Chapter Fourteen

More tents had been set up at the edge of the hot zone. With the extra medical staff, there would be an almost constant turnaround. The shifts during the day were kept to an hour, though lengthened to three hours at night when the temperatures dropped dramatically. That was the absolute maximum anyone could cope in the protective gear without going seriously crazy.

Eli pulled on his thick rubber gloves and then turned to check on Riley, who was getting into her suit beside him. She was a quick learner, going through the procedure with zero fumbling and little help from Jake, who was buddying her again.

As they headed out, he turned his head to look at her through his face gear. “So you’re military intelligence?”

She peered back. Even through the mask and goggles, he could see the lift of one eyebrow. “How did you find that out?”

“Googled you in an idle moment.”

She gave a shrug. “It’s no secret.”

“So why is military intelligence involved in this?” He waved a hand toward the village. “Do you know something we don’t?”

She gave him a look. “Really? You expect me to answer that?” Then she gave another shrug. “But actually, no. I’m purely here to monitor and provide security.”

“Hmm.” Did he believe her? He had no idea, but he was pretty sure he wouldn’t get anything else out of her.

Shelly joined them. “You ready to go?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. His whole body ached—felt like he’d been on the move for days. Hopefully it was just fatigue and he wasn’t coming down with something. It seemed like a lifetime ago since he’d left the States. Which reminded him—he had to give Amber a call in the morning. She’d been trying to reach him. And while he was at it, he needed to try Henry again, too.

“I’m ready. Let’s get this done.”

This time there were two soldiers guarding the road into the village, and a wire perimeter fence had been set up where the flags had been, disappearing into the darkness on either side of the illuminated area. They’d moved quickly. While it wouldn’t stop anyone who was seriously determined to get out, it would make them think twice.

Once in the village, Riley left them, presumably to go talk to her men. He watched her go, then turned to Shelly. “Did you know she was military intelligence?”

“No. Did she tell you that?”

“I Googled her.”

Shelly frowned. “I have no clue what it means, but I can’t worry about it right now. This is getting bad, Eli. I’ve done these jobs before, but this one has got me worried, and not just because I’m in charge. Tell me you think we can get some sort of cure worked out. And a vaccine would be good.”

“Sorry. It’s not going to be that easy—we don’t even know what we’re dealing with yet. But who knows? We might get lucky.”

“Jesus. You’re the best we can get and you’re relying on luck.” She shook her head and led the way down the street.

A makeshift mortuary had been set up in the school. It wasn’t going to be used for lessons anytime soon. Rosita, if he remembered rightly, was the only teacher in the village. Besides, the kids were all sick. The main room inside had been divided into cubicles with a corridor along one edge.

He peered into the first cubicle and found the body of a boy, maybe twelve or thirteen. He wore jeans and a white T-shirt. There was zero need to perform an autopsy to determine the cause of death; he’d been shot in the chest, the shirt soaked a dark crimson. At least the breathing apparatus filtered most of the stench of blood from the air. He dropped the curtain and headed after Shelly, who had disappeared into the next cubicle.

This cubicle was larger, and the body of a young woman lay on the trolley, a sheet over her, just showing her face. He recognized her from that morning. She’d been a pretty young woman and now she was dead. A pile of tissue and bones.

Christ, this was why he didn’t like dealing with patients, because no matter how much you knew, how good you were, they died on you anyway. Humans were ultimately so fragile.

He stood for a moment, breathing steadily, then forced himself to study her. Shelly was switching on the extra lighting one of the technicians had already set up and setting out her equipment, including a recorder on the table at the side of the room.

She pulled off the sheet, revealing the naked body.

“Autopsy of Rosita Martínez. Time 22.45…”

He closed out her voice as he looked at the body. She was slightly underweight, looked little more than a child herself, though he knew she was twenty-seven. She had a bandage around her lower left leg—she’d had a fall and sprained her ankle. There were marks at her wrists and ankles. She’d gotten violent toward the end, and they’d had to restrain her.

“Eli?”

He looked up with a start as Shelly spoke to him. “Sorry?”

“Why don’t you get your samples first, and then you can go talk to the sister. We don’t want to be here any longer than necessary.”

Too right.

He crossed the room and placed his bag on the trolley where the technician had laid out the autopsy tools, knives, and saws. It looked more like a butcher’s table, though he supposed that’s what they were doing here. A couple of rubber aprons were folded on the lower shelf, and he handed one to Shelly and slipped the other over his head, tying it at the back.

He picked up the saw—brain tissue first. For the next fifteen minutes, he worked on autopilot. Brain tissue, then spinal fluid, skin from different parts of the body, fluid from the lungs. He labeled everything and stored it in the sealed containers that could be decontaminated when he left the hot zone. Finally, he straightened and closed the bag. “That’s it,” he said. “She’s all yours.”

Shelly nodded as he stepped back.

As he stood outside the cubicle, trying to decide where he was most likely to find the sister, a technician approached him. “Captain Hawkins asked me to tell you that Sister Clara is currently in the church house, and I’m on my way out. Can I take your bag?”

“Yes, thank you. Leave it at the lab.”

He removed the apron, rolling it into a ball and placing it in the disposal bin next to the sink. Then he scrubbed his hands, still in their rubber gloves, using the disinfectant by the sink. Even through the mask, he caught the sharp whiff of it. It was probably better than smelling of dead people.

Despite the lower temperatures, sweat trickled down his spine. The church house was down the street about fifty meters, and he walked slowly, not looking forward to the coming meeting. Sister Clara had to know what Rosita’s death meant. Was she scared? Did she know that there was absolutely nothing he could do to save her? As he hadn’t been able to save his sister all those years ago. Or his mother and father. All dead. He pushed the memories aside. They wouldn’t help here.

He hesitated in front of the wooden door with the big cross hanging above it—maybe she was getting comfort from God. Finally, when he could put it off no longer, he pushed open the door and spotted her straightaway. She was sitting on a pile of medical supplies. For a minute, she didn’t move. Then, as the door slammed closed behind him, she glanced up.

Her eyes were red.

Shit, she’d been crying.

He so didn’t need this right now. But maybe she did.