Pathogen

by Jessica L. Webb

  “We need to talk,” Cardiff said the second they walked in the door. Natalie was silent, fidgeting with the sleeve of her quilted coat.

  Andy said nothing, simply led them to the board room. Jack was there, plugging away at his laptop. Andy gestured at him with a jerk of her head, and Jack immediately picked up his laptop and cleared out, giving Kate a wide-eyed look on his way out the door. Kate closed the door behind him.

  “I want you to consider that this virus was intentionally released in Hidden Valley to compromise my election bid,” Cardiff said immediately, apparently too keyed up to sit.

  Andy surveyed him carefully, and Kate couldn’t read surprise or derision on her face.

  “What made you come to that conclusion, Mr. Cardiff?” Andy asked, her voice neutral.

  “Both my campaign manager and now my daughter have been targeted. I know you were checking the James Ranch for evidence, and I also know that you are well aware of our political rivalry because you have been asking questions about it since you arrived here.” His voice rose in anger, and it ricocheted off the walls of the small room. In contrast, Andy’s voice remained even, almost subdued.

  “So you believe Richard James is responsible for the release of the virus?” she asked pointedly.

  Cardiff looked suddenly evasive, knowing it wasn’t a question he could answer with any reasonable authority. “I’m saying it should be investigated.”

  “I can assure you that it is being investigated. The politics of Hidden Valley have been on my agenda from the beginning. Which is why I’ve been asking questions since I arrived,” Andy pointed out.

  “But specifically, Sergeant Wyles. I want you to specifically look at me and my family as targets. I want to know exactly how you plan to keep this virus away from me and my family.”

  Andy looked at the man impassively for a long minute before leaning forwards in her chair. The movement somehow added weight to her next words. “There are currently seventy-one confirmed cases of the virus in Hidden Valley. Are you telling me that you can trace even a third of those cases specifically to you, your family, or your campaign?”

  Another trap, another question with no answer. “But my daughter…” he started, his shoulders tight with anger.

  “Your daughter and Mr. Trenholm both unfortunately have additional factors that put them at a high risk for complications from this virus,” Kate jumped in. “Very different factors, I might add. I don’t see how that can be more than a coincidence.”

  “And I don’t see how you have the authority to make that assessment,” Cardiff said sharply. “Stick to the medicine, Dr. Morrison. You are one wrong move away from being packed up and sent back to your dingy ER in Vancouver.”

  Kate kept eye contact with the man, refusing to flinch under his gaze or the weight of his threat. She could feel Andy tense on the other side of the table, reacting to the insult.

  “You two aren’t any farther ahead since you got here. The virus is spreading, the community is in turmoil, and you are no closer to finding a way to stop it or catch who’s responsible. What exactly have you two been doing since you arrived in Hidden Valley? Or is that a private matter?” he sneered.

  Kate felt the heat of embarrassment rise in her cheeks as the accusations and insinuations reverberated in her head. She automatically looked to Andy, probably the worst thing she could have done in that moment. It made her look guilty and feel weak. Andy, however, kept her eyes on Michael Cardiff, her gaze intense and unwavering.

  “Is there anything else you wanted to discuss, Mr. Cardiff? If not, both Dr. Morrison and I need to get back to work.” Andy’s voice was even, betraying none of the stress Kate could read in her body language.

  He turned to look at his wife, who met his gaze, her right hand clenched tightly at her side. She seemed to plead with him with her eyes, but whether it was to cease his fighting or to push harder, Kate couldn’t be sure.

  “Don’t be surprised, Sergeant Wyles, when you are asked some very pointed questions by my father-in-law in the next few hours,” he said, his voice hard, his tone doubling the threat of his words.

  Finally he turned and headed back out the door, his wife following quickly behind.

  “I need to get upstairs,” Kate said immediately after they left. Her heart pounded, her spine felt tight with stress, the blood vessels behind her eye throbbed, and as she moved towards the door, she felt a momentary dizziness.

  “Kate?” Andy’s voice reached her just as she got to the door.

  Kate turned, wishing more than anything that Andy wouldn’t ask her any questions. She needed desperately to get upstairs and update the patient information that streamed in a constant backdrop in her head. But Andy didn’t ask anything, just subjected Kate to her full body scan, like Kate needed to pass some sort of test before she was allowed to leave.

  “Call me if you need anything,” Andy said, her voice cautious. Kate gave only a brief thought to what Andy had just seen, what signs of stress were evident in her body and her face. She simply nodded, hooked her mask back behind her ears, and headed out into the hallway.

  At the top of the stairs, just as Kate was reaching for her ID to be admitted to Ward B, she heard her name being called. Natalie Cardiff was coming up the stairs, her one arm wrapped almost protectively around her body. Again, Kate got the sense that this woman was literally trying to hold herself together.

  “I’m sorry—” she started, but Kate held up a hand.

  “Please don’t,” Kate said, her voice sharper than she had intended. “It’s fine. And I really need to get in and check on my patients.”

  Natalie Cardiff fidgeted, hands tightly clenched. “If there’s any way I could see my daughter…” Her voice was pleading, like she already knew what Kate would say but couldn’t stop herself from asking.

  “I’m sorry, this is a closed ward. I can’t allow you access.” It felt beyond cruel, barring this woman from seeing her daughter. But Kate also knew it was a necessary precaution. “Have you been able to video chat with her? I know it’s not the same…” Kate said, her voice softened a little.

  “Yes, this morning. It was hard with the mask on, and she couldn’t take it off for very long, she had trouble breathing almost as soon as it was off.” Tears pooled in her eyes and ran down her cheeks.

  Kate sighed as alarm for Serena and compassion for her mother warred for space in Kate’s body. She felt it as she took the weight on, made it fit amongst the details and the worry, the sharp-edged fear and the guilt that she wasn’t doing enough. But even still, Kate knew she had to take on Natalie Cardiff’s pain. It was what she did. It was how she functioned.

  “I can’t imagine how hard this is for you, Mrs. Cardiff. I know you’re dealing with a lot right now, but we need to keep this ward restricted. For everyone’s protection,” she tried to stress.

  “I know, I know,” Natalie said quietly, still crying. “I’m sorry,” she said, though Kate wasn’t exactly sure what she was apologizing for. “I’m trying so hard keep it together, for my kids.” She took in a deep, shaky breath, like she was heading off a complete breakdown.

  Kate sighed again, looked down at Natalie’s clenched hands, a thin edge of metal showing between her fingers and palm. A shock of recognition passed through her then as she saw what Natalie had been holding tight in her fist. Natalie followed the direction of her gaze, then slowly opened her fingers. A perfectly smooth, dull medallion sat in her palm. An AA chip. Kate went back over every detail she knew of Natalie Cardiff, adjusting and resorting information.

  “It’s not a massage appointment you go to every morning,” Kate said.

  “No, though I let everyone think that,” she said, closing her hand again.

  “How long?” Kate asked gently.

  “Sixteen years,” Natalie said, still looking down.

  Kate was silent, thinking about the age gap between Serena and Julia, deciding that maybe the woman standing in front of her wasn’t so fragile after all. She
also thought about her own number, the one she tracked unconsciously in her head. Seven years, eight months. She didn’t offer this into the silence. Right now, she could not imagine letting this small piece of her float freely. Everything had to be held so carefully right now.

  Natalie suddenly looked up, her eyes pleading.

  “I know you’re doing everything you can, Dr. Morrison. But I need my daughter to walk out of here. I will not survive, our family will not survive without Serena.”

  “I promise that I will do everything I can, Mrs. Cardiff.” She repeated the promise automatically, forcing the words through tight lips. Then she turned and walked through the double doors of Ward B.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Kate sat on the on-call bed staring down at her hands. The faint lines of old scars, the slight roughness of patched skin. She took off her silver ring, Sarah’s ring, and put it on the bedside table. Looking carefully at the slight indentation, she saw the familiar groove against her finger. Cross-hatched lines, puckers of skin, the shiny stretch over bones and knuckles. Kate inspected her hands until they crossed the line from familiar to foreign. Until they belonged to someone else entirely.

  They’d lost Jackson Ross.

  Kate’s shoulders sagged as she saw the replay of the scene in her head, watched her hands—fast, useless hands—trying to save him. Another tidal wave of fluid, his lungs filling so rapidly she had no hope of staying ahead of it. She watched the scene again, reliving the moment when she decided to put a drain in his other side, weighing the risks of a double drainage, of yet another hole in his already severely compromised lungs. Eric, on the other side of the bed, handing her the tube, calling out vitals, yelling at the nurse to close the curtain around the bed. Trent Ross crying, choking behind her. A moment, so brief, when they thought it had worked. Then crashing, heart rate wild, his system screaming for oxygen. Eric telling her they were done, repeating the words until Kate removed her hands from Jackson Ross’s still chest. Trent Ross screaming, thrashing on the bed behind them, and Kate didn’t have it in her to feel his pain, too. Eric having to subdue him as he tried to get out of bed, pulling at his IV, at his mask.

  Her hands. Useful hands, competent hands. Kate tried to remind herself of this. But the sentiments echoed hollowly and unconvincingly in her head.

  Kate looked up as someone knocked on the door to the on-call room and opened it without waiting for a response. Lucy. Kate was thankful she hadn’t cried.

  “Dr. Doyle is looking for you,” Lucy said, her eyes kind and tired.

  Kate forced herself to remember she wasn’t the only person losing here. “Thanks, I’ll be right out,” she said.

  She took enough slow, steadying breaths to feel like she could face another person. Then she deliberately pulled the sleeves of her gown right down to her wrists and walked out.

  Dr. Doyle was standing at the nurse’s station, two charts in hand, her mask looking out of place over her perfectly made-up face. “Dr. Morrison, I’ve got two new patients, both borderline, both in good condition. But they also present with risk factors and neither has been on steroids. Dr. MacKay thought it best to admit them.”

  “Have they had their initial dose here?” Kate asked automatically.

  “Yes, in emerg, before they were sent up,” Dr. Doyle replied, handing over the charts.

  “Good,” Kate said, though it wasn’t really. It hadn’t been enough for Jackson Ross. Why did she think it would be enough for these patients?

  “I’m sorry about Jackson Ross,” Dr. Doyle said suddenly, awkwardly.

  “So am I,” Kate said, not looking up from the charts.

  “What’s the status of the rest of the patients?”

  “Harris Trenholm and Serena Cardiff are holding steady. Trent Ross is sleeping off a dose of sedative that Dr. MacKay administered a few hours ago and his sats are in the normal range, only supplemental oxygen needed occasionally.”

  She had a sudden, bizarre thought that Dr. Doyle would ask her who would be the next to go. That she would want a prediction about the inevitability of Kate losing another patient. Kate shook her head, forced herself to read the charts in front of her. Twenty-nine-year-old woman, lung infection last year; forty-seven-year-old man, car accident over a decade ago. Low risk factors, but still risk factors.

  Kate closed the charts, handed them to Lucy, and met Dr. Doyle’s eyes for the first time. “Anything else?” she asked, knowing the question sounded rude.

  “Autopsy scheduled for the day after tomorrow. I’ll let you and Dr. MacKay fight that one out,” Dr. Doyle said, completely unsympathetic.

  Kate acknowledged her with a quick nod of her head, wanting Dr. Doyle gone off the ward as quickly as possible.

  “I have to go inform PR of the Ross death. We’ll have to prepare another media alert. Perhaps you should check in with Dr. MacKay tomorrow, since the ER is sure to be busy with the news of another death.”

  “I’ll make sure the ER is covered tomorrow,” Kate said.

  “Good, do that,” Dr. Doyle said, almost sharply. She turned to go then stopped, looked back at Kate. “I’ve got two doctors coming on tonight to cover Ward B, and they should be here in an hour. Go get some sleep, Dr. Morrison.”

  She had no room to feel grateful, no thought Dr. Doyle was being kind. It was simply another accusation, a questioning of her competence as a doctor. As Dr. Doyle turned away, Kate sagged heavily against the nurse’s station, covering her now pounding head with her hands. She stood like that, listening to Dr. Doyle’s high heels on the floor, clacking their way down the hall and through the double doors.

  “Dr. Morrison, is there anything I can get for you?” Lucy’s voice, tentative and kind, intruded on Kate’s self-depreciating thoughts.

  “A new protocol to treat acute onset pulmonary edema would be great.” Kate tried for a joking tone, but she must have missed. Lucy looked at her with wide, worried eyes. “No,” Kate sighed, “there’s nothing you can get for me, Lucy.”

  Kate admitted the two new patients, adding their data to the loop in her head. They both seemed so healthy, so vibrant in comparison to her other Ward B charges. Kate remembered both Jackson and Trent Ross seeming so carefree just two days ago. The thought stopped her, forced the air from her lungs, and it was a moment before she could breathe again.

  She was cycling through chest x-rays, trying to crack the viral code when she heard Jack down the hall.

  “Hi, Katie,” he said in his gentle, warm voice.

  Kate looked up from the monitor, met his kind brown eyes, and felt the sudden urge to cry, to let her guard down for one second and just cry. But she swallowed it, too aware of the precariously balanced weight.

  “Hey Jack, what are you still doing here?” Kate checked her watch—nine o’clock. Where had the day gone?

  “Wylie sent me to get you. She’s back at the hotel. Conference call with Finns and Heath,” he said.

  Andy. Kate felt the warmth and the worry mix in her chest. She’d barely allowed herself to think about Andy in the last few hours. Now she very desperately wanted to see her.

  She didn’t even fight. “Give me twenty minutes, I’ll meet you out front.”

  Half an hour later, the Ward B patients transferred over to two doctors for the night, Kate made her way outside. She briefly remembered the morning, standing in the sun, feeling the warmth on her face. It seemed like so long ago, as she climbed into the rental car and Jack drove out onto dark, empty streets. They didn’t talk, Jack fiddling with the radio and muttering about the lack of quality stereos in newer vehicles.

  Kate used her pass key in the lock of the hotel room, pushing the door open to see Andy sitting rigidly at the desk, her shoulders tight, her voice perfectly controlled as she spoke into the phone. Kate’s heart ached at the sight of the stress in Andy’s body. Andy half turned and looked at Kate before she spoke again, turning back to her case notes spread on the desk. Kate silently took off her shoes and coat and walked across the room.
At the very least, she could be there for Andy, to offer her silent support as Andy had done for her so many times over the last few weeks. Kate put her hands lightly on Andy’s shoulders, just a gentle pressure to let her know she was there. She felt Andy’s body tense, and was sure Andy had barely resisted moving away from her touch. Kate let her hands fall, a sick, useless feeling in her stomach. Andy reached up and tried to catch her hands, but Kate let them slip out from underneath and walked away again.

  Walking into the bathroom, she quietly closed the door behind her. She started the bath, welcoming the loud creak of the pipes, the splash of the hot water against the cold tub, drowning out the silence. She took off her clothes, leaving them in a pile behind the door, and sat in the tub before there was much more than a few inches of water. When it was almost full, she turned off the tap with her foot, hearing Andy’s muted voice through the water. There were no distinct words, just the familiar tones of her voice.

  With just her head above the water, Kate looked down at her body, examining it as she had done earlier with her hands. She inspected the folds of her body, the curve of her waist, the shape of her legs, the lack of colour in her pale white skin. Kate wished she could see her face, to go through the same scrutiny, to refamiliarize herself with her own reflection. She wished she could empty the contents of her brain, of her memory. Wished she could inspect and sort, identify and examine. Maybe then she could find something familiar, to connect all these pieces of herself into some semblance of a whole being.

  Kate heard Andy’s tread on the floor, light thumps as she crossed the room. A moment later, the door to the bathroom opened. Andy came in, her shirt untucked, her beltless pants low on her waist. She sat on the edge of the bath and leaned back against the tile wall. Kate was still, watching Andy’s cautious face.

  “I’m sorry,” Andy said, and her voice sounded so loud in the silence.

  Kate nodded but didn’t speak. What did Andy have to be sorry for? She wasn’t the one fucking up at every point, reading every situation wrong.