“Get out of the way. Out of the way!” Trisk clenched her jaw, frustrated with the tractor-trailer full of tomatoes lumbering before her. That it had SALADAN FARMS emblazoned on the back didn’t help as it spewed half-burned fuel and took up more than its fair share of the road as they went around a wide turn. Darkness made the road chancy, and unable to see around the truck to know if it was safe to pass, she hit the accelerator and sent her Chevy Apache 10 pickup truck bouncing onto the shoulder to get around him that way. The necklace Quen had given her thumped and bumped, and she held it against her as she jerked the truck back on the road.
The trucker blew his horn, and beside her, Quen clutched at the door handle.
“Problem?” she asked as she cleared the truck and sped toward Sacramento’s hospital. Her car would have been faster, but it was packed to the ceiling.
“No.” Quen’s eyes were fixed on the car she was barreling down on, his right foot pressing into the floorboards. “But is it going to matter if we get there five minutes later?”
Trisk said nothing, peeved when she was forced to slow as they hit the outskirts of the city. It was Friday night, and it seemed everyone was out—getting in her way. She took the turn into the hospital so fast that the boxes in the bed slid, making Quen check to see they weren’t on the side of the road.
Immediately she slowed, looking for signs to tell her where to go. The emergency department wasn’t busy, and finding a spot in the visitor lot, she pulled in and threw her truck into park. Hair and necklace swinging, Trisk grabbed her purse and shoved the paper bag with the decomposing tomato plant under the seat. Brushing her hair back, she impatiently waited for Quen.
“You don’t want me to wait in the car?” he asked, looking a little green under the bright security lights, and she shook her head, imagining what her field must look like. Breaking off a stem would hasten the process of decay, but it was likely she’d lose all her crop. Saladan is going to be madder than a wet hornet.
“No. I want your opinion,” she said, not liking that the long sweater coat she’d thrown on as she’d walked out the door did nothing to elevate her jeans, black T-shirt, and sneakers.
“Why?” he said as he got out. “I wouldn’t know if she’s got Daniel’s virus or not.”
They walked quickly to the main door, Trisk’s feet silent in her soft-soled shoes instead of her usual heels. Quen was taller than she was, and she felt his presence keenly as he awkwardly tried to open the door for her without touching it.
“You’re not worried, are you?” she asked when he wiped his hands off on his slacks.
“I don’t want to get sick,” he said as they slowed, taking in the few people waiting and looking for the reception desk. There weren’t many in the chairs surrounding the black-and-white TV. The kids seemed okay, but the parents, not so much. It was an odd combination, but in the corner, a small family of five sat in huddled misery, all of them appearing feverish and ill.
“There.” Trisk pointed at the nurse behind the desk. Again wishing she was wearing something more professional, Trisk strode forward with an air of confidence. “Hi,” she said, and the woman looked up, a tissue at her nose. “Could you tell me what room Angie Harms is in?”
“Angie Harms,” the woman repeated, head down as she shuffled papers for the register sheet.
“With an H,” Trisk added as Quen rocked to a halt behind her, his hands in his pockets. “H-A-R-M-S.”
The woman flipped the page for the earlier entries. “I’m not seeing her. Are you sure she came in through emergency?”
Oh, God, what if she hadn’t come in? “It would’ve just been within the last half hour.” Trisk leaned into the counter, wanting to take the paper away from the receptionist and look herself. “Blond, about this tall.” She put her hand up to indicate a few inches taller than herself. “Her boyfriend would have brought her in.”
“Oh!” The woman behind the desk brightened as she reached for a different stack of papers. “I know the one. Fever and respiratory distress. She’s probably still in exam room six. They haven’t assigned a room to her yet as far as I know.”
Trisk’s relieved smile froze when she realized the woman had tiny blisters on her neck. “Thank you,” she said, uneasy as she took her hands off the high counter. “Let’s go,” she said softly to Quen, not liking this. It could be that the woman simply had a rash, but Trisk didn’t believe in coincidences.
“Ma’am. Ma’am!” the receptionist said, standing up as they headed down the hall. “You shouldn’t go back there. It’s family and doctors only.”
“It’s okay,” Trisk said over her shoulder, never stopping. “I’m a doctor.”