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Joe was just as baffled. “And if you were a terrorist and you had a stockpile of killer nerve gas, why on earth would you use it here? This is a speck on the map in the middle of the sea. The only people here are vacationers, fishermen and divers.”

Kurt looked at the fallen team members once again. “I have no idea. But I’m telling you right now we’re going to find the people who did this. And when we do, they’re going to wish they’d never heard of this place.”

Joe recognized the tone in his friend’s voice. It was the opposite of the easygoing, everything-will-be-all-right manner Kurt usually projected. In a way, it was the dark side of his personality. In another way, it was a typical American response: Don’t tread on me. And woe unto those who do.

Sometimes Joe would try to talk Kurt down when he got like this, but at the moment he felt exactly the same way.

“Call the Sea Dragon,” Kurt said. “Tell them what we found. I’m going to look for a set of keys. We need to get to that hospital and I’ve had enough of walking.”

7

The Jeep’s V-8 engine roared to life, bringing the shock of sound to an island bathed in silence.

Kurt revved the engine a few times as if the din could break the spell that seemed to have been cast on those around them.

He put the Jeep in gear and drove while Joe consulted a map. It was a short journey but one made more difficult by dozens of wrecked cars with steaming radiators and scooters lying on their sides not far from their spilled riders. Every intersection had a pileup, every sidewalk pedestrians lying where they’d fallen.

“It’s like the end of the world,” Joe said grimly. “A city of the dead.”

Near the hospital entrance another multicar wreck blocked the way, this one including a truck tipped over with half its contents spilled out. To avoid it, Kurt drove up over the curb and across a rock garden until they arrived at the main doors.

“Modern-looking hospital,” Joe said of the six-story structure.

“As I recall, it was updated and expanded to care for the refugees making their way here on boats from Libya and Tunisia.”

Kurt shut off the engine and climbed out of the Jeep, pausing as something caught his eye.

“What’s wrong?” Joe asked.

Kurt stared back in the direction they’d just come. “Thought I saw something moving.”

“What kind of something?”

“Not sure. Over by the wrecked cars.”

Kurt stared for a long moment but nothing appeared.

“Should we check it out?”

Kurt shook his head. “It’s nothing. Just the light on my face shield.”

“It could be a zombie,” Joe said.

“If that’s the case, you’ll be safe,” Kurt said. “I hear they only eat brains.”

“Very funny,” Joe said. “Honestly, if someone did survive and saw us dressed up like this, he might think twice before coming up and introducing himself.”

“More likely, my mind is playing tricks on me,” Kurt replied. “Come on. Let’s get inside.”

They reached the entrance and the automatic doors opened with a swish. They passed a dozen bodies in the waiting room, half of them slumped in chairs. A nurse lay beside the front desk.

“Something tells me we don’t need to check in,” Joe said.

“Not checking in,” Kurt replied, “I’m down a third of a tank of air. You have to be too. This is a pretty big place, I’d rather not walk the halls checking every room.”

He found a directory, flipped it open and scanned through the names. Ambrosini was on the first page — oddly enough, the name was written in by hand while everything else was typed. “She must be new,” Kurt said. “Unfortunately, no office number or floor is listed.”

“How about we use this?” Joe said, holding up a microphone that seemed to be connected to a PA system. “Maybe she’ll answer a page?”

“Perfect.”

Joe turned the system on and set it to hospital-wide by selecting a switch that said All Call and Kurt took it from there.

Holding the microphone up to the faceplate of his helmet, he tried to speak as clearly as possible. “Dr. Ambrosini, or any survivors in the hospital, my name is Kurt Austin. We picked up your distress call. If you can hear this message”—he almost said “pick up the white paging phone”—“please contact the front desk. We’re trying to reach you but don’t know where to look.”

The message went out over the PA system, somewhat muffled but clear enough to understand. He was about to repeat it when the automatic doors opened behind them.

Both he and Joe turned with a start, but there was no one there, just the empty space. After a second or two, the doors closed.

“The sooner we find these people and get out of here, the happier I’ll be,” Joe said.

“Couldn’t agree more.”

The desk line began to buzz and a white light began blinking on the panel.

“Call for you on line one, Dr. Austin,” Joe said.

Kurt punched the speaker button.

“Hello?” a female voice said. “Is anyone there? This is Dr. Ambrosini.”

Kurt leaned near to the speaker and spoke clearly and slowly. “My name is Kurt Austin. We heard your radio call. We came to help.”

“Oh, thank God,” she said. “You sound American. Are you with NATO?”

“No,” Kurt replied. “My friend and I are with an organization called NUMA. We’re divers and salvage experts.”

There was a pause. “How is it you’re unaffected by the toxin? It affected everyone it touched. I saw it with my own eyes.”

“Let’s just say we dressed for the occasion.”

“Overdressed in some ways,” Joe said.

“Okay,” she replied. “We’re trapped on the fourth floor. We sealed off one of the operating rooms with plastic sheets and surgical tape, but we can’t stay in here much longer. The air is getting very stale.”

“Italian military units with a hazmat response team are on their way,” Kurt said. “But you’ll have to wait a few hours.”

“We can’t,” she replied. “There are nineteen of us in here. We desperately need fresh air. CO2 levels are rising rapidly.”

In a backpack, Kurt had brought two extra dry suits and a smaller handheld emergency oxygen tank. The plan had been to shuttle whomever they found out to the Sea Dragon and then come back for the rest. But with twenty people trapped…

“I think I see a fly in the ointment,” Joe said.

“A whole swarm of them,” Kurt mumbled.

“What was that?” the doctor asked.

“We can’t get you out,” Kurt said.

“We’re not going to last in here much longer,” she replied. “Several of the elderly patients have already fallen unconscious.”

“Does the hospital have a hazardous-materials unit?” Kurt asked. “We could round up some suits from there.”

“No,” she said. “Nothing like that.”

“What about oxygen?” Joe said. “All hospitals have oxygen.”

Kurt nodded. “You’re really earning your pay this week, my friend.”

“Don’t I always?”

Kurt held out a hand, made a side-to-side gesture, as if to say it was iffy sometimes.

As Joe feigned great offense, Kurt turned back to the speakerphone. “What floor is your supply room on? We’ll bring you more oxygen bottles. Enough to extend your stay until the Italian military arrives.”

“Yes. That would work,” she said. “Medical supplies are on the third floor. Please hurry.”

Kurt hung up and they went to the elevator. Joe pressed the button and the doors opened to reveal a doctor and nurse slumped in the corner.

Joe went to pull them out, but Kurt waved him off. “No time.”