Desolate The Complete Trilogy

8



12 Hours Before Plane Crash

Hospital Regional Rio Grande

City of Rio Grande

Tierra del Fuego Province

Argentina



Dr. Schmidt disconnected the VPN connection on his laptop and closed the lid. Communicating by phone was almost impossible while dressed in the bulky HAZMAT suit, so he’d been talking to the director at the CDC via instant messaging software. Trying to type on the tiny laptop keys with gloved fingers was only slightly better than shouting into a phone through a sealed face mask, but it didn’t matter. His directions were clear and he had his orders.

Schmidt rose from the desk as his colleague Dr. Julia Parker entered the room. She looked exhausted. They all were. The hospital was in chaos, and from what they heard, the rest of the city was as well. If Schmidt slowed down for even a minute and lost focus on whatever task he was working on, anxiety and fear invaded his thoughts. The rate this disease was spreading was almost beyond comprehension. In thirty-two years of practicing medicine he’d never seen anything like it. Not only were they still unsure how the pathogen was spreading, but the speed at which the victims took ill and died was terrifying. It was as if all one needed to do was stand next to an infected host for more than a few seconds and a death sentence was certain.

The overwhelming urge to contact his wife made it even harder to concentrate. He tried to tell himself the outbreak was isolated to pockets near crowded cities and transportation centers. Hopefully, she was safe for now in their quiet subdivision. It would be easy enough to take a few minutes to at least send her an email, but he was afraid of how it would affect his work if he didn’t hear back. There were far more important matters to deal with than his personal life.

The hospital in Rio Grande was shut down but a quarantine was laughable at this point. Half the population in the city was probably dead by now and the other half would soon follow. The CDC and WHO were being bombarded with reports from across the globe of victims showing the exact same symptoms before becoming violently ill and dying. It always started with a steady nosebleed, followed by high fever, swelling and darkness in the neck and face, and finally hemorrhaging and death. Some victims were known to lose their mental faculties, becoming enraged and violent, most likely due to hallucinations and swelling of the brain stem.

Despite the grim statistics, there was a small sliver of hope. There were several cases now of patients who made it past the initial timeframe after having contact with an infected person; they displayed no symptoms. It seemed a very small percentage was immune, but it was too soon to tell. One of them happened to by lying in a bed down the hall.

Schmidt tried to pull the suit away from the back of his sweaty legs with no luck. The AC gave out earlier in the day and he was roasting in his yellow wrapper. The suit may have been keeping him safe at the moment, but it was as comfortable as a rain slicker at the beach. He motioned for Julia to sit but she shook her head no. Probably battling with her own sticky legs.

“We’re leaving,” he told her. “The plane just touched down at the airport and we’re taking him back to Atlanta.”

Julia exhaled and returned a small nod but didn’t look optimistic. “Do you think it’ll do any good?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” he snapped. “If what the Clark woman said was true, he’s been exposed for at least a week. Probably twice that. Despite the coma and stab wound, he’s in perfect health. They’re just starting to analyze the blood samples we sent, but if we don’t get him back today for more testing, it might be too late.”

“Both of the marshals died this morning,” said Julia. “Major Zellermayer wants to know if we should take their bodies back or wait for arrangements from the Justice Department.”

“Might as well take them back with us. By the end of the week I don’t think there’s going to be anybody left in this town to make arrangements for anything.”