There was even some talk about lifting the quarantine by the end of the weekend. Numbly, Kraig listened to their ignorance. Hadn't they heard what he'd said earlier, about not knowing anything about the disease-causing agent? Did they think he'd been kidding?
A few physicians exchanged worried glances. Chet, though, greeted the D.C. contingent's optimism with encouragement. "It's possible we could pick up the fences by Sunday or Monday," he said cheerfully.
Kraig wanted to kick him.
Montgomery County, Pennsylvania / 4:15 p.m.
Cecily Sunday walked through the lobby of Vision Cell Bioceuticals wearing a Tyvek suit with a PVC coating that flexed as she stepped across the waxed and polished floor. Gordon had buzzed her in and met her at the security guard's desk. The guard gave her a strange look and perceptibly distanced himself from Cecily as she went by.
"I'd shake hands," said Cecily to Gordon, "but I don't think you'd like touching the suit." Her face was visible behind thin plastic that covered her head, with respiratory tubes snaking around from a slender backpack. The suit speaker gave her voice a slightly flat tone but was an adequate representation. She held up her arms and showed elbow-length, transparent, form-fitting spray-ons. "A new pair of gloves for every place I go."
"Reasonable precaution," muttered Gordon. He conducted Cecily to his office.
She sat down. "You don't have to disinfect the chair later, I'm clean. Freshly scrubbed and bleached."
Closing the door, Gordon sat down. His expression, grim.
"So you called me here to talk about these two scientists, Jennifer and Pradeep," said Cecily.
Gordon nodded. He told them the story about their heated exchanges, their competitive nature, and how their technicians shared lab space but not always politely. And Jennifer was out sick.
"Jennifer Rason," said Cecily, "has been examined by one of our physicians."
Gordon sat up. "That was fast. I don't even remember telling you—"
"You mentioned her name. That was enough. Look, Gordon, we're fighting the clock on this one. Doing things fast is part of the job. Jennifer has a viral infection: rhinovirus."
"The common cold."
"She's been asked to isolate herself in her home. She agreed. But we don't believe her illness is anything to worry about."
Gordon frowned. "I guess she got upset when you dropped in on her, and she found herself the focus of an investigation."
"A lot of people are upset. Twenty thousand of them in Medburg in particular."
"If the rest of my suspicions are as wrong as this one, I've wasted your time as well as irritating my colleagues."
"I won't sue." Cecily paused. "I've been obsessing about that creek, and I still am. I'd like to interview again the technicians who work for Jennifer and the combinatorial chemist, Pradeep Rumanshan. And Rumanshan himself."
"Okay. I'm sorry about all this, though. I guess I panicked—I saw what was happening in Medburg and I just couldn't stand it." Gordon looked at Cecily. "I called other people besides you. The CDC and the director of the Micro-Investigation Unit, for instance. A few other agencies."
"I didn't know about that," said Cecily. "You'll probably get some other visitors soon."
Gordon caught her drift. "Not as friendly as you?"
"Certain people tend to have a short fuse in a situation like this."
"Don't I know it," said Gordon sourly.
Cecily stared at him for a moment. "You going to lose your job over this?"
"I own part of the company, Burnett can't fire me." Gordon's gaze fell to the floor. "But I lost an old friend."
"Friends are like that," said Cecily. "You lose old ones, you gain new ones." She got up and stepped toward the door. "Mind introducing me around the lab one more time so nobody freaks out when I walk in?"
Medburg, Pennsylvania / 4:50 p.m.
Loretta Winters fumbled the broccoli, florets spilling all over the counter. Yvonne, her youngest daughter, laughed.
"Mommy's got butter-fingers today," said Loretta. "Doesn't she?"
The doorbell rang. Loretta froze.
"Mommy," said Yvonne. "Someone's at the door."
"I know, sweetie." Loretta felt her pulse race. Gary and Alicia hadn't come home yet.
Taking off the badly stained apron she'd been meaning to replace for months now, Loretta went to the door. She took a deep breath and peered through the peep hole. A young woman in a t-shirt and jacket was standing on the porch. She wasn't wearing a mask or gloves. Loretta unlocked the dead bolt and opened the door.
"Hello," said the woman. She smiled and held up a badge that was hanging on a silver chain around her neck. The badge looked official with a seal of the United States and a picture of the woman. "I belong to the mayor's newly formed commission to take a census of the containment zone."
Loretta let out a sigh of relief.
"I realize this is an imposition," said the woman, "but the information is needed by the city. I have to warn you that false or misleading statements are punishable by a maximum fine of 20,000 dollars and six months in jail."
Loretta wondered why people would be anything other than honest at a time like this. She nodded quickly.
The woman asked her the name, age, and gender of each occupant of the house. After Loretta supplied the information, the woman said, "Is there anyone who lives here but is not in the containment zone?"
"No," answered Loretta. "My husband—my ex-husband—lives in West Chester."
"Do you have any pets?"
"My youngest son has some goldfish." Loretta paused. "I can't remember how many. If you'll wait a minute, I'll check—"
"That's all right, ma'am. Actually, we're only worried about mammals. No cats, dogs, mice, ferrets, rats, anything like that?"
Loretta shook her head. People keep rats as pets?
"We're advising everyone to stay inside as much as possible," said the woman. "And in case you haven't heard, there's a curfew from nine at night until five the following morning. It goes into effect tonight and will remain in effect for the duration of the emergency. Exceptions will have to be cleared by the police department. We also strongly suggest that citizens periodically tune to one of the Philadelphia television stations or WKH for further updates. WKH is now broadcasting news 24/7."
"I listen to WKH," said Loretta.
"Good," said the woman. "I'm sure there's nothing to be worried about. The curfew is just a precaution."
Instilled with the certainty that she would be hearing the word "precaution" an awful lot in the near future, Loretta smiled and nodded.
"We're also asking people to please keep in touch with their neighbors. We're all in this together."
"I know," said Loretta. "So far, so good. I mean, people are pulling together like they should."
"Yes, the mayor's very pleased."
The census-taker turned to leave. Loretta watched her go next door, to Mrs. Virge's house.
* * *
Thirty minutes later Gary and Alicia came home. They stormed into the kitchen, bubbling with excitement.
"Everybody's really bugging out!" said Alicia.
Loretta frowned, but the kids' response wasn't surprising. To a teenager having little if any experience with real danger, the quarantine was thrilling. Loretta pictured herself as a teenager going through something like this; she realized she'd probably feel the same way Alicia and Gary did. You don't get so scared when you're young—it all seems kind of fun, like a roller coaster ride. You have an air of invincibility at that age, you don't think anything can hurt you badly enough that you won't be able to walk away from it.
I didn't grow up, Loretta recalled, until after Gary was born and I looked down on that tiny baby and I understood that here was a life I'm responsible for. And a lot of bad things can happen that I can't control.
Now Loretta looked at her 17-year-old son's excited face. I'm still responsible for him.
And the kids don't understand the seriousness of the situ
ation, she thought. They don't know how bad things could get. The containment isn't really like a roller coaster ride; there aren't any amusement park engineers to make sure that things are safe and nobody will get hurt. Loretta felt a rising sense of panic. She tried to fight it off—everything will be all right if we just don't panic.
"Those suits," Gary was saying, "they're so awesome!"
"What suits?"
"They're like, you know, astronauts wear," said Alicia. "The people who come into the zone wear them. Helmets and everything. Like they're on Mars or something."
"Some of the kids razz them," added Gary.
Loretta gave him a stern look. "What did they do?"
"They didn't do anything," said Gary. "It was no big deal. The little kids were making jokes and walking around like zombies." Gary shrugged. "Stuff like that."
Alicia giggled. "If those people think this is Mars, that makes us Martians."
"It's just a...." Loretta started to say the word "precaution" but she decided not to. "They're just being careful."
"You know it," said Alicia. "Right after they left the zone they got sprayed, hosed down and everything. And the water went into buckets, they wouldn't even let it run in the streets and down the drain. They took it away, every drop of it. Enough to fill a swimming pool, probably."
"How do you know what they did after they left the zone?" asked Loretta suspiciously.
"We saw them, Mom."
"We were standing near the fence," explained Gary.
"I don't want you doing that. I don't want either of you going anywhere near that fence. People with guns are there."
Gary rolled his eyes. Mom and guns.
"Promise me you won't go near the fence again," said Loretta.
"Everybody was there," said Alicia, "and nobody was getting hurt or shot or anything. Not even the people who were pestering the guards."
Loretta gave her daughter a sharp look. "Pestering guards? The ones with guns?"
"They weren't really pestering them," said Gary. "More like begging."
Alicia made a face, a grotesque expression of fear and pleading. "Oh let me out, Mr. Soldier," she said, in a pathetic voice. "I don't got no disease and I don't wanna die in here!"
Gary started to chuckle but he caught his mother's look.
"Alicia," said Loretta angrily, "I think you should have better things to do than make fun of people who are worse off than you are."
"They're not worse off," said Alicia defiantly. "I'm here too!"
"Hey, Mom," said Gary. "You don't think we'll get sick, do you? Nobody knows anybody who's sick."
"Maybe it's all just a gag," said Alicia.
"It's not a joke!" cried Loretta. She turned toward the cooker and punched the button. Lights on the panel flickered on.
"We're all here," she said calmly, turning back to her children. "And we're just going to have to make the best of it. I talked to a woman who lives across the street but she wasn't in the zone when they put up the fences and they won't let her back inside. I promised to take care of her puppy. If the mail carrier doesn't deliver the key by tomorrow, Gary, I'll have to ask you to sneak into her house."
"Gary's good at that," said Alicia.
"Shut up, Leesh."
"We have to look out for each other," said Loretta. "That's what people do in a crisis. That's how you survive."
"I heard the market's running out of groceries," said Alicia. She opened the refrigerator door and looked inside. "We got a bunch of stuff here, but with all of us staying home this weekend we'll eat through it in no time. Then we might have to go begging for food."
Loretta felt a twinge of fear. Cold, irrational fear. She swept it away. "They won't let that happen, dear. All the grocery stores will be stocked like normal, that's what they said on WKH."
Montgomery County, Pennsylvania / 7:25 p.m.
In her plastic jumpsuit, Cecily Sunday sat on the floor of the main hallway at Vision Cell Bioceuticals. She was tired, sweaty, uncomfortable, but all of that registered only distantly in her mind.
Gordon and Pradeep walked up. Gordon sat down on the floor beside her.
Pradeep said, "Perhaps I should go get some chairs?"
"No, that's okay," said Cecily, waving a gloved hand. "I like the floor better."
Pradeep and Gordon exchanged a look.
"Beneath all of that plastic," said Gordon to Cecily, "you have a puzzled expression."
"You know, there's something I just don't get."
Gordon and Pradeep waited for her to go on, but she just stared into space. She mumbled something but the suit's microphone slurred it into an incoherent buzz.
"What don't you get?" asked Gordon.
"The rules." Cecily glanced at both Gordon and Pradeep. "I talked to a lot of people here over the last few hours. I inspected the labs, I watched the technicians and the scientists. I got a feel about the way things work here."
"As far as I know," said Gordon, "we pretty much go by the book here. There's no laziness or incompetence."
"I second that opinion," said Pradeep quickly. "In my career I've worked in several labs, in academia and industry, and this is the cleanest by far."
"It's a clean lab," agreed Cecily. "I see that."
Gordon kept looking at her. "And what's the puzzle?" He asked as if he were afraid of the answer.
Cecily sighed and the suit speaker transformed it into something that was almost erotic. "The puzzle is that I have a gut feeling, and it says this place is the source of the agent. The pathogen."
Pradeep eyes widened and he shook his head vigorously. "No, no. I don't believe you. Nothing in these labs is dangerous! I swear it!"
"It's the creek," said Gordon. "Isn't it?"
"I just can't shake it. That conviction still holds me with, like, this awesomely firm grip. A death grip, I guess you'd say. Sorry, guys. If I'm right and it's the creek, then it's got to be you."
"No, no," said Pradeep, holding up his palms. "That's not scientific reasoning. And besides, we don't pour anything into the creek. We know better than that!"
"I didn't say you did," said Cecily. "Things get into creeks and rivers in plenty of ways. Pipes leak, storm drains overflow."
"And other ways too," said Pradeep. "Even if the creek carried the pathogen to Medburg it does not mean we are responsible. It could be anybody. Anybody could have poured something in the water. Kids, terrorists, anybody."
"But anybody didn't," said Gordon. "I think you're right, Cecily. I've got the same gut feeling. I think I always have, ever since I first heard the news. But I just didn't want to admit it."
Pradeep kept shaking his head, saying "No. No."
"I don't mean you did it on purpose," said Cecily. She looked at Pradeep and saw the fear in his eyes. The fear that came with five fatalities, possibly more in the future. The fear that came with being named the next Union Carbide, with Medburg as Bhopal.
Cecily stood up, the sound of creaking joints coming through the suit. "I'm not accusing anybody, and I sure don't want to frighten anyone."
"I will cooperate with you," said Pradeep. "We have nothing to hide. We did nothing wrong here." He nodded curtly and walked away.
Gordon accompanied Cecily to the exit.
"So," he said, as he buzzed the door open, "what do we do next?"
Cecily gave him a look when she heard the word "we." She hesitated in the doorway.
Patiently holding the door open, Gordon said, "Any thoughts?"
"What do you usually do," said Cecily, "when you run into a problem you can't figure out?"
Gordon smiled. "Talk to someone who's smarter than I am."
Cecily winked. "That's what I do too."
Medburg, Pennsylvania / 7:55 p.m.
Abe turned the steering wheel and the twenty-year-old Chevrolet with missing hub caps and peeling paint squeakily obeyed, wheeling onto Elmhurst Street from Glaser Avenue. The engine sputtered, then caught, and the car accelerated down the road. Streetlamps threw y
ellowish circles of light onto the pavement.
"Shoulda kept one of the nicer cars stashed away here," said Jimmy, sitting in the passenger seat.
Abe shook his head and glanced at his long-time partner. "You drive a Mercedes too often around this neighborhood and people know where you got the money."
"Well, what does it matter now?"
"It always matters, Jacques."
Jimmy looked up. He hadn't heard Abe use his real name in a while.
Jacques Simonai was a French-Canadian who had been in trouble with the law as far back as he could remember. Expelled from school and a habitué of juvenile detention centers, the young Jacques decided to try his luck as a logger. Problem was, he couldn't get along with the other men, who didn't want to stay up all night playing poker and didn't care for the newcomer's attitude. When Jacques was caught making some extra money by smuggling prostitutes into camp, he was fired. A short and uninvited trip across the border to the state of Michigan followed, and when union rules—and his lack of identification—prevented him from hiring on as a laborer except for pathetically low wages, Jacques turned to other endeavors: he pimped—Jacques preferred to call it labor relations management—he stole, he sold ice, coke, and when he could get his hands on it, the latest offering of utopian chemistry, luvu.
Jacques did all right for himself, but lived in constant fear of prison and deportation. An unconditional lover of freedom, Jacques Simonai swore they would never take him alive. And they didn't, but it cost another man his life—a man who turned out to be an undercover cop. Jacques fled, intending to make his way down to Florida and become a beach bum.
He didn't make it all the way to Florida because along the way, in Philadelphia, he met up with Clarence H. Trammers. They encountered each other in a dark alley, Jimmy having relieved a young punk of his wallet and several teeth, Clarence having made a hasty retreat from a set of flashing blue lights. Big, black, and laconic, Clarence seemed to have the system figured out and they made their escape. He knew how things worked. Jacques was impressed.
They worked together for nearly a year before Jacques understood why Clarence knew the system inside out. Clarence, whose honest face inspired his nickname "Abe," came from an upper middle class family in New Jersey. His older brother had done well for himself in college and in law school. Presently he was an attorney in the D.A.'s office in Trenton. Clarence was much different; in high school he had played football, enjoyed the game but more than that, enjoyed the fame—and the girls. Recruited by Penn State University, the University of Alabama, the University of Oklahoma, and other schools, Clarence was reveling in the hospitality of the schools' boosters when, his senior year, he blew out his right knee. Bad.
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