Ellen Brazile went straight to the lab at CDA. She walked into the bathroom, turned on the tap, and watched the water run through her fingers. It was cold and left her numb.
She took up a washcloth and scrubbed her face until it was just bare skin. Then she looked in the mirror. She was thirty-eight now, and her scars had lightened over the years. So much so that sometimes even she forgot. Her skin had blossomed when she was twelve. Cystic acne left her complexion pitted and the quiet teenager on the outside looking in. Her sister had gotten all the looks. Everyone knew it. But all Anna ever talked about was how smart Ellen was. How special she’d be.
So that’s what she became. The special one. The brilliant one. With a layer of makeup, even the halfway good-looking one. Ellen glanced at her cell phone, sitting on its marble pillow. No text. No message. She looked back up at her reflection and ran a hand across her cheek. There was a knock on the door. It was past three, but Ellen had no illusions she might be alone.
“Come in.”
A smooth face the color of amber floated in the mirror beside her own. It was Jon Stoddard, director of CDA, as well as a fellow scientist. Stoddard was a Chicago guy. West Sider made good. He didn’t have the brains of Ellen Brazile. Few did. But he had a face that was easy to look at and a silken touch that made the people who counted warm and fuzzy. Jon was Ellen’s boss. And that was okay by her.
“How are things going?” Stoddard said.
She wiped her face a final time with the washcloth and wrung it dry. “I’m doing fine, Jon. How are you?”
“It’s almost four a.m.”
“I know.”
“Where have you been?”
“Down at Cook.” Ellen slipped her phone into her pocket and walked back into CDA’s main lab. Stoddard followed.
“The ER down there should be shut down,” Ellen said.
“You don’t know that.”
She sat down at her desk and picked at a stack of papers. “Is that really the way you want to play this?”
“It doesn’t matter how I want to play it. And don’t get so excited. They’re moving us all down to Cook. For a few hours, anyway.”
“Who are ‘they’?”
Stoddard took a seat across from her and steepled his fingers under his chin. “The government, Ellen. They want you to take a look at the bodies. We have a car ready downstairs.”
“I can find my own way, thanks.”
Stoddard shook his head. “You’re the lead scientist on the ground here.”
“For the time being.”
“Someone’s gonna be on you 24/7. Just how it works.”
“What did the CDC come up with?” she said.
“They don’t have our field experience or expertise.”
“What did they recommend?”
“They’ve ID’d seventeen potential cases. Based on a first look at the blood work, they’re saying it’s a possible release. Emphasis on ‘possible.’ Maybe some modified strain of anthrax.”
“They got it half right.” Ellen hit a couple of keys on her computer and data filled the screen.
Stoddard swung around to her side of the desk and put on a pair of reading glasses. He studied the screen for a moment, then eased the glasses up onto his forehead. “How certain are you?”
“The symptoms mostly match anthrax, but there are some inconsistencies.” Ellen pulled up a map of the West Side. Small flags dotted the landscape on either side of the Ike. “Suspected infection pockets start where the Blue Line surfaces. There are a couple of cases, however, that popped up more than a mile from any stop on the train line.”
“And you’re positing that the anthrax spores could not have traveled that far?”
“I’m saying the likelihood of that happening is problematic. And, best we can tell, none of these people were anywhere near the Blue Line at the suspected time of the release.”
“So?”
“So if it’s a pathogen, it might be spreading by some other means. Most likely person-to-person.”
“Anthrax doesn’t work that way.”
“Anthrax isn’t supposed to manifest itself in a matter of hours either, but it appears that’s happening as well. The reality is a pathogen will work however it’s designed to work, Jon.”
Stoddard sat back and tilted his head to one side. “You don’t think this came from any lightbulb pilfered out of Detrick, do you?”
“Based on what I saw today, not a chance. This is a chimera, possibly synthetic. Cutting edge.”
“Similar to anything we have here?”
“I won’t know until I see the DNA.”
“But what do you think?”
“It might be a close cousin.”
“Big difference there, Ellen.”
“You think so?”
“I do. And so do you. What are the chances of containment?”
“Depends on the method and ease of transmission. We’ll know more as cases come in. You realize the Blue Line empties out at O’Hare?”
“I’m aware of that,” Stoddard said. “What am I supposed to do about it?”
Ellen had her hands full with the world living under her microscope and let the question fall away.
“This is not where we want to be,” Stoddard finally said.
“I told you in all of our mock-ups. Once there’s a release, the best we can hope for is to minimize casualties and hope we get lucky.”
“A vaccine?”
“If we have something close in our library, maybe. But it’s going to take a while.”
“So there are going to be more bodies?”
“Yes, Jon, there are going to be bodies. In Chicago, probably lots of them. Has Homeland talked about a quarantine?”
“They’re full of plans. Question is: who has the balls to pull the pin?”
“What about a policy on those already infected?”
“Is that something you really want to know?”
“We can’t be part of that.”
“We’re not.” Stoddard pulled a flash drive out of his pocket and slipped it onto the desk.
“What’s that?”
CDA’s director shifted his shoulders, eyes taking a walk around the room. “I recorded Homeland’s presentation tonight—laying out its plans for how to deal with any infected on the West Side. Asshole went into great detail.”
“Why give it to me?”
“I know Danielson dragged you into this. And now he’s off the grid.”
“So you do think we’re going to be made scapegoats?”
Stoddard pushed the drive forward with his thumb. “A little insurance, Ellen. Days like these, it’s not a bad idea.”
She shook her head once but slipped the drive into her pocket. Stoddard stood and walked to the door.
“Let’s hope we’ve got it all wrong,” he said. “I have a six a.m. call with Washington. I’ll catch you up after that.”
And then Ellen was alone again. The clock on her computer read 4:12 a.m. She typed and clicked for a few minutes, even as cold tears filled the cracks in her cheeks.
“Hey.” Molly Carrolton had slipped in without a whisper. Or maybe she’d been there all along.
Ellen grabbed a Kleenex from a box on her desk. “I’m sorry. Long day.”
“And night. You okay?”
“Been better.”
“Stoddard?”
Ellen shook her head. “It’s not his fault.”
Molly took the chair Stoddard had just vacated and inched it closer. “What is it, then?”
“Nothing. Everything.”
“You heard from Anna?”
Ellen felt the cell phone, heavy in her pocket. “Not yet.”
“I checked the hospitals,” Molly said.
“Thanks. I did as well.”
“She’s fine. Probably forgot to turn on her phone when she landed.”
“I know.” Ellen recognized the lie between them but didn’t have the energy for anything else.
“Why don’t you get some sleep?”
Ellen shook her head. “The government wants us down at Cook County Hospital within the hour.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s where the dead people are, Molly. Now, help me pack.”
Ellen began to shove files into a leather case. Molly hesitated a moment, then did the same. By 5:00 a.m., they were back down at Cook. A half hour after that, they started cutting people open and saying hello to whatever killed them.