'Did you hear what I said? You need to treat him.'
She didn't get a response. Rough hands pushed her back against the ground and then she couldn't see, as a thick, shaving-foam-like substance covered her mask. She couldn't move either, pinned down by all these arms and legs.
'Miss McCormick, can you hear me?'
She nodded.
'The hazmat van hasn't arrived yet,' the man said. 'I don't want to risk waiting, so we're going to have to undress you here and decontaminate you. I'm not going to lie to you, it's not going to be pleasant.'
Her boots were pulled off her feet.
Now her socks.
'Miss McCormick, I need you to keep your eyes and mouth shut. Nod if you understand.'
She nodded.
Hands lifted her up and she stood, shivering.
'Hold your arms out… Yes, like that.'
Someone unbuckled her vest. Another pair of hands worked the buckle for her tactical belt.
Come on, take off the mask so I can talk.
Her wet trousers were yanked down across her legs as the mask was pulled from her sweaty face. She spoke quickly, her eyes closed.
'The prisoner is in the woods behind the ranch home, and he's — '
A pair of gloved fingers prised her mouth open. She grabbed the wrist and tore it away.
'He's infected,' she screamed.
'Where?' The leader's voice.
'In the woods, about twenty klicks north,' she said, shivering. 'I tied him to a tree. Find him and treat him — he's our only link to what happened at the house.'
The man didn't respond but she heard footsteps running away.
Her long-sleeved T-shirt was pulled up over her head. Now someone gripped her bra and pulled it away from the skin. She felt the strap pop free; someone must have cut it. Another hand gripped the elastic band of her cheap Hanes boy-cut underwear and cut it free. She stood there, naked and shivering, and heard the hiss of the spray nozzle as foam shot across her bare skin.
The person who had prised open her mouth did so again, and even though her eyes were shut she could make out the beam of a flashlight.
'Miss McCormick,' a new voice said — feminine and clearly nervous. 'I need you to spread your legs apart, just a bit.'
Darby did as instructed, too frightened to be embarrassed. Her imagination was racing with all sorts of grisly scenarios as fingers pressed against the lymph nodes underneath her armpits, then her groin. Her mouth was opened again and this time she felt a cotton swab rub its way across the soft lining of her cheeks. They were collecting a sample to see if she was infected. If she was, and if the toxin couldn't be identified in time, she'd soon be lying on the ground, convulsing and throwing up until her lungs finally stopped working.
Her eyelids were pressed open by thick, rubbery fingers and held in place.
'We're going to wash them out with saline,' the nervous woman said.
The fingers held her eyelids open as a jet coming from a bottle of saline washed out her eyes.
Then she was ordered to shut her eyes again. She did and now thick bristles moved across her skin with such force she thought she was being cut by razorblades. An angry voice ordered her to stand still. She gritted her teeth as the brush raked across her breasts and nipples.
When the brushes finally disappeared, the woman said, 'Keep your eyes and mouth shut. We're going to escort you to the side of the house to be hosed off.'
'Am I infected?' Darby asked.
'I don't know.'
15
When the BU Biomedical vehicles finally arrived — two vans and a mobile trailer, Darby saw, each one sleek and black and peeling down the street — she was sitting on the grass with her knees pressed up against her chest, her wet hair and naked, shivering body bundled underneath several towels and blankets courtesy of the home's elderly couple. They had offered to let her inside, but the hazmat team wouldn't allow it. The old man — deadly scared and barely able to speak — said there were plenty of old towels and blankets on the garage shelves and they were more than welcome to help themselves.
Hazmat members poured out of the vehicles. One of them was heading her way.
'Miss McCormick, please follow me.'
She stood, several of the towels sliding off her, and wrapped herself tightly in the blanket. She trotted in her bare feet behind the man, wincing in pain. It hurt to breathe. She didn't know if the pain was from the fractured ribs or if she was infected. Or both.
The man helped her into the back of the mobile trailer. Before the doors shut, Darby saw the frightened expressions of the old man, his wife and what she assumed was the couple's grandson, a toddler dressed in footy-pyjamas and clutching a stuffed animal, as they were helped down their front steps by a pair of masked and gloved men. A bullhorn ordered them to a waiting van to be decontaminated.
The heated trailer was packed with medical equipment, and also held three people dressed head to toe in hazmat gear. One was armed — state police, she guessed, maybe even army. He had an MP5 submachine gun strapped across the chest of his hazmat suit and he kept his gloved hand on the stock, his eyes watching her.
Syringes and vials glinted underneath the light. One of the unarmed people took a tentative step forward and said, 'You're having trouble breathing.'
She nodded. 'I think I fractured a rib. Shotgun blast.'
He helped her to lie down on a gurney. When he completed his poking and prodding with his gloved fingers and cold instruments — Darby nearly screaming when his hands touched her chest — he dropped a pair of scrubs on her stomach and told her to get dressed. She did, slowly, and after she finished he came back with a syringe. He didn't speak or answer any of her questions as he drew blood, filling numerous vials. She had stopped counting after six.
Next she felt a cold swab of alcohol on her upper arm, followed by the sting of a needle.
'What's that?'
'Something to help you with the pain,' he said. 'This way.'
Darby followed the man to the far wall, which held three doors. He pressed a code on the keypad and then she heard the hiss of the air-locked door opening.
It led to a stainless-steel room no bigger than a closet. A quarantine chamber, containing only a toilet.
Darby didn't move. The sight of any confined space made her uneasy.
The doctor, standing behind her, spoke for the first time: 'It's only temporary, until we know whether or not you're infected.'
'How long?'
'Until we know if you're infected? The blood work will take some time — it will go faster when we can isolate what, exactly, has happened here. Until then, we need to quarantine you. It should be only a couple of hours, then we can take you to the hospital.'
Darby still didn't move. The guard, sensing that she might put up a fight, had stepped up beside the doctor.
Finally she went inside. The door shut and she flinched when she heard the bolt slide home.
The space was warm, and she had a view, courtesy of the small, square Plexiglas window. One of the vials containing her blood had been placed in some sort of separating unit. She could see the device sitting on a worktop, and as she listened to the tiny whirl of the motor she watched the doctor, who was sitting with his back to her and typing on a computer keyboard. She could make out part of the monitor but was too far away to read the words on the screen.
She heard the sound of the heavy back doors swinging open. Footsteps thumped across the floor and then a masked face revealing only a pair of blue eyes and dark bushy eyebrows flecked with grey filled the tiny window.
Then the face moved away and Darby watched the man step behind the doctor. There was no talking — at least nothing she could hear. The man seemed to be consulting something on the computer screen. He stepped away, disappearing from her view.