Sam was almost an hour late for her hourly check of the dogs in isolation, but she finally made it up the stairs. As soon as she opened the door, the stench nearly overwhelmed her. She recognized the odor in an instant. The dogs were still at her approach, which was even more frightening because it brought her back to another room with silent dogs in rows of cages. But no one had severed these dogs’ vocal cords. The silence here meant only one thing.
Sam peered into the nearest cage, dreading what she anticipated. She wasn’t wrong. “Greeeeeg!”
He ran up the stairs in seconds and charged into the room. He took one look at the dogs. “Christ! What the hell happened?”
Bloodstained diarrhea was splattered across three of the cages.
“We need to start IV fluids now!” Sam ordered. “Get Luke and the others.”
“On it.” Greg ran out of the room.
“Don’t you die on me,” she told the dogs.
Working together in the tiny room, Sam and her team ran IV lines, started the dogs on a powerful antibiotic in case the cause was bacterial, took new blood and fecal samples, and cleaned the dogs and the cages. Greg, Luke, and Beth all helped. Sam had never been more grateful for her staff. They were tireless and worked without complaint in the face of a biological foe they couldn’t see or understand.
When they had finished, Sam sent everyone except Greg out with instructions to check on the dogs in the basement and to process the few additional dogs waiting for intake.
Once they were alone, Greg eyed the row of hanging IV bags. “We’re going to need to let the CDC know about this,” he said. When Sam didn’t respond, he added, “Aren’t we?”
“We don’t even know if this illness is related,” Sam answered. “There is no stage of rabies with these symptoms, and none of the rabies symptoms are present in any of these dogs. Plus, all these dogs were vaccinated, according to the records.”
“But you said the rabid dog they found was also vaccinated.”
“That was one very rare instance where the vaccine didn’t take. You think the vaccines for all these dogs just failed?”
“Hey, I’m not the one living the ‘this is all a coincidence’ fantasy.”
Sam shook her head. “These people trusted us with their animals. If we turn them over to the CDC, what are the chances they’ll ever see them again?”
“But if they’re contagious…?” Greg let the question hang.
“I know,” Sam replied. “But they’re just as contained here as they’d be anywhere else.”
“And I’m assuming you don’t want to send out the new samples for testing because it will alert the city and the CDC.”
“Right, we will need to use our own equipment.”
“We’re talking about the same ‘equipment’? Our high school–level microscope and a box of chem strips?”
“Better than nothing. They’re good enough for basic blood and fecal smears.”
“If you say so. What about telling your new best friend Walden?”
“Same answer.” Sam shook her head. “Then he will just report them.”
She recalled Tom’s words about the proximity continuum. How close were these sick dogs to ground zero? Pretty damn close, she concluded. Their heads would be off and their brains biopsied two hours after she made the call. Then they would seize every dog at the shelter, and then each one in the neighborhood—including her own. The continuum would demand their lives, just as it had those of the pigeons. When it came to animals, those in charge had a “shoot first, ask questions later” mentality that resulted in unacceptably high body counts.
Greg examined Sam’s face until she was forced to look away. “Did I miss a conversation somewhere?” he asked. “You know? The one where you tell me what the hell is really going on here?”
“We just need a little time.”
“Who says?”
“My conscience.”
“Time for what, exactly?”
“A better option. The moment I turn these dogs over, that’ll be the precise excuse they need to begin a cull—whether this is related or not. I’m just not ready to do that yet.” Sam didn’t need Greg’s agreement, but she wanted it.
“This is a huge risk you’re taking, hon.”
“I know. All I can tell you is that something isn’t right. The mayor and Walden know it too, but they may not be able to do anything about it. Maybe I can.”
Greg shrugged his acceptance. “I never figured you for the ‘pray for miracles’ type, Sam.”
“I’m trying to learn to trust.”
“You picked a fine time to start. It’s your call and I’m with you, but may I remind you that one of the kids with the virus in ICU is sixteen.”
“I know.”
Beth walked in on them. “You wanted me?”
Sam tossed Beth the keys to her apartment. “I need you to check on Nick. He hasn’t been out and I can’t leave these guys. Take Andy with you. Get him out of here for a bit. I may need your help with him on something when you get back.”
“OK. Can I go through your unmentionables while I’m there?”
Sam couldn’t muster the energy for even a mildly hostile verbal response, but the look she gave Beth was enough to send her quickly on her way.
Twenty minutes later Greg ran into isolation and handed Sam the phone. “It’s Beth,” he said.
“What now?”
“She don’t sound right.”
Sam tore off her rubber gloves and grabbed the phone. “C’mon, Beth,” she barked in the receiver. “I don’t have time for games.”
“Get over here.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Just get over here.” Beth’s voice broke. “Now, OK? It’s Nick.”
Sam ran.