Chapter 3.

~Elsa~

By the time the first extraction finished, the hospital had stopped pretending this was an ordinary shift.

A security guard stood at the laboratory entrance. The phones rang without pause. Sara had been pulled back to the emergency ward, where the patient from the eastern checkpoint was being kept apart from the other patients. Decker had sent two staff members to check the rest of the incoming records. Christian Loren had gone to headquarters, or so he said.

The result was not an answer. It was a warning: the sample contained viral material consistent with the outbreak marker we had been asked to check. We could not tell from that one test how dangerous it was, how it spread, or whether the patient’s symptoms came from it. I wrote those limits in bold on the report.

Decker read it over my shoulder. “You know they’ll want a yes or no.”

“Then they can want one. We don’t have one.”

He gave me a tired smile. “Your father would have said the same thing.”

The mention of Dad caught me off guard. “He would have asked for three more tests.”

“And annoyed everyone until they let him run them.”

I looked down at the report. “I’m not him.”

“No,” Decker said. “You’re not.” He laid a hand on my shoulder, then took it away before I could decide whether I wanted the comfort. “You’re the one we have.”

A call came from the emergency ward. The patient was awake, but confused. He kept asking for Sara. He had tried to leave the isolation room once, then collapsed before anyone could question him.

I headed for the ward with my report and found Christian at the nurses’ station. He had returned in a different uniform jacket. His face looked more tired than it had in the lab.

“Where’s the patient?” he asked.

“Behind the isolation doors.” I replied.

As I continued my way to the ward, he brought me up short with another question. “Can you take me to him?”

Lord, how much I wanted to punch his face. My insides were screaming in agitation.

“I can take you to the doctor in charge.” I replied calmly.

His jaw tightened. “I need to ask what he saw.”

“And I need to avoid turning an unstable patient into an interrogation.”

He stepped closer to me. “Then stand there and stop me if I cross a line.”

“That’s not how this works, Mr.”

“Then tell me how it works.”

Before I could answer, the patient’s monitor alarm sounded and I saw Sara rush through the doors.

She emerged a moment later, pulling off her gloves. “He’s asking for the woman who brought him in. The one from the checkpoint.”

Christian leaned toward her. “Did he say her name?”

“Not yet.” Sara looked from him to me. “He also asked whether the sample was safe.”

Christian’s face changed. “Safe for whom?”

“He didn’t say.” Sara’s voice dropped. “He said, ‘Don’t let them take the second one.’”

The three of us stared at one another. There had been one sample in the carrier. One documented transfer, one extraction in progress. At least, that was what the paperwork said.

Christian looked at me with suspicion in his eyes. “You said one sample.”

“Because I processed one sample.” I shot back at him.

“Was there a second?” He asked and I almost scoffed.

“Why ask me? The transfer sheet was missing. It could have been a clerical mistake.”

“Or someone removed it.” He tried to prove a baseless point.

I rolled my eyes. “Or the patient is confused.”

“Or he knows something we don’t.”

The argument died when a crash came from the isolation room. Sara ran back inside. Christian followed, but a nurse blocked him at the door. I watched through the narrow window as the patient thrashed against the bed rails, terrified, trying to say something through the mask. Then his eyes fixed on the glass.

He raised one shaking hand and pointed at me.

I froze.

Sara leaned close to him, listening. His mouth moved. She looked up, alarmed. “He says, ‘The girl in the lab.’”

Christian turned toward me. “Did you meet him before today?”

“No.” The answer fell off my mouth immediately.

The patient grabbed for the mask and the nurses restrained him gently. His hand dropped and the monitor shrilled, then steadied. He did not speak again.

A siren wailed outside. Another ambulance pulled into the entrance. Through the glass doors I saw people in uniforms moving fast, carrying a stretcher between them. One of them was holding a sealed specimen container.

Christian took a step toward the doors. I caught his sleeve. “You can’t bring that into the lab without a record.”

He looked down at my hand, then at me. “You think I’d make that mistake twice?”

“I think you believe urgency excuses everything.”

“And you think a procedure can protect you from what’s happening.”

“It’s protecting the people who have to handle whatever you bring in.” I let go of his sleeve. “Give me the facts then we decide what to do.”

For a moment he looked as though he might refuse. Instead, he turned to the officer with the container. “Where did this come from?”

“Recovered from the first transport vehicle.” The officer replied.

I looked at the container. The label was smeared, but one word remained clear: HARPER.

I stared at it. My name had not been on the first sample, I had never been to the checkpoint and I had never met the patient.

Christian’s voice went quiet. “You said you hadn’t seen him.”

I frowned, “I haven’t.”

“Then why is your name on that?” He questioned.

“I don’t know.” I replied and I expected a clap back from him or something to piss me further but he was silent.

This time, he did not accuse me and that was somehow worse.