That frightened her.
“What did the CDC say?” she asked.
“They’re sending a team, but they don’t expect to be here before morning. The fact that it’s clustering in families makes them think it’s something environmental, and that moves it down on the priority list. Government funding isn’t what it used to be.”
A chuckle crawled up Kathleen’s throat and escaped before she could bite it back. “Oh, is that what they call leaving the poor to die in their own filth these days? ‘Government funding’? Maybe I should go tell everyone in the waiting room to go home and sleep it off.”
“I wish you wouldn’t.”
The voice was female, and unfamiliar. Kathleen and Phil turned.
The woman behind them was stunningly beautiful, enough so as to appear to have wandered out of Central Casting and into a medical drama. Her long black hair was pulled into a ponytail, and she was dressed practically, not calling any attention to her curves. She didn’t need to. Even if she hadn’t been the kind of lovely that launched a thousand ships, the fact that she was flanked by a pair of men large enough to have been professional wrestlers would have commanded a certain amount of attention from anyone who saw her.
The third man was of slightly less imposing build, being roughly the height of a normal human being, with dark, tousled hair and a blazer over his button-down shirt. He produced an ID wallet from inside his jacket, snapping it open to show them the badge and snapping it closed again before Kathleen could get more than a glimpse of the credentials inside.
She was about to protest when the man said, “We’re from the government, and our funding is just fine. Please, will you show us your patients?”
Kathleen knew these people were more likely to be from a tabloid looking for a scoop or from a company that thought its products might be somehow responsible for the situation than from the government, but in that moment, she didn’t care. She had people sick, and she knew them: if she didn’t do something, they would go home to “sleep it off,” just like her Gram. They’d all die. Just like her Gram. If trusting these people — if risking them betraying her — meant even a sliver of a chance, then she’d take it.
“This way,” she said, and turned on her heel, motioning for them to follow.
Phil fell into step beside her. “You know they’re probably not with the government. Last time I checked, the American government didn’t base its hiring decisions on ‘could they break kneecaps for the Mob.’”
“I know,” said Kathleen. She felt oddly serene, as if a weight were being lifted from her shoulders. These people wanted her problems? They could have them. Let them pore over the charts and data, let them scowl at lab results that couldn’t possibly exist. She’d go back to the patients. She’d hold their hands and keep them breathing calmly until a treatment was found. “I just don’t care. If there’s a chance that they can help, we’re going to let them try.”
“Excuse me.” It was the woman. Kathleen turned. The woman smiled. “I’m Dr. Circe O’Tree, and this is my associate Dr. Rudy Sanchez. Whether or not you believe we’re with the government, I’m afraid we’re definitely not deaf. I read the report you sent to the CDC while we were on the plane. Can you please walk me through this?”
The shorter man was close behind her, where he would be able to listen as well. Kathleen swallowed a sigh.
“First thing you need to know is that this could be a lot more widespread than we’re seeing,” she said. “People around here don’t think much of doctors, and the symptoms come on vaguely enough that we may have a lot of folks staying home and waiting to feel better until it’s too late.”
Dr. O’Tree frowned. “I heard you say the CDC suspected an environmental cause, due to the family clustering. Have you contacted the police, asked them to check the homes inside the infection zone?”
This time, Kathleen actually laughed. “Oh, because people who don’t like it when they have to go to the doctor are going to react so well when they find the police on their doorsteps. I start sending the cops around, I might as well buy a bulk lot of plots down at the boneyard. No one else will die from this disease, because they’ll all be too busy shooting each other.”
“My apologies, Doctor…?”
Kathleen flushed red. “Dr. Kathleen Abrams. This is my colleague, Dr. Phillip Clines.”
“You’re the head oncologist, aren’t you?” asked Circe. “I saw your name on the directory near the front desk.”
“Yes, but I’m also our… call it ‘cultural ambassador’ to the locals. I grew up here. I know how people think.”
“That’s more important than a lot of people realize, especially when you’re dealing with an isolated population,” said Dr. Sanchez. He sounded almost admiring.
Kathleen relaxed a little. Maybe these people weren’t just here digging for a story after all. “It can be hard to get people who’ve never had the government on their side to understand that doctors aren’t all here to hurt them,” she admitted. “But we’ve made great strides — or at least, we had, before all this. Honestly, I’m hoping the CDC is right and it’s something environmental that just happens to perfectly mimic adult-onset galactosemia.”
“What is galactosemia?” asked Bunny. He put on his best expression of profound puzzlement. “I don’t have a medical background. Use small words.”
“I know someone playing stupid when I see it,” said Kathleen. “But in the simplest of terms, galactosemia is a genetic disorder which stops the body from properly processing galactose.”
“What’s that?” asked Bunny.
“You’ve heard of lactose intolerance?”
“Yeah. I had a buddy in the service who’d get the worst gas you’d ever smelt if he had so much as a piece of cheese. We all used to say that his ass should have been banned as a weapon of mass destruction.”
“Well, lactose intolerance stops the body from properly breaking down lactose. Galactosemia doesn’t do that. Lactose breaks down normally, into glucose and galactose. That’s where the body gets confused. It can’t break down the galactose. It doesn’t know what to do with the stuff, and so it builds up, leading to all sorts of complications. Renal failure, cataracts, cognitive impairment, neurological impairment—”
“You just said that,” said Bunny.
“No,” said Kathleen. “Cognitive impairment impacts the mind. There can be massive learning disabilities and delays as a consequence of this condition. Neurological impairment tends to manifest itself as tremors, seizures, other issues involving the interface between body and brain. It’s hard to say which kills more quickly. Infants with galactosemia have very poor survival statistics, especially when it goes undiagnosed or is not immediately taken seriously by the family. If they attempt to treat it like lactose intolerance, and continue breast-feeding or otherwise exposing the children to lactose, they can and will die.”
“But it doesn’t manifest in adults,” said Phil, jumping into the silence that followed her explanation. “There’s just no way. This can’t be galactosemia, because if it were, all these people would have died years ago. Decades ago.”
“All right,” said Dr. Sanchez. “I think that’s enough background to bring us all up to speed. Can we see the patients now?”
Kathleen and Phil exchanged an uneasy glance before nodding.
“This way,” said Kathleen.
Sick people had a smell. The smell of the sick people packed into their makeshift isolation ward was sweet and cloying, almost sugary. Twelve of the beds were occupied. Four more waited, empty, for their occupants to come.