Chapter 4
Wren
I glance at the clock on my computer screen. Five minutes until my weekly check-in with Dr. Greenberg.
My weekly reports to the Mainland have become routine over the past year and a half, but I still get a little flutter of nerves before each call.
Dr. Greenberg is the Director of Vaccine Distribution.
One of the arms he oversees is the highly confidential Shifter Health Initiative, and he takes his job very seriously.
Which means he expects me to take mine just as seriously.
I pull up the video conferencing software. We use Teams, since it’s the most secure platform the Mainland has approved. I arrange the files on my desk while I wait. My weekly vaccination report sits front and center, all the data neatly compiled and ready to reference if needed.
The familiar chime sounds, and Dr. Greenberg’s face fills my screen. He’s in his late fifties and is all business. I don’t think he’s ever asked me how I am. I don’t even think he’s so much as spoken about the weather.
“Good evening, Miss Lewis,” he says, his voice crisp and no-nonsense.
“Good evening, Dr. Greenberg.” I smile, even though he rarely returns the gesture.
“I’ve reviewed your weekly report.” He adjusts his glasses and glances down at what I assume is a printed copy on his desk. “Your vaccination numbers are consistent with previous weeks. Ninety-three shifters vaccinated this week, with a compliance rate of ninety-nine point four percent.”
“Yes, sir. We had one no-show who has been flagged for follow-up. The second no-show was successfully vaccinated today.” I pull up my notes, ready to provide details if he asks. “He required enforcement action, but he was vaccinated and held in compliance detention.” I can’t help but think of Grim.
“And the two runners from last week?” His eyes are sharp behind those glasses. “I take it that both were successfully brought in and vaccinated?”
“Yes, sir. They both came in voluntarily after receiving the final notice.”
Dr. Greenberg nods, making a note on his copy. “Good. And the batch numbers are all properly logged in the database?”
“Yes, sir. Every single vaccination is documented with the date, time, batch number, lot number, and my initials. The digital records sync with the Mainland database every evening at midnight.”
“Excellent.” He leans back in his chair. “Your attention to detail is one of the reasons we selected you for this position, Miss Lewis. Proper documentation is absolutely critical to the continued success of this program.”
A warm flush of pride spreads through my chest. “Thank you, sir.”
“Any adverse reactions this week?”
“None reported. The formula continues to be well-tolerated by the shifter population.” The vaccination was altered slightly, making it more effective. So far, so good.
“As expected.” Dr. Greenberg sets down his papers and looks directly into the camera. His expression grows even more serious, if that’s possible. “Miss Lewis, I want to take a moment to remind you of the critical importance of the work you’re doing on Draig Island.”
I sit up straighter. “Of course, sir.”
“I know we’ve discussed this before. I feel, from time to time, that it’s necessary to reiterate just what’s at stake.
” He removes his glasses and cleans them with a cloth before pushing them back on his nose.
“Do you remember your training? The module on Hemorrhagic Fever symptoms and progression?”
“Yes, sir. Fever, internal bleeding, organ failure…” I trail off, remembering the graphic images from the training videos.
“That’s the clinical description,” he says, replacing his glasses. “But let me paint you a more complete picture of what happens when a shifter contracts Hemorrhagic Fever.”
I lean closer to the screen, my stomach already starting to clench.
“The initial symptoms are flu-like. Fever, muscle aches, fatigue. Nothing that would immediately alarm anyone.” His voice drops lower, more intense.
“But within twenty-four to forty-eight hours, the virus attacks the shifter’s nervous system.
Specifically, it targets the part of their brain that controls their shifting ability. ”
My breath catches.
“The shifter will spontaneously shift into their dragon form,” Dr. Greenberg continues. “And once in that form, they cannot shift back. Not ever. The virus essentially locks them in their beast form.”
Oh God.
“But it gets worse, Miss Lewis. Much worse.” He leans toward his camera.
“The dragon, which was already feral to begin with, becomes completely, utterly mad with pain. The virus causes excruciating agony as it destroys them from the inside out. Imagine being trapped in a body that’s literally killing you, unable to communicate, unable to reason, with nothing but animal instinct and overwhelming pain driving every action. ”
I feel sick, gripping the edge of my desk.
“That dragon will go on a rampage,” Dr. Greenberg says.
“It will kill anything in its path. Other shifters, humans…it won’t matter.
The creature will be so consumed by pain and madness that it will simply destroy everything it encounters.
Fire, claws, teeth – all of it unleashed with no control, no restraint.
It’ll be even more powerful and much harder to kill. ”
“That’s…that’s horrible,” I whisper.
“It is. And do you know what eventually stops them, Miss Lewis?”
I shake my head, not trusting my voice.
“Death. The virus kills them within seventy-two hours of initial infection. But in those seventy-two hours, a single infected dragon can kill hundreds of people. Possibly thousands if they reach a populated area.” He pauses, letting that sink in.
“Now imagine if that dragon escaped Draig Island and made it to the Mainland.”
The blood drains from my face.
“Mistveil Island is heavily fortified,” Dr. Greenberg continues.
“The Mainland government has invested enormous resources in containing those feral dragons because we understand the threat they pose. But Draig Island?” He shakes his head.
“Draig Island is not as heavily guarded against escape. The dragons there have riders, they have some measure of control, they’re allowed to come and go, within reason, of course.
The border security is focused primarily on keeping threats out, not necessarily keeping dragons in. ”
“I…I hadn’t thought about it that way,” I admit.
“The scenario I just described isn’t some far-fetched hypothetical, Miss Lewis.” His voice is hard now. “It could happen. All it takes is one missed vaccination. One shifter who slips through the cracks. One dose that isn’t properly administered or documented. One batch that gets compromised.”
Crap! He’s right. I mean, I knew all of this, but when spelled out so meticulously, I feel my mouth go dry.
“You are on the frontlines of preventing a catastrophic outbreak,” he says. “Every vaccination you administer, every record you keep, every runner you help bring in… Well, let’s just say that it all counts. It all keeps everyone on that island safe. It keeps the Mainland safe.”
“I understand, sir,” I tell him. “I assure you that I take my responsibility very seriously.”
“I know you do. That’s why you’re there.” His expression softens just a fraction. “I don’t mean to frighten you, Miss Lewis. I simply want you to understand the stakes. What we’re doing – what you’re doing – is literally saving lives. The lives of the shifters and thousands of human lives…or more…”
I nod, my throat tight. “I won’t let you down, sir.”
“I know you won’t.” He glances at something off-screen. “Was there anything else you needed to discuss this week?”
“No, sir. Just…thank you for the reminder. Sometimes it’s easy to get caught up in the routine and forget the bigger picture.”
“That’s exactly why we have these weekly check-ins.
” He gives me what might be the closest thing to a smile I’ve ever seen from him.
“Keep up the excellent work, Miss Lewis. Your dedication does not go unnoticed. Do not hesitate to contact me for any reason. I know that Dr. Morrison checks in with you regularly, too. You can count on her as well.” Dr. Morrison is our roving doctor on the island.
She moves between the centers, checking in on all of us nurses and personnel who make a vaccination center such as ours function at a high level.
I thought it was all a bit overkill, but a conversation such as this reminds me why it’s all necessary.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Your request for overtime and additional duties was approved, as long as it doesn’t get in the way of your day-to-day duties.”
“That’s great. It won’t, sir.” I’m trying to save extra money. The overtime will come in handy.
“I’ll review next week’s report at the same time. Good evening.”
“Good evening, Dr. Greenberg.”
The screen goes dark, and I sit there for a long moment, staring at my reflection in the blank monitor.
I take a deep breath and close my laptop. My shift is almost over. I have one more task before I can leave for the day. The unused vaccination vials from today need to be returned to cold storage and properly logged back into inventory.
I gather up the small insulated cooler bag that I use to transport the vials and double-check the contents.
Three unused doses, all from the same batch.
I pulled twenty this morning in case of walk-ins, but only ended up using seventeen.
The vials are nestled securely in the temperature-controlled interior, still well within the acceptable range.
After tidying my office, I put the strap of the cooler over my shoulder and lock my office door. Then I walk down a long hallway.
The pharmaceutical storage area is at the end of the building, a secure space with reinforced walls and a heavy-duty door. Just outside the entrance, there’s a monitoring station where someone is always on duty.