gist of the short conversation. “Ducks suggested we focus on how someone could get his hands on the pathogens. How hard would it be to set up what in essence would be a home laboratory? What skills would be needed?”

  Dr. Gupta sorted through the stack of printouts Dr. Klein had left on the table, extracting a series of images. She opened her laptop and ran quick searches for the three specific pathogens loose in the hospital.

  We gathered around the small screen. If this room is used for education, it needs a computer hook-up to the Internet and a big-screen television. I filed the idea away for later execution.

  Dr. Gupta started with hantavirus. She found a site with images of the virus, along with captions with size measurements. After sorting through Dr. Klein’s printouts again, she stopped when she came to his research. “The virus in Alex’s bloodstream, for example, is half-again as large as the one I’ll call the control sample.” She tapped the screen.

  She did the same for pneumonic plague and monkeypox, which was the only form of pox that could be infecting the children. Each time the pathogen in the blood of the local patients was not the same as the control bacteria. Each was larger.

  “We have odd fragments in the samples, which complicate our ability to draw conclusions. Their very presence throws more confusing data into the mix. Are the fragments damaged, or are they immature organisms?”

  “How have they been modified?” Sharon asked.

  “A couple of days ago, Johnny and I wondered if it was possible to artificially engineer a super form of hantavirus. Is that really what’s happening here? Is someone creating superbugs?” I ran my fingers through my hair, making it stand on end.

  “Perhaps. If that’s the case, it could completely change our understanding of the outbreak. I still don’t know what the fragments are or if they are capable of infecting anyone, but they definitely aren’t anything I’ve ever seen or researched.” Dr. Gupta frowned at the laptop.

  Dr. Duval unlocked the door and entered.

  “You don’t think they’re new strains of what we know is here, do you?” Sharon twisted a lock of hair around her finger.

  “I don’t know. That’s why I sent messages with images to my virology colleagues around the world. Their verdict: nothing they’ve seen before. These fragments are completely unknown,” Dr. White said, rocking on her heels, hands linked behind her back.

  “Let’s hope they can’t infect anyone,” I said.

  “Hope is for the uninformed, Mrs. Davies,” Dr. Duval said. “We will find the scientific answer.”

  Dr. Gupta clicked to other sites while we thought about what Dr. Duval said. Each time, the virologist came away with the same non-answer—the pathogens, whether virus or bacteria, were not behaving as they should.

  “Not only are the pathogens significantly larger, the incubation period is too tightly compressed,” she said.

  “Johnny said something about the incubation period when we were walking the dates of Alex’s infection back to the date we arrived.” I said. Heads turned my way. “What? We know how to use the Internet.”

  Sharon and Dr. White laughed. “There’s much more to medicine than being an Internet doctor,” Sharon said.

  “I know that, but I don’t see how it could hurt to be better educated, do you? I’m not a scientist, but I don’t have to be one of Dr. Duval’s uninformed. I do want more than hope. Hope is not a strategy, and hope alone won’t cure Johnny and Alex.” I looked from doctor to doctor. “So, I have a question. Could these pathogens have been grown and modified in a private lab somewhere?”

  “The CDC grows pathogens all the time. Besides, setting up a lab is relatively easy,” Dr. White said. “I have one in my home where I play with all sorts of bacteria. Most of them I find in dirt outdoors or on my skin. Setting up a home lab can be pretty cheap, too.”

  “What if someone wanted to produce ultra-deadly pathogens? Since pneumonic plague spreads through the air, could someone grow a bacterium twice the normal size, spray it, and cause wide-spread illness and death?” My mind raced ahead of my mouth. I stopped and stared into the distance.

  “What? What do you remember?” Sharon asked.

  “Toby sprayed something in the ICU a couple of days ago, right after he took blood samples from Johnny and me, and right before Johnny got sick. Toby said it was disinfectant, but I couldn’t smell anything, even after I pulled down my mask. Whatever was in the bottle left oily residue on my skin. Johnny took a full blast in the face before he went to wash it off. I wonder if there is any trace on the wall.”

  “Sounds like a conspiracy theory run amok,” Dr. White said.

  “Maybe not.” Sharon turned toward Keith. “Sic ‘em.”

  Keith grabbed a couple of vials and some swabs, and then he was gone, but not without shooting a look in my direction. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

  I’d never had any reason to think about how easy it was to set up a home lab. Now, it was all I could think about.

  “Can you tell me what I’d need to set up a home lab? I assume it’s a bit more complicated that the home chemistry set my brothers had in elementary school.”

  “It is, but not as hard as you think. Much of the equipment can easily be purchased at medical supply stores, with some components even coming from Home Depot,” Sharon said. “The point is, no one tracks who buys Petri dishes or various solutions. Not even high-powered microscopes and desktop centrifuges are routinely monitored, although they all have manufacturers’ serial numbers. You don’t need a license to buy what you need.”

  The more the doctors talked, the more spooked I became. If anyone could set up a home lab and grow these viruses, it could be anyone who worked in or near the hospital.

  Dr. Gupta, Dr. White, and Dr. Running Bear tossed around more theories. Sharon and I stood on the sidelines, listening intently but contributing nothing of value.

  I distilled some of what I understood. Point one: It was easy and relatively affordable to equip a home lab. Point two: Viruses and bacteria could be grown in cultures. Point three: Someone with decent knowledge of virology might be able manipulate the pathogens to make them more or less infectious.

  “So, I could go to several stores and online catalogs, order up a bunch of equipment, install a lab in my home, and no one would be the wiser. That right?” I was onto something.

  “Right. A few thousand dollars would do the trick—less if you bought used or last year’s equipment,” Dr. Gupta answered distractedly.

  “Next question. Can I go on the Internet and order a sample set of pox and plague bacteria?”

  Four heads turned in my direction as if choreographed.

  “No,” Dr. White answered for them all. “You have to be a licensed lab with a reason to use such pathogens. Not every lab can call Pizza Hut for a delivery of pneumonic plague with a side of monkeypox.”

  “What kind of labs could have these bacteria?” I asked.

  “Research universities with BSL-3 or BSL-4 labs,” Dr. Gupta said.

  “And that means what?”

  “I’m sorry. BSL stands for biosafety levels. Three and four are the top levels of security,” she said. “Depending on the university, plague and pox could be researched in either a level-three or level-four facility.”

  “How many are working with these pathogens?” I had to get an answer which would satisfy Johnny were he here and healthy. I was certain I’d need this information when I talked with Emilie and Ducks shortly.

  “I’ll get a list from headquarters,” Dr. White said. “We may find clues there.”


  “The next question, Max, is whether any labs have reported any samples missing,” Sharon said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  SHARON AND I left the doctors in the diagnosis room. We tried to unravel the answer to the unthinkable question: Who in the hospital is infecting people deliberately? Sharon turned to me.

  “Keith has turned into the Rottweiler again. Maybe he can find out if anyone working at San Felipe had access to at least two potentially deadly pathogens in a previous job. Have any employees ever worked in a BSL-4 lab?” Sharon mused aloud. “He’ll sniff out the perps if anyone can.”

  “Oh great. I’m not going to be able to look at anyone who has been here since Alex was admitted without wondering if I’m looking at a mad scientist,” I said.

  “Let’s see what Keith’s swabs of the ICU turn up.”

  “I’m in denial.” Nurse Leena was on her way back to the diagnosis room when she caught up with us in the middle of the corridor. “I’ve worked with these people for years. They’re my friends, and I trust them.”

  “Well, whoever this is can’t be trusted.” Sharon hooked her arm through mine.

  “How do we identify him?” I wondered.

  “Are we sure it’s a man? Or even if it’s a single person?” Leena moved slowly toward the corridor leading away from us.

  “My granddaughter thinks it’s a man, but she’s not yet sure.” I stared down the hall, hoping to see a big sign—Mad Scientist!—hovering over someone’s head. “She thinks it might be two people. That would explain why she can’t get a clear reading.”

  “Two people?” A possibility Sharon clearly hadn’t considered.

  “Maybe a man and a woman,” I said.

  “Why would a woman knowingly infect random people for no discernible reason? It goes against our nurturing nature,” Leena said, shaking her head.

  “No matter what, we need to broaden our thinking.” Sharon picked up the pace and dragged me away from the diagnosis room. “Time for equal-opportunity suspicion.”

  Before I could say anything more, my phone vibrated. Ducks.

  “What’s happening? Does anyone have any firm proof of how whoever is doing this got his hands of the pathogens?” he asked.

  “Not really.” I gave him a quick update on the most recent conversation concerning sources of the bugs. Emilie’s flow of warmth and Ducks’ feather told me that they were there to help. For the moment, I stopped feeling isolated in the midst of the crisis.

  “It’s definitely someone in the hospital. I feel a female presence but don’t think it’s a woman acting alone. You’ll feel better if you rule out the nurses,” Ducks said. I could hear Emilie in the background. I was glad they were together. At least for half of my family, life had returned to normal. “Em says to look for someone who is sneaking out at night.”

  “But we’re under quarantine. No one can sneak out.” I must have spoken louder than I realized, because my words caused a stir. Sharon shot me a look.

  “Look for someone who smokes.” Ducks said goodbye and rang off.

  “Who was that, and what did you mean, no one can sneak out? How the heck would someone who’s not here guess that anyone who is here could sneak out of the hospital?”

  “They don’t eavesdrop in any traditional sense, so don’t worry about them compromising national security,” I feebly joked. “Both can read my feelings. Em can cast a broader net and feel how people around me are feeling. Until now, she focused on Alex, but with Johnny falling ill and a possible whoever-it-is on the loose, she’s expanding outward in ever-widening, concentric circles.”

  “So your granddaughter uses ESP to watch over you?”

  “In a sense, yes. She and Ducks both have it, with Em’s being much stronger. No matter what other people think, I know they help keep me safe.”

  We rounded a corner, heads down, communicating in whispers. Every corner, every doorway could harbor a sick killer. I wanted to glance over my shoulder to be sure we weren’t being followed, but I didn’t. That would have been too paranoid. Instead, I kept my focus on what lay ahead, in the empty corridor and beyond.

  “I’d rely on Em to help us sort out what’s happening. More than once, I’ve trusted that child with my life. She’s never failed me. No matter that they aren’t here physically, she and Ducks will do what they can. For now, we need to find out who the smokers are,” I said.

  The stately Haitian doctor caught up with us in time to hear my last statement. “And your sentient granddaughter suspects someone is sneaking out of the hospital, does she?” Dr. Duval’s face was impassive. “Someone who has something to hide?”

  “She does,” I said.

  “And you believe her?” Again, the unflinching, molded face.

  “I do.”

  “I do, too.” Dr. Duval stopped and retreated into deep thought. We waited until she nodded. “The new cases from the community could be from someone infecting unsuspecting citizens, someone who has violated our quarantine, and who will do so again until he is identified.”

  “Or she,” I said.

  “Yes. It could be someone the families are used to seeing. The community knows the hospital is quarantined, but the full impact may not have soaked in. If a family sees someone familiar from San Felipe, they wouldn’t question why that person was there,” Sharon said. She jumped slightly and glanced over her shoulder. She found nothing and frowned. Probably Ducks letting her know she was on the right track.

  “How can anyone leave? I mean, you and Dr. Running Bear issued orders that we had to remain here.” My head was muzzy, with too many thoughts crashing into each other. Fully half of my brain remained in Johnny’s room, and yet the doctors needed me and my watchdogs to help solve the mystery. Not for the first time, I wished I could leave well enough alone and concentrate only on Johnny and Alex.

  No chance of that, Ducks texted.

  “Orders don’t mean anything if one is determined to violate them. I need to talk with Dr. Running Bear.” Dr. Duval turned back toward the diagnosis room.

  I caught a thoughtful look on Leena’s face. “What?”

  “There’s one place where people might pass through our perimeter without anyone being seen or seeming to be out of place.” Leena patted her shoulder where her nicotine patch kept her cravings under control, and Ducks’ puzzle-piece statement clicked into place. “People smoke on the loading dock where we have no security cameras. We never needed to install them.”

  “Until now,” I said.

  I looked at Leena, who looked at Sharon, who looked at me. The loading dock was a weak link no one had considered. Dr. Running Bear had reluctantly given in to requests to let people smoke. Those who refused the patch were allowed to go outside on the honor system not to leave the premises or have close contact with anyone outside the quarantine perimeter.

  “We don’t stand watch over them. Keith sent an agent to monitor everyone who leaves or reenters through the dock door. Delivery people, smokers, and those who want a breath of fresh air must sign in and out. He sits at a table just inside the door,” Sharon said.

  “Is someone on duty twenty-four hours a day?”

  “No. We lock the doors at night, though,” Leena said as she led the way upstairs toward the ICU.

  “Anyone with a key could get back in, couldn’t he? I mean, the doors open outward by pushing the lever, but don’t you need a key to return?” I stopped at the door to the ICU to put on my gown.

  “Is it a smart lock?” Nurse Leena and I stared at Sharon. “Does it register all activities like a hotel room key does?”

  The nurse shook her head. “No. It’s a standard brass key. Think of your house key.”

  Sharon dropped the gown she was about to put on. She spun around and walked away.

  “She and Keith have a lot to talk about,” Leena concluded. She pressed the pad to let us into the ICU.

  My thriller-filled brain jumped to the obvious. “You know, some family members could have slipped out to see how
their children were doing. Or families could have brought children to see their parents who are quarantined. Or someone could have paid a home visit with vials of pathogens.”

  Leena’s practical brain took a slightly different track. “I first want to know who left the premises. Then why.”

  ###

  I found Alex sitting up in bed. He’d improved enough to eat solid food for the first time since he became ill. I looked closely at his tray. Gruel-like Cream o’ Wheat, a piece of dry toast, and apple juice. I expected a complaint.

  “Hi, Mad Max. They brought me something to eat.” He picked up a spoonful of cereal and let it plop back in the bowl. “It’s great, but I wish I had some brown sugar.”

  “You haven’t been on real food for many days, so your diet is going to be boring for a while. I’ll ask one of the nurses if she can find brown sugar or honey. How does that sound?” I sat on the edge of his bed and watched Alex take slow bites of whatever meal this was. I doubted if he knew if he was eating breakfast or lunch. At least he was eating. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better. Can I my cell phone?”

  “May I?” He may have just been at death’s door, but he wasn’t going to get away with bad grammar.

  “May I. I want to text Em, Dad, and Charlie.”

  “Not Mr. Ducks?”

  “Nah. He’d just give me a pile of homework.”

  “Brat.”

  After he finished eating, his eyes fluttered, and he dozed off. I slipped his phone into the charger and left him to his nap.

  I repositioned the chair near the doorway of Alex’s room to be able to look into Johnny’s. His curtains were half-drawn, but I could see him lying in bed. I tiptoed across the hall. He slept deeply, rousing to cough before lapsing back into a deep sleep. He hadn’t awakened since before he was admitted to the ICU. When I turned to search for a nurse to see about sweetener for Alex’s future meals, I bumped into Toby.

  “I want his blood sample before he wakes up,” he said without a hello. He replaced one pair of gloves with a fresh set.

  “What do you mean? Johnny hasn’t been awake since he came in here.”