Part 20 (1/2)
December 23rd
Hartworth, Montana
For the first time in hours, Edward decontaminated and sat in his special office in the lab, an environmentally controlled area that he felt was safe from any 'Hartworth' air. His eyes s.h.i.+fted to the activity outside the lab. He monitored it through the computer screen while speaking to Bill Lange on the speakerphone.
He knew he'd have to get suited up again. However, first he needed coffee. The eight hours there seemed like days.
”The Secretary of State has already been in contact with the Soviet Prime Minister,” Lange said. ”They're working with the Soviet Weapons Commission to see if this is theirs.”
Edward scoffed a tired laugh. ”Of course it's theirs. Christ. Dr. Paltrov, whatever his real name is, came from there. He worked there, constantly communicated with them.”
”I know. But it isn't our job to accuse the Soviet Union of withholding information or covering it up.”
”They must not know, or they think it was destroyed,” Edward suggested. ”Who in the h.e.l.l would allow humanity to get devastated by a virus if they could stop it?”
”Maybe they can't,” Lange suggested. ”Maybe the only one who could shot himself in the head.”
Edward grumbled.
”Ed, we have to start working on this stat, you know it. If there was a higher level than level four, this would be it. This is a lockdown project.”
”I know.”
”Probability is high, Ed, that these cases in Billings are EPV-71.”
”I know they are, especially after seeing those concert tickets,” Edward said. ”I knew we'd get reports after that bulletin, but I didn't expect it so fast.”
”The reports were in before the bulletin, they were just in queue with every other health incident that gets reported. They weren't flagged until we looked.”
Edward sighed. ”I'm wrapped up in this town. How many now?”
”Ninety-one cases, thirty deaths in Billings. Numbers are gonna grow. That's not including the five in Seattle.”
”So all the trouble this guy went through to seal this town was in vain. We could have been brought in days ago.”
”Yep,” Lange replied. ”But could we have stopped it?”
”I don't know if anything can stop this. I don't even want to think about three days from now.”
”I already have Walker on this. Hopefully, he'll crack it soon.”
Edward nodded, not as if Lange could see him. He then noticed someone waving to the camera. He turned up the volume.
”Dr. Neil!” The worker called through his suit. ”You have to see this. We are locking it on now.”
”Be right out,” Edward said, then turned his attention back to the phone. ”Bill, I have to call you back. They found something.”
He ended the call and looked at the computer one more time. He watched crew workers carrying a long tube, a large flexible tube, not easily maneuvered. It was a safe way, a walkway from one safe area to the next.
Edward suited up and left the lab. The safe way was already sealed to a CDC mobile truck, sealed to the airtight compartment. The other end of the tubing was closed tight until it was locked in or latched to its destination.
The truck was parked outside of the police station.
When Edward arrived, the crews already had the tubing inside and down the bas.e.m.e.nt door. He couldn't get through.
”What's going on?” Edward asked.
”We were combing,” a worker said. ”We went downstairs to the holding area and noticed a door was shut to the holding cells. When we looked through, we saw a survivor. Not sick. We didn't want to chance opening that door in case it kept out the germ. We're almost hooked up. We have someone suited up down there.”
”Walk them through to the truck?” Edward asked.
”Yes, sir. Getting the bubble ready. He'll walk right into that.”
”Good. Good,” Edward said with a swat to the worker's back. ”He or she survived this long, let's keep them safe as possible. Better yet, maybe they're immune.”
The prospect of a survivor in the dead town renewed Edward's hope. If the individual was immune, then others would be, too, and the odds of defeating EBV-71 grew.
He headed from the police station to the truck and waited inside.
The survivor would walk straight up the ramp, through the tube, into a plastic cage, a protective bubble with its own air supply.
Edward anxiously awaited the survivor.
”'Patient seems to be in fair condition,” Edward noted in his computer, notes that he would send directly to the CDC. ”He is slightly lethargic and fades in and out of a conscious state. He exhibits signs of confusion. This is attributed to hypothermia and dehydration. He shows no outward sign of the virus but does have an insignificant flesh wound on the lumbar region. Patient claims it is a gunshot wound and a safety/survival belt prohibited the penetration of the bullet. It is noted that Doctor Monroe did find a large belt in the holding cell. It is difficult to fully a.s.sess the patient because of protective surroundings. Patient claims he tended to the wound and has been in the holding area of the police station for six days. He has eaten, but states it became difficult to swallow once his water supply had finished. Observation and testing is recommended.”
Edward finished his notes, hit send, and stood. He turned to the protective bubble. The man inside sat against the wall, his knees brought close. ”Mr. Lewiskowski.”
He lifted his head. ”Del. Just ... call me Del.”
”Del. This is where I'll leave you for now. I apologize for the protective room, but it's needed. We don't know if you were exposed to or were s.h.i.+elded from the virus. However, we are transporting you now. Give us a few hours and I promise to make you more comfortable.”
”Where am I going?”
”Atlanta, to our facility there. It is best.”
Del's head lifted. ”Atlanta? I'm not sick. Just ... just been in that cell too long.”
”Yes, well, you happened to also be the only person left alive in Hartworth.”
Immediately, Del's head dropped to his knees and his arms wrapped around his legs. He released a quiet sob.
”Are you all right?” Edward asked.