Could anyone?
Time was of the essence. The ARS protocol had to be initiated ASAP. She took the bespectacled physician aside and briefed him on everything, including the possibility that the source of the radiation could be the baby. Eliana found his composure unnerving.
Why was he so calm?
As if in response to her unspoken question the doctor nodded and said, “Summertown is my home, has been most of my life. I’m related by marriage to the Adalwolf family. I’m also in the Navy Reserves. I treated sailors who worked in the radioactive plumes after the Fukishima disaster. I’ll take charge of her care. If you find out anything else I need to know, tell the hospital operator to page Doctor Goodman.”
Relieved Brigette was in his hands, Eliana sighed as she watched the gurney roll away with the girl to isolate her in an X-ray suite. Right now, she needed to inform Pearson of this latest finding. The radiocomm crackled to life.
Pearson’s voice boomed. “Solomon, you’re wanted at the command tent. Now. We’ve got a situation.”
“I’ve got a situation, too, sir.” Still in her PPE, she walked the half mile to the cold zone all the while briefing Pearson about Brigette.
A short time later in the Incident Command, or IC tent, she towered over the portly Summertown Medical Center CEO. From the soles of his expensive wingtip shoes, to the custom made suit, to the dead animal toupee lounging on his head, Joe Dowling bore out every stale stereotype of hospital administrators. Oily with sweat, his round face remained immobile even as he shouted at Eliana and Pearson.
“I’m the CEO, I give the Code Black order to evacuate, no one else. It’s my job, my decision, my hospital, my patients, my staff, how dare you—”
“I tried to call you, sir,” Eliana interjected between the man’s outbursts, “but your administrative assistant said you couldn’t be disturbed.”
He shook his finger at her face. “I was in an extremely important meeting.”
Eliana refused to back down. “In addition, sir, your assistant refused to give me any contact information for the chair of your board of trustees, who is authorized to issue a Code Black, also.” She nodded at the salt-and-pepper haired Pearson. “At that point, I had no choice but to call the code and to loop in Dr. Pearson, the Director of the West Virginia Division of Homeland Security and Emergency Management. I gave your organization the courtesy of two attempts to manage this. You chose not to be available in an emergency.”
The CEO spoke through gritted teeth. “I was in ambulatory surgery, having a private medical procedure.”
Botox injections or hair transplants?
“I beg to differ, sir. You weren’t in the hospital. The SPD and West Virginia State Troopers blockaded the streets around SMC. They called me to get permission to allow you through the blockades. The only reason you’re here is because I cleared you.”
His face flushed to the roots of his ugly hairpiece. “All these troubles started after you arrived in Summertown. I’m lodging a complaint. In fact, I’m betting you created this incident just to destroy our business, embarrass our town, and ruin the wine festival. Chief Novak should—”
“I should do what, Terry?” The tall redhead emerged from the side of the big blue tent. “Call your wife? Tell her where you really were?”
His mouth flapped open, and he flew into a tantrum, complete with foot stamping. “You—you—women! Always sticking up for each other, always stirring up trouble. Mayor Schaeffer serves on my board. I’ll have your job.”
“Mr. Dowling,” Pearson interrupted. “Did you lose sight of the fact that we are in the middle of a radiation emergency? There’s no time for this pissing contest. Either you help us, or you will be removed from the area. Then you can explain to your trustees and the townspeople where you were today. Your call.”
The CEO glared at Eliana and Chief Novak and turned to Pearson.
“I want a status report before I help you. You may be the incident commander, but I’m still responsible for this hospital.”
Pearson nodded. “As soon as Agent Solomon identified gamma rays from cesium isotopes, she ordered the SMC page operator to call a Code Black. Thanks to good training, the SMC emergency response team evacuated vertically, from the top floor down. Your staff led ambulatory patients down stairways and into the warm triage zone. As the walking patients moved through warm triage with tracking paperwork in hand, agents surveyed each person for radiation contamination, beginning with their head and neck, going down their arms, hands, torso, groin, legs, feet and shoes.” Pearson took a breath and shook his head. “The sicker patients required a greater number of staff to move the bed and equipment. One ICU patient with intravenous bags, oxygen tanks, and multiple other pieces of vital machinery required three staff members to pack up and transport him in safety.”
Dowling sighed. “Thank God this wasn’t flu season.”
“All but one of your patients is in the cold zone now. Brigette Adalwolf is in an X-ray suite that’s been converted to an isolation room. Dr. Goodman is treating her for ARS. Out here in the cold zone, your intensivist is reviewing the sickest patients to see if they need to be transferred to another hospital. Other physicians, including a psychiatrist, are seeing the ambulatory patients.”
“A psychiatrist? There’s no psych unit. Who is it?”
Eliana spoke up. “Dr. Arta Shahani.”
Pearson continued. “Psychological and emotional decontamination is important, too. Otherwise, people worry about short and long-term effects of radiation, not realizing they’re exposed to it every day.”
Dowling scowled. “Sounds like you took care of everything. You don’t need me to do anything.”
Pearson held his hand up. “Hold on. SMC is one of the largest employers in Summertown. Add in visitors, candy-stripers, and volunteers and we’re looking at about five hundred people we need to track. The head of volunteers is working on her list, plus the list of visitors, including vendors, and sales reps. The VP of Nursing said all her on-duty nurses and aides are accounted for, per unit charge nurses’ tracking tools. And each department manager has a list of his or her shift personnel, too. The only department we’re missing is the morgue. How many people do you normally have working there?”
“One. We don’t get a lot of dead people in SMC. The morgue attendant reports to the pathologist. He’s away at a medical conference.” Dowling pulled a smart phone out of his pocket. “I can access the hospital intranet and get the names of everyone who logged in with their magnetic ID cards today. When her boss is out of town, Janie likes to play hooky.” He shook his head. “Teenagers.”
Eliana raised an eyebrow. “And she still works for you?”
“Small town. We don’t get a lot of applicants who want to care for the dead.”
Dowling tapped at his phone several times, squinted, tapped again. “Janie didn’t swipe in today. She still lives at home.” He held the phone up to his ear. “I’m calling her mother.”
“Hi, Mrs. Schaeffer. It’s Joe Dowling.” He nodded. “Yeah, things are pretty crazy right now. Is Janie there?” His eyes grew wider. “Are you sure? Could you check her room, please? It’s important. I’ll hold.”
She caught Dowling’s gaze. “Schaeffer? As in Mayor Schaeffer?”
He nodded. “No, no need to panic, Mrs. Schaeffer. I’m sure she’s around here somewhere. We’ll find her.” He pressed the end button. “Now what the hell do we do? It’s the mayor’s eighteen-year-old daughter we’re talking about.”
“Maybe she misunderstood the code and sheltered in place instead of evacuating. I’ll lead a small team into the hot zone, looking for her and any other stragglers.” Eliana picked her PPE helmet up from the table. “You, on the other hand, Mr. Dowling, get to stay here in the cold zone, safe and sound.”
A look of surprise crossed the arrogant man’s face.
Yeah. That’s why they pay me the big bucks. Not.
She turned to Novak. “You in or out?”
Novak
grabbed her PPE gear. “Janie knows and trusts me. Let’s go find her.”
What if Janie wasn’t in the hospital? Then what? Where should they look for a teen-aged girl with a predator on the loose? Despite the heat, a chill slid down Ellie’s back.
Oh, God, not the mine tunnels, please. Anything but that.
****
Pressed into service, Arta focused on meeting patient needs for comfort and emotional support. Anxiety and questions about the health effects of radiation exposure floated over the cold zone tents like a mushroom cloud.
“Am I going to get cancer?”
“Will my skin fall off?”
“Will my hair fall out?”
“Omigod, I’m pregnant! What about my baby?”
A gnarled hand seized his jacket as he moved down the line of cots.
“Am I going to die?”
Arta sat next to the elderly woman, took her hand in his and gazed deep into her eyes. “We are all going to die, however this incident is unlikely to contribute to your death.”
“I was in the long-term care unit getting rehab for my hip replacement. At the time of the surgery, I thought sure I’d die on the table. I didn’t. Then I thought I’d die in the rehab unit. I didn’t die then, either. I was hoping this disaster would be the end for me. I’m tired of living.” A tear slid down her wrinkled cheek. “No family, no one visits me. I’m tired of being alone.”
“How long have you been unhappy?”
“A year. That’s when my husband passed away. I can’t go on without him, but I’m not taking my last breath, either.” She sighed. “Why can’t I be with him? I’m so lonely.”
“God does not show us His plans. We only get glimpses.” Behind the woman, an elderly man in a wheel chair leaned forward, listening to every word of the conversation. “Sometimes a disaster can be an opportunity. What is your name, my dear lady?”
“Bessie. Bessie Haverford Harris. And yours?”
“Arta Shahani. I’m a psychiatrist, doing some work in the area.” He pointed to the elderly man. “What is your name, sir?”
“Carl Hogan.” He waved. “Bessie, do you remember me from typing class in high school?”
“Carl Hogan! You’re still alive? I thought you died in a motorcycle accident.”
“Lost a leg, not my life. Or my love of life.”
“You were always in trouble.” She flushed. “I remember when you snapped my bra. You were very naughty.”
“You didn’t seem to mind.”
Arta whispered in Bessie’s ear, “Remember, we don’t know God’s plans.”
He stood and said in a louder voice, “I’ll let you two get reacquainted.” Behind him, as he left the yellow tent, Bessie giggled and said, “Carl, you rascal!”
He wished he could charm Eliana the way Carl did Bessie. Perhaps he’d start snapping her bra. His phone buzzed in his pants pocket. Speak of the devil.
“I was just thinking of you. Where are you?”
“I’m in the hospital morgue, on their landline.”
“Is it safe for you to be there?”
“The place shows normal background radiation now that the deceased girl is out of here.”
“Why are you in there?”
“I came here looking for the morgue attendant, thought maybe she got confused and sheltered in place instead of evacuating. There are signs of a struggle. And blood.”
“Damn. Shouldn’t you call the police?”
“Chief Novak is with me. She’s calling her crime scene techs now.” Eliana paused and lowered her voice. “He’s got the mayor’s daughter. The place reeks of jinni stink.”
Chapter Sixteen
Jerusalem, 953 B.C.E.
Solomon lay in his darkened bed chamber and prayed for the courage to kill himself. Almost nine moons ago, he lost both his love match and his mother on the same day. God could have sent cattle deaths, boils, frogs, hail, pestilence, and locusts to his land. Instead, He sent Makeda home to salvage her nation and killed Bathsheba with an earthquake that toppled rocks onto her as she went forth to prepare his wedding feast. The mountains rumbled, shook, and split down the sides. Thunder and lightning rent the sky, fires blazed in the hills, even the Dead Sea rocked. The Lord stabbed the spear of His wrath into Solomon’s heart and twisted it for good measure.
He rolled over on his bed and came eye to eye with Basemath and Taphath. His daughters knelt by his bed and stared at him.
“What are you doing, my little ones?”
Taphath, the younger girl, gasped and fell over backward.
Basemath glanced back at her half-sister. “I told you he wasn’t dead.”
“Who said I went down to Sheol?”
The older girl sing-songed, “Rehoboam said you were dying, and he was going to be king and kick us out of the palace along with our mothers.”
Solomon flopped back on the bed. Damn that child’s spiteful lies. Naamah must be filling his head with poison. If Bathsheba were alive, she would skin the Ammonitess with her tongue.
“Abba?” Taphath whispered.
He sighed. “Yes, my little rose?”
“Why is your hair so long?”
“I’m in mourning for your grandmother. I’m forbidden to cut my hair.” Truth be told, the time for remaining unshaven was long gone.
“Abba?” Taphath whispered again.
Why didn’t she ask her questions all at once? “Yes, my little one?”
“Why is there a stench in here?”
He sat bolt upright, threw the blanket off the bed, and swung his legs over the edge of the platform.
Taphath’s eyes grew as big as twin moons, and she backed into her big sister’s knees.
“She didn’t mean it, Abba.” Basemath hurried to defend the tiny child.
His heart sank at his daughters’ terrified expressions. At what point did he become a demon who struck fear into the hearts of children? He scrubbed his face with his hands and his seals caught in his long black beard. He could be taken for a Nazarene, one of those religious zealots who never shaved and never cut their hair. Hazarding a sniff at his clothes, he drew back in disgust. In all this time, not a single adult offered a suggestion to the king about his cleanliness—or lack thereof.
Wisdom from the mouth of a child.
“Taphath, you are correct. I’m not dead, but the stench on my clothes is that of a corpse.”
She shook her head. “No. You stink like a goat.”
Basemath clapped her hand over her sister’s mouth. “Please, tell Rehoboam you aren’t dead. He’s been pushing all the children around, telling everyone he’s going to toss them out into the desert without water.”
Solomon placed his hand over his heart. “As God is my witness, I promise to speak to Rehoboam.” And his snake-tongued mother. “Thank you for saving me. Come now, give me a hug—”
The girls bolted out of the room as if an evil spirit chased them.
In the courtyard below, a shrill voice scolded the girls for bothering their father.
Naamah. No time like the present for taking care of that bad business.
He strode to the window and pulled back the blanket. The sun, long forbidden from his chamber, blinded him. He shielded his eyes, peered down into the dusty street, and searched for that liar, Naamah.
Carpenters, bricklayers, shape-shifters, and jinnis, once industrious on the temple construction, thronged the square begging for coins and food. Adoniram was in charge of labor. Why did he stop work on the temple? Soldiers marched by, swords clanging on their shields to drive the hungry crowds back.
Unemployed laborers? Soldiers patrolling the streets? In his kingdom? Adoniram and Benaiah must be mad. He’d have their heads. No, it was his fault, not theirs.
Solomon dropped the blanket and hung his head in shame. The guilt of the theft of nine moons, nine hundred sunrises he stole from his kingdom weighed on his chest like a boulder. He had been called by God to lead his kingdom to greatness. Instead, he allowed his broken he
art to overcome his wisdom. He’d withdrawn from the world and left his nation without a leader. Rather than punishing the captain of his soldiers for maintaining order while the king hid away from his people, Solomon should reward him with gold and beg his forgiveness.
Nine moons he had lain in bed, rising only to eat and use the chamber pot. In all that time, no adult dared reproach him with words or looks. Neither Zadok, nor Nathan, nor Benaiah confronted him. Not even the brash Hoopoe spoke up. Where was that bird? Solomon deserved to be deserted. He abandoned his family, throne, and country as long as it took for a woman to give birth.
Birth.
If Makeda was pregnant when she left Jerusalem, as the Lord had told him, even now she could be in labor somewhere in the desert, screaming out in pain. Childbirth, a harrowing event for the hardiest of women, was the most dangerous time of a woman’s life. Would she survive? Would the baby survive? Would he ever see them again?
Not if he stayed in bed like a weak old man he wouldn’t.
Time for a change. He bellowed for his household administrator.
“Ahishar, get in here. Now.”
The sound of sandals slapping on the rock floor reminded him of flapping wings. Yes, he needed one more aide. Now, where was that chattering busy body bird?
****
Makeda’s swollen belly, legs, and ankles made any movement difficult, and she could no longer climb on the mare with ease. Tamrin had to cup his hands and assist her onto the horse’s back. Each sunrise, when they camped and slept through the heat of the desert day, she fell exhausted onto the heap of perfumed pillows and blankets her handmaidens prepared for her. After nine moons and relentless pushing through the desert nights, they were so close to home, she could smell the moisture in the air, feel its droplets on her skin, but still could not spare precious water for a bath, not even for a queen. If only she could hold out a bit longer, if only she could reach the Blue Nile’s waters, Makeda would sink into its cool depths and wash the dust of the long journey from her swollen body. The baby had taken over her life, demanding food, water, rest—and kicking her with the vigor of a young stallion.
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