Victor Methos - Pestilence

“Hey, how are ya?” Howie said.

“Good.”

“Here for two people. They’re being transferred up to the Hills.”

The man pulled out his iPad and opened a document. “What two people?”

“Jessica Burke and Harold Burke.”

He flipped through the document for a moment. “Okay, where they going again?”

“Facility up in the Hills. I don’t know why. Lieutenant just said to come get ’em and take ’em up.”

“Lieutenant Edmonds?”

“Yeah.”

The man thought for a moment. “I’m gonna call and verify really quick.”

Howie swallowed and felt the sweat slowly trickle off his head and down his neck. “Listen, I was supposed to take these two up there at the beginning of the night and screwed up. You call the lieutenant, and he’s gonna chew my ass, brother.”

The man thought for a few seconds and said, “Fine. Just get ’em outta here quick.”

The guard let Howie into the cage. He walked toward the back. On a cot with her legs crossed, her head tilted to the side, was Jessica, fast asleep. In the cot next to hers was Mike. His cot was pulled closer and to the front of Jessica’s. Howie knelt beside her and glanced at the guard at the entrance. He wasn’t paying attention.

“Jessica,” he whispered.

Her eyes opened, and he put a finger to his lips, indicating for her to be quiet. She sat up and put her arms around his neck. He didn’t know how to respond at first, and then he hugged her back-something he hadn’t done since she was a child.

He said, “Let’s go.”

Mike had woken. “How’d you get back here?”

“I’ll tell you later. Come on, I got you outta here, too.”

“How?”

“Don’t worry about how. If anyone asks, your name is Harold Burke. Let’s go before they change their mind.”

They walked in front as Howie stayed behind them. He nodded to the guard at the entrance, who was eyeing him. The guard watched them a good five or six seconds before returning to what he was doing.

As soon as they got around the corner and out of sight of the guard, Howie said, “Run, now.”

The metal of the jeep groaned as all three jumped in. Howie turned the ignition and spun a U-turn, then headed down the block before turning onto Belvedere, toward the city.

Samantha sat in the passenger seat of the military jeep parked in front of Los Angeles County General Hospital. The building was white with neon-green trim. The parking lot was nearly empty. They got out of the jeep, and the driver informed them she would wait there.

Clyde Olsen had told them where to find Jane. He was reluctant to hand over the information once he’d heard that she’d been put into personal quarantine. “Sam, I don’t think this is going to end well for her,” he’d said.

But Samantha had insisted that she needed to see her sister.

Jane Bower Gates was a classically trained violinist who played for the Seattle Symphony Orchestra. While Sam had always been assertive and daring, Jane was softer and more sensitive. She lived in her own world, and music had always been her escape. After initially wanting to go into a career in mathematics, Jane had changed majors as an undergraduate at the last moment in her senior year and completed three years’ worth of music courses in three semesters.

There had always been a little bit of a rivalry between them when they were younger, each trying to prove to their parents she was smarter than the other. At the time, the competition was annoying and stressful, but as Samantha grew older, she understood that most families emphasized looks, not intellect. And she was grateful that it hadn’t been that way in their home.

On the day Jane got married, she told Samantha that she had been her role model and that she’d switched from mathematics to music because she saw how passionately Sam pursued medicine. Samantha had forgotten that she’d told her sister to do what she loved and that if she loved doing something, she would eventually make money at it, regardless of the short-term consequences. Jane told her that that had changed her life.

“You sure you want to see this?” Duncan asked.

Samantha started to say something, but no words came. Her eyes welled up with tears against her will, and she put her hand to her mouth as the tears rolled down her cheeks. Duncan put his arms around her, and they stood silently in the night for a moment before going inside.

The hospital was like any other: harsh lighting, the smell of antiseptic and stale air conditioning, and linoleum floors that needed mopping. The reception desk was staffed by two young women, and Samantha went to them and asked for the quarantine floor.

“Um, you can’t go up there,” one of the receptionists said.

Duncan pulled out a military badge. “We’re fine.”

The girl was young and probably had never been in a situation like this before. She stared pleadingly at the other girl, who shrugged.

“Um, well, okay. I guess.”

They took the elevator to the psychiatric wing and got off on the third floor. They followed the signs on the walls to where two soldiers stood by the door. These weren’t national guardsmen, though. These guys wore Rangers’ uniforms, and Sam wondered why they would be watching the quarantined patients.

Duncan showed them his badge.

“Sorry, sir,” one said. “We can’t let anyone through.”

“Her sister is in there. She wants to see her, and was given permission. And that comes directly from General Olsen. Call him if you have an issue, but I don’t think he’s going to like getting woken up in the middle of the night for something he’s already given permission for.”

The Ranger had the same look as the receptionist’s, though he was much more decisive. “One moment.” The Ranger took out a cell phone and spoke quietly for a few seconds. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, but Sam made out the last two words. “Sorry, sir.”

“Go in. You can’t go behind the plastic barrier. If you do, our orders are to quarantine you, as well.”

“We won’t. Thank you.”

Samantha opened the door. Jane was lying back in bed, with her eyes closed. Her hair was onyx black, and her face had perfect proportions. Samantha had always thought Jane was the prettier sister, though Jane thought the same thing of her.

A thick plastic canopy over her bed was taped to the floor to keep anything from coming in or out. A small air pump connected to the power socket inside the canopy recycled the stale air, and a plastic tube that vented the carbon dioxide stuck out from the top.

Samantha took one of the two chairs against the wall and brought it near the canopy. She watched her sister’s chest go up and down. Slowly, Jane’s eyes opened. They expressed surprise at first, and then she smiled. The smile was so weak, and her lips so dry and cracked from dehydration, that Samantha nearly burst into tears again.

“Hey,” Jane said softly.

“I missed you, Janey. How are you feeling?”

“Like I ate a hot dog from a gas station at three in the morning.”

Samantha, though maintaining eye contact as much as possible, was evaluating her. Jane had no hemorrhaging underneath her skin, and other than the dehydration, she didn’t have the typical symptomology of Agent X.

“What are the doctors saying?” Sam asked.

“They’re saying I have to stay here until they figure out what I have. They haven’t taken my blood, though, so I don’t know how they’re supposed to figure it out without that.”

“This… agent that they think you might have, it’s really infectious, and most hospital staff won’t go near a patient. They probably have a policy that they won’t do blood draws on suspected cases.”