Chapter Fifteen

Tuesday, April 1, 1:16 a.m.

Dozer caught DS before he got more than twenty feet away from Carmen. “I’ve been sent for ice. She’s with a family with two kids who are burning up. Make sure nothing gets to her.”

DS nodded and moved toward her.

It took Dozer ten minutes to get a half dozen bags of ice from the nearest convenience store. He had to convince a cop it was in his best interests to get Dozer there and back, but between his ID and the chaos, the cop hadn’t taken long to decide to go along with it.

Both of them carried three bags each and hurried them to where he’d left Carmen, the family, and DS. The two kids had been laid out on the pavement on top of an open sheet. As soon as Carmen got hold of the first bag of ice, she ripped it open and poured it over the girl.

“Take three bags and do the same for the boy,” she ordered.

DS and the cop covered the boy with ice, while he and Carmen finished covering the girl.

“Take the sheet and wrap them up. Get as much ice over as much of them as you can.”

“Won’t this hurt them?” their mother asked, her hands trembling even as she held on to her husband’s fist.

“Their body temperatures are dangerously high. This will help bring it down.”

“What happens if it doesn’t come down?”

Carmen didn’t answer right away. After several seconds of silence, she said, “The high fever can cause brain damage, blindness, even—” She cut herself off. “We need to get your children to the hospital in Kissimmee.”

A group of uniformed guardsmen ran over with two gurneys. They loaded the kids and took off for the road, the parents running with them.

Dozer’s phone went off. Rawley.

“Dozer,” he said.

“I expected you and Dr. Rodrigues to be here by now.” Ooh, the man sounded bitter.

“The damage to the hospital here is more extensive than we thought. We’ve been trying to assist with triage and getting people moved to you, but it’s a mess here. People are still showing up with sick friends and family members.”

The was a long moment of silence. “Many injured?”

“Yeah, over a hundred and fifty at last count. Thirty-two dead.”

“That is a lot worse.”

“We’re picking up the pieces, literally, and trying to manage the transfer of people from here to you, but things are chaotic. Panic is also starting to spread.”

“Do you need my assistance there?”

Dozer asked Carmen the question.

She held out her hand for the phone. “Agent Rawley, how are things there?”

“Calm, orderly, organized.”

“Good. We’re sending you a couple of buses full of sick and injured. Treat them all as if they’re confirmed as having measles and are contagious.”

Dozer could hear the other man try to argue, starting with a shouted “But.”

Carmen just kept talking. “I’m counting on you to keep things calm, orderly, and organized. These people are hurt and frightened out of their minds. I need strong leadership from you. Can I count on you, Agent Rawley?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the agent said, his voice clear across the short distance between Dozer and Carmen. “When can I expect you to arrive?”

There you go, that’s the right question.

Dozer sighed. Took him long enough.

“If all goes well, one to two hours.”

“If it doesn’t go well?”

“Either Dozer, DS, or myself will keep you appraised.” She ended the call and handed his phone back.

It did indeed take two hours for Carmen to wrap things up and get to the hospital in Kissimmee.

The moment they got off the bus, the mood in the air was noticeably different. There was no frantic rushing around, just people moving with purpose. No screaming and shouting, only calm conversation.

A police officer wearing a mask, safety glasses, and disposable gloves came up to the bus and waited for the door to open. “Dr. Rodrigues? Agent Rawley asked me to escort you to the decontamination area, then the command tent.”

She hesitated. “I need someone to direct my people and these patients.”

“Yes, ma’am. A triage team is coming. They’ll get everyone where they need to go.”

A dozen people headed their way at a trot. All of them wore the same protective gear, along with armbands with red crosses on them.

She saw them, nodded, then said, “Lead the way.”

The young man turned, and Carmen, Dozer, and DS followed him.

“Command tent?” she muttered under her breath.

Dozer exchanged a look with DS. “Some people have delusions of grandeur.”

The old man snorted. “Or just delusions.”

They went through a decontamination tent, removing their old protective gear, washing hands and exposed skin, then put on the fresh masks, glasses, and gloves.

The tent the young officer took them to was forty feet by forty feet. One of the structures the CDC used when arriving in an area without enough infrastructure. They could be used as housing, an operating room, or a school. Whatever was needed. Apparently, this one needed to be a smaller version of a government office, complete with a generator powering several computers and screens and a number of people working at either data entry or some other administrative task.

“Is he attempting to show off, or does he just like to micromanage everyone?” Carmen asked of no one in particular.

“I think it could be both,” Dozer answered.

“I think he’s an asshole,” DS said. “An organized asshole, but still an asshole.”

Dozer looked at him and grinned. “How did you get to be so smart?”

DS grunted. “It was either learn something or get dick-slapped fifty times a day.”

A blush spread up Carmen’s neck and face.

“If you two make me laugh, you’re both fired,” Carmen said under her breath.

“Well, now, how can you expect a man to resist a challenge like that?” DS asked.

Dozer elbowed him. “Shut up, old man. I actually like working with you.”

“Aww, you like me,” DS said with way too much glee in his voice. “Too bad you’re not my type.”

“I work with men masquerading as ten-year-olds,” Carmen muttered.

“But handsome ten-year-olds,” DS said.

Dozer laughed.

Rawley strode up to them with FBI Agent Ketner only a step behind. “What’s so damn funny that you can laugh while all of this”—he gestured with one hand at the doorway—“is going on?”

Did the man have to sound paranoid all the time?

Dozer opened his mouth to tell him he was an ass, but Carmen spoke before he could.

“Laughter decreases stress, anxiety, and blood pressure,” she said, keeping her tone and body language calm. “It boosts creativity, memory, and intelligence. When people share a joke, laughter creates an emotional bond between them. It helps teams work more productively together. Laughter is one of the most powerful coping mechanisms we have for dealing with difficult or dangerous situations. I would think,” she said with a surprisingly hard edge to her voice, “you would be more likely to promote an activity with so many benefits.”

“I laugh,” Rawley said, his lips twisting like he had a mouthful of lemons.

Ketner watched them talk, his gaze moving from person to person, glee all but oozing out of him.

Creep.

“Not with us, Agent Rawley, not with us.” Carmen tilted her head to one side. “I wonder why that is? Give me a report, please, on everything you’ve done since arrival.”

Rawley’s eyes flared hot, and for one awful moment, Dozer was pretty sure if the man weren’t wearing a mask, they’d see his nose and mouth pulled back in disgust.

“I thought we worked things out,” Dozer said to the agent. “Has something changed?”

Rawley stared at him with fury incandescent on his face for another couple of seconds before he got himself under control. “Agent Ketner brought some FBI intel. There have been threats made against nearly every international airport in the country.”

“Oh?” Dozer said. “Any idea where these threats are coming from?”

“Burner phones and bouncing IP addresses,” the agent in question replied. “We haven’t been able to nail the origin yet, but we’re continuing to work on it.” He paused, then asked, “Why aren’t you using any anti-viral medications?”

“Because they don’t typically work for measles.” He opened his mouth, but Carmen kept talking. “I know there are a couple showing promise in early lab testing, but we have no way of knowing how they would perform in humans.”

“I’d say now is a good time to find out.”

“When it might make things worse instead of better?”

“I have an expert source who thinks differently.”

“Who’s the source?”

“My girlfriend, Sarah. She’s a virologist.”

“Working where?”

“One of the biggest pharmaceutical companies in the world.” He said it like it was a revelation. Like he had all the answers.

“That just happens to have anti-viral medications in medical trials?” Carmen shook her head. “I wish I could try it, but administering an untried drug to already sick people could result in a lot of unnecessary deaths. I swore an oath to do no harm. A cure is no good if it kills the patient before the disease.”

He looked like he was going to argue some more, but Rawley spoke first.

“The bomb squad told me about the bomb and the bomber.”

“Sounds like the FAFO is making a serious play,” DS said, ignoring Ketner’s stiff posture.

“Don’t say that out loud,” Rawley said in a low tone. “A number of reporters have been trying to get a statement out of me since I got here.” He turned to Carmen. “You’re going to have to give one, just to keep them from getting in our way, but telling them about the FAFO—”

She cut him off with a raised hand. “I’m only authorized to provide information on the disease, and I need all the latest data first.”

Rawley nodded briskly, looking a little happier. “This way, ma’am.”

He led her past Ketner and over to a computer station.

The FBI agent looked around the tent, as if cataloguing its contents, then brushed past on his way out.

Dozer stayed where he was and took a good look around the space, trying to figure out what Ketner might have seen. Everything looked picture-perfect. Huh. Maybe he should invite Rawley over to clean his apartment.

“Did you know Ketner was in the navy before he went into the FBI?” DS said, moving to stand next to Dozer.

“No.” Dozer studied the old man’s masked face. “A former SEAL?”

“Nope, washed out of BUD/S training.”

Dozer grunted. “Not a surprise.”

“I was surprised to find out Agent Rawley isn’t a military veteran,”

“Oh?”

“He’s got a degree in psychology and a master’s degree in business from Yale. He was recruited by Homeland Security right out of university.”

Dozer knew all that, but why DS felt the need to investigate was interesting. “So?”

“So…” DS scanned the tent. “Look around. Not a speck of dirt anywhere, everything in its place, and everyone where they’re supposed to be, doing what they’re supposed to do. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’d been a career warrant officer.”

Dozer shrugged. “So he’s neat. What’s wrong with that?”

“Discipline like this comes from somewhere.”

“Maybe his parents were veterans. Maybe he’s the oldest kid out of five. Maybe keeping things neat is how he copes with chaos.”

DS shook his head. “Or maybe I’m just a paranoid old grouch.” He looked around. “I’m going to find out who’s who here. Get an unofficial report.”

“Outstanding,” Dozer said. “You know where you can find me.”

He walked over to where Carmen was looking at the computer while Rawley spoke: “…have another fifty beds set up in about two hours in two satellite tents. I’ve requested more National Guard medical people to help.”

“That wasn’t your call to make,” Carmen said.

His protest was immediate and loud. “You weren’t here.”

“I have my phone with me at all times. All you had to do was call.”

“You were busy, and we need the help.”

“I wouldn’t have made that decision,” Dozer said, entering the conversation. “And I’ve been working with the CDC for eight months. You’ve only been on the job a day.”

“It was, however, the correct decision,” Carmen said. “So you get a pass on this one, but don’t make that kind of decision again without talking to me first.”

Rawley nodded and managed to keep his mouth shut.

Carmen’s cell phone went off. So did Rawley’s and Dozer’s. It was Dozer’s alert ping.

They all looked at their phones.

A text from the head of the CDC: Turn on the news.

His face grim, Rawley attacked the computer keyboard, bringing up one of the twenty-four-hour news feeds.

A reporter wearing a surgical mask stood in front of a tall fence. In the distance behind him was a lot of pavement with large, well-lit buildings some distance away. And lots and lots of airplanes.

“Since the bombing of the Orlando International Airport a few hours ago, an anonymous account posted the following message to several social media sites: ‘To free the United States from the influence of the one percent, Free America From Oppression has delivered disease and disaster to theme parks, hospitals, and airports.’

“Authorities have cordoned off all entrances to the airport. No one is allowed in or out. Three airport staff members died in the explosion that also killed the person driving a car full of explosives.

“According to the latest numbers, the death toll at the hospital bombing stands at forty-seven, with two hundred and four injured. Those numbers are expected to rise as rescuers comb through the wreckage.

“The outbreak has killed fifty-six and sickened more than three hundred people. Experts believe these numbers will rise exponentially, due to the extreme contagiousness of what they believe is a new kind of measles.”

The reporter paused, leaned forward, and said directly into the camera, “The best way to stay safe is to stay home. This is Roger—”

“How did they get that information?” Carmen demanded of no one in particular.

Rawley hit the mute button. “Is it true?”

“We don’t know yet. We’re waiting for results.” She glared at the screen. “Who are these experts the news is quoting?”

Before he could say anything, everyone’s phones pinged.

Dozer checked his, along with Carmen and Rawley.

If the FAFO had publicity as one of their goals, they got it.

No shit.

Carmen’s phone rang. She answered it and straightened up almost immediately.

“Yes, sir… I’m aware, sir… I will, sir. Thank you.”

She hung up and looked at all three men. “That was the Surgeon General of the United States. He’s ordered me to bring the outbreak under control.”

“He’s aware viruses aren’t known for following orders, right?” Dozer asked, keeping his tone dry.

She looked at him, and the roll of her eyes told him she thought he was funny. Then she glanced at Rawley. “Looks like we’re going to get even more National Guard units. Prepare for incoming EMS.”

“Not by plane,” DS said, still staring at the muted screen.

“No, help is coming in by road. National Guard mobile health-care centers.” She stared off into space for a few moments, then met Rawley’s gaze. “I want you to coordinate the incoming units. They’re going to need space to set up and possibly access to utilities. Hospital staff need to be notified, and all our communications will need to be integrated. Until that’s done, things are going to be confusing, so see if you can find a half dozen people who can act as runners.”

“Why would we need runners?” Rawley asked, holding up his phone. “Isn’t this our primary form of communication?”

“Yes, but until we’re all on the same wavelength, we may need to pass messages the old-fashioned way.” She let out a breath. “Plus, I’m cautious. I don’t like relying on just one way to communicate. I want a Plan B. Can you handle all that?”

For a moment, Rawley didn’t move, didn’t react. Then, the import of what she’d just said, the amount of responsibility she’d just given him, sunk in. He stood up a little straighter, all the anger and hostility draining from his eyes and body. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Do it.”

He hurried away, calling to a couple of people in National Guard uniforms to come with him as he left the tent.

“If you can beat ’em, recruit ’em?” Dozer asked.

“Best way I know of to manage a micromanager is to give them a job with lots of moving parts.”

“What do you want me to do?” DS asked.

“Stay with us,” Carmen replied. “You’re my personal runner.”

He grunted. “Well, that’s a new one to add to my resume.”

She looked at Dozer. “Is there a way to find out who those experts the media quoted are?”

“The media doesn’t have to share that information, especially if they think the source will get into trouble,” Dozer said. “But I’ll ask a few questions just the same. Maybe it will help us figure out how information is getting to the wrong people.”

“I’ll keep my ears open as well,” DS added.

“Please do,” she told them both. “I’ve got to check in with my teams before I do anything else. We’ll need to create rotating work schedules based on a fluid workforce.” She gave them a grim smile. “This is the hardest part of trying to contain an outbreak. Isolating and caring for patients while praying the infection rate declines.” She looked around the tent. “Familiarize yourselves with everything, introduce yourselves to anyone you don’t know, and prepare to work long hours.”

“How long could we be here?” Dozer asked.

“I don’t know,” Carmen said, sounding tired already. “If we were dealing with an easier-to-contain disease, I might say days to weeks, but if this is measles—a virus that, once it’s gotten a foothold in an area, is difficult to wipe out—we could be here for a long time.”

Dozer winced. “Shit, the theme parks are going to act like large-scale incubators.”

“Children are the most susceptible,” Carmen said. “Making the FAFO all the more despicable.”