Chapter Two #2
“I’ve been put in charge of setup and supplies here. Currently we have twenty-one other uniformed men and women, mostly privates. They’re ready for you whenever, ma’am.”
Norah had to toss the words over in her brain a few more times.
Briggs had told her she would be in charge when they got here, but she hadn’t really believed him.
Norah had been in numerous other operations and was a ranking officer, of course.
But she’d never been it. She stood taller, tilting her chin toward the sky, and tried to avoid squinting into the blinding sun.
“Thank you. Do you mind showing us to our quarters? It’s hot as hell here, and I’d like to change into something a little lighter.
” The sweat was already collecting under the weighty poly-blend jacket she wore, but really, Norah just needed a minute alone to consider the twenty-one men and women, plus the four she’d brought with her.
That was more than Norah had ever commanded in any given operation, multiplied threefold.
And never had she dreamed it would be under such a circumstance as an apparently deadly virus about to ravage the country, maybe the world.
The sweat that had built turned to a cold chill, and her heart rate steadily climbed.
Don’t panic. We don’t panic. In a few seconds, Norah had breathed herself through an impending anxiety attack and followed the lieutenant to an olive-green tent off to the corner of the barracks that was double the size of the others.
“Let me know if you need anything, ma’am.”
Norah nodded, pausing just long enough to sound thoughtful. “I want to call a briefing. Gather everyone together at central staging at 1200 hours.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Thank you again.”
The lieutenant left, and Norah was finally alone, the tank top she wore under her jacket clinging to her breasts like cellophane.
She plucked it away from her skin, peeling all the layers off down to her bra, and replaced them with a clean T-shirt from her bag.
Great. Now she just had to figure out what the hell she was going to say.
The Louisiana air was oppressive, even compared with Atlanta, and Chase had to take a few deep breaths to familiarize her lungs with oxygen again.
Fortunately, a car was waiting for her when she and John escaped the hurried airport, which was hardly a guarantee, given the whole flying-coach situation.
“Where is this place anyway?” she asked as she slid in next to John in the backseat of a wounded Honda.
“About an hour outside the city.” John jammed on the button to close the windows, but the result was merely a guttural cry that could only belong to a dying motor.
“Don’t bother. Window’s broken,” the man in the driver’s seat said. He appeared to be of some sort of South American descent, and his sleeveless T-shirt hung off his shoulders in protest, hair snaking out from under the arm that hugged the steering wheel.
“I was hoping for air conditioning,” John said kindly.
“Broken too,” the man said, no hint of an apology in his tone.
John raised an eyebrow at Chase, and the car lurched forward into a wave of traffic.
Norah’s first briefing had gone well, and the last thing she wanted was to taint that experience by meeting her CDC counterparts.
At one time, albeit a brief time a million and one years ago, Norah had dreamed of working for the CDC.
But then Davey died. And Chase got the slot at Georgetown.
And everything was broken. In a matter of one semester in medical school, she’d lost her brother, her girlfriend, and her dream.
But all of that was behind her now. She was a captain in the US Army.
She was an infectious-disease doctor. And now she was in charge of what could potentially turn into one of the worst epidemics since the Spanish influenza in 1918.
It was a bit twisted that the population had to fall ill before Norah could do her job.
But she tried not to give that idea much thought.
“They’re ready for you, ma’am.” Lt. Marshall, who had been tremendously helpful in getting Norah settled over the course of the day, appeared at the door of Norah’s swanky camp, her kind face easing some of her tension.
The CDC barracks were a quarter mile west of the army’s.
Norah wasn’t sure whether this was purely a logistical decision or a political one.
She hadn’t done much fieldwork in her brief career, save for a short stint in Africa during the 2016 Ebola outbreak, where she wasn’t allowed within thirty miles of anywhere the virus had been spotted.
Most of what she’d heard about the CDC’s relationship with the army was hearsay.
Maybe they would turn out to be intelligent, approachable people willing to work as a team to help save the world.
Lt. Marshall, who had insisted Norah call her Jamie in spite of the rather unorthodox informality, led Norah and one of the young privates on the five-minute walk to the CDC camp.
Norah was struck by Jamie’s dancer’s physique and face that looked fresh off a Saint Laurent billboard.
But somehow she felt like Jamie could hold her own in a crisis.
It was already 1700, and the sun was still as hot as noon.
Norah grabbed the collar of her T-shirt and fanned herself futilely.
The CDC tent was smaller than the army’s, which was reasonable, considering Norah was told they’d sent only six agents down—mostly virologists—and two infectious-disease physicians.
Norah wasn’t given their names, but she was briefly curious if she happened to know either of them through the rather small network of specialists.
“It’s right through this entrance, Captain,” Jamie said, holding the edge of the tent door for her.
“You can call me Norah,” she whispered. “Just don’t let anyone hear you.” Norah offered her a warm smile. She didn’t let people in often, but it might be nice to have a friend down here.
An aging man wearing a khaki safari hat with the strings drawn taut across his jovial face trotted over to them with more energy than Norah had anticipated.
He wore a green, button-down, short-sleeved shirt with a tattered collar and a matching khaki vest that made him look more like a zoo worker than a CDC employee.
“Captain Bishop? I’m Dr. John Grimm, ID specialist with the CDC.” He smiled kindly, and Norah liked the green flecks in his harmless eyes. They were the eyes of someone she should not have hostility or a power struggle with. She smiled back.
“Please. Call me Norah.” She reached out her hand, and John squeezed tightly, his palms surprisingly strong and rugged.
“Norah. Let me show you around our little home away from home. We’re very excited to be working with the army on this situation.”
John released her hand, and Norah studied him for a second but decided his words seemed genuine.
Only a few other people were scattered throughout the small camp. A couple of young guys with thick glasses and portable fans clipped to their desk sat hovered around a laptop, much more the typical CDC employee Norah had been expecting.
“I want to introduce you to my colleague.”
Norah was still trying to make out what the two computer nerds were analyzing when she finally turned in the direction John was gesturing.
Her heart skidded painfully. The haze that was already rampant with the hot Louisiana air built to a thick, heavy fog, until her eyes threatened to cease functioning altogether.
The sweat, which Norah had already accepted as a new staple of her being, quadrupled around her neck.
And she could nearly hear the world around her coming to a screaming stop.
Crouched on the ground, her back facing Norah, was Chase Fucking Durgin.