Chapter Six

The Land Cruiser pulled up beside a large green tent.

This was presumably the edge of the hot zone. The quarantined area had been marked out with flags stuck in the ground at three-meter intervals—Eli could see them disappearing into the scrubby vegetation on either side of the dirt road. They must have done that when they arrived yesterday—they’d been busy. A big guy in fatigues stood in the middle of the road.

Captain Hawkins was driving, Shelly was beside her in the front seat, and Eli sat in the back.

He pushed open the door and stepped out of the air-conditioned vehicle and into the hot, dry air. It was nearly noon. While he wanted to point out that it was stupid to do this in the hottest part of the day, he didn’t think Shelly wanted his opinion. He could hear the low hum of a generator from behind the tent.

At least the heat of the day would limit the amount of time they could stay in the hazmat suits. An hour maximum in these temperatures. He was keeping his mind deliberately blank about what was to come. The symptoms sounded mild; it wouldn’t be so bad. The suits were probably total overkill, but better to be safe.

The others climbed out, and Eli led the way to the tent and pushed inside. A fan hung from the ceiling, whirling slowly, and it was noticeably cooler. That wasn’t going to last.

A man stood just inside, a tall African American, dressed in green scrubs. Shelly had mentioned on the two-minute drive here that they also had a nurse on the team. He’d been absent at the meeting, getting this stuff ready and medical supplies for them to take into the village. Eli held out his hand, and the other man took it. “I’m Eli,” he said. “Good to meet you.”

The man nodded. “Jake.”

Apparently, Jake wasn’t going into the hot zone with them this time. He was there to buddy with the captain, help her into the hazmat suit, which could be a pain in the ass even when you knew what you were doing.

Three piles of protective gear were laid out on a bench. A full-length mirror had been set up so they could check the fit of their suits as they dressed. Off to the side was a small sink.

“You ever worn one of these before?” Shelly asked.

Captain Hawkins nodded. “A couple of times. I was posted to an Ebola outbreak last year.”

“Good. Well, you know what you’re in for. Jake will check you this time.”

Eli headed for the sink and scrubbed his hands. His work often took place in biohazard-level-4 labs, and the gear for that was even more of a pain in the ass—including air pressurized suits.

He headed to the farthest pile, then kicked off his boots and socks. It was going to be hot, and no way was he wearing more than he needed underneath. To hell with modesty. He stripped off his shirt and slacks quickly. Glancing up, his eyes clashed with Shelly’s. She raised an eyebrow but was already stripping down to her underwear. Captain Hawkins was still scrubbing her hands under Jake’s supervision, but she looked over at him and pursed her lips.

He pulled on the thin latex gloves first, then latex boots on his feet. The actual hazmat suit came next. Yellow and waterproof, it crackled as he slipped his feet inside, then dragged it up and over his body, pulling the zipper to the neck. Then a surgical mask. There was a roll of gray tape on the bench, and he picked it up and one-handedly taped the cuffs of the suit, then crouched down to do the ankles. He moved to the mirror and stretched, raising his hands above his head and checking that everything was tight and sealed.

As always, the sight of his suited figure dragged him back to a time he’d rather not remember. His very first sight of a hazmat suit. In the African bush all those years ago. He’d thought they were aliens coming to finish him off. He’d been slightly delirious by that point—close to death, clutching the dead body of his sister.

He was supposed to have kept her safe. He could almost hear his mother’s last words to him. “Look after your sister.” His mom had been dying, and she knew it. “Get her away from here.”

And so he’d taken his little sister—she’d been six years old at the time—away from the village where his parents had been stationed as missionaries and into the bush. As fast as he could. Away from the dead and the dying and the stench of blood and shit and puke. A smell that haunted his dreams even now. Except he hadn’t known where he was going, and they’d had no food or water. He’d been lost within hours. The Ebola hadn’t killed Rachel. He had.

Someone tapped him on the arm. Shelly, probably wondering why he was staring at himself in the mirror. He’d never told her about Africa. He’d never spoken of it to anyone. He shook off the memories and turned away.

Back at his bench, he stepped into the rubber boots and then picked up the face mask, pulling it over his head and settling it in place. With the mask on, the world took on a distant feel, as though he were cut off from real life, all alone in a bubble. Finally, he picked up the last item of the protective gear. Thick rubber gloves. When he turned around, Shelly was pulling on her own gloves. The captain was still having her wrists taped up and hadn’t yet put on the mask. “This is crazy,” she said. “I’d forgotten what a pain in the ass it was.”

“It was designed by the Doctors Without Borders to wear while working with Ebola patients,” Jake told her. “In the early outbreaks, they lost a number of their people to the virus. This might be a pain in the ass, but it could also save your life.”

“I thought the symptoms were mild?”

“They are right now, and fingers crossed they don’t get worse. Better to be safe.”

He slipped the mask over her face and then the goggles, adjusting them. “Good?”

“Hell no,” she muttered, her voice coming out muffled through the mask. “But probably as good as it’s going to get.”

Eli reckoned she was already regretting her offer to come with them, and they hadn’t even reached the good part yet. The part where they got to meet all the sick people.

“Come on, let’s go,” Shelly said.

As soon as he stepped into the sunlight, sweat broke out over his body. Deep inside, the first stirrings of panic tightened his gut. The lightweight suit felt like it dragged him down, and it was hard to draw enough air into his lungs. He forced himself to breathe slowly and evenly.

It wasn’t the suit. It was what was to come.

They walked past the guard and down the road toward the buildings. It wasn’t far but seemed like a huge distance. The place was a straggle of sprawling low buildings that edged the road and the area beyond. There was no sign of life.

“Where is everyone?” the captain asked.

“They’ve been told to stay in their houses.”

“A little late for that, isn’t it?”

Shelly shrugged. “Right now, they’re not aware of the extent of the infection, and I’d prefer to keep it that way for as long as possible.”

At that moment, a figure appeared from the building closest to them. A relatively new building with a cross above the door. She was a small woman, wearing a plain knee-length dress of blue cotton that covered her arms and up to her throat and a white headdress on her head, though Eli could see the dark-red hair sticking out from the sides. She had pale skin and freckles and would have been pretty except she looked exhausted, shadows under her blue eyes. Sister Clara, he presumed. She wasn’t what he’d been expecting. Though he had no clue what that was. Just not this.

She smiled when she saw them, her lips twitching at the sight of their yellow suits and masks.

She came forward and halted in front of them. “Hello.” She nodded at Shelly, who he knew she had already met, then turned to him.

“This is Dr. Eli Vance,” Shelly said. “He’s the virologist on the team and hopefully will be able to tell us a little more about what we’re dealing with.”

“Dr. Vance. I won’t offer to shake hands, but it’s good to meet you. I’ve read about some of your work. It sounds fascinating.”

“You don’t think tinkering with people’s DNA is going against God’s plan?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know what God’s plan is, so I can’t tell you.”

“And this is Captain Hawkins.” Shelly had obviously decided the philosophical conversation had gone on long enough. “She’s on loan from the military. Giving our little team some security.”

The sister’s eyes sharpened at that. “And do we need security, Captain Hawkins?”

“You never know,” she replied, her voice muffled.

“Is there a place we can talk?” Eli asked. “And I’d like to take some blood samples.”

“Mine?”

“For a start. You’re the one person for whom we have an exact date and time of contact. It might help pinpoint the progress of the pathogen.”

“Yes, of course. Follow me. We can use the church house. It’s where I’m keeping all the medical supplies.”

She turned, and they followed her across the road to the newer-looking building she had emerged from minutes earlier.

“I’m going to take a walk around,” the captain said. “I’ll catch up with you.”

She shuffled off. He wondered what she expected to see.

Sister Clara led them inside. The building consisted of a single large room. Boxes were piled up around the edges.

Eli headed to a table that was clear and hefted his bag, in its protective covering, from his shoulder to the table. Opening it, he pulled out a recording device and a blood test kit, plus a small monitor to measure the levels of C-reactive protein in the blood, which should at least give him a pretty rapid indication as to whether they were looking at a viral or a bacterial infection.

He handed the recorder to Shelly. She would ask the questions.

She switched it on, tapped in the date and time, and then held it up so it would video as well as record.

“Sister Clara, can you tell us the exact time you came into contact with an infected person.”

“I arrived for the prenatal clinic at nine thirty on the eleventh. I was met by Maria Sanchez, who at that time was asymptomatic. She took me to see Rosita, who had started showing symptoms the previous day, which I think precipitated her fall. That would have been around nine forty-five. She was experiencing dizziness, headache at the back of the skull, and a slightly elevated temperature of one hundred point one.”

“And have those symptoms remained the same?”

“When I saw her last night, she appeared a little better. Her temperature was slightly down.”

“You think the pathogen has run its course?”

“I hope so.”

So did Eli. But he couldn’t help thinking there was more to this than immediately obvious. What were they doing dressed in full hazmat gear for what appeared to be no worse than a mild case of the flu?

“Okay,” Shelly said, switching off the recorder. “We’ll go visit this Rosita next.”

Eli punched in an electronic label for the blood sample, his actions slow and precise in the thick rubber gloves. “Could you roll up your sleeve, Sister?”

She nodded and unfastened her cuff, rolled up the sleeve. He tied the rubber band just above her elbow, tapped the vein a couple of times, and then inserted the needle. The vial filled. He took out the needle, placed a drop of blood on the monitor, then pulled free the tubing, and the vial sealed itself within the plastic container, which would be disinfected when they left the hot zone. He threw the needle and tubing in the bin for burning. He got a second vial and held it out to her. “Spit.”

She spat and he added the sealed vial to the container.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Aw, he almost sounds like he cares,” Shelly muttered.

Sister Clara looked between the two of them. “And is there a reason why he shouldn’t?” She sounded curious. “Don’t all doctors care about their patients?”

“Oh, Eli doesn’t usually deal with anything so commonplace as patients. Mere humans are beneath him.”

God, he hadn’t realized how bitter she was. He kept quiet, not willing to defend himself.

Sister Clara’s lips twitched—she clearly found them amusing—and he found himself liking the sister, despite her religious calling.

“I’m honored, then,” she said. “And I feel like…crap. The painkillers are dealing with the headache, but I’m hot—hotter than usual—I get the occasional bout of vertigo, and I have a really annoying tic in my cheek. At least I’m functional. And due—by my calculations—to start feeling better any moment now.”

The monitor beeped, and he glanced at the readings.

“What is that for?” Sister Clara asked.

“We’re measuring your C-reactive protein levels. If they’re elevated, then we’re likely dealing with a bacterial infection.”

“And are they?”

“No. They’re well within the normal range.” Damn. A bacterial infection would have likely been easier and quicker to deal with.

“So it’s a virus?”

“Maybe.” He packed the machine back in his bag and hefted it onto his shoulder. “The test isn’t definitive. We’ll see what we get from the others.”

“Finished?” Shelly asked, and he nodded. “Good, let’s go see Rosita.”

He did his best to ignore the sweat trickling down his back as they headed along the main street. Still no one appeared, though he saw a few people peering at them out of doorways. They were probably a scary sight to people who had no clue what was happening anyway.

As they passed what was obviously the village school, the captain appeared from an alleyway.

“Tell me,” he said as she came up level with them, “has anyone tried to leave the quarantine area?”

“We had a couple of guys when we were setting up the perimeter. They didn’t make a fuss when we stopped them. I’m guessing most of these people have nowhere else to go. Plus, so far, they’re not too worried—no one is really sick, no one’s dying. At least not directly from whatever this is.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way.”

There was a small house attached to the school building. Sister Clara knocked on the door and pushed it open without waiting for an answer. She entered, and they followed, though the captain hung back. “I’ll wait out here.”

Good decision. The place wasn’t big enough for three people in hazmat suits. The front door led straight into the living area. Opposite was a door that opened, and a Mexican woman appeared.

For a moment, Eli presumed this must be Rosita. She looked a little flushed but otherwise okay. Then she spoke.

“Sister, I’m glad you’re here. She’s restless.”

Sister Clara hurried through the door. Eli followed more slowly and stood in the doorway, stepping to the side to allow Shelly to enter. The room was full, but he could see the prone figure of a woman lying on the bed. She’d thrown aside the sheet and wore a white cotton nightgown twisted around her body, a bandage on her right ankle.

Her eyes were closed; she could have been sleeping. Her skin was slightly flushed, with a fine sheen of sweat, and she was tossing, shudders running through her body. Sister Clara touched her lightly on the shoulder, and her lashes flicked open.

“¿Qué pasa?” she mumbled.

Sister Clara perched on the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling, Rosita?”

She pushed herself up so she was leaning against the wall behind her and smiled. “Sister Clara. I don’t know. A little better, maybe. Hot.”

Shelly started the recorder as Sister Clara slipped a thermometer into the other woman’s mouth. She rested her hand on her forehead. Then slid one hand to her armpits.

“No swelling,” she murmured. She took out the thermometer. “It’s still at a hundred and one—no significant change.” She patted Rosita’s arm. “You’ll be fine.”

Sister Clara straightened and moved away. “You want to get a blood sample?”

He nodded and moved closer to the bed. The room smelled of sickness, sweat, and disinfectant. He placed his bag on the floor and crouched beside it as he prepared the vial and added the needle. As he made to tie the band around Rosita’s arm, she shifted backward, then looked up at Sister Clara, who sank down on the mattress beside her. “Rosita, you have to let these people help you.”

“¿Quiénes son? ¿Qué es lo que quieren?”

“Just to help. I’ll be here.”

Eli moved in quickly, wrapped the band, tapped her arm, and slipped the tip of the needle into the vein. This was a dangerous moment—if she pulled away while he was doing this, it could be disastrous, but she stayed calm, remaining still while the blood swirled into the vial. He popped the needle and tube in a plastic bag for disposal, tucked everything into his bag, and straightened.

He glanced at Sister Clara. Her expression gave nothing away. She appeared serene, but no doubt she’d perfected that look. Was she telling herself that God would look after her? Somehow, he doubted it. She’d spent too long working in these sorts of areas to expect that much of her God. More likely that it was all happening for a reason.

He packed everything away. Inside the suit, he was bathed in sweat, his face mask fogging, and his lungs felt like they were filling with warm water, making each breath difficult. He glanced at the timer in his bag. They were coming up on the hour.

“I could do with another sample,” he said. “Someone maybe infected between the two of you.”

“Male or female?” she asked.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Then, Maria. She helps me out at the clinic. She first got the symptoms Wednesday morning, the day before I did.”

“Sounds perfect.”

He glanced back at the bed as they left the room. Rosita had closed her eyes, but she was twitching. Definitely some sort of neurological reaction. Could it be rabies? Or a mutation? He didn’t like that. Rabies was a bad way to go. Its effects were usually limited, because the method of infection was easy to control. If this was a mutation that could be spread by contact or—God forbid—air, then they were in big trouble. And a seemingly 100 percent infection rate. It was unheard of.

Maria was waiting outside, sitting on a wooden bench under the porch, hands clasped on her lap, a little line between her eyes. “How is she?” she asked.

“She’s fine. She’s fighting off the fever.”

He waited while Shelly asked the questions and recorded the interview. Then he took the blood sample.

“Are we going to be all right?” Maria asked as he pulled the needle from her arm. “I have children. They’re all sick. Is there anything we can do?”

“For now, just keep taking the painkillers. I’ll know more when I’ve looked at these samples,” he replied. “We’ll make sure you have everything you need. You’ll be fine.” He hoped. They didn’t know enough at this point. But saying anything different would hardly help this woman. Only cause panic, and that was the last thing they needed.

“Thank you.”

They left her sitting on the bench and headed back the way they had come, with Sister Clara beside them. They found the captain back at the church house, leaning against the wall, and halted beside her.

“I’m going to send the interviews to the shared files,” Shelly said, fiddling with the machine. “And leave the recorder here.” She was speaking to the sister. “Adam, our sociologist, has prepared a list of questions. If you could ask them as you go around, then send them on, that would be a great help.” She handed over the recorder. “It’s easy to work—just press record to start and stop to stop. It’s linked into the shared files, so hit send and it will reach us.”

“It will take time to get around to everyone.”

“We have some people coming in tonight who will help. We’ve asked for Spanish speakers, but we need to get started, to make sure there’s no chance of a spread. If anyone has left the area since the infection began, we need to know.”

“We get few outsiders here,” Sister Clara said.

“That’s what I’m counting on. It’s vitally important that we make sure. I’ve also put in a request for extra medical staff. They should be able to get here by tomorrow at the latest. Maybe some this evening. They’ll be working short shifts because of the suits, but at least you’ll have some help.”

“Thank you.”

Christ, it was time to go. He was going to melt in here. At last they headed out of town, Shelly and the captain in front, him and Sister Clara behind. He turned to her as they walked. “Do you really believe that Rosita is fine?” he asked.

She glanced at him. “I don’t know.”

“And doesn’t your religion frown upon lying, Sister?”

She shrugged. “I do what I feel I must. As we all do.” She peered at him. “Why do I get the impression that you don’t have a high opinion of religion, Dr. Vance?”

“Call me Eli. My parents were missionaries, so you could say I have firsthand knowledge of how God works. Or rather, doesn’t work.”

The moment the words were out, he almost halted. He had never spoken about his parents to anyone he worked with. Now wasn’t the time to start. But then, this environment was bound to bring back memories. Different continent, same crap. Poor people, no real medical infrastructure, a host of indigenous diseases, the whole place was a cesspool of pathogens just waiting for their opportunity to take over, to take control.

And no one out there really cared. Unless there was a chance that it could impinge on their lives. Or cost someone a shitload of money. The economic price of an epidemic could run into the billions.

All the people here had on their side were the do-gooders. Getting converts where they could.

“You sound bitter,” Sister Clara said.

“Not bitter. Just realistic.”

They reached the edge of the hot zone. “This is where I leave you,” she said.

Part of him wanted to shake hands—except that was against protocol. No unnecessary contact. Another part of him wanted to get her out of there, by whatever means necessary. She looked so small. His mother had been a small woman. Not that Sister Clara reminded him of his mother. Not at all. But he had a bad feeling about this.

Shelly turned to her. “Let us know if there are any changes. We’ll send the first set of interviewers in later today. Look after yourself, Sister.”

She nodded, then turned and walked away. They watched for a moment and then headed back the way they had come.

By the time they got back to the tent, he was bathed in sweat, but at least his heartbeat was no longer racing.

That had been…not what he’d been expecting. Almost sterile. None of the bodily fluids he remembered so vividly.

Jake had set up a chlorine bath just outside the perimeter. The acrid smell of it seeped through Eli’s face mask. He waded through the liquid, splashing a few times, then dunked his hands in the barrel on the other side. He stepped out of the bath and stood with his arms spread out as Jake sprayed him with disinfectant. He turned slowly so the whole of the suit was done and then stepped to the side so Shelly could be sprayed.

Jake had set out plastic bags on the floor, and he moved to stand over one. He fought the urge to rip the mask from his face, the suit from his body. But doffing the protective gear after a spell in the lab, or a hot zone, needed to be done as carefully as putting it on.

He tugged off the outer gloves first, dropped them into the open bag. Then pulled off the mask and added it to the pile. He took a moment to just breathe deeply, filling his lungs. Next, he unwrapped the tape sealing the suit and unzipped it, rolling it down his body, pulling off the rubber boots one by one so he could free his feet. He screwed up the suit, shoved it into the bag, and tied the top. That left him in his boxers, standing in the bright sunshine. Next to him, Jake was still unwrapping the tape from the captain’s wrists. On the other side of her, Shelly was rolling down her suit.

Inside the tent, he scrubbed his hands still in the latex gloves, then peeled them off and tossed them in the bag Jake had left out, and he was free.

God, he needed a shower. He’d have to wait until he got back to camp for that, though. And he’d kill for a cold beer. His throat ached at the thought. He stood under the fan for a minute, letting the air cool his body. Then the tent flap opened, and he moved, turning away as Shelly entered. He went to the bench where he’d left his clothes, pulled on his shorts and shirt, and headed out.

“There’s a cool box in the back of the vehicle,” the captain said as she passed him.

The cool box was full of bottled water. He gulped the first bottle down, cracked open the second, and was leaning against the side of the vehicle sipping it when the two women came out of the tent.

“So what did you think, Captain Hawkins?” he asked as she stopped beside him.

She reached past him and grabbed a couple of bottles from the cooler, tossed one to Shelly, then cast him a look. “I’ve seen you in your boxers, so maybe you can call me Riley.”

“Riley,” he said. He liked the name. It suited her.

“It was different than the Ebola quarantine zone. That was…messier. Is this typical?”

“No.” It was Shelly who replied. “This is definitely cleaner. Usually there’s much more bodily fluids.”

“Lovely.”

A cell phone beeped, and Riley pulled it out of her pants pocket, held it to her ear, and listened.

“That’s your mobile lab, just rolled in,” she said.

Shelly swallowed the last of her water. “Time for you to earn your keep, superstar.”