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.”
“How long will they keep me here?”
Samantha glanced at Duncan and then looked at her sister. “There’s some things going on in the city that you may not have heard about, Jane. Communications have been cut off, and they’ve begun containment centers.”
“I was in one of the centers. Robert and his family went down to San Diego for the zoo. I was here alone. They said if I took a potential vaccine, I could go home.”
“I know.”
“What do you mean they’ve shut down the city, though?”
“Everything’s off. No cars on the road, no one at work, nothing. They’re frightened of this pathogen getting out.”
“Who’s they?”
“The military, the NSA. Probably the FBI and CIA, too. Whoever does this sort of thing. They’ve decided we’re a disaster zone and declared martial law.”
Jane turned away, and staring up at the ceiling, she shook her head. “I don’t believe this.”
Samantha rose. “Duncan, wait for me here.”
“Where you going?”
“I’m going to take a blood sample and have it tested. If she’s clear, I’m getting her out of here.”
35
The car slowed down on a residential street in Van Nuys. The homes were immaculate, and from the cars in the driveways, Katherine could tell this was an affluent neighborhood. A white house with a sports car and an SUV in the driveway came into view on the right, and Ian instructed her to stop there.
“He’s asleep,” she said. “They probably have an alarm, too.”
“Who’s the alarm going to call?” He grinned, took the keys out of the ignition, and put them in his pocket. “Stay here. You’re doing really well, Katherine. This will all be over soon.”
Ian got out of the car, and she watched as he walked around the house, checking the windows. He was limping, and she realized he had hurt himself during the accident, too, but he didn’t let it bother him. He disappeared around the back. She glanced around the neighborhood. She wasn’t aware of the time, other than it was well after midnight, and the clock on the dash was blinking 12:00. The neighborhood seemed darker than any she had ever been in. Not a single light was on in any house. She opened the door and felt the warmth of the night. She debated no more than a few seconds, and then she ran down the street as fast as she could.
The sidewalk was clean, and running wasn’t difficult, except for the fact that she was still lightheaded from the pain medication in her system. But it wasn’t enough to affect her balance.
She was halfway down the block when she turned down a side street and then another and another. She was going to get lost and disappear in the maze of homes. One house had an open gate. Glancing around, she didn’t see a dog. Once inside, she shut the door behind her and then sat down. She hoped she could sit there until morning. If she had entered the house and sought the help of the people inside, Ian would see the lights on. She had to wait until morning and then hope she could get in touch with the police.
As she sat, she realized she was really hungry and thirsty. In the hospital, she was in shock and couldn’t think clearly enough to ask for something, and she regretted that right then.
She thought about her mother’s apple pie. Every last Sunday of the month, her mother made fresh apple pie with peach-apples, a type of apple mixed with a peach grown by a local farmer. They were a bit softer and sweeter than normal apples and had a tanginess she’d never tasted in anything else. Her mother made her pies with brown sugar and then scooped vanilla ice cream on top while the pie was still hot, and they would eat on the porch or in the backyard.
When her mother passed away from the brain tumor, Katherine had tried to make the pie for her two sisters, her brother, and her father, but it always turned out either too crisp or too soggy. No one enjoyed it, but Katherine wouldn’t stop making it. She got up early once a month to go to the farmer’s market for a batch of peach-apples and then started the pie from scratch.
Brakes squealed behind her. They weren’t loud, like someone was going fast and then had to quickly stop, but they built up in pitch, as if someone were going slowly and had rolled by in front of the house where she was hiding.
She didn’t move or even breathe. Keeping entirely still, she felt a tickling on her leg. Glancing down at her ankle, she saw a spider the size of a quarter resting on it.
Katherine put her hand over her mouth to make sure she didn’t scream. The spider crawled again, and instead of going over, it went up her leg. She bit down hard on her lip and closed her eyes. Squealing, she swatted at her ankle and then opened her eyes to see the spider was gone.