CHAPTER 11
“I know you don’t want to be here, but we need to get you some new shoes and I need to get some things for dinner before your dad gets home from work.”
Louise Dahl held eight-year-old Kennie by the hand and half-towed him through the doors of the Le Center Walmart. The kid hated to go shopping on a normal day, but for some reason, today he’d pitched a fit like no other before she could get him out of the house and into the car.
Maybe it was genetic. She didn’t really want to be here, either. She hated shopping in general, hated the cavernous Walmart in particular, and wasn’t entirely comfortable with their corporate policies. But it was where she could afford to shop, so there was just no getting around it. And Kennie’s feet no longer fit in his damned shoes. This shopping trip could be put off no longer.
She steered him inside, where the octogenarian greeter pushed a cart toward them, smiled, and said, “Welcome to Walmart” in the tones of an automaton. What a shitty job, but maybe it was all he could get. Age discrimination likely kept him from anything more rewarding, poor guy. Louise smiled, nodded, and accepted the cart.
As they passed the greeter, Kennie pointed back at him. “Is that all he does all day?”
Louise gave him a small tug. “It’s not polite to point. Yes, I think that is all he does all day.” She glanced back toward the greeter, grateful to see that he hadn’t noticed Kennie’s pointing, or at least he didn’t appear to have noticed. Kennie was just being a frank eight-year-old without filters, but she knew his comment would sting, had it been heard.
She released his hand so she could steer the cart. “All right, you stay close to me. The more cooperative you are, the sooner we can get out of here and go home, okay?” Sounded like a good bargain to her.
“Okay, Mom.” Kennie didn’t sound convinced, but at least he was cooperating for the moment.
Louise spotted the children’s shoe section and turned the cart in that direction. And then Kennie stopped moving.
“Do we have to?”
Louise stopped the cart and crouched down to look Kennie in the eyes. “Yes, we have to. You know you’ve outgrown your shoes and they hurt your feet. We’ll get some a little bigger that fit, okay? The shoes are just over there. I promise you, we’ll get out of here as quick as we can, but you need a new pair of shoes.”
Kennie looked unconvinced. He stared at the floor. “I don’t wanna.”
Louise stood and let out an exasperated sigh. “C’mon, I don’t want to argue with you here.”
Several loud bangs in quick succession cut off their budding argument. Screams erupted from the front of the store. Louise grabbed Kennie and held him close. She didn’t know which way to go, or if there was a way out other than how they’d come in.
More shots rang out, cutting off a couple of voices mid-scream. “Oh God, oh shit …” Muttering and trembling, Louise dragged Kennie behind a nearby clothes rack and pushed him to the floor. For once, he cooperated and didn’t argue with her. She crouched over him and peered out from below the bottom of the clothes.
From their hiding place, she could only see shoes and lower legs. People were running down the main aisle, screaming and crying as they went. She shuddered. What the hell was going on?
“Mommy, I’m scared …”
“Quiet.”
She pulled out her cell phone and called 911 with one hand while she kept her other hand clapped over Kennie’s mouth. The two rings before someone picked up seemed an eternity. She didn’t know how long she’d be able to talk, so the words rushed right out when 911 picked up.
“Hello? I’m in the Le Center Walmart. Someone’s in here shooting. I don’t know how many are hurt. Some for sure, but I can’t see from where I am. Send help quick. Okay, thanks.”
She slipped the phone back into her purse and took a deep breath. More shots and screams. Kennie pulled away and let out a panicked wail. She clapped her hand back over his mouth and hoped he hadn’t been heard over the rest of the chaos around them.
The gunshots stopped, so Louise peered beneath the clothes again to see if they had a chance to escape now. She tightened her grip on Kennie when she saw the solitary pair of black work boots walk slowly down the aisle, then stop. The boots turned in her direction and she held her breath, hoping whoever it was couldn’t see them huddled on the floor behind the clothes rack. She closed her eyes tight, as if that would help.
Something slammed into her, throwing both her and Kennie backward. For a split second, she didn’t understand what it was, then the loud bang and the pain registered in her brain. Her T-shirt clung to her, sticky, warm and wet. Gasping, she pressed a hand to her wounded shoulder, then checked Kennie.
He lay face-up on the floor, pale and fighting for breath, his lips tinged with blue and his eyes glassy. The bullet must have gone through her and hit him. She pressed her hand to his neck to try to stem the terrible flow of blood that had already formed a pool around him.
Louise breathed in jagged, hitched breaths. Her entire world seemed suspended in a haze of pain and confusion. Was he still there, waiting to finish them off? How could she get help? She felt light-headed, like she was going to pass out any minute. Then who would take care of Kennie? She had to stay conscious somehow. Somehow.
She heard another loud bang and a scream that died out all too quickly. He must have moved on. She dared a peek beneath the clothes again. No boots. Stay or go, stay or go? She heard more screaming, a male voice shouting, and what sounded like a scuffle. Then sirens. She kept her hand pressed to Kennie’s neck and wept. Thank God for sirens.
CHAPTER 12
“Tonight’s top local story: a twenty-two-year-old resident of Gaylord was arrested late this afternoon after an incident at the Walmart in Le Center. Witnesses report that he entered the store, and when the greeter said hello, he pulled out a semiautomatic weapon, screamed something nonsensical laced with expletives, and opened fire. The greeter was killed instantly, and eight other people inside the store were injured before he was tackled and subdued.” The young female news anchor paused a moment, as if trying to collect herself, and then continued. “Some of the injured included small children. No names have been released at this time, pending notification of the next of kin.”
The camera moved to the male co-anchor, who looked almost as distressed as his partner. “In related news, the Sibley and Le Seuer county jails have become overcrowded to the point where fights have broken out among the prisoners, resulting in numerous injuries and one death so far. The danger both to the prisoners and to jail personnel has become so great that, in an unprecedented move, the county sheriffs have agreed to move most of the recent violent offenders to the Lakeside State Hospital, the mental health facility in western Sibley County, while they await the normal trial process. The ACLU has already announced they will be filing an action to oppose the move on numerous grounds. Back to you, Kelley.”
Her face showing obvious relief at being able to switch to a less horrifying topic, Kelley switched gears entirely and began to report on the anticipated crop yields.
Gretchen clicked off the TV and tossed aside the remote. “Oh my God! I almost took Lara there today to get her some clothes. Good thing she’s in bed and didn’t see this story. For God’s sake, this kind of stuff just doesn’t happen in little towns like this. Sure, the occasional one-off murder or drunken spree, but not this widespread, large-scale violence—almost for the sake of violence itself.”
Kyle reached over and held her tight, grateful to have her safe by his side. “I’m so glad you weren’t there today. That’s way too close to home.”
He set his jaw. As if he wasn’t already painfully aware how critical his assignment was, the news story threw a few asterisks and exclamation points on the matter. The jails in these little towns never filled up. Never. And certainly not with people so intent on killing or maiming anyone they could get their hands on. He shook his head. And Gretchen and Lara could easily have been there today,
in the wrong place at the wrong time. He didn’t even want to think about that.
He stood and began to pace. “I just have to work harder and faster to find out what’s causing this. Something is. I just know it.”
Gretchen looked up at him. “I wish I could do something to help.”
Kyle stopped and glanced toward his work area, then back to Gretchen, and then back again as if he had to do something, but couldn’t decide what. “I know, but I can’t think of anything you can do to help. I just have to do the work to figure this out.” He paused, then stared off into the distance as he thought aloud. “I wonder if I can take advantage of having all the violent offenders housed in one place with diagnostic equipment.”
Alarmed, Gretchen sat forward on the couch. “Are you serious? Those people are dangerous.”
He leaned down and kissed her. “I’ll be careful. I promise. You know, it is really important to me that you and Lara are here—even if it seems like I’m ignoring you both right now. I don’t mean to. I just have to get on top of this thing, no matter what it takes.”
Kyle went to his workstation, sat, and opened up his laptop. “Whatever it is, it has to be identified and stopped. And fast.”
CHAPTER 13
“You can sit up now, Daphne.” Dr. Lucy Sloane began typing notes into the computer on the exam room counter. “When we get done here, I’ll send in the nurse to do the blood draw. I’d like to run a complete panel to start with, especially since you’re a new patient and we have no baseline labs in your records.”
“All right.” Daphne sat up and rubbed her arms to try to warm herself. The paper gown was no match for the exam room’s chill.
Dr. Sloane cocked her head and scowled at the computer screen. “Looks like there’s a typo in the file. It says you’re thirty. How old are you?” She held her hands poised over the keyboard, ready to correct her records.
“What do you mean?” A hollow feeling of dread crept into Daphne’s stomach. “I am thirty.”
Dr. Sloane shot her a shocked look. “I … I’m sorry, but your skin, your muscle tone. It’s more like that of a fifty-year-old.”
She approached Daphne, peering at her closely as if examining her for the first time. “We already discussed your vegetarian diet. You’ve been supplementing with soy protein substitutes and taking vitamins to cover your B-complex and iron requirements. All the right things.” Her voice trailed off with a puzzled tone.
Daphne began trembling. It was never good when a doctor looked at you like you were a freak, like something never seen before. She’d hoped whatever her problem was would have some simple explanation, some simple resolution. This just wasn’t right. She took good care of herself and refused to eat the crap most people called food.
Dr. Sloane stepped back and rubbed her chin for a moment. “Well, let’s start with the blood work and see what it shows. I’ll have them put a rush on it. Meanwhile, I’ll do some research. I haven’t seen anything like this, and may have to call in a specialist to assist. But let’s take it one step at a time, okay?”
“Sure.” Half-formed questions swirled through Daphne’s mind. But judging from what the doctor just said, there was no point in asking them now anyway. She gazed off into the distance, so distracted she hardly noticed when the doctor left and the nurse arrived to draw her blood.
“Make a tight fist for me, okay?”
“Huh? Oh.” Daphne closed her eyes and made a fist as she tried to guess what the doctor really thought about her symptoms.
“I said, you can relax now. You’re all done.”
Daphne snapped open her eyes. “What? I’m sorry, I—”
The nurse picked up her plastic carrier of blood-drawing supplies and smiled. “It’s all right. We’ll get your sample in to the lab right away. You’re in good hands with Dr. Sloane. She’s a great diagnostician. Have a good rest of your day.” She gave a brief nod and closed the door behind her as she left.
Daphne glanced down at the cotton ball taped to the inside of her elbow. Needles normally freaked her out. Dr. Sloane’s reaction had upset her so much she hadn’t even noticed the blood draw.
Daphne gazed out at the farm fields as she drove back home from the Cities in her Prius. On her left stood a field of corn, already about halfway grown; on her right, the lush green of soybean plants extended as far as the eye could see, bathed in warm afternoon sunlight. She still couldn’t believe that such beautiful land could exist so close to a major metropolitan center like Minneapolis–St. Paul. The deep late-July green of the fields and crops helped to take her mind off her problems, at least for the moment.
She opened her window and drew in a deep breath of the humid midsummer air. The earthy smell and feel of it helped to ground her and chase the chill of the doctor’s exam room from her bones and her soul. She felt a little better, but still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong with her. Something very wrong indeed.
CHAPTER 14
“Of course I realize what I’m asking is outside of normal protocol.” Kyle ran a hand through his hair as he paced in the office of Dr. Fred McKinsey, the Minnesota state epidemiologist. Despite the brisk air conditioning, Kyle could feel sweat trickling at his temples and beneath his arms.
His status as an EIS investigator had made it easy for him to get an appointment with Dr. McKinsey. State epidemiologists normally worked with EIS to solve tough epidemiological mysteries. But now he was asking for something that—no matter how necessary he thought it was—could bring all manner of heat and bad press down on the state office. Old gray-haired McKinsey likely had his reputation to think about, and so was having none of it.
“Look here, those people are inmates awaiting trial—not research subjects at our disposal.” Dr. McKinsey shook his head. “Civil rights organizations won’t stand for it. The public—”
Kyle stopped pacing and glared at McKinsey. “With all due respect, sir, that’s where I think you’re wrong. The public would support just about anything right now. This violence has become an epidemic in every sense of the word. Big city, small town—doesn’t matter. It’s everywhere, and it’s malignant.”
His face red, McKinsey slammed his hands down on his desk and stood. He jabbed a finger in Kyle’s direction. “Medical ethics are not controlled by public outcry. You went to a fine medical school. You should know that.”
Kyle approached McKinsey so they faced each other eye-to-eye across the desk. He spoke in a low, urgent voice. “I do. And I agree with you—under normal circumstances. But this isn’t normal. Don’t you have statewide plans for protocol in the event of a biological outbreak?”
He placed his hands on McKinsey’s desk and leaned forward, desperate to press his point. “Don’t tell me if an outbreak of MERS or Ebola suddenly erupted, that you wouldn’t activate quarantine and isolation protocols. That’s a pretty serious curtailment of individual rights, wouldn’t you say? But under some circumstances, it’s justified, right?”
His face still deep red, McKinsey pursed his lips and sat back down. “Yes. We do. If we had some contagion at play here, I—”
“But that’s my point! There could be contagion at work here. It’s spreading too fast for any other explanation. Unless we conduct an organized study on those who are almost certainly suffering from whatever this is, we miss any hope of finding the root cause and stopping this.”
McKinsey took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “What are you suggesting, then? How invasive?”
Kyle stepped away from the desk and chose his words carefully to exploit the opening. “I agree we’d have to proceed with great care, and not overstep where it can be avoided. I’d like to start with functional MRIs to see if there is some brain activity abnormality they all share in common. No dyes, no radiation. Noninvasive.”
McKinsey put his glasses back on, drew a deep breath, and drummed his fingers on his desk for several moments before answering. “All right. I’ll give the order under emergency protocol. I hope the fMRIs w
ill provide some useful results that can help us narrow the search.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate it.” Kyle stepped forward and extended his hand. He tried not to show how relieved and surprised he was that he’d managed to talk McKinsey into the tests.
Now he just had to hope that the fMRIs hit pay dirt, because right now, he had no good working theories at all—only a gut feeling that there was some underlying cause at work that he had to discover and defuse. Before it was too late.
CHAPTER 15
Kyle pulled his rented Camry into a parking spot at their hotel. He killed the engine, then rested his arms and forehead on the steering wheel while he breathed deeply and tried to regroup. The drive back from St. Paul had been a nightmare. A semi had jackknifed on southbound I-35, the main north-south artery. The resulting multi-mile traffic jam, combined with his tense encounter with Dr. McKinsey, had exhausted him. As much as he loved little Lara, he hoped they could get her to bed early without a scene. No way could he handle her boisterous enthusiasm tonight.
After a few minutes, he sat up, rubbed his eyes, and flexed his tired shoulders. Then he grabbed the messenger bag containing his laptop and papers, locked the car, and took the elevator to their second-floor suite.
“It’s Daddy! Woot!” Lara came charging out of the kitchen at full speed with her arms held out. She skidded on the entryway linoleum and collided with his leg before he could avoid the impact.
“Ow!” Sharp pain shot through his shin. He set his bag on the floor and crouched down to rub his leg.
Unfazed, Lara turned and started trying to open his bag with her inquisitive three-year-old hands.
“Let go of that!” Kyle snatched the bag away before she could get into it and mess with anything.
Lara flopped down onto the floor. Her face turned beet-red and tears began to flow as she howled in surprise and frustration.
“What is going on out here?” Gretchen came out of the kitchen, frowning and drying her hands on a dish towel. “Why did you yell at Lara?” She took one look at the crying tot and rushed toward her.
Broken Chain Page 4
