Colton Holiday Lockdown

by C. J. Miller

  After six hours without a break, Rafe needed to walk away from the lab. He needed to think. He couldn’t do that in the confines of the lab with his failures staring him in the face.

  He exited the lab, stood in the chemical shower and then removed his suit, hanging it to dry. Then he sat in his office. It was quiet this time of day.

  He heard movement in Dr. Rand’s office, likely the man arriving for his shift. Could Dr. Rand be involved in something untoward at the clinic? Rafe had known doctors with a hero complex or in more extreme cases, a god complex, and some who were narcissistic sociopaths. Being good at a job didn’t mean personality flaws weren’t numerous. Half the time, Rafe thought he fell into one of those categories: hero complex, god complex or narcissist. He could be single-minded about his work, obsessive about helping his patients and could argue fiercely when he believed he was right about a treatment plan. He didn’t like anyone questioning his medical expertise.

  From the first time he had met Dr. Rand, they’d had a cool relationship. In fact, Dr. Rand seemed to have a tepid relationship with everyone at the clinic. It could be his personality to keep coworkers at arm’s length. It could be that he was good at his work, but lacked social skills. Dr. Rand wouldn’t be the first doctor to have that problem.

  Rafe found himself knocking on Dr. Rand’s office door, still not sure what he would say to the man. A quick conversation and he could get it off his mind.

  “Dr. Rand, can you spare a minute?” Rafe asked.

  Dr. Rand looked up from his computer. “Need a consult?”

  Rafe didn’t need a second opinion. He needed to know if there was any truth to Gemma’s suspicions about Rand. It was no secret that Rafe disliked Dr. Rand after the incident with Danny, but Gemma’s intuition was good. She read people and situations. It came with the territory of being the person who kept social order in a household of an aging caregiver, two wild brothers and an alcoholic half-estranged father. “Not a consult. I was wondering if you could tell me more about what happened with Jessica in the virus wing. I’m concerned oxygen deprivation will be the next symptom we face and I want to be in front of it.” Was it a good enough lie to get Rand talking? Would Rand see through it?

  If it had been a medical incident, Rafe guessed congestion or fluid in her lungs. He had seen no evidence of fluid in her lungs when he’d examined her and Dr. Rand hadn’t noted it in her chart.

  Dr. Rand leaned back in his chair and folded his hands across his stomach. “I was lucky to be there when I was. She was struggling to take in enough air.”

  “What do you think caused it?” Dr. Rafe asked.

  Dr. Rand shrugged. “I checked the oxygen level in the room and the ventilation system. Both appeared to be working properly. The air recycler is at full capacity and showing no signs of slowing down.” He tossed around a few ideas, but Rafe didn’t like what he was saying. Dr. Rand returned the conversation to his importance in the situation and how he had taken life-saving measures. It was almost as if Jessica wasn’t as important as Dr. Rand’s intervention.

  Gemma’s suspicions might be dead on.

  “When tough cases come into the clinic, you take on a lot of them,” Rafe said, pushing a little harder for answers without making an accusation point-blank.

  “I do. I don’t fear difficult medical problems. I’ve handled everyone’s medical issues and I’ve seen it all. The people in this town use the clinic as a catchall for every medical problem possible.”

  Rafe was tempted to ask him about cases where a patient had died, but he decided to back off. Dr. Rand was acting strange. Perhaps exhaustion or general frustration was affecting him, which was upsetting Rafe’s mood as well. He would keep an eye on the doctor. Anything suspicious, and he would be all over Dr. Rand.

  Chapter 10

  For every piece of paper she filed, Gemma felt as if two more appeared. Maybe one day the clinic would be completely paperless, but until then, she had to organize these documents. After completing her patient rounds, this time shadowing Dr. Rand, she used sorting patient files as an excuse to prevent herself from having a conversation with Dr. Rand. Gemma was concerned she would slip about her suspicions or unload her anger on him. Though she wasn’t someone who ran off at the mouth often, when it came to her friends and family, she was fiercely protective.

  The front door to the clinic opened, the bell over the door chiming. Rafe was scheduled to start his shift shortly. Maybe it was him. Gemma stood and came face-to-face with a sick man.

  Her training had taught her to identify a patient in desperate need of care and this man fit the bill. He was pale, his eyes were watering, he was sweating profusely and he looked exhausted and worn. His dirty gray puffer jacket hung on him as if he had lost a lot of weight. He had the symptoms of the Dead River virus. How long had he had it? Who had been taking care of him?

  She circled the desk to assist him. He looked like he might pass out. “Sir? Can I help you? Are you all right?”

  The man lifted his shaking hand and held a gun at her head. “Get me the doctor.” His voice was hoarse and he smelled of damp earth and garbage.

  Which doctor? Who was this man? Then Gemma remembered the sketch that Flint had posted at the clinic a while back. This man, though thinner and wearier, was Hank Bittard, accused murderer and prison escapee. He was armed and volatile and dangerous. Why hadn’t she been more careful? Why hadn’t she locked the clinic door after the last meal delivery?

  Terror shook her. Hank wouldn’t hesitate to harm her. “We can help you. You don’t need to point a gun at anyone.”

  Hank blinked at her. “Get me the doctor now.”

  Before Gemma could make her next move, Dr. Rand appeared. “Gemma, do you have...”

  He was holding a patient file in his hand and his voice trailed away as his eyes fell on Hank Bittard and the gun.

  “You the doctor?” Hank asked.

  “I am,” Dr. Rand said, lowering the file folder and meeting Hank’s gaze.

  “Get me some antidote,” Hank said. “I’ll never escape this place. I need you to fix me.”

  Dr. Rand gestured toward their examination area. “Let’s go to the triage area and I’ll examine you to see what you need to feel better.”

  “I don’t need to be examined! I know what’s wrong with me! I have the virus!” Hank shouted. He was shaking and Gemma feared the gun in his hand would go off.

  “We are treating patients with the virus. We can help you,” Gemma said, trying to calm him. He was growing more agitated. What did he expect them to do? If he had been following the news, he had to know they didn’t have a cure. What was he anticipating would happen?

  “Give me the cure! I don’t need your help. I need the cure. Now. I need it now,” Hank said and looked over his shoulder at the door.

  “Please, come with me and we’ll give you the right dosage of the cure,” Dr. Rand said.

  Gemma was already wondering if they had an injectable sedative to calm Hank Bittard. She could dose him and then call the police. Thanks to Flint’s video monitoring, they’d have the incident recorded.

  Hank wiped sweat from his forehead. “Why is it so hot in here?”

  He started to remove his jacket and grew impatient when it caught on the gun.

  “If you’ll come with me, I’ll take care of everything. We’ll have you feeling better in no time,” Dr. Rand said.

  “You’re lying. I can see it,” Hank said. Spit flew from his mouth and Gemma flinched. She’d been directly exposed to the virus. Though living through this ordeal was priority number one, avoiding infection was the second.

  “We want to help you,” Gemma said.

  Hank backed away toward the door. “You and her want to hurt me. You want to trap me and do experiments on me. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? This is a secret facility
where you test sicknesses on people and you didn’t mean for your virus to escape. Well, it has! Now everyone will die! I shouldn’t have come here. You’ll use me as a lab rat!”

  What was he talking about? He had the irrational mutterings and hallucinations of someone on the edge. Someone who was about to lose it and who had a weapon and may not care who he hurt.

  Dr. Rand came forward and stood next to Gemma. “We will not hurt you. Please do not hurt Nurse Gemma. I am a doctor and I will help you.”

  Gemma was surprised by Dr. Rand’s words. He hadn’t run. He had put himself closer to Hank and he was trying to help her.

  Hank Bittard brought his free hand to his head and stumbled to the left, the gun still aimed in their direction. “My head. It will not stop pounding. I can’t see anything. I can’t think when my head hurts like this.”

  Could Gemma tackle him? She was small, but he was off-kilter.

  From the triage area, Rafe appeared. In a split second, he assessed the situation and rushed Hank, grabbing him around the waist and throwing him to the floor. The gun clattered to the ground and Gemma hurried to grab it. Once it was in her hands, she pointed it at Hank Bittard. She had no intention of using it, but she had to make him believe she would. She didn’t want him to hurt anyone else.

  Hank was screaming, accusing them of using him for testing.

  Dr. Rand pulled out what Gemma recognized as a sedative and raced to help Rafe. He injected Hank and the man’s mutterings stopped in seconds. Hank went limp on the floor.

  Relief tore through Gemma. She had almost died tonight. She had been exposed to the Dead River virus. She sat on the floor, gun in her hand.

  Rafe knelt next to her, taking the gun from her shaking hand. “Are you hurt?”

  Gemma pushed him away. “He has the Dead River virus. He spit on me. Don’t touch me. You’ll be infected, too.”

  Rafe didn’t move. “If we’ve been exposed, we’ve been exposed.”

  He sounded calm. How was he this calm under the circumstances?

  Dr. Rand looked at his hands. “It was a matter of time before we contracted it.”

  Not an uplifting thought, but he was right. Working with patients and the virus every day would lead to an incident. It just had.

  “Dr. Rand, Rafe, thank you for what you did,” Gemma said. They had been brave and loyal.

  “I didn’t do anything,” Dr. Rand said.

  “You could have run,” Gemma said.

  Dr. Rand blushed. “Leaving you to face him alone? Never.”

  Gemma had second thoughts about her accusations and suspicions against Dr. Rand. He had acted nobly. Could Flint have been right? Was Gemma’s affection for Jessica skewing her take on events?

  Gemma called her brother and the three of them locked themselves in isolation. Dr. Rand chose his office and Gemma and Rafe secured themselves in the lab.

  * * *

  Hank was cuffed and locked in a room in the virus wing. They had moved two other patients together to make room for him. The door locked from the inside and outside, so he was reasonably secure.

  Rafe and Gemma were confined to the lab for twelve hours, the period of isolation the CDC required before they would be permitted to return to work. If they showed no symptoms of the virus, they could resume normal activities.

  Dr. Goodhue was following CDC procedures to sterilize the waiting area and anywhere that Hank could have infected.

  Flint also had the idea to install webcams in Hank’s room to monitor him. Though the picture was grainy, they could ensure that Hank Bittard didn’t escape again.

  “This is just what we need. Another risk factor to our patients,” Rafe said.

  “Hank Bittard is in no condition to attack anyone,” Gemma said.

  “He’s pretty sick, but if he flies into another rage, he could hurt someone,” Rafe said. “Those walls are not intended to withstand beatings.”

  “We’ll have to keep him sedated.”

  “I don’t want you going into his room alone, ever, Gemma. I’ll tell everyone on staff to be careful around Hank Bittard. Not just because of the virus, but because who knows what he has planned. He escaped jail. It can’t be hard to escape the virus wing.”

  Flint would be monitoring him, but Hank had proven to be wily.

  “I don’t think I’ve seen any patient in as bad condition because of the virus,” Gemma said, thinking of how out of control Hank had been.

  “He must not have been receiving the proper rest or care. Most of our other patients are lucid and stable.”

  “He was on the run. I can only imagine where he was living and how he was finding food,” Gemma said. “How likely is it that we caught the virus?” It was anyone’s guess, but asking the question made her feel better.

  Rafe shrugged inside his suit. “I’m not convinced it’s airborne. Every case we’ve studied and every interview we’ve conducted with our patients seems to point to this spreading through contact. It’s also not contagious enough that everyone who comes into contact with it becomes infected.”

  “Which I’m glad for. Theo and Amelia would be goners if everyone caught it,” Gemma said.

  “That’s an interesting thought.” Rafe appeared to be considering it. “Is it possible that Theo or Amelia have a natural immunity to the virus?”

  “Could be. Can we test them to find out?” she asked.

  “I’ll send an email to Dr. Goodhue about it. While we’re in here, I won’t waste time. I’ve work to do, and I haven’t given up on investigating the common sequences in the samples,” Rafe said.

  Gemma’s hands were still shaking. “I need a few minutes, and then I’ll help you.”

  “Take your time. Rest. You’ve been through too much.”

  Gemma watched Rafe work, the intensity on his face sometimes startling. “I’m starting to think I was wrong about Dr. Rand.” She didn’t mean to interrupt his thought process, but she had to let Rafe know what was on her mind.

  “I was starting to think you were right in suspecting him. Why have you changed your mind?”

  His actions when Hank Bittard had been in the clinic. “He seemed to genuinely care about me. When Hank was waving his gun at me, Dr. Rand tried to step in and help me.”

  “Because if he had defused the issue, he would have been deemed a hero.”

  Could someone be that focused on maintaining their hero complex that they would put themselves at risk? “That’s a negative way to look at it,” Gemma said.

  “Not being negative. Just pointing out that your original theory holds water.”

  Rafe returned to his work. He devoted himself with the same resolute focus that he devoted to her in bed. Bed with Rafe. They were trapped alone in the lab and trapped in their suits.

  “I wish we didn’t have to wear these suits,” Gemma said.

  Rafe gave her a long look that spoke loudly of where his mind had gone—the same place as hers. “If we don’t have the virus, working in the lab without them would ensure we caught it.”

  Maybe they should have quarantined themselves in Rafe’s office as Dr. Rand had, in his own office.

  “What are your plans for when we’re cleared?” Gemma asked. She would think positive about the possibility they did not have the virus. She would think about having dinner with Rafe and maybe turning on the fireplace in his bedroom and celebrating that they were healthy and safe.

  Rafe grinned. “I’m thinking about you and me in bed without these suits. Without clothes at all. But we’ve got another ten hours and thirteen minutes to go and your brother has cameras in here.”

  Excitement washed over her. Only Rafe could take her mind off a deadly virus and instead direct her toward the idea of another romp in Rafe’s bed. “When the suits are off...”

  “I’ll ra
ce you to bed.”

  * * *

  Rafe had been recording his lab results, tossing his samples when a hypothesis didn’t work out, and starting over, trying a variation in temperature, humidity or density of cellulose. With the range of results from the samples and without consistency, he wasn’t gaining any ground.

  He and Gemma had two more hours in the lab. As yet, they’d presented no symptoms.

  Looking at the results of the last iteration, Rafe did a double take. He’d hit a pattern across several samples. He slowed his breathing. He needed to check the samples again and then run several more to validate his results.

  “Gemma,” he said.

  She was sitting at the lab station behind him, but their microphones were on. “Are you okay?”

  “I think I found a lead.”

  Gemma moved to stand at his side and watch him.

  He worked quickly and methodically, mentally checking every step twice. No mistakes and no false hope.

  Three hours later, they had a pattern that existed between the samples. A common strain. Still unsure who he could trust, he uploaded the file to the CDC database for cross comparison. He snapped pictures of the samples and of what he was seeing under the microscope.

  “We have to call Dr. Goodhue. First, I want out of here. Second, she needs to know.”

  Gemma nodded enthusiastically. They called Dr. Goodhue who was at the Round-Up motel.

  She answered on the first ring, sounding groggy. “Everyone okay?”

  “Gemma and I have been working in the lab and we discovered something.”

  “Tell me.” She sounded wide awake now.

  “A common sequence in the strains.” One that he could define and map.

  “Across multiple samples?” she asked, sounding even more excited.

  “Yes.” He could speak the words with confidence. He and Gemma had checked and rechecked their process. They could replicate the lab results. They were finally on the right track, no fumbling, bumbling, stumbling with a theory or a hope.