by Roger Hayden
Veronica stood there, unresponsive, with her legs shaking and tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Are you picking up what I’m laying down, sweetheart?” Irwin asked.
She tried to nod her head but managed only a slight shake.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Now go ahead and start walking. I’ll be right behind you. One wrong move, and things are gonna get real ugly.”
Veronica moved slowly up the stairs, her legs quivering with each step. She felt that at any moment she would simply collapse under her own body weight. She could feel Irwin’s hot breath on her neck as he pushed her up the stairs.
“Now open the door, slowly,” he ordered.
At the top of the stairs, she turned the doorknob and opened the door. Greg was in the process of walking toward the basement with Pine Sol in hand. He stopped, suddenly noticing that Sergeant Irwin was no longer on the couch. He looked over at Veronica, noticing the tears on her face.
“Where is he?” he asked, pistol drawn.
Suddenly, Irwin emerged from behind her and fired his pistol at Greg, hitting him in the left leg below his thigh. The blast was deafening. She screamed. Greg hit the floor and pulled his Berretta out. He was hesitant to return fire as Irwin was standing behind Veronica, pushing her toward the foyer. She began to cry hysterically as he gripped her waist and forced her along.
“Don’t do it!” Irwin shouted. “You may be a good shot, but it’s not worth the risk.”
Greg struggled to get up, but the pain in his leg was too severe. They were about to move out of view and into the foyer when Greg saw his moment. He took a shot, hitting Irwin directly in his exposed shoulder.
A shell casing hit the floor and rolled along the tile as Irwin fell back against the wall in shock, pulling Veronica with him. She screamed again and tried to wiggle herself out of his grip, but he had her locked in. Irwin pushed himself against the agonizing pain and regained his footing. He had managed to hold onto his gun.
“Move!” he shouted as he awkwardly pushed her out the door. The hot barrel of his pistol burned against her head, and she stumbled along down the porch steps with Irwin holding onto her.
“To the truck. Go!” he demanded. Blood started to run down his shirt from the gunshot wound, and he winced at the sight of it. Adrenaline kept him going.
Greg crawled on the kitchen floor, leaving a streak of blood in his path. He found his way to the bar and attempted to lift himself up, gripping the countertop. His leg felt as if it was a phantom appendage, dragging down the rest of his body. He shouted for Veronica as he heard the blaring engine of the F-150 start up.
She was in the passenger seat as Irwin frantically tied her wrists together and then ran Greg’s own nylon rope around both of her ankles. Next, he placed a bandana around her mouth and tied it tightly around the back of her head.
“Just don’t do anything stupid, and you’ll be fine,” he said with rapid breaths.
He winced again as he leaned against the driver’s seat. One hand clutched his pistol as the other pulled the gear shift into reverse. He took one glance back and floored it.
From the kitchen, Greg still struggled. The pain of the wound in his leg was coming full force, almost as if it was on fire. He made one last attempt to make it outside but fell hard on the ground like a bag of rocks. He crawled in agony as sweat poured down from his forehead.
The door was five feet away and within reach. As he pulled himself into the foyer, he saw the truck through the window, roaring down the dirt path leading out of Tilda’s ranch. The red taillights became distant and then soon faded.
Hope for a Cure
Dr. Robbins had an urgent appointment with the research department at the underground biochemical laboratory at Emory University. He left the CDC headquarters without saying a word to anyone. His replacement, Director Taylor, had his hands full trying to handle the spread of Ebola and the public outcry while maintaining a facade of competence and trust.
The research Dr. Robbins was privy to was at an early stage of development, and things were very secretive. He even had to sign a non-disclosure agreement upon entering the laboratory. There were several drugs being tested against the virus in research labs throughout the country, and the government was looking for the right drug to throw their weight—and reputation—behind. As long as Ebola was circulating at such an accelerated rate, there would be a race to find a cure. Nothing, however, seemed like it could keep up with the mutation of the disease and its baffling growth.
The biochemical research department at Emory University believed they were close to finding something. Their experimental treatment involved creating an artificial DNA strand to mimic Ebola so that the patient’s immune system would be able to recognize the threat and eliminate it. That was the theory anyway. Robbins had been briefed on the phone, but details were minimal.
The thought of some “miracle cure” was on everyone's mind, and there was a great push for pharmaceutical companies and government agencies to get results. Dr. Robbins had a strong feeling about the work going on at Emory University. He knew of their outstanding advancements in medical research in the past and that they were generally at the cutting edge. Spearheading an effective treatment for the disease would be one thing; discovering a cure would be something entirely different.
He arrived at the research facility in the early afternoon, trying to remain low-key and inconspicuous. The Emory University School of Medicine in Atlanta was one of the premiere medical facilities in the country, and Dr. Crosby, the lead administrator, had always kept Dr. Robbins up to date on their research. Now that Dr. Robbins was no longer the CDC Director, he wondered if he'd still be provided the same inside access as before or if he would be relegated to a more limited role.
Being a former-CDC Director had its perks. He walked down the long, busy halls of the facility with his visitor's badge affixed to the lapel of his suit jacket. The front desk was in sight, and Dr. Robbins checked in with the female receptionist. She promptly paged Dr. Crosby, who eventually showed up looking busy and distracted. He wore a standard white coat with a blue dress shirt and tie underneath. A security badge was affixed to his coat as well, identifying him as the regional administrator of the medicine and research program.
“Dr. Robbins, so nice of you to come,” Dr. Crosby said, extending his hand.
Dr. Robbins shook his hand. “How are things going here?”
“Oh boy, where do I start?” He looked around the busy lobby filled with students, doctors, and nurses. “Follow me,” he continued.
Dr. Crosby was an astute man in his early sixties with graying hair and square-framed glasses. He had a long neck, which hung in pockets of wrinkly skin. At the very end of his sleeve was a gold watch, which caught Dr. Robbins's eye. He followed the doctor past several departments, care centers, offices, patient rooms, and nursing stations, which seemed endless in number.
“Never ceases to amaze me how big this place is,” Dr. Robbins said.
“Yeah, we're taking the scenic route for a reason,” Crosby said, walking ahead.
A girl on a ventilator machine being pushed by two nurses walked by, and they moved out of her way.
“What's the reason?” Dr. Robbins asked.
“Because we need to talk.”
“About what?”
“I'll make a deal with you, Ted. You tell me what the CDC knows but hasn't yet told the public about, and I'll fill you in on our research.”
Dr. Robbins wondered whether or not to tell Dr. Crosby that he was no longer CDC Director, but in doing so, he wondered if he'd still be told of this supposed breakthrough. Hopefully Crosby was too busy to have watched the news.
“Did you talk to Chen?” he asked.
Their footsteps clicked along the white tile floors. A sign hanging from the ceiling indicated that they were nearing the research department. An arrow pointed left.
“Chen?” Crosby asked.
“Kal Chen, one of your students.”
“He didn't say anything else?” Dr. Robbins asked.
Crosby gave him a weird glace. “No. What else would he have told me?”
“Nothing. It's nothing,” Dr. Robbins said. “I just know that with the spread of this outbreak, both of our backs have been against the wall.”
“You said it. My team has just been trying to stay focused. It's been hard, Ted, it really has. They've put in long hours and remained dedicated despite the spread of this terrible disease. I can only imagine what the CDC has been going through.”
“Well,” Dr. Robbins said. “It's our job.”
They walked into the research department, past several security stations where armed guards had taken over the job of receptionists. Dr. Crosby had a key card that allowed them access through each door in their path. Dr. Robbins couldn't recall a time when precautionary measures were so high, but he completely understood why. He noticed the array of security cameras poking out from the ceiling down each hall, and realized that any attempt to keep his visit secret had been thrown out the window.
“I really appreciate you taking the time to come down here,” Dr. Crosby said. “I know it must have been nearly impossible to get away with everything that's going on.”
“From what I heard on the phone, your team is making magnificent strides,” Dr. Robbins said, rubbing his eyes.
“That’s correct, and the only reason I would even ask you here at this time is because I believe we've made a huge breakthrough, and I wanted you to be among the first to see it.”
“Well, I appreciate it.”
Crosby let out a small laugh. “Don't think it's all about you, Ted. If this treatment works, we'll need all the backing from the CDC that we can get.”
Dr. Robbins nodded, feeling his Adam's apple tighten.
They took several corridors that went deeper and deeper underground. Dr. Robbins could feel the change in atmosphere and the compressed air flowing into the room through overhead vents. Past the last security doors, they entered the main research floor, which spread out into an extensive oval-shaped room with low ceilings and several sections divided by thick Plexiglas.
There were people moving around in full protective gear in what looked like some sort of high-tech lab, brightly lighted from above. The lab was full of digital machines, meters, microscopes, freezers filled with vials, and test tubes arrayed on every countertop. All of the activity was happening behind Plexiglas. An airtight metal door led into a decontamination room which separated the lab from where Dr. Robbins and Crosby were standing. Dr. Robbins had never seen this floor of the lab before.
“What are they doing?” he asked.
Dr. Crosby glanced beyond the Plexiglas then back to Dr. Robbins. “They're working.” He paused then continued.
“My students are joined by two of the best scientists in their field, Dr. Hosk and Dr. Roland. They specialize in DNA strand manipulation, among other fields. I personally called them here to guide our research team.”
From where Dr. Robbins was standing, all the people looked the same in their protective gear, and he couldn't tell student from professor or vice versa. There was another area to the left of the lab, which housed four small separate rooms all divided by Plexiglas. Within each room was a thick transparent curtain attached from above on a square-shaped railing and concealing whatever was behind it in a distorted blur.
“What's that over there?” Dr. Robbins asked, pointing to the rooms.
Crosby looked over. Dr. Robbins could feel the cold air from the vent above blowing onto the back of his neck.
“Those are our patients,” Crosby said. “They've all contracted the Ebola virus.”
Dr. Robbins naturally took a concerned step back, and Crosby suddenly reassured him.
“No, no. Don't worry. They're in quarantine right now. Four patients in all who volunteered to undergo experimental medical treatment to help us find a cure.”
Dr. Robbins walked back to the window and tried to make them out. Each room had a blurry figure behind the curtain that appeared to be in a hospital bed, sitting upright. Oddly enough, he had yet to see an Ebola patient up close since the epidemic began. He was intrigued.
“How long have they had the disease?” he asked.
“They just started showing signs and symptoms three days ago. Fever, loss of appetite, redness in their eyes, blood in their stool and vomit. We've never seen the disease work so quickly. They were flown here from Florida by one of our special courier planes.”
“How did you get around the FAA with this? Does the CDC know?”
Crosby gave Dr. Robbins another funny look. “The proper channels are aware, that I can assure you. As far as the CDC, that's exactly why we called you here today.”
“I know, but—” Dr. Robbins began.
Suddenly the airtight door opened, and a man walked into the room, having already taken off his protective gear in the decontamination pod.
Wearing green scrubs, the man immediately walked over to where Dr. Robbins and Crosby were standing. He was a tall man, with brown curly hair, a long face, and a square jaw. He exuded authority with his size, and his eyes were wide and serious.
“Dr. Robbins, this is Dr. Hosk,” Crosby said. The two men shook hands and gave each other hardy nods.
Dr. Hosk gripped Robbins’s hand tightly in his large and tan hand. “Seems like you’re public enemy number one right now,” Roland said. “I certainly wouldn’t want to be in your shoes, and I commend you for staying on at the CDC through all of this.”
Dr. Robbins had the urge to bring them up to date right then and there, but the sheer curiosity of the research before him held him back.
“It’s certainly been taxing, but my main concern, as is the President’s, is ending this outbreak.”
“How the hell did it get so out of control so quickly?” Dr. Hosk said, gazing up, astonished. “I mean, I’ve got a sister in Texas right now, she can’t get the hell out of the city. I just don’t understand it.” At the moment, he seemed to be going off on a tangent, but Dr. Hosk stopped himself. “But I digress. I came here at the behest of my good friend, Dr. Crosby, and when he told me of the type of research they were doing, I couldn’t catch a flight soon enough.”
“I know exactly how you feel,” Dr. Robbins said. “I’m excited to see the work you and Dr. Crosby’s students have undertaken.”
“Not a moment too soon,” Dr. Hosk said. “Eventually they’ll place a travel ban throughout the entire country.”
“Too controversial,” Dr. Crosby said. “And with this President’s politics, he wouldn’t dare close off the borders.”
Dr. Hosk tilted his head to Crosby, perplexed. “Mark, have you been watching the news lately? They’re sealing states off, trapping people behind infected borders. I’d say we’re well on our way.”
“Be that as it may, I haven’t been watching the news. It takes my focus off the work we’re doing here.”
“Fair enough,” Dr. Hosk said. “Shall we show our CDC Director here the latest?”
“Absolutely,” Dr. Crosby said.
“Great, let’s suit up.”
Dr. Robbins nodded and followed the men into the decontamination chamber. The door slid up with the push of a button. As they entered, the airtight entryway sucked in the air outside the minute the door slid closed.
There were bins on the ground with protective garments, gloves, hoods, and other standard equipment. Dr. Robbins watched as the two other doctors helped each other put their gear on, including taping their wrists at the opening.
“All right, your turn,” Crosby said to Dr. Robbins from behind his N95 respirator and face shield. Robbins promptly pulled the gear from the bins and began dressing himself. Crosby tied the garment from behind while Hosk helped with the wrists.
“We’re going to go in right through the lab and to the quarantine area,” Crosby
continued. “Don’t worry, each room is sealed off. One of our specialists, in full HAZMAT, will administer the treatment to our next patient.”
Dr. Robbins nodded in understanding. His heart beat fast with anticipation, and he could feel himself sweating already. They entered the lab through another sliding door, and people looked up from their work at the three men as they walked inside. There were several people huddled near a microscope in the middle of the room and others placing vials into a storage freezer sitting atop a white sterile counter.
The room was brightly lit from above, and there were flat screen computer monitors sitting along one of the counters displaying numbers, charts, and graphs. Another monitor displayed a microscopic image of the Ebola virus strand, which looked like a lasso.
Crosby introduced Dr. Robbins as the CDC Director to the team of ten people in the room. Dr. Robbins could faintly see their faces beyond the hood and respirator masks they were wearing. By their eyes and face structure, he could see that there were three females and seven males. He noticed one Asian man give him a particularly odd look from behind his mask and surmised that it was Kal Chen—the only person in the room who must have known that he was no longer the CDC Director. He played along, however, hoping that Chen either forgot or would simply keep his mouth shut.
Dr. Crosby explained the importance of Dr. Robbins’s visit and how they were going to administer the experimental strand into a patient simply referred to as “Patient 2.” The team dutifully nodded as two of them went into a separate decontamination chamber where one person got into full HAZMAT gear with some assistance from the other.
Dr. Robbins marveled at all the work going on in the lab and felt confident in his decision to go there. He had faith in their work but still felt an unsettling feeling in his gut, which he simply chalked up to excitement.
Imagine a simple cure to this nightmare, he thought.
The man in the HAZMAT suit walked directly into the quarantine area from his decontamination chamber as his assistant came back into the lab. There were two isolated rooms on each side, and the HAZMAT man went into the second room on the right carrying a small container between his gloved hands. As soon as he entered the room, Dr. Crosby turned to his team.
