Contagious

“We have two cases of infection,” Dan said. “Donald Jewell, age forty-two, from Pittsburgh, and his daughter, Betty, age sixteen. Of course, I’m not allowed to know exactly what they’re infected with. I just follow the procedures a.s.signed to me. I’m happy to play along, but please don’t feed me the company line about necrotizing fasciitis. If, however, you should choose to let me know what the h.e.l.l is going on, I won’t complain.”

“What if that knowledge means you’ll be sequestered for months?” Amos asked. “That, or shot because you know too much?”

“Then I might complain a little,” Dan said. “But I’ve always been a bit of a whiner.” He pointed a small remote at the computer and clicked a b.u.t.ton.

Up on the screen, the air force logo disappeared, replaced by a picture of a man lying on icy pavement. He was in front of the rest-stop building right outside the trailer. The man’s clothes hung on his skeletal frame. A black skull stuck out from a loose collar, and something black had stained the pavement around him.

“This is Donald Jewell,” Dan said. “Security-camera recordings show he pulled in to this rest area yesterday at approximately thirteen hundred hours. There was a pretty solid storm at the time, freezing rain, so no one reported seeing him get out of his car. Not sure how long the body sat there before someone came across it. Best guess, ten minutes. The guy who found the body called 9-1-1. State troopers were on the scene within fifteen minutes.

“Did they touch anything?” Margaret asked.

“Trooper Michael Adams used surgical gloves to check for a pulse,” Dan said. “Finding none, he removed the gloves, left them on the spot, and had no further contact with the body. The daughter was still in the car. She refused to let Adams in. He saw sores on her face, so he called for an ambulance. She wouldn’t allow paramedics inside the car, either. At that time, the paramedics performed the swab test on the corpse. My team was stationed in Detroit, so the CDC called us. We were actually the ones to remove the girl from the car.”

“How long have you been in charge of this rig?” Amos asked.

“Three weeks,” Chapman said. “We haven’t

Margaret had to stifle a laugh. Dan was doing a dead-on impression of Murray Longworth.

“That’s uncanny,” Amos said.

“Thanks,” Dan said. “You should hear my Gutierrez; it slays. Anyway, after the paramedics called the CDC, Trooper Adams and his partner evacuated the rest area and shut it down. They followed all the instructions, line by line. Sharp guys; they were pretty impressive. They took pictures.”

He reached over Margaret’s shoulder and clicked the computer keyboard.

A series of shots flashed on the wall monitors, showing Donald Jewell’s initial stage of decomposition, then gradually s.h.i.+fting to his current state.

“Wow,” Clarence said. “Those guys saw a lot. Any worry about them talking?”

Dan threw his shoulders back and puffed up his chest again. “It’s taken care of. They understand the gravity of the situation and the importance of secrecy.”

“Seriously,” Amos said. “That’s creeping me out.”

“I’d laugh,” Clarence said, “only I’m sure Murray has a camera in here somewhere and he’s watching.”

Dan started nervously looking around the room. “Oh man, for real?”

Margaret reached back and tugged Dan’s sleeve. “Relax, he’s kidding.”

At least she hoped he was kidding.

“Run the pictures again,” she said.

Dan did.

“How often did they take these?”

“Every fifteen minutes,” Dan said. “Just like your instructions specify.”

Amos and Margaret exchanged a glance.

“What is it?” Clarence asked.

“This guy decomposed more rapidly than anyone we’ve encountered,” Amos said. “Twice as fast as before, maybe even faster.”

Clarence grimaced. “How about the others? We have names and addresses of everyone who was here at the time or came after?”

Dan nodded. “The troopers got everyone’s ID, license plates, registrations, the works.”

“Clarence,” Margaret said, “we need to have Murray get agents to every one of those people and run the swab test.”

“Yes ma’am.” Clarence moved to the third computer chair and grabbed the phone.

“But Margo,” Amos said, “it’s not contagious.”

“Not from host to host,” Margaret said. “But the McMillians were infected later, remember? Whatever the vector is, it might be persistent, lying on clothes or hair. And looking at these pictures, the disease has mutated, at least to some extent—as far as we know, now it could be contagious.”

Amos nodded. “Better safe than sorry, I suppose.”

“Everyone followed precise biohazard procedures,” Dan said. “We treated it like it was a strain of ebola that could do a stutter-step, fake you out, then jump in your pants if you weren’t careful. Mister Jewell’s remains are in the Trailer B body locker. Each piece of clothing is in a separate biohazard container, in case you want them.”

Otto put the phone on his shoulder and looked back at Amos. “Twenty bucks says Doctor Dan put each sock in a separate bag.”

“You’re on,” Amos said.

Dan smiled. “I even labeled the sock bags left and right. Sorry, Doctor Braun.”

“Call me Amos, you incredibly diligent and overwhelmingly a.n.a.l-retentive young man.” Amos pulled the folded twenty from his pants pocket and handed it over to Otto without looking away from the screen.

The young doctor impressed Margaret. “For someone who has no idea what’s really going on, you did a h.e.l.l of a job, Dan,” she said. “Looks like we’re ready to rock. Let me see pictures of the girl’s remains.”