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0373401965 (R)

Page 11

by Lara Lacombe


  Grant frowned. The man sounded lucid enough. “Did you do anything unusual the past few days? Eat anything different, go to a new part of the base?” He was grasping at straws, but maybe—maybe—Richard would remember something that could help Avery.

  The man shook his head weakly. “No. Went to work. Beers with the guys. Normal stuff,” he wheezed.

  Grant’s attention snagged on the word beers. “Did you drink at the bar?”

  Richard blinked at him as if he were stupid. Then he nodded once, apparently deciding not to waste energy replying to such an obvious question.

  “When?” Grant leaned forward, not wanting to miss his response.

  Richard frowned again, clearly thinking. He closed his eyes, and he was silent for so long Grant feared the man had drifted into unconsciousness.

  “Richard?” he prodded.

  “Day before yesterday,” his patient mumbled.

  My God, Grant thought. The disease progression was accelerating, and at an alarming rate. Still, he couldn’t dwell on that unsettling fact. There was more he needed to know.

  “Who were you with?” Were there other people who had been exposed at the same time? Were there other patients lying sick in their beds, too weak to make it to the hospital?

  “Tom. Bradley. Paul.” Richard winced with each name, the effort of talking clearly costing him dearly.

  “Paul Coleson?” Avery came into view, her movements a little cumbersome in the thick blue plastic suit she wore. Grant felt a flash of relief at her appearance. Now that she was here, he no longer had to worry about wasting time by asking the wrong questions.

  Richard’s eyes flared wide as he caught sight of Avery, and he pushed at the mattress with his feet, trying to scoot away. Grant placed his hands on the man’s shoulders to calm him.

  “You’re okay,” he said softly. He couldn’t blame Richard for his reaction—the lights turned Avery’s face shield into a glaring pane, making it nearly impossible to see her face. Grant could only imagine how Richard’s fevered brain had interpreted the unexpected sight of her lumbering form.

  Richard stilled under his hands, but his pulse continued to beat wildly in his neck, betraying his fear.

  Avery tried again, softening her voice. “Is the Paul you mentioned Paul Coleson?”

  It was one hell of a leading question, but given the speed of Richard’s decline, it was probably best to get directly to the point. Despite the nasal cannula delivering oxygen to his system, his saturation level was dropping fast. He’d probably pass out in the next few minutes, and Grant couldn’t help thinking that was for the best.

  “Yes.” Richard’s voice was fainter now as his grip on consciousness slipped. Avery made a small sound of frustration and Grant could tell she wanted to ask another question. He held up his hand to stop her, knowing Richard wouldn’t be able to answer her.

  “Thanks, Richard,” he said, pitching his voice low. “You’ve been a huge help. Just rest now.”

  The man let out an unintelligible mumble and gave up the fight to stay awake, his body going limp on the gurney. Grant gave a few additional orders to the nursing staff and led Avery a few steps away so they could converse in relative privacy.

  “Were you able to talk to him before I showed up?” There was hope in her voice, and he caught a glimpse of her face through the glare on her face shield. The look in her eyes was pure determination, as if she could beat this disease single-handedly if given half a chance. It made him feel better to see her fighting spirit, and once again, he found himself in awe of her.

  “I got him to answer a few questions, but I don’t think you’re going to like his responses.” Grant frowned, reality slamming back down on him as he recalled Richard’s words. “He said he started feeling bad yesterday, and he’d shared drinks with his friends the night before that.”

  Avery grasped the issue immediately. “The course of the illness seems to be speeding up.”

  “Exactly.” He glanced around to make sure no one had overheard them. The last thing he wanted was for this information to spread to the wider world. If the rest of the base were to find out, it would incite panic among the population. And while he didn’t intend to withhold important information, Grant wanted a chance to verify the facts before issuing another warning that was sure to have a dramatic effect.

  “Do you think it’s true? Or do you think he’s lost sense of time?” She glanced back at the prone figure, now being attended to by the nursing staff as they administered the medications Grant had ordered.

  “I doubted that myself,” he admitted. “But I asked him twice. He sounded pretty sure.”

  Avery made a thoughtful noise that he barely heard over the whir of her portable air tank, which worked to both keep her suit inflated and provide her with oxygen to breathe. “Let’s assume he’s right, and that he was infected the day before yesterday. Either the pathogen has mutated to become more virulent, or perhaps he was infected with a higher initial dose. If more of the bug entered his body to begin with, it wouldn’t take as long for this kind of damage to result.”

  Grant nodded, appreciating her logic. “How can we determine which scenario applies here?”

  She frowned. “We can’t. At least not yet. Jennifer is still working to isolate the causative agent. Once she does, we can sequence its DNA and compare it to samples isolated from the patients—that will tell us if there’s been a mutation. In the meantime, there’s no way to know for sure.”

  Fear trailed a cold finger down the hollow of Grant’s spine and he shuddered. Please, don’t let this thing get out of control. But he was afraid it was already too late.

  “Are you going to interview Paul Coleson?”

  Avery nodded. “He’s my next stop. I have my fingers crossed he’s the key to stopping this disease in its tracks.”

  “I hope so, too. I’ll ask one of the nurses to log in to the system and find his job location for you.”

  “Thanks.” The look on her face softened and her hand twitched, almost as if she wanted to touch him. “Are you going to stay here?”

  Grant shook his head. “I have to try to find the other men Richard mentioned. The ones he shared a drink with before getting sick. It’s possible they’re ill as well and haven’t made it in yet.”

  “Good idea. I pulled out a suit for you—if you help me get out of mine, I’ll help you put on yours.”

  He smiled at her offer and almost made a joke of it, but decided now was not the time. “I appreciate it, but I think it’s best if I don’t wear it outside the hospital.”

  Avery opened her mouth to protest, so he held up a hand to forestall her response. “Can you imagine the reaction if people saw me wandering around in one of those? It’s not exactly a subtle look, and I don’t want to incite a panic on the base.”

  “Grant, you can’t go out there unprotected. If you do find the men and they are sick, you’ll need the proper equipment.”

  “I’ll bring masks, gloves and disposable gowns. It’ll be fine.”

  She frowned at him, her displeasure clear even through the thick, plastic suit. “You’re playing awfully fast and loose with your safety. Why is that?”

  A flash of irritation welled in his chest at her question. He didn’t enjoy taking risks. But he was more worried about the bigger picture, which was the overall safety of the people on-base. If panic and paranoia were to set in, it would have disastrous consequences for everyone.

  “The basics have served me well so far,” he said, a little coolly. “I have no reason to think they will fail me now.” Besides, he added silently, if I’m already infected, all the biohazard suits in the world aren’t going to help me.

  Avery looked as though she wanted to argue, but she remained silent. After a tense moment, she nodded. “So be it. I’m going to go track down Paul Coleson. Good luck finding the other men. Is there some way we can stay in touch?”

  “There’s a set of walkie-talkies on a charger in the supply closet. Grab one on you
r way out the door. Set it to channel six.”

  “Will do.” She turned and started to lumber down the hall but stopped a few feet away. “Grant?”

  He glanced up, surprised to see a concerned expression on her face. “Yes?”

  “Please be careful.”

  He nodded, touched at her words. “You, too.” Just like that, his earlier irritation with her went up in smoke and in its place sprouted a reluctance to part company with her. Even though it had only been a few days, he’d gotten used to Avery’s constant presence once again.

  She held his gaze for a moment, then gave him a small smile. “Channel six.”

  “Channel six,” he confirmed.

  He took a moment to watch her until she rounded the corner and was out of sight. Then he let out a sigh and walked over to the nurses’ station, where most of the staff was clustered in a tight knot. Worried faces turned to him, seeking guidance and reassurance. He met each person’s gaze in turn, knowing the next few moments were vital. With the exception of the two nurses Avery had brought with her, no one had experience working in a hot zone with infected patients; it was only natural people were feeling worried and afraid. Grant had to instill confidence in his staff so they could continue to function. If they let fear get the better of them, they wouldn’t be able to do their jobs, and the whole base was as good as dead.

  “We have a new patient,” he announced needlessly. “His symptoms suggest he’s suffering from the same illness that affected the earlier group of people, so we’re going to employ the same treatment strategy again.”

  “Where is the disease coming from?” asked Megan, one of the nurses.

  “We don’t know yet. That’s why Dr. Thatcher and her team are here.”

  Karen, one of the nurse practitioners, spoke up next. “Do we even know the causative agent yet?”

  Grant shook his head. “No. But I think the lab technician is getting close to identifying it.” In truth, he had no idea if that was the case, but the white lie gave his team hope, which was what they needed right now.

  “You’ve treated patients with this disease before, and although I know it’s frightening, I have to ask you to do it again. Right now we only have one, but there could be more walking through our doors soon. We have to be ready.”

  “What about protective equipment? Dr. Thatcher was wearing a biohazard suit—should we be wearing those, too?” Megan’s voice was high with worry, and Grant searched her face for any signs she’d overheard his earlier conversation with Avery. The standard gloves, mask and gown seemed like flimsy protection in the face of such graphic and terrifying symptoms, and if the disease was truly growing more severe, they might not do the job anymore.

  “I’ll ask what type of protective supplies the team has brought with them. In the meantime, though, the standard gear kept us all safe while we treated the first round of patients.” The tension of the group eased a bit as the truth of his words sank in, and several of the nurses nodded in agreement. Grant prayed he wasn’t giving them false hope, but until he knew for sure why Richard had gotten so sick so quickly, he wasn’t going to share his suspicions with the staff.

  He nodded in the direction of Richard’s bed, tucked away in one of the examination bays that doubled as inpatient “rooms” when necessary. “Keep an eye on our new patient. Page me if his status changes at all.”

  “You’re leaving?”

  “Not for long,” he said. “Besides, it’s not like I can go far.” He winked at them, and his teasing words coaxed a few answering smiles from the group. He moved to leave, but one of the women held up her hand to stall him.

  “Dr. Jones,” Karen said, her gaze serious. “Do you think there are other cases on-base now?”

  Grant pressed his lips together, carefully considering his response. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “But I’m going to find out.”

  *

  Paul leaned back from his microscope and rubbed his eyes with a sigh. He’d been burning the candle at both ends lately, trying to get results for both his university-sponsored research projects and his shadow employers. While he was easily able to record his progress on the former endeavors, it was growing increasingly difficult to conduct experiments on the latter.

  He could only infect so many people at a time using the vial of virus-saturated liquid, which meant the number of victims was limited. Furthermore, it seemed the disease itself wasn’t very contagious; after the initial set of ten patients, he’d expected the illness to spread organically through the base population. The fact that it hadn’t made him suspect the virus in its natural form wasn’t going to be useful to the Organization. He wasn’t naive—he knew they were hoping to find a new biological weapon. And while this bug was promising, it would take a bit of tinkering to be truly suitable in that regard.

  What am I thinking? His professional curiosity was interested in the idea of genetically manipulating the virus to make it more lethal, but he shied away from actually contemplating the strategy he would use to do such experiments. He already felt like he was in too deep with the group—the last thing he wanted was to entangle himself even further in their web. “Just finish the job and go home,” he muttered.

  His kids needed him.

  Just the thought of them made his heart twist a little, and not for the first time he kicked himself for taking this job so far away. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. He’d gotten the offer to work in Antarctica nine months to the day after his wife, Carol, died, and while his first thought had been to refuse, something had kept him from saying no. He’d taken a few days to consider it, and during that time he’d received a mysterious phone call proposing a low-risk, high-reward side project, with the promise of handsome compensation for his efforts. That had definitely gotten his attention—the stack of past-due hospital bills grew higher every day, and with no solution in sight, Paul had been considering filing for bankruptcy. Doing so would have gotten the creditors off his back, but his pride kept him from making the call. He didn’t want his children to know how bad things were financially, not when they were still so distraught over the loss of their mother. So he’d kept quiet, trying his best to maintain the illusion that everything was all right, moneywise.

  At first, he’d thought the offer was a joke. He’d listened politely, and both the euphemistic language used and the tone of the man on the other end of the line had raised all sorts of red flags. But desperation drove him hard, and so he’d held his nose and agreed to do the job.

  One hour later, the first payment had arrived in his bank account. Seeing the new balance had loosened the ever-present band of tension around his chest, and he’d taken his first deep breath since Carol’s diagnosis.

  Of course, had he known then what he knew now, would he still have accepted the money? It was a question that haunted him at night as he lay awake in bed pondering what kind of man he’d become. This trip had changed him. There were moments when he didn’t even recognize himself anymore, and he knew Carol would balk at the things he’d done. It made him ashamed to imagine her reaction, but also a little angry. He wasn’t proud to admit it, but in the dark recesses of his mind, he blamed her for making him pick this course of action. If she hadn’t spent so much time outside, basking in the sun’s deadly embrace, she’d never have developed melanoma. And if she’d been more proactive about going to the doctor, perhaps they would have caught it in time to actually do something about it. If, if, if. The word plagued him, teasing him with possibilities that were, in fact, impossible. It was enough to drive a man insane.

  He shook his head, trying to forcefully reset his thoughts. It wasn’t productive to dwell on the might-have-beens and the what-ifs in life. This was his reality, and he had to figure out a way to move forward so he could go back to his kids and rebuild his family. There would always be a Carol-shaped hole in their lives, but with time and dedication he hoped the kids would emerge from their grief and find the strength he knew they had inherited from their mother.
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br />   “Hey, Paul.”

  He jumped, startled by the unexpected voice. His microscope was located in a small offshoot of the main lab, barely bigger than a closet, which meant he spent a lot of time alone. It was one of the reasons he enjoyed the work—he didn’t have to make awkward small talk with anyone, didn’t have to pretend like everything was okay when, really, the death of his wife had left him feeling adrift and lost.

  He swiveled his chair around, moving carefully so as not to bump into the microscope. One of the graduate students stood in the doorway to his alcove, his hand on the jamb as he leaned forward to deliver his message. “Yes?”

  “There’s a woman here to see you. I didn’t catch her name.”

  Paul frowned, the announcement catching him by surprise. Who would be asking for him? Then realization struck and his stomach heaved.

  The investigator from the CDC. It had to be her.

  He took a deep breath, hoping his fear didn’t show on his face. The last thing he wanted was for word to get around that he was nervous about talking to the woman. “Ah, okay. Where is she?”

  The young man lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. “I sent her down to the break room. There’s not really any place to talk in here.”

  “Good call,” Paul said, his muscles relaxing a bit. He had a little time to get his emotions under control before facing her. “I’ll be right there—I just need to shut this down first.”

  The student nodded and disappeared, and Paul turned back to the microscope, the wheels in his head turning a mile a minute. He’d expected this visit, just not quite so soon. He’d assumed it would take a lot longer to make the connection between himself and the victims. The fact that the woman was here now meant he’d underestimated her skills and perhaps overestimated his stealth.

  Why hadn’t Jesse warned him she was coming? He ground his teeth together, biting down hard on the urge to find his supposed assistant and shake the man. This was exactly the kind of situation Jesse was supposed to defuse. So why hadn’t he? Was the man only pretending to help him? Once again, Paul had a sneaking suspicion Jesse was only in business for himself. Thank God I didn’t really tell him anything. They hadn’t had a chance to have a long conversation yet, which meant most of his secrets were still safe.

 

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