Allison looked closer at the would-be patients. Sally was right. No one seemed in dire straits. "Why do you have all these people in the parking lot--why aren't they inside?"
"It started when we thought they really were contaminated. We couldn't risk it spreading to the entire hospital. Now they're out here simply because we don't have room for them in there. And a lot of them won't go away--they don't believe us when we tell them they're okay. But not one of the people we're seeing has reddened eyes, irritated mucous membranes, or labored breathing. If this had been a real poison gas attack, we would have seen that, at a minimum. And we would be in a world of hurt. We don't have enough protective gear--chemical goggles, face shields, and respirators--even for our staff. We don't have enough nerve antidote kits for all these people. We don't have enough anything. Nobody does."
"If it had been real, what would you have done?" Allison asked, shifting Estella's weight. Her panic was slowly ebbing.
"Triage," Sally said bluntly. "You simply don't treat the weakest and the sickest, the ones who will probably die. You concentrate on the ones you can save, and you say a prayer for the rest."
Chapter 10
Good Samaritan Medical Center
Allison had taken a child. She had taken a child. At the time, she had thought she was saving Estella's life. But now that she knew there had been no danger, she felt sick when she thought of Estella's family. Somewhere in the chaos, they must be frantically searching for their missing girl.
"What do you think I should do, Sally?" she asked her friend. "This child's poor family must be going crazy trying to find her. Should I try to take her back downtown?"
Sally blew air through pursed lips. "You can't go back there. They're still clearing the area, just to be safe. Even if you did manage to get back downtown, chances are whoever was with her has been moved--either forced to evacuate or taken to a hospital. You might walk her around the parking lot, see if there's anyone she recognizes. But if not, I'd take her home and call Child Protective Services. I'll make a note that you have her in case anyone asks for her. What did you say her name was again?"
"I think it's Estella.".
At the word, the toddler lifted her head, and both women smiled.
"Okay. Estella. A healthy two-and-a-half-year-old, by the looks of her. Give me your address and phone numbers in case someone comes looking for her. By this evening, they should have some kind of clearinghouse set up for information?'
Allison picked her way through the people sitting and lying on the sidewalk, the flower beds, the parking lot. Now that she knew they were okay, the scene was not nearly as frightening. She saw a few people with bandages and casts, but certainly no one who seemed to be dying.
"Do you see anyone? Anyone you recognize?" she asked, but Estella didn't answer, didn't even seem to be paying attention. More than likely, she only spoke Spanish. Or maybe it was the tone of voice Allison was using. She realized she was talking to the toddler as if she were an adult. Every mother in the world naturally used a singsong, baby-talk delivery, but Allison couldn't even think of how to begin. How was she going to be able to be a mother to the baby she was carrying? Maybe she would just have to fake it and hope that no one caught on.
Finding no one that Estella seemed to recognize or who recognized her, Allison started walking the thirty blocks home. Along the way she tried calling the office, Marshall, and Nicole and Cassidy, but the cell service was still overwhelmed. So instead she prayed, her lips moving silently. Prayed for Estella and her family. Prayed for the people in the parking lot and the people downtown. For Nicole and the juror she was helping, and Cassidy. For the safety of all the first responders. For all the investigators, that they would be able to get to the bottom of this. And for the friends and family Jim Fate had left behind.
She was plodding along with her head down, her mind someplace else, the sleeping Estella a deadweight on her hip, when she heard a shout.
"Allison! Allison!" The voice was ragged, as if it had been shouting over and over.
She looked up. Two blocks away, Marshall began sprinting toward her. She had never seen him run so fast, at least not wearing dress shoes and a suit. He skidded to a stop as he saw Estella, then threw his arms around Allison anyway, an awkward sideways hug. Estella, jolted out of her sleep, let out a faint protesting wail.
Marshall's breath came in gulps. "I've been looking all over for you." He pulled back to look at her. His jaw was set, his eyes determined, but Allison heard the faintest tremble in his voice.
"I've been trying and trying to call you. I went downtown, but the cops wouldn't let me past the barricades. But it was such a madhouse, I finally slipped in. Only I couldn't find you." He ran one hand through his black hair, which was already sticking up as if he had made the same gesture a dozen times that day. "Oh, Allison, I couldn't find you anyplace."