“Hello, Brian,” Harry began, forcing himself to smile.
“Go ’way.” He squinted up at Harry. “I don’t like you.”
Harry bent to pick up the blanket, noticing that Gloria had leaned over him, obviously too near. He stepped back as he stood up, knocking her off balance. “Here, Brian. You’ll want this later on.” He held out the blanket.
The boy took it, wadded it and held it.
“Look,” Harry began again, “so long as I’m here, why not let me check you over?”
“ ’Nother doctor already did.”
“Yes, I know,” Harry said, becoming impatient. “But I am your doctor and I would like to examine you. It won’t take long, Brian.”
“Where’s Stephie? They said I could see her.” The boy twisted in his sheet, then sat up. “She said we’d be okay, just us together. We’d be fine. What have you done with her?” His face turned red as he started to cry.
Gloria Powell looked disgusted and started to tap on her chart board.
Harry had to admit that the puckered, scarlet face buttoned with a runny nose was not very appealing. He also knew he was clumsy with children. Reluctantly he sat on the side of the bed and put his arm around the wailing Brian.
“It’s okay, Brian. Really. Don’t worry about your sister. I saw her earlier and she was just as anxious about you as you are about her.” He remembered he had shown her how to use the phone screen and wondered why she hadn’t. “She probably thinks you’re sleeping now and doesn’t want to wake you up. And she’s right, you know. If you have some sleep you’ll feel much better. I can give you some hot chocolate that will help you sleep. You’ll feel better, and the sooner you feel better, the sooner you can go home...” He stopped. Abandoned children did not go home. “The sooner you can leave here,” he amended,
“I want Stephie!” Brian yelled.
“Doctor, really.” Gloria shook her head impatiently, her pretty mouth set in a disapproving line.
“Why hasn’t this child been sedated?” Harry demanded, feeling the tension in Brian’s slender shoulder. “In this condition he could develop complications from simple lack of sleep.”
Gloria was nicely confused, but the confusion did not reach to her eyes. Whatever she was sent to do, she was doing it. “I didn’t think we gave sedatives to children. I didn’t order any for him.”
“Well, what’s stopping you from doing it now?” And what stopped Ian Parkenson from doing it when he had examined Brian? “Never mind. I’ll handle it when we leave.” He turned his attention back to the child, whose sobs had become short, jerky sighs. “Come on, Brian, a few more minutes and then you can sleep. When you wake up I’ll take you to Stephie, myself.” He glanced at Gloria and saw distress imposed on her lovely features.
“What is it?” he asked her sharply,
“Not here, Doctor,” she replied, and let herself out of the unit.
Shortly afterward he joined her in the hall. “Will you explain about this? What is the matter with his sister?”
“Come with me,” she said, quite professional once more.
But Harry didn’t move. “Not until you tell me why.”
She gave him a cool stare. “I am about to show you why, Doctor. If you’ll come with me.” Without a backward glance she led the way to Stephanie’s unit.
“I think it’s dreadful about those children,” she said severely.
“Yes,” Harry nodded, pleasantly surprised to hear her so sympathetic. “It’s criminal the way the parents are allowed to abandon them.”
Gloria opened startled eyes at him. “I meant that they were allowed to have them.”
In Stephanie’s unit the girl lay under a breathing-assist console. The machine squatted over her body like a large, profane bird. The gauge registered LIGHT RESPIRATION. The vital signs monitor read NEAR CRITICAL.
“I see,” Harry said, fear coming into him. “When did this happen?”
“About an hour ago,” Gloria said. She had come no farther into the unit than was absolutely necessary. “One of the orderlies noticed the irregularity on the monitor and rang for an assist. She’s pretty serious. She might die.”
Harry bit back a retort. “Is it too much to hope that there’s a record of what’s been done for her and her progress?”
“Oh, yes, here.” She traced through the slips on the case board and finally handed him one, retreating to the doorway immediately.
“Thanks.” He read, stopping suddenly. “This authorizes transfer.”
“Hum? Yes it does.” She nodded.
“There’s no indication where she’s going. Which hospital is taking her, do you know?”
She looked at her copy of the report. “No, there’s no mention here.” She frowned, then brightened. “They’re probably short of beds and don’t know which facility they’ll be using yet. It’ll be filled in later. Check it with administration in the morning.”
“What’s wrong with keeping her right here? It isn’t good to transfer patients in her condition,” Harry persisted. “This child should not be moved.”
“Dr. Parkenson signed the authorization,” she stated, her mouth narrowing.
“I know. I saw the report.” It frightened him, but he did not say so. “I’ll check this with Ian. He can’t have seen her since they brought the assist in. He’ll see that she mustn’t be moved. He’ll change the order.”
Gloria Powell stared at him, her bosom up-thrust, then she turned and walked away. No intern would do that, but she did.
Harry watched her go, anger growing in him. “Tell Justin. Tell Parkenson. Tell Braemoore. Tell Wexford. I don’t give a damn who you tell if it will save this child.”
He studied the monitor as his anger cooled. After five minutes he knew that Stephanie was number seventeen.
The voice on the phone was tired, still husky from sleep. “Yes? Dr. Howland here.”
“Dr. Howland, is Dr. Lebbreau available?”
“No,” growled the voice.
Harry gritted his teeth and went on. “Can you tell me when you expect her?”
“I don’t.” The line went dead.
Alone in the visitor’s lounge Harry stood, stupidly clinging to the receiver. What could have become of her? Where had she gone? He could put out a hospital alert—and rejected the idea as soon as he thought of it. There was a risk if Justin and his cronies found out. He tried her floor with no success. No one on the eleventh floor had seen her for hours.
On an off chance he tried the cafeteria and was startled to find her there sitting in the far corner, alone. He picked up two cups of coffee and went to her.
“Like another one?” he asked her when he reached her. He made a tentative smile, the offering of a truce.
“Oh. Thank you.”
Putting down the cups he said, “Mind if I join you? You look kind of lonely all by yourself.” Since there were only three other men in a room designed for two hundred, this could be said of any of them. She gestured to the opposite chair. “Please.”
“I’ve been hoping to run into you. After the other day I owe you an apology.”
“Why?” Eyes listless, hands shaking slightly, she looked squarely at him. “You didn’t believe me the other day, so it doesn’t matter.”
“But I believe you now,” he said, pulling his chair closer. He leaned forward, speaking quietly, “I have a patient right now, a girl, nine years old, abandoned with her brother. She has polio.”
Natalie’s face sharpened. “When was she admitted?”
“City Patrol brought her in yesterday. The initial diagnosis for her was exposure.”
“Where is she now? Can we run some tests on her? Unofficially?”
Harry sighed, defeated. “No. The labs can’t be bothered with sore throats and runny noses. And Parkenson authorized transfer for her. She’s on breathing assist and she’s being transferred.”
Although her voice was no louder, it had taken on intensity. “Do you know where they’re sending her?
Can we get someone on that end? Do you think we can follow her, at least her records?”
“There was no destination on the authorization card.”
Now her faded-green eyes were nerve-bright. “It’s going to get worse. It’s going to get bad so fast. Dave Lillijanthal got a tetanus. A real one. They can’t claim that’s a mutant virus.”
Harry stared at her. “How old is the patient?”
“An adult. Late twenties. They’ve got him in a decompression chamber.”
“What’s going on? Tetanus. Do you know what’s happening?”
“Mark knows,” she said, not allowing her voice to change.
“Then, why the hell...” He made an effort and tried again. “Why don’t they tell people, warn them? Why aren’t you doing something about it?”
For the first time she looked ashamed. “Because I can’t. They’d say I’m an hysterical woman who can’t adjust to the loss of her own child. And then they’d fire me because I’m obviously not responsible for myself.”
“Come off it,” he said annoyed.
“I have it on excellent authority that that is exactly what would happen to me. I know they mean it. And I haven’t got the courage to quit.”
The room was very quiet. One of the other men left the cafeteria.
“Believe me, they’ll do what they say. And that would mean I’d have to stop practicing. I can’t do that, not now!” In her outburst she leaned forward. “They’re going to need every doctor they can get.”
“What’s happening, Natalie? What’s really going on?”
For an answer she shook her head. “Not here. If we talk much longer we’ll be noticed, and then you’ll be in trouble, too.” She glanced at the clock. “It’s one-twenty. Do you have to be on the floor just now?”
“Not now. I’m on call at two-thirty.”
She closed her eyes in thought. “Can you leave the hospital for a few minutes? Get away from here so we can talk?”
“Yes,” he said uncertainly. “I suppose I can, sure.”
“Good. I don’t think we should leave together. They’d be sure to notice that.” She stared down at her untouched coffee. “That was kind,” she said.
The park across from the hospital was darkly secluded and unsafe after dark. The City Patrol ignored it, leaving it to the juvenile gangs and other violent persons who waited there for the unwary or desperate. Harry waited at the entrance, sensing eyes on him, and wishing that Natalie would hurry.
When she joined him a few moments later, Natalie surprised Harry by walking into the park, veering off to the path which bordered the neat artificial lake. She moved quickly until they were out of sight of the hospital and the traffic on the arterial. The night was cool for spring, and the flowers covered the grimy city air with a sweetness that was as elusive as it was delicious.
“I’ve been thinking,” Harry began as they came to the lake.
“You mean, now you aren’t sure about the girl, and you think maybe I am a little crackers, is that it? Because I wouldn’t talk to you where Justin or Braemoore or Mark might hear about it. Maybe you’re right.” She hurried toward a bench. “We can talk here, if you still want to.”
“You’re really frightened, aren’t you?”
For a moment Natalie thought she would scream. A stricken look crossed her face before she answered. “Yes, oh, yes. This is going to be bad.” She sat down, ducked her head as she fumbled with a scarf.
“How bad?” Harry asked, reserving judgment.
“What they’d done... God, what they’d done.” She looked at him. “You won’t believe me, but I’ll tell you anyway. I have to tell someone.”
“Go ahead.”
“... I ran some tests down in Mark’s lab before Philip ... got sick. I was testing out my patients. I thought they had the old diseases, not this unknown virus the computers were finding. It was like a textbook, the case I saw. It was classic. I thought it might be vaccine failure, so I tested the vaccines later. It happens, you know. They do fail sometimes.” She stared out at the lake. “The vaccines ... about one third of them are useless. They’ve been destroyed in random batches. One third of all vaccines. For everything—diphtheria, tetanus, cancer, all of them.” She pushed a stray hair off her brow. “The program started about five years ago, from what I’ve learned. We’re a test area. God knows if there are others. If it works here, they’ll try it elsewhere. It’s a clandestine government thing. Mark’s...” She swallowed. “Mark is in charge of it.”
“In charge of this? How can he be?” Harry wondered if this were her bitterness speaking. Her husband had betrayed her, and she thought of him as betraying everyone. Harry clung to the hope that this was so.
“He thinks it’s a great idea. Fair—there’s no way to know who gets what, and only one third of the vaccines are nonviable. There’s a two-thirds chance that we’re fully protected.” The sarcasm in her voice gave way to despair. “I can’t do anything. Not anything. Christ!”
They were silent for several minutes. “How many have you treated so far?” Harry asked.
“Children? Thirty-seven. Not so many since they transferred my paramedic to County General. They’re trying to keep me off the cases now.” Gil hadn’t been gone long, but she found herself thinking of him in the distant past, like her marriage.
“I’ve had seventeen cases in three weeks.” It was a confession.
In a faraway voice she said, “I wish I knew how many cases there are now. Really.”
“Justin would know.”
“Justin would lie.”
“What if we tell Parkenson? Or Wexford?”
“They know all about it.”
Again silence. Even the lake was still.
“Ian told me it’s better than battered children, that this is the natural way. It’s not as if we’re really killing anyone. He said we’re being crowded out of existence. And this is fair. They all think it’s fair.”
Harry said nothing as he studied his shoes.
Natalie went on after a moment. “I watched Ian take care of some kids about a month ago. One lost a leg and the other was too far gone—both tibias splintered, a shoulder dislocated. Deep shock. The parents might be fined, I hear. If Ian will testify.”
“Then you agree with them?” Harry was incredulous. If she felt this way, why had she told him about the vaccines. What did she want of him.
“I don’t agree with it. I think it’s immoral, unethical...” She stopped, then went on again. “I dread what it’s going to do to us. But sometimes I wonder, Harry ... what are we saving them for?”
* * *
CHAPTER 4
PETER JUSTIN WAS TRIMMING his nails. Anyone who knew him would recognize this as nervousness. He brushed the clippings into the wastechute with a fussy gesture. When he looked up again, a stocky blond man was leaning over his desk.
“I want some information,” Harry said. “I want it now and I want it to be correct.”
“What about?” Justin asked, playing for time and advantage. He. was aware of Harry’s anger, for it filled the room like a smell. “Why are you here, Harry?”
“You know why I’m here,” he exploded.
Justin made a second attempt at urbanity. “If it’s about Dr. Lebbreau ... or the children we’ve transferred...”
“Can it! How many kids have been through this hospital and what did they die of? The real figures, Justin. And no more unknown virus crap.”
Justin sighed and wiped imaginary dust off his desk. “I don’t need the printout. In the last two months, three hundred thirty-two with diphtheria, fifty-six with smallpox, twenty-nine with polio, three with tetanus, eighteen with TB, one hundred sixty-nine with meningitis, twenty-two with leukemia. There are a few others; perhaps a dozen with measles. But you must remember we have almost three thousand beds here, Harry. This amount isn’t significant ...”
“In total or fatalities?” Harry demanded, his brows drawn down over his eyes.
“Fatalities. Th
e figures for adults aren’t that high—I think the total is somewhere around four hundred in all.” He looked pleadingly at Harry. “Something had to be done. You know what conditions are. There was no other way, Harry.”
“Sweet Jesus, that’s over a thousand. This hospital alone, over one thousand people dead.”
“County General is running slightly higher. Inner City is lower on diphtheria. But they’re higher on violent crimes, so it’s about the same.”
“They’re higher on abuse, too,” Harry snapped. He had done his internship there and had seen the way the young, the old and the weak were treated. His first patient had been a five-year-old with the burn from a steam iron on his back. There had been others after that, women assaulted, old men beaten, children abused. He came to hate the cruel invention of the people there.
Peter Justin looked away uneasily. “It isn’t going well. There are too many. It’s too early for so many. The projected curves aren’t this steep. It’s not what we expected. I think the next time they try this, they’d better cut down the percentage to one fourth rather than a third.” He adjusted his handsome face carefully. “But we mustn’t be too concerned.”
“Why?” Harry demanded, horrified. “It’s not according to the projected curves? Panic isn’t allowed for? How shocking!” He gave a sardonic bark that was intended as a laugh. Justin shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “All figured out in advance, is it, Peter? Like the Tolerable Losses tables at the Pentagon? So many hundred thousand per million population?” He rounded on Justin, his clenched hands shaking. “I hope you bloody fools get your asses burned for this.”
Justin favored him with the travesty of a smile. “Of course we anticipated certain variables. The figures are high, yes, but it is like a war, don’t you see? Only an irresponsible leader would not allow for certain losses. Battles are won that way, and we are fighting a terrible battle. We must do something or the weight of people will pull us all down.”
Chelsea Quinn Yarbro - Time of the Fourth Horseman Page 7
