Chapter Fourteen

9:47 p.m.

Carmen ignored the man trying to catch her attention, focusing on Jean’s pulse as it throbbed under her fingers. Too fast. Her eyes were reacting as they should, but she appeared dazed.

Carmen found John’s gaze and said, “Jean is in shock. We need to get her warm, safe, and allow her to rest with supervision.”

DS put up his hand. “I’m on it.” He called one of their team members who doubled as a trauma nurse.

“Do you have time to talk to someone from the sheriff’s office?” John asked her in a calm voice.

Carmen turned and found three men waiting for her in various law enforcement uniforms. The one in the lead was a sheriff’s deputy. The man standing to the left of the deputy looked like he was wearing a State Trooper uniform. The last man wore a SWAT team uniform.

All three began asking her questions at once. Though she couldn’t make out their individual questions, a few words made it through the cacophony.

“Stop,” she said, raising her voice so they could hear her over the sirens filling the air with noise. “First, you should all be wearing masks, gloves, and eye protection. This virus is extremely contagious.”

After a pause, the men talked over one another. Again.

DS stepped forward and shouted, “Follow me to get suited up.” He nodded respectfully at her and led the men away.

She addressed the remaining members of their team. “Okay everyone, let’s get to the hospital and get a handle on the situation.” They followed with no questions or comments. Good. She wasn’t going to know more than anyone else until she’d had a chance to talk to the frontline staff. She wanted to know who survived the blast and who’d been killed. She wanted something to do with her hands to give her an outlet for the raging anger eating a hole through her gut. She wanted to strangle the bomber who’d done this with her bare hands.

“The smartest thing you ever did,” John said in a low tone she’d only ever heard him use with her, “was luring DS away from that bus driver job he had in El Paso.”

She refused to acknowledge the shiver his voice caused that chased across her skin and cut through her anger. “I have a whole new appreciation for military people.” She focused on what she assumed to be the ER entrance to the hospital. The force it took to create this level of destruction was bigger than she had envisioned. No signage remained, only a crater in the side of the building. “You give them a job, and they run off and get it done. You give someone in government a job, and they argue with you about it for days before agreeing to schedule a preliminary meeting about it a month from now.”

“Taking your time and thinking about a task has its pros, too,” he said thoughtfully. “But this isn’t that type of situation. Lives hang on how fast someone makes decisions and gets their job done.”

They entered the hospital through a hole big enough to drive a couple of ambulances through at the same time. There were debris, smoke, dust, and people everywhere. Most of the people were up and walking around, but there were also bodies on the ground, covered by hospital sheets that had bloody handprints along the edges. Combined with the sirens, the scene looked like something out of a blockbuster thriller movie.

Where to find someone who knew what was what in this mess?

A security guard, his uniform dirty with soot and blood, came over to them.

“Are you here to help?” he asked.

“Yes. We’re from the CDC. Who’s in charge?” Carmen asked.

He squinted into the interior of the building. “Um…I think Dr. Hunt would be your best bet.” He gestured at her to follow him.

Their best bet? She looked at John but didn’t say anything.

He narrowed his eyes but also kept his mouth shut.

They followed the security guard past more bodies lined up along the walls, or what was left of the walls, and injured huddled on the floor or on a gurney. They passed through a partially destroyed set of doors and into a relatively clean hallway. The sound of sirens was quieter here, but that just made the yelling and screaming from the injured and staff easier to distinguish from the rest of the noise filtering in from outside.

The guard glanced over his shoulder, his face tense and pale and eyes a little too wide.

He was on the edge of panic.

“Dr. Hunt is the guy in the bloody OR scrubs,” the guard said, pointing him out with a shaking hand.

Carmen took a good look at the doctor, made sure she could distinguish him from everyone else running around, then turned back to the guard. “I want you to find somewhere to sit down for five minutes, drink a glass of water, and eat something simple like a granola bar.”

The guard looked like he was going to cry. “Ma’am, I can’t—”

“My name is Dr. Rodrigues, and that’s an order. You’re no good to anyone if you faint because your blood sugar bottomed out.”

He opened his mouth, probably to argue with her, but John spoke first. “She’s in charge now. Do it. Tell anyone who questions you to talk to Homeland Security Agent Dozer.”

The man nodded so hard he’d be lucky if he didn’t give himself whiplash and moved off toward the interior of the hospital.

“Not officially here, huh?” she asked John.

“It’s just my name. He wouldn’t have done as you ordered without it.”

“We’ll never know if he would have or not.” Had John heard a word she’d said? “This is what you always do,” she said under her breath. “You’re so busy getting in front of me to shield me from anything you decide is a threat, I can’t do my job.”

“Maybe your job is too dangerous.”

“Someone has to do it. Why not me?”

He stared at her, his gaze blowtorch hot on her face. “If an area has active hostiles, I will always say it’s too dangerous for anyone to go in.” He leaned a little closer. “And when it’s someone I care about, I’m going to like it even less.”

He…cared about her. She should have been happy to hear it, should have been reassured. Instead, the word stabbed her in the chest, robbed her of breath, and almost forced her to her knees. It was too small and safe a word, too contained, too cool.

She wanted hot, wild, and electric. She turned her head to meet his gaze and let him see the full force of her anger with him. “Don’t get in my way again.”

He stared down at her for a long moment, unblinking. “Fuck, doc,” he said, breaking the tension. “Keep talking like that and I’ll come in my pants.”

Seriously?

“Still a moron,” she said, then went to speak to Dr. Hunt, who was standing over a patient lying on a gurney. Most of the patient’s head was covered in a bloody improvised bandage. As she approached the doctor, he pulled a sheet over the head of the patient.

Hunt was pale, but anger lit his gaze from within. Anger she understood and identified with.

“Dr. Hunt,” she said in a calm tone. “My name is Dr. Carmen Rodrigues. I’m from the CDC. I’ve brought additional staff and other resources. I’m very sorry we have to meet like this, but I’d very much like to help you.”

Something she’d said must have hit the right note, because he released a breath and nodded. “Thank you. I accept.” He came around the gurney. “The bomb killed several people, including some of my staff and yours. Firefighters are still trying to put the last hot spots out. Our isolation area was breached, so nearly everyone you see has now been exposed to the pathogen.”

Fear chased shock through her body, leaving her hands shaking and her mind spinning in circles, trying to figure out a way through this mess.

She clenched her hands into fists. Concentrate on problem one, then two, and so on. One step at a time.

“I would like to suggest removing your patients to the hospital in Kissimmee. I’ve got people setting up to receive them now.” She kept going so he wouldn’t have a chance to complain about her taking over. “The building may be too damaged for anyone to remain.”

“How much help did you bring with you?”

“I’ve got a trauma team of six who are going to assist your staff immediately. I’ve got more people in Kissimmee setting up to receive everyone here,” Carmen said with a smile. “What do you need most right now?”

Ten minutes later, she and Hunt had agreed on the top three priorities: security, triage, and the evacuation of the entire hospital.

DS walked toward her with Sergeant Travis in tow. Neither man looked happy. John slid in behind her, not getting in the way, but making himself visible to all.

“Something to report, gentlemen?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Travis said. “We’re still searching, but we haven’t found any undetonated explosives at this time.”

The way he said it made her curious. “Did you find some detonated ones?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Travis looked at her dubiously, but continued with, “What we’ve found indicates the kind of devices used in Afghanistan.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Ma’am,” Travis said with even greater reluctance than before. “I spent a fair amount of time dealing with IEDs in Afghanistan. After a while you realize there are only so many types or styles.”

She shook her head. “I still don’t—”

“The device used here wasn’t created randomly. I saw the same welds over there. The same exact welds. Whoever made this bomb used to make bombs over there.”

His words made her colder than if he’d dropped her into the middle of Antarctica without a parka.

“You’re saying that a prolific Afghan terrorist who specializes in building IEDs is now inside the United States, creating bombs, and one of those bombs was used here?”

Travis nodded hard.

John swore. “Rawley is going to lose his shit.”

“He’s not the only one,” she said under her breath. Everyone was going to lose their shit. “Does this…artist have a name, Sergeant Travis?”

“Yes, ma’am. Muhammad Abdi Amman.”

“How could he have gotten into the United States?”

“That’s definitely a problem.”

“You think?” She looked at John. “Tell Rawley he needs a few more people for his security detail.”

“He’s going to recommend the CDC pull out.”

“He can recommend anything he likes. I don’t follow his orders.” She glanced at Travis. The man looked like he was about to announce that a lot of people had just died. And they had. “What else?”

He looked at DS again.

The crusty old man turned to her. “It’s not just the construction of the bomb. It’s the location of it.”

“What’s so significant about the location?”

“It’s in a restricted area. Staff only, near an oxygen line. If the line had ruptured during the blast, it could have taken out a lot more of the building. A lot more. It’s a miracle that line didn’t rupture.”

Travis looked about as grim as the reaper. “We were lucky.”

Dr. Hunt snorted. “Tell that to the three people I’ve toe-tagged in the last fifteen minutes.”

“Have you reported this to everyone who needs to know?”

“You’re the first.”

“Agent Rawley is next.”

“You want me to contact him, ma’am?”

“Yes, he may have questions.”

DS grunted what might have been a laugh. She wasn’t entirely sure.

“All I care about,” Dr. Hunt said, “is making sure my patients and staff are safe and there isn’t another bomb stashed somewhere else in the building.”

“We’ve got dogs searching for that right now,” Travis said.

“So,” she said to Hunt. “Let’s focus on triage and evacuation.”

He stared at her blankly for a second, as if stunned by her calm tone. “Okay, that sounds…good.” He turned and walked back into the fray.

Carmen looked at the other men clustered around her. “Sergeant, please continue your work searching for more bombs or other evidence. If you discover something dangerous or pertinent, let me know.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded, then he, too, disappeared into the crowd.

She turned to DS. “Status?”

“I thought we could use the bus to evacuate the most mobile people here.”

“Good. Do it. Can you find out who’s in charge in an administrative capacity? Even the areas that look untouched might have damage that’s not obvious. All it would take is one small puncture of the oxygen line somewhere to cause another explosion. We need to expedite the evacuation as quickly as possible.”

DS smiled. “I’ll see who I can find hiding under the rocks.” He strode toward a knot of nurses.

That left John Dozer, who was waiting with more patience than she’d expected him to display.

“Let’s check on the status of the confirmed and suspected measles patients.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said in almost the same respectful tone Travis had used.

She shot him a dirty glare.

“It’s a compliment,” he said, leaning in to drop the words into her right ear. “You had all of those men, even DS, at attention, then gone to carry out your orders.”

“Even you?” she asked, shocked by his observation.

He leaned in a little closer. “Especially me.”

They had to go outside to get to the section of the building that housed the isolation ward. The interior hallways were completely blocked by debris, smoke, and firefighters. From the outside, however, it was possible to truly see the scope of the damage.

One side of the building had been completely blown out.

“This is much worse than I thought,” she said softly to John.

“Reminds me of the Oklahoma City bombing back in 1995,” he replied. “Not quite as large, but…” His voice trailed off. “We don’t have a casualty list yet, do we?”

“No, but I suspect it’s going to be higher than anyone is anticipating.”

Less than an hour later, on Carmen’s recommendation, the mayor requested State assistance, who activated a second National Guard medical unit.

They spent the next couple of hours working with hospital administration, various law enforcement agencies, and the American Red Cross to sort out how to get everyone—staff, patients, and public—to the hospital in Kissimmee.

As soon as the National Guard’s medical staff began arriving, they were able to focus on the outbreak, because more people were showing up with presumptive measles. The news that the hospital had been bombed hadn’t yet gotten to everyone. A lot of the incoming sick were children.

One family drove their Jeep over what had been a landscaped area, knocking aside benches, in order to get help for their two kids.

They drove their vehicle right up to a knot of uniformed guardsmen.

“Please, help us,” a woman, said jumping out through the passenger door. “Our kids are burning up, and I can’t wake them.”

Carmen hurried over.

The children, a boy and a girl too small to have started school, were strapped into car seats in the back.

She didn’t even have to put a hand to their skin to know they had high fevers. Both kids were flushed and sweating enough their hair and clothing were soaked.

With the help of John and a couple of guardsmen, they got the kids onto the pavement so she could properly assess them. Their temperatures were 107 degrees—practically cooking themselves. She checked under their clothing and discovered they didn’t have the typical measles rash. There were some raised bumps, but they seemed to congregate in the hot spots—armpits, neck, groin.

They would need to be cooled down, given IV fluids, and a whole lot of prayer if they were going to make it. All of that was now in short supply.

“We need to take your children to the hospital in Kissimmee,” she explained to their parents. She had her fingers on the pulse of the little girl and it was much, much too fast. Under her hand, the child began to shake.

Febrile seizure.

Damn it.

“Wait.” She looked at John. “I need as much ice as you can find. Bring it here. We’ve got to cool down these kids.”

“Ice?” he asked, and his tone told her he thought she was asking for the impossible.

“Rob a convenience store if you have to,” she said between clenched teeth.

His expression cleared, turning hard and determined. “Don’t go anywhere without me.”

She gave him her get-lost expression. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”