The Arms of Death

by Maggie Foster

  “With either of you.”

  “Then come with me.” He heard the sigh on the other end of the line.

  “All right. I’ll send a patrol car over. Please wait for us to arrive.”

  Jim shook his head at the phone. “No promises.”

  “Don’t make me arrest you, Dr. Mackenzie.”

  “See you there.”

  Jim ended the call and concentrated on getting over to the Loch without further traffic incidents. As he pulled up, he could see Hal’s car parked in front of the house. He turned off the engine and took a deep breath.

  Hal wasn’t in the car. That meant he was in the house. Jim needed to get inside, to chaperone, if for no other reason. She shouldn’t be doing anything that required privacy, not with a man, not so soon after the head injury. He grabbed the stethoscope he kept in the glove box and draped it around his neck. He’d said he’d make a house call, if needed. Well, this was it.

  * * *

  “Oh!” Ginny started, suddenly remembering.

  “What is it, sweetheart?”

  “I have those files for you.”

  She saw his eyes cloud, then clear. “The genealogy files.”

  “Yes.” She laid a hand on his cheek. “I’m sorry.”

  He smiled at her. “It’s all right. I’ve come to terms with the change. Where are they?”

  “Upstairs, in the office. I’ll go get them.” She started to push herself out of his arms, but found her legs unreliable.

  “I think I’d better come with you,” he said. He wrapped a strong arm around her waist and steered her toward the front of the house.

  They climbed the stairs and made their way into the office. Ginny settled down in the chair behind her desk. She inserted the thumb drive containing the files she had bootlegged from Professor Craig’s home computer and printed off a copy of the article for him, then rose, crossed the room and pulled open her backpack. She dug out the photocopies of the medical log and letter then turned to hand these to him and found him sliding the thumb drive into his pocket. He saw her expression and shrugged.

  “If it’s all right with you, I’d like to see what else Professor Craig had on that computer. Okay?”

  She walked over and handed him the documents, nodding. Morbid curiosity, probably. He studied the images, his brow furrowing.

  “Hal, it doesn’t matter. Not to me, not to anything. It’s a great story. Something to tell our children.”

  His head came up at that and he looked at her. “Our children?”

  She blushed. “Well, yes, if we have any.”

  His face broke into a grin. “I warn you, I intend to try.”

  She blushed harder. “I haven’t agreed to marry you yet.”

  Without taking his eyes off her, he folded the papers and added them to the pocket with the thumb drive in it, and advanced on her.

  He looked down into her face, his eyes smoldering and Ginny felt herself growing weak in the knees again. It must have showed for he reached out and caught her around the waist, pulling her to him. He lifted his free hand and brushed the edge of her face with his fingertip, then leaned forward and kissed her head.

  “I think I’d better put you back to bed so you can recover from the excitement of the afternoon.”

  Ginny nodded. Yes. She needed time to recover from this. He didn’t move, though, just stood looking down at her.

  “The originals of these documents—” he began, but was interrupted by the doorbell. “Who can that be?” He let go of her and moved over to the window, looking out over the front of the house.

  “Damn!”

  “Who is it?”

  “Jim Mackenzie.” Hal was frowning in earnest now.

  “I’d better go find out what he wants,” she said and started for the staircase.

  Hal crossed the room in two strides. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I think you should just ignore him.” He caught her arm and pulled her back towards him.

  Ginny smiled up into his face, then reached up and kissed him. “Don’t worry. I’ll just send him on his way.”

  Hal was smiling now, but hadn’t let go. “Let him think you’re not here.”

  “He’ll know someone is. Your car is out front.” Ginny pulled herself out of his embrace, but found his hand still around her wrist.

  “Oh. You’re right.” He followed her out into the hall. “Well, then, let me go. I’ll send him away with a bug in his ear.”

  Ginny shook her head. Hal had never understood the subtler rules of Southern hospitality.

  “I have to be polite. Let me go do my duty.” She pulled on her arm, succeeding in breaking free, but finding herself suddenly unsteady on her feet. “Oh!” She teetered on the top step, her arms flailing, trying to catch her balance.

  “Help!” She grabbed for Hal, catching his arm as he lunged to catch her, but the move threw him off balance as well and Ginny found herself tumbling down the staircase, her own cries mingled with his, the stairs hard and painful against her shoulders and back and head, the light exploding, then sudden darkness, then nothing at all.

  * * *

  Jim strode up the front walk and rang the doorbell. No answer. He counted to sixty, giving her time to get to the door, then rang again. Still no answer. There were windows on the front of the house, protected by holly bushes, rife with blood-thirsty thorns and blood red berries. He fought his way through and peered inside, but could see nothing. He struggled out and went back to the door, ringing for a third time.

  There was a frosted window next to the door, intended to let light into the front hall. Jim could see movement on the staircase. Someone was coming down; two shapes, one dark, one pale.

  Quite suddenly Jim realized he could hear something, too, bumping sounds and cries and the shapes seemed to be coming down the stairs far too fast.

  “Ginny! Let me in!”

  The shapes had made it all the way to the floor in the front hall, but neither was moving. Jim looked around him, frantically searching for some way in. His eye fell on a cast iron boot scraper in the shape of a dog. He caught it up and swung at the glass.

  It took him a minute to clear enough space to insert his hand into the hole, then turn the deadbolt and grab the door handle.

  He had to push to get the door open; the darker shape was behind it, blocking him. The lighter lay to his right, unmoving on the floor, her feet still on the last two stairs, one ankle twisted in a way that didn’t look healthy. He was beside her in an instant.

  Not dead. Stunned or unconscious. Jim knew better than to try to move her. He pulled out his phone and dialed 9-1-1.

  “What is your emergency?”

  “I need an ambulance at this address. Unconscious female, possible neck injury. Please hurry.” He glanced over at the darker figure. It was moving.

  Jim watched Hal climb to his feet, putting his hand down on the shattered glass to push himself up.

  “Please stay on the line.” Jim set his still active phone down on the staircase and rose to his feet, placing himself between Ginny and Hal.

  Hal looked down at Ginny and his brow furrowed. “Is she dead?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, thank God!” He rubbed his hands down the sides of his pants, brushing off the glass.

  Jim had to agree with that sentiment. “What happened?”

  “She was dizzy. I wanted her to stay in bed, but she said she had to get something out of the office. We got this far, to the head of the staircase and she had some sort of attack. She fell against me. I lost my balance and we both fell down the stairs.” He started toward Ginny, but Jim waved him off.

  “No. Don’t touch her.”

  Hal gave him a hard look. “You’re an E.R. doc. You could do something. You just don’t want to.”

  “The safest thing for her is to leave her right where she is until we can stabilize her neck.”

  The truth of the matter was that Jim was beginning to sweat. She should be showing signs of coming around b
y now. Where was that ambulance?

  Hal looked down at his hand and seemed to realize it was bleeding. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tissue and dabbed at his palm. He shook the tissue to unfold it and something flew out of it, falling to the floor. He blotted his hand, picking glass out of it and holding the tissue in place for a moment, then bent down and picked the thing up, glancing at it, going suddenly still.

  Jim had been watching with half his mind on Ginny. It took him a moment to register that something had happened to Hal. He blinked, his attention suddenly focused on the other man.

  Hal had gone pale. More than pale. All the blood had drained from his face. He looked in danger of fainting. Hal looked up from the thing in his hand and caught Jim’s eye. Jim could see a spasm cross his face, a rictus, almost.

  “Here, old buddy. In memory of the good times we had in college together.” He tossed the thing to Jim, who reached out instinctively and caught it.

  There was a sudden sound from the direction of the open door and Jim turned his head to see Detective Tran standing there.

  “What has happened?”

  “We fell down the stairs,” Hal told her. He was looking sicker by the minute.

  Jim was frowning at him. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Just read it.”

  Jim looked down at the thing Hal had tossed to him. It was a small plastic vial, squashed almost flat, with a flip top attached by a narrow tether. The top had come loose and the contents had spilled out and down the side of the container. Jim could feel the dampness on his skin. He turned it over and read the label: rCVS-13-G5-NoVo.

  Viruses have names. Jim knew immediately that the organism this vial had contained was a variant of the rabies virus. He also knew it was the weapon used to kill Professor Craig and the other two genealogists. It had to be. Only a murderer would carry such a thing around in his pocket.

  Jim could hear buzzing in his ears, and feel the room shift under his feet. With an effort he could hardly credit, he forced himself to take a breath. Someone was talking to him. Detective Tran’s voice.

  “What is it?”

  Hal had sunk to the floor, his bleeding hand held out in front of him, and Detective Tran was headed for him.

  “STOP!”

  “What?” She turned a startled face toward Jim.

  “DON’T touch him.”

  Jim could see her eyes narrow. “Why not?”

  “It’s the virus.” Jim held up the vial for her to see. “He had it on him and now it’s loose.”

  Her mouth fell open. “He threw it to you. I saw him. Does that mean you have been infected?”

  Jim swallowed hard. “I don’t know.” He glanced toward the door. “I broke the window and reached inside. I may have small cuts I hadn’t noticed. A way for the virus to get in.”

  She looked over at Hal. “And him?”

  Hal held up his bleeding palms. “He is dead.” He licked dry lips. “I didn’t realize why my pants felt wet when I wiped my hand down the leg. It was the virus, seeping through the fabric.”

  Tran turned back to Jim. “What can I do?”

  “Stay with Ginny. Don’t touch anything. Get that ambulance over here as fast as you can.”

  Another shadow had appeared in the doorway, a uniformed police officer this time.

  “Excuse me, ma’am.” He addressed Detective Tran. “I couldn’t tell if you needed backup so I came to find out.”

  “Thank you, officer. If you would be so good as to make sure that man,” she pointed to Hal, “does not move, I will appreciate it.”

  Jim looked around. Water, a sink, the kitchen. The only way to the kitchen lay past Hal’s legs. Jim looked at Hal and saw him come to the same conclusion at almost the same moment. Hal had been almost as pale as Ginny. His face now flooded with a dark, ugly red.

  More than anything else, Jim needed to wash that virus off his hands, to get to the hospital, to reach his stock of antivirals and gamma globulins. He needed to move fast. He didn’t have time for a fight.

  He started toward the kitchen, his eyes on Hal, watching for the attack.

  “Don’t move.” The officer had his weapon out.

  Hal started laughing. “Or what? You’ll shoot me dead? You’ll just splash that virus all over the place. You don’t dare shoot me!”

  His muscles tensed and his face took on a malignant expression. “I don’t care what happens to you, to any of you, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let him win.” His hands balled into fists and his muscles bunched.

  Something snaked past Jim, making an odd, clicking sound, and Hal cried out, his body going into what looked like a seizure. Instinctively Jim started toward him, then remembered, turned, and ran for the kitchen.

  Think. He had to think. Preserve the evidence. Rinse the virus off. Check for open wounds.

  He grabbed a paper towel and dropped the vial on it. He turned on the tap and rinsed carefully, very, very carefully, holding his palms, one at a time, vertical to the stream of water.

  Was that a sting? Or was it his imagination? When had he checked his cuticles last? Dry, chapped skin was a routine for healthcare workers. How many micro-abrasions did he have on his hands? Did that count as blood-to-blood contact?

  Jim fought down the fear, inspecting the exposed skin, remembering which surfaces the virus had actually touched. He let the water flow for two minutes on each contaminated area, then added the liquid soap, still focusing on the contact surfaces.

  He brushed the soap down his palms, from wrist to fingertips. No sting, no sudden sharp pain to indicate an embedded sliver of glass. No blood. When he had soaped and rinsed the palms, he turned his hands over and looked at the backs, his right hand in particular.

  He had wielded that iron boot scraper with his right hand and smashed without thought of injury until the glass gave way and let him slide his right hand into the hole he had made and back out again. Sure enough. Here there were scratches, on his knuckles and wrist.

  Jim’s lips pressed firmly together. He had used his left hand to catch the vial. Why had he done that? He was right handed. Well, because that hand had been closer and halfway to his head, to protect his face. There were no scratches on the palm of his left hand.

  He had used the tip of his right index finger to turn the vial over to look at it and his right index finger and thumb to lift it and show it to Detective Tran. No scratches on the pads, just the back of that hand.

  The vial had flown through the air. There might be droplet splatter on the floor or his clothes. It had still been wet when he caught it.

  He washed for fifteen minutes, his eye on his watch and wishing he had betadine surgical scrub as well; then he patted his hands dry, hurrying back to the front hall. Here he found that the ambulance had arrived and the EMTs were working on Ginny, applying the neck brace and getting her ready for transport. Hal still lay on the floor, but now on his face, his hands cuffed behind him and both the police officer and Detective Tran were wearing blue gloves.

  “Listen up, everyone.” That got their attention.

  “Lethal virus loose and we may have droplets from here to here.” Jim indicated the trajectory of the vial as it left Hal’s hand and flew to his own. “He is a biohazard.” Jim indicated Hal. The EMTs nodded.

  “We know. We’ve called for a transport.”

  Jim nodded. “Shoe covers for everyone. Wipe down anything that has touched the floor. Let’s see if we can keep from spreading this.”

  “You riding with us, Doc?”

  “Yes.” Jim took a pair of blue gloves and slipped them on, then helped himself to a paper gown to cover any contaminant that might have gotten on his clothes.

  “How is she?” He leaned over the stretcher and looked down into a pair of green eyes, rather puzzled looking, but open and focusing on him. “Hi.”

  She blinked. “Hi.”

  “Okay, let’s transport.”

  Jim looked over at Detective Tran. “Will you tell Mr
s. Forbes where we are, please?”

  She nodded. “What did you do with the evidence?”

  “It’s on the kitchen counter.”

  “I will take care of it.”

  * * *

  Chapter 46

  Saturday

  In the ambulance, Jim sat on the second stretcher watching the EMT work on Ginny. She was responding to his requests, her vital signs were within acceptable limits, and she was complaining about her left ankle hurting. All very good signs.

  He wanted to touch her, to hold her hand, but he didn’t dare. He had no idea whether he could transmit the virus to her if he did. Better if the only possible exposure was the flying droplets. If her skin had been intact, then she could wash the virus down the drain with impunity. Always assuming it hadn’t landed in her eye or mouth. He hoped his body had shielded her from that. He’d been between her and Hal, and Hal had been aiming at him.

  Jim rubbed sweaty palms (encased in nitrile gloves) on the paper gown. He wished he’d taken the time to study that information Chip Galloway had sent. He would have to find a computer and download it again to find out what the CDC recommended. In the meantime, viruses worked fast and this one faster than usual. He couldn’t wait. He would have to use his best guess and hope he was right. He called the hospital pharmacist, giving specific orders and asking them to prioritize the request.

  When they got to the hospital, the staff was ready for them. Ginny was taken straight to the Neuro ICU. Jim and the two EMTs were required to place their clothes in biohazard bags, then shower and wash thoroughly (including their hair) using a viricidal soap. The two EMTs were then inoculated and released, with instructions to report back if they noticed anything unusual. The same thing would happen to Detective Tran and the officer who had been with her.

  Jim was admitted and started on the same post-exposure prophylactic rabies vaccinations and human rabies immune globulin he had ordered for everyone else, to which, after reading what the CDC had sent, he added a cocktail of antivirals.

  He’d been right. He’d seen this virus before, in a report on gene splicing that had crossed his desk back in medical school.