by Cat Adams
The headlights of a tall truck, slowly winding through the narrow campus roadways, appeared. Dr. Sloan said, “Oh, look, that’s probably the table from the FBI. Come, Bruno, Agent Rizzoli—help me flag it down.” He moved off with speed that was astounding for a man his age. Rizzoli smiled and followed at a sprint.
The table. Crap. I’d forgotten all about it. Was it the memory problems again, or just too much happening in too small a space of time?
Bruno groaned. “I should have remembered how he is before I asked him to be my advisor. I’ll be the equivalent of a slave for the next year.” He pulled me into a hug. “Go get tested. Be okay and call me when you know something. Okay? I’ll check on you in the morning.” I was enjoying the sensation of his body against mine, warm and alive. He is the best damned hugger ever. The scent of his cologne and his skin muddied my mind, and apparently I didn’t respond quickly enough, because Bruno pulled back. “Okay?”
“Hmm? Oh! Sure, okay. I’ll do that.” I’d had to blink repeatedly to focus on his question, and he smiled with possessive amusement.
I cleared my throat and felt a blush rise again. “But you try to get some sleep sometime. Dr. Sloan will probably work you until you drop tonight, getting the circle up around that table.” I leaned forward to give him a quick kiss, but he pulled back, an alarmed expression widening his eyes.
“That would probably be a bad idea until we know more, don’t you think? No kissing until you’re cleared by Dr. Gaetano. And no … other things, either.”
It was my turn to roll my eyes. “Like I said, other things haven’t been an issue for a while.” In fact, the last other thing I’d indulged in had been with Bruno, years ago. But that was nobody’s business. While I’d never really thought about it, and my therapist, Gwen, had never asked, it was probably significant. The more I thought about that, the weirder it seemed. I could nearly hear Gwen’s voice in my head, asking whether I was carrying a torch for Bruno that hadn’t allowed me to get close to anyone.
Eek.
He took my expression of sudden panic the wrong way. “Good. You’re taking this seriously. Now go.” He trotted off toward the two men standing next to the now-parked, unmarked, Army-style canvas truck. I listened hard, trying to focus on their conversation, but they were whispering and all I got was mud.
That left me and Dr. Gaetano alone. I looked at him and shrugged. “Guess it’s you and me.”
“Let’s get moving. We’ll get you checked into the isolation ward and start the testing.”
Whoa. The isolation ward? “Isn’t that a little extreme? I thought you said it was pretty much gone.”
He nodded as he started to walk toward one of the few cars left in the parking lot, a low-slung silver car that was nearly the color of the touch of gray nibbling at his temples. “On your leg, yes. But I have no way of knowing whether your internal organs have been compromised. Until we test to make sure you’re clear of the infection, we have to treat you as infected and contagious.”
Oh, what fun. I got to go from being tied down to locked up. What a terrific night this was turning out to be.
* * *
“Again? You just took samples twenty minutes ago. What’s up with the lab tonight?” The technician with a nameplate reading Brad was the same guy who’d been in three times in the past two hours. The blue scrubs and blood-draw cart were becoming a regular sight, which wasn’t a good thing. He gave me a dirty look and I gave him one right back. I’d been locked behind glass and silver-steel doors for hours now, dressed in one of those stupid floral print cotton gowns. At least I was still wearing my bra and panties and, oddly, I did feel more covered than wearing the jeans. They’d given me the option to leave on my street clothes, but at least in the gown I wasn’t flashing everyone who walked by down the hallway. Thankfully, Dawna was on her way down with fresh clothes. I felt horrible calling her considering how early she’d gotten up. But I had tried Emma first, who wasn’t home, and Gran didn’t really drive much anymore.
“You think maybe it’s not us but the fact you’re half dead? It’s throwing off every sample we put in.”
Well, yeah. That could be it, too, I suppose. “So why do you keep drawing blood? I thought it was saliva that was infectious.”
He shrugged as he reached for my arm with latex-covered fingers. “Mine is not to ask why. The doctor in charge ordered more blood. I just get it.”
I sighed and tried not to look as he tied off my biceps and pressed for a vein. My eyes closed just before I flinched from the poke of the needle. “You going to leave me any for later? I don’t know how well I replace my supply without help.”
He’d already seen the teeth the first time he’d come in the room—after the nurse who had been first assigned refused to get close enough for me to grab. He wasn’t impressed or afraid, which surprised me.
It was sort of nice. But also sort of weird.
Just as he was pulling out the needle there was a thump against the wall that made us both jump. It was the tenth time since I’d arrived and it was getting annoying. The tech missed with the cotton ball and a small spray of blood followed the needle out of my arm. “Oops. Sorry about that. What was that?”
I held the cotton ball against my arm while he opened yet another Band-Aid. I already had two others on the opposite arm. “Don’t know. But it’s driving me nuts. You’d think an isolation ward would have thick enough walls to not bother the other patients.” When I said “patients” his face lost what little color it already had. I’ve known a lot of lab guys who don’t get in the sun much. But his sudden look at the wall made me realize he might know very well what was on the other side. “What? Who’s in the next room?”
He caught himself and turned a fake smile toward me. I knew it was fake because I’d worn one myself many times. “I need to get these samples back to the lab. The doctor will be in shortly.”
Yeah, right. Shortly. That was hospital speak for “whenever the hell he gets here.” I let Brad go without questioning him more, but I would be finding out what was in that next room before I left.
In fact, Dr. Gaetano showed up with another man in a white coat after another hour had gone by. I raised my brows and let out a frustrated sigh and said to neither, and both of them, “Y’know, it would probably be better for patient morale if you didn’t put a clock on the wall to watch the hours tick by. At least a magazine would have helped.”
His gaze flicked up the wall and he nodded before opening the metal chart in his hands. “Good point. We’ll have it removed.” Then he met my eyes and a glimmer of humor peeked out from inside the vivid green. “But luckily for you, the wait is over, so I won’t have to bring you reading material.”
Oh, thank the Lord! “The tests came back negative?”
He nodded once. “Dr. Swanson and I were just going over the results. We’re very fortunate to have him on staff. He’s actually seen cases of M. necrose in the field in the Sudan.”
The short, stocky doctor had a swarthy edge that resembled classic Greek, despite his surname. “I’ve been admonishing Dr. Gaetano for not taking photographs of your calf while the infection was at its peak. It’s hard to judge when the saliva, blood, and tissue appear normal. But I finally found the antibodies I was looking for in your blood in this last sample. It’s just taken a little while for it to develop.”
Oh. Photographs. Yeah, that would have been handy in case there were other victims. Oops. I flinched involuntarily when something hit the wall again. Both the doctors looked at the wall and then at each other. “Okay, so what is that? The tech earlier stared at the wall like it terrified him.”
Dr. Swanson shrugged. “It probably did. Frankly, I’m appalled it’s still here.”
Gaetano let out a weary sigh. “This isn’t Sudan, Panos. The situation’s not that simple.”
The other doctor merely shrugged like it was an argument he wasn’t willing to revive. “Perhaps. But I think it would be useful to show Ms. Graves what she narrowly avoid
ed and why it’s important she’s very open and honest about her recent interactions with people.”
The way he said it made Dr. Gaetano frown and let out a slow breath. “It’s not a freak show. It’s a person’s life, Doctor.”
Swanson’s eyes were both sad and fierce. “No. It’s a person’s death, Tom. She deserves her life to mean something.”
“Um,” I interrupted. “If I have a vote, I’d like to see. I’m not easily shocked. If that matters for anything.”
Dr. Gaetano passed over my chart to Swanson with a slightly disgusted expression. “Show her if you must. But I want no part of it. I have rounds to make.” He stormed out the automatic doors with fists clenched. I risked a glance at Dr. Swanson, who just shrugged.
“He’ll get over it. Tom is a clinical researcher. He hasn’t seen the things I have in the field.”
Ah. “In other words, he’s not jaded yet.” I understand that. Been there, done that, have the bloody T-shirt.
“He’s not being realistic. But that’s going to have to change. And soon. We only have six isolation wards. If this really is the beginning of a coming pandemic, he won’t have any choice.” He turned and crooked his finger for me to follow.
Um. So no, while still in my hospital gown. “Can you give me a second? If I’m being discharged, I’d like to wear real clothes out of here.”
He really had been a doctor too long, because that was apparently the first moment he noticed the gown. “Oh! I’m sorry. Of course. I’ll wait for you in the hall.”
It didn’t take me long to change, simply because I had no idea when the door might next open. I hated that I had to wear the butt-cheek-revealing jeans but hoped the only reason Dawna hadn’t delivered the clothes was because of the isolation ward. I doubt they allow many visitors. It’s not ICU. It’s even a step above quarantine. When I walked out into the hallway, Dr. Swanson was reading my chart. I didn’t know how much was in there, but I was betting there was a lot from the specialists I visited, since several of them were based out of the hospital. “Interesting reading?”
Rather than being startled or appearing embarrassed, he looked up and nodded eagerly. “Fascinating. You’ve had an interesting life. And death.”
“And life again. I’m planning to stay on this side of that coin.” That made him quirk a smile my way. “Shall we?” I motioned down the hall, but he closed the chart and pointed in the other direction.
He moved into the lead since obviously I had no idea where I was going in the maze of hallways. We reached a doorway after a series of turns that left me unsure where the hospital entrance was if I had to navigate back. “The patient you’re going to see is in an advanced state of M. necrose—where you could have gone without Mage DeLuca’s and Dr. Gaetano’s quick intervention.”
I was getting a little nervous about him opening the door, but instead of the door opening, the press of a button opened a window through it. Great. How many people had done that to me while I was sitting swinging my legs from the exam table?
That thought was swept from my mind as I caught sight of what was in the room. I say what instead of who because I had no doubt there was no who left inside the walking corpse behind the reinforced door. “My God.” I unconsciously crossed myself even though I’m not Catholic. There are some things that sort of require appealing to a higher power. “She’s not alive, is she?”
I could tell the zombie I was staring at was female simply because of the curves and tatters of the skirt covering the blackened lesions on a background of red and purple oozing skin. The eyes were white and unseeing as the zombie walked around the room, searching for … well, I don’t know what. “What is she looking for?”
Dr. Swanson looked at me significantly. “A victim. Someone to bite or scratch to transmit the infection. She won’t find one, of course, unless someone is foolish enough to go inside. We had to nearly restrain her adult daughter from opening the door.”
I shuddered to think what I would do if it was my gran inside that room. Would I care about the obvious necrotic skin, or would I run to her to envelop her in a hug? Scary. “Why is she even here? What are you going to do with her?”
He let out a huff of frustration. “Good question. I haven’t a clue. In Sudan, we would have lassoed her and dragged her into a fire to cleanse the infection. But since she was a patient here when she died, the hospital’s hands are tied. She’s still mobile, despite the fact there are no brain waves or heartbeat. They have to worry about the family suing if they make the wrong choice about what to do. In my opinion, she should be burned.”
“But what if she can be healed, like me?” Was it just luck I was given the treatment? Would this doctor have denied me that?
“There was no saving her once she arrived. I would have moved heaven and earth for her if she’d had vital signs when she arrived. She didn’t. But the staff here has no concept of this infection. They put her in the morgue until I happened to pick up her chart and read the symptoms. I ran downstairs and managed to get the body before it became animated again. The bacteria took over once she was in this room. Thankfully, the staff who came into contact have received the antibiotic.” It was at that moment that the corpse ran into the window, making me jump back for no reason. Just creeped out, I guess.
“Who was she? I’m worried I might know her.” I had a sickening feeling I’d seen that skirt set before.
Dr. Swanson furrowed his brow for a moment. “Sanchez, I think. She worked at a local grade school.”
Bile rose into my throat. Jamisyn said she’d died. And as I looked into the swollen white eyes above oozing black pustules and split lips, I realized the truth.
He’d been right.
15
Saturday was a strange day. I had nightmares all night, waking up screaming multiple times. I couldn’t remember the dreams, but I remembered the voice. The witch was there, taunting me, whispering to go out and hunt people. But I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.
Maybe after everything that happened yesterday, that was a good thing. Dawna had been in the waiting room, pacing. I changed into the new pants in the bathroom and not even her joking about my cut-up jeans being a hot new fashion statement could pull me out of dark and scary thoughts.
Worse still was the morning news programs, which stated M. necrose had broken out in Denver and Daytona Beach, two of the first cities where the bombs had gone off. They didn’t actually say the disease’s name but requested that children and school workers with “suspicious bruises” please check with their local doctors.
Crap. Children were falling victim now. There were special news bulletins on the radio and television, and the small units the CMDC had originally set up to deal with the few adults who’d been dying mysteriously were suddenly overwhelmed by the sheer number of victims. Parents of children from other schools were screaming for information. The press were having a field day. The authorities were managing to keep it contained enough that it wasn’t quite panic and pandemonium, but it was getting close.
Of course it was worse because it was kids.
Which was, no doubt, exactly why they’d been the target.
Rizzoli didn’t come by. He did call. He was madder than hell, too. His intuition told him to go back and talk to the security guard, but Jamisyn was missing. And since there was no hard evidence tying him to the bombs, or the outbreaks, it was only Rizzoli’s gut making him want to track Jamisyn down. Apparently, Rizzoli wasn’t able to convince the higher-ups to let him chase down that particular lead.
It was enough to make me sick. If the headache hadn’t already done it. I was incredibly grateful that the pain in my leg and arm was gone. But the headache stubbornly persisted. What I really wanted was a hot bath. Soak out the tension, wash the hair, and generally try to reverse my crappy mood. I took my phone with me so I could check e-mails and try to reach John. Although … calling John while I was naked and in bubbly water seemed to be inviting trouble. I might tell him and he might drive over and—
I gave myself a little mental slap. Okay, so I wouldn’t call John. But I did need to call Bruno. He definitely needed to be updated on last night. I’d left him a message after I been released from the hospital, but it just went to voice mail. No doubt the spell had taken longer than planned. I hoped nothing had gone wrong.
Of course, thinking about Bruno put my mind right back where it had been, because he and I had taken long, hot baths together. Very, very hot ones.
But … had he taken baths with evil siren princess Eirene, too?
Crap.
Was Bruno addicted to sirens? Could I trust anything he said since he wasn’t wearing the anti-influence charm I’d given him? I leaned back into the bubbles and decided that as much fun as it might be to invite one or the other over, it wasn’t a good time. Not in my day, or really in my life.
I needed to focus. I opened a new e-mail. Then I started typing with both thumbs while the heat from the water soaked into my neck and back. I typed up my e-mail to Drs. Gaetano and Jean-Baptiste, doing exactly what they’d suggested. I’d already taken copious vitamins, continued to break open memory charms, and waited to hear from John.
I was just up to the events in Levy’s shop—and had noted disturbing lapses of memory where I couldn’t remember all the details of an event—when the temperature in the room abruptly dropped. A presence entered the room; it was small and quick and agitated, flitting around in a frenzy of movement. A ricochet rabbit of energy. The lights above me began to flicker and spark, causing me to leap out of the water with a splash and a burst of bubbles. Wouldn’t that be an annoying way to die … electrocuted by a ghost? I looked up at the spirit while I moved to dry floor and wrapped a towel around myself. “Ivy? Is that you?”
The entity stopped moving but continued to flicker and quiver. The lights flicked off. Once, for yes. It must be her. She was using our old code, developed when we were children. It only worked with yes or no questions, but we could generally communicate. “Is something wrong?”