Dr. Do-Or-Die. Lara Lacombe
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Which meant he’d have to set up the human trials.
He thrust a hand through his hair and began to pace, his mind whirring with possible options. He’d have to try out different routes of exposure, different doses of the agent. And then somehow keep track of how people felt and when and if they developed symptoms.
No, not people, he thought. Test subjects. Best to start depersonalizing them now, since they were nothing more than a data point from here on out.
And he’d do well to remember it.
“Got a minute?”
Dr. Avery Thatcher glanced away from her computer monitor to find her boss, Dr. Harold Jenkins, standing in the doorway to her office. She waved him in with her free hand and swallowed her bite of yogurt before placing the spoon back in the container and pushing it to the side of her desk. Harold was a writer by nature, and every time she met with him he wound up jotting stuff down on a small notepad that she suspected was permanently attached to his palm. She’d learned early on in their working relationship to clear a space for him to use, and after five years the action was pure reflex. It was almost like a little dance, she mused now as she completed the familiar choreography.
He shut the door, then sat and patted his jacket pocket for the ubiquitous accessory, but his hand came up empty. That was odd. Had he forgotten it?
Avery took a closer look at her boss and for the first time noticed the fine lines of strain around his eyes and a subtle tightening at the corners of his mouth. Something was definitely up, and Avery had a sinking feeling she wasn’t going to like what he had to say.
“How are things?” He asked the question mechanically, and she could tell he was merely trying to observe conversational formalities before diving into the bad news. Her heart picked up the pace as she tried to imagine what he was going to say. The latest round of budget cuts had hit her division hard, and some contractors had been released because of the shortfall. Had the Centers for Disease Control cut the funding for her position?
The thought made her blood freeze. She loved her job as an epidemic investigator. Avery had made the unfortunate discovery during medical school that she was more interested in the diseases themselves than the actual patients. Working at the CDC had turned out to be the perfect way to combine her interest in infectious illnesses with her desire to help people. And since outbreaks occurred all over the country, she’d been sent to some pretty interesting places. It was the perfect job for her, and if she lost it... She shuddered, not even wanting to consider the possibility.
“Harold,” she said, her voice calm despite her frayed nerves. “Please just tell me what’s going on.”
He frowned slightly. “Am I that obvious?”
She nodded and swallowed hard. “Do I need to update my resume?”
Harold blinked at her, clearly taken aback by the question. “No,” he said slowly. Then understanding dawned. “Oh, it’s nothing like that.”
All the air rushed out of her in a gust, and Avery sank back against her chair. “Thank God,” she said, closing her eyes. “You had me going there for a moment.”
“Sorry about that,” he said, sounding rueful. “You know you’re my best investigator. There’s no way I’m letting you go, even if I have to pay your salary myself.”
His words went a long way toward quelling her anxiety. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “That means a lot.”
He waved away her gratitude and leaned forward. “There is something I need to talk to you about, though.” He glanced back at the closed door, as if to reassure himself they weren’t going to be overheard. “There’s something going on in Antarctica.”
“Are the penguins in trouble?”
Harold didn’t even bother to smile at her lame joke. “The US has a research base there, Fort Gilmour. It’s staffed year-round, believe it or not. Something strange has popped up.”
“What kind of something?”
He shook his head. “Unclear at this time. But there have been several cases of an upper respiratory infection with some unusual symptoms.”
Avery felt the familiar tingle of curiosity that came every time she heard about an outbreak. “Such as?”
“It starts as an uncomplicated respiratory infection—cough, congestion, the usual. Some people recover, but those who don’t go on to develop strange hemorrhagic symptoms.”
Avery’s eyebrows shot up. “Strange?” she echoed. What exactly did that mean?
He nodded. “Rather than the diffuse, systemic symptoms we see with something like Ebola, these patients only bleed out into their lungs. They essentially wind up drowning in their own blood.”
A wave of sympathy washed over her as Harold’s words sank in. What a horrible way to die. She could picture it all too easily and shuddered. Harold saw her reaction and nodded. “I know. I feel bad for them, too,” he said.
“How many cases?”
“Ten so far, of which four people have progressed to the hemorrhagic phase and died.”
“Damn,” she said softly. “This bug isn’t messing around.” A 40 percent mortality rate was serious business, high enough to make any self-respecting doctor lose sleep.
“It’s bad,” Harold confirmed. “And to make matters worse, the hospital on the research base is having to handle everything alone. Normally, they can send critical patients to South America or Australia for treatment. But given the nature of this disease, those options are closed. No one wants these patients, especially since we don’t know anything about this bug.”
“That’s terrible!” Outrage stiffened her spine and Avery sat upright. “How can they deny advanced medical care to people who desperately need it?”
Harold shrugged. “They’re happy to air-drop supplies, but no one wants to be responsible for exporting this disease. The major fear is that bringing the patients off-base would allow the agent to enter into the commercial air travel system, and then we’d have a real problem.”
He was right, Avery realized with a growing sense of horror. Even though she hated the idea of sick patients being cut off from the potentially lifesaving technologies of a major hospital, the last thing anyone wanted was a global pandemic of a hemorrhagic respiratory illness. Better to keep the sick all in one place, away from the general population.
And a research base in Antarctica was about as isolated as you could get.
“Where do we come in?” Was Harold telling her this to keep her in the loop, or was there something else going on?
“I need you to