Plague (6 page)

Sam glanced down at the chart that Dr. Amoy had placed in her hand. She flipped through a few pages and said, “How are you doing, Jake?”

“Not so good.”

“What’s going on?”

“I’ve been throwing up blood.”

“When did it start?”

“Yesterday. It comes in waves, like, it’ll come every half hour and then stop for a few hours and then come again.”

“It s
ays here you had a fever. When did you notice that?”

“Like two
days ago. It wasn’t bad
,
though. I got headaches then too.”

“Jake, have you been to Africa or South A
merica
recently?”

“No.”

“Have you had an
y
interactions with animals in the past few weeks?”

“Like what kinda animals?”

“Wild animals. Monkeys
, birds, swine
…
”

“No, nothing like that. I got a dog. But that’s it.”

Sam noticed a handwritten note on the edge of a sheet of paper on his chart. It said, “Patient does not know Erin or Clifford.”

Sam read through the rest of the chart. It had
been thrown together hastily by the nurse and
Amoy. It was subtle, and unless you had read several hundred charts, you wouldn’t have n
oticed it. But fear was
creeping in.
The nurses did not take the time to fill out the chart properly and ask all the questions that needed to be asked.
They wanted less and less to do with these patients.

“Would you mind sitting up?” Sam said. “I’d like to take a look at the rashes on your back.”

A
moy helped her as she lifted Jake
up to a sitting position on the bed. She saw his abdominal muscles and the striations in his shoulders and
concluded
that he was perhaps some sort of athlete or at the very least a gym rat. But she could already see the gray, sagging skin on his face and body
,
and the way it took two people to even help him sit up indicated that the disease, whatever it was, was multiplying at an enormously quick pace. He had displ
ayed symptoms and almost immediately had to be
admitted to the ER. Sam ran through a list of viral infections that could cause such a q
uick change.
S
he could think of
several
, along with a host of their mutations:
smallpox
,
influenza, meningitis, and Ebola
…
the list could
go
on and on.

The rash on his back was fading and she didn’t notice any
pustules
, but s
he did see a slight discoloration just over the lungs. His skin appeared shiny and black in jagged splotches. It
seemed
like a dark purple bruise
covered his whole body
. It was blood, just underneath the skin. His lungs were bleeding.

“Okay,” she said, gently helping
him
back down. “You let us know if you need anything. We’re gonna have someone come take your blood in a minute and run some tests.”

“What is it
,
you think?”

“Viral infection of some sort. Did Dr. Amoy tell you
there’re
three other patients here with the same symptoms?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, we’re working as fast as we can to figure it out. In the meantime, you’re not going to be going anywhere
,
so if there’s anyone you’d like to call please buzz the nurse and she can do it for you. We have speaker phones and
you’re
free to use them.”

“Thanks.”
He closed his eyes. “I feel like I’m getting hotter.”

“We’ll get you something cold to drink.”

Sam walked out of the room and Amoy followed. He appeared nervous and she wondered
whether
it was from the disease or the fact that it was his hospital that would be in all the newspapers.

She heard the ding of the elevators and two men in suits stepped off. One of
them was pasty white with a slightly pink
, balding head and orange hair
just above the ears
. He turned to Sam and Amoy and began walking toward them as the second man followed.

“Dr. Bower,” he said, stopping before her as she removed her facemask and gloves and threw them in a biohazard bin. “I’m
Dr.
Terry Whitman. I’m the director of Queen
’
s Medical.”

“Nice to meet you.”

He smiled widely.
“
You as well. Ah, do you mind if we talk for a bit? Maybe grab a soda in the cafeteria?”

“Sure.
I just need to change.
”

It took Sam less than ten
minutes to change. She didn’t feel she had to, but she took a quick shower and scrubbed herself twice with a bar of soap she had brought.

When she stepped out into the corridor, she saw
W
hitman turn
to the man behind him and nod
. He then offered her
the elevator
first and she got on, noticing that Amoy and the other man stayed behind.

“Have you been to the island before?” he said on the ride down.

“No, first time.”

“Well,” he said, turning to her, a smile on his face, “it’s a fun island
…
if you have the proper guide. I’d be happy to show you around when we’re done with today.”

Sam looked down and noticed the wedding ring on his finger. He immediately curled his hand so it was out of view.

“I would appreciate that, Doctor, but I’m on a strict timeline. I don’t leave the hospital much.”

“Understood,” he said, the smile disappearing from his face as he looked forward.

The elevator
opened and they walked across the first floor
down a long corridor with island art up on the walls. A group of young men and women in green scrubs were standing around
,
talking
,
and
as
they saw Whitman
,
they
straightened up
and
exchanged a few more words
before disbursing
. One wasn’t quick enough and remained leaning against the wall. Whitman stared him down as they passed.

“Medical students,” he said to Sam when they were alone.

“I remember what that was like. I usually looked as terrified as they did
when a boss walked by
.”

“Not me. I figured most of the other students were kiss-asses so I took a different approach and had balls. I always told the
attending
and
the
chief
what I thought if I ever got the chance.”

“Did it work?”

“Not really. That’s why I went back and got my MBA and got into management instead. Too much bureaucratic BS in medicine nowadays. Especially with managed care and the government stepping in.”

They turned down another corridor and into the hospital cafeteria. It was clean and open with enough seating for at least a hundred people. They
were serving Indian food
and the smell of broiling chicken and spices filled the air. It reminded Sam that she hadn’t eaten today and she made a note to get a plate of Indian food as soon as they were done speaking.

Whitman got two juices out of
a
cooler and cut in line, paid with a five
,
and left the change. They sat down at a table by the window
.
T
he sun wa
s bright and warmed Sam’s cheek
s
and neck
as she opened the juice bottle and took a sip.

“So any word on a culprit?” Whitman said.

“No. I would expect that our labs are growing a culture from the samples right now and that’s going to take some time.”

“But you have to have some guess as to what it is.”

“I do.”

N
either of them spoke
for a long moment
.

“You’re not going to make this easy on me, are you?”

“
Dr.
Whitman, I’ve been in this situatio
n before. I’ve been at this
table with
other chiefs and directors having
this same conversation. I know what you want to ask me so just ask me.”

“And what exactly do you think I want to ask you?”

“You want to ask me not to get the media involved and to keep this as quiet as possible. No hospital wants to be the epicenter of an epidemic and I don’t blame you.”

“So?”

“What?”

“So what’s your answer?”

“I will try
to
keep this quiet as
long as
possible, but not because of the hospital’s bottom line. Because a viral epidemic causes panic and people can’t think when they’re panicked. It just makes things more difficult for us. But I will tell you that eventually word will get out and reporters will be all over this hospital. When it gets near that point, it’ll be much better
if we
control the message and hold a press conference. But that isn’t my department.”

“Whose department is it?”

“My boss’
s
, Deputy Director Wilson.”

He grimaced and took a long swig of the juice. “Then maybe he’s
the one I should be talking to?
”

“When we get the lab results, if it is anything to worry about, I promise you he’ll be on the next plane out here.”

Whitman leaned forward on his elbows. “You know why I became a doctor? I genuinely thought I could help people. Most people appl
y to med school for the
prestige, but I thought that if I could really pick a good place
to
practice, somewhere without too many other physicians where I would really be needed, I thought I could make a difference.” He sighed. “But’s that’s just idealism. And idealism has no place in this.” He rose. “If word gets out prematurely, we will file
a
suit against you, the CDC
,
and the United States government.
Make sure that it doesn’t.”

CHAPTER 8

Samantha finished her lunch of curry chicken and
basmati
rice and threw away her paper plate and
utensils
. She went to the second floor near pediatrics to a small couch and table
that were
placed in a quiet area in the corridor and pulled out her iPad. She opened a document that listed the names of the four patients: Clifford Lane, Erin Simon, Allani Haku, Jacob Ichimora.

One of these might be
the index patient: the point of origin
.
T
he one
that spread it to the others. Unless of course the index patient had not been admitted yet. But
they would be so ill that a hospital or
clinic would be the only alternative and Amoy had sent out
an announcement
to all the hospitals and clinics on the island—which were only a handful—to notify them of any patients
that
were
admitted with similar symptoms. There were no hits as yet, so Sam had to go forward on the assumption that on
e of these four was the index.

Once the index was found, s
he then had to scour his life and determine where he cou
ld have picked up the virus. It
s origin would tell them as much about the disease as they would find out in a laboratory.

Logically, the patient with the worst symptoms
had the latest stage of a
disease, which meant they had carried it the longest. In this instance, that was Clifford Lane.

She opened Clifford’s file, which she had scanned as a PDF, and began reading all the information they had about him. But the hospital file was like
a
resume. Birthday and genetic history
wasn’t the type
of information she was looking for. The best place to search for the information she needed was on a patient’s Facebook and Twitter accounts. Clifford Lane could no longer speak or respond to voice commands. She would have to find out the passwords to his account
s
another way.

At the back of the file was a list of emergency c
ontacts. The first was his wife,
Suzan Lane.
There was an address and a phone
number. She took out her iP
hone and dialed. After three rings she heard Clifford’s voice and realized it was his cell number.