Chapter 20
TWENTY
THE CLINIC
The diagnosis didn’t take long. Liana watched the analyzer screen for several seconds. “Véronique has both strains.”
Ford didn’t move. “The same pattern we’ve been seeing.”
“Kavi only has Influenza A.” She glanced at the boy, who sat on the exam table swinging his legs slowly, his eyes dull with fever.
“That’s good, right?” Ford asked.
“It’s better,” Liana said. “But not harmless.”
When Véronique coughed weakly from the bed, Ford moved to her side and adjusted the blanket around her shoulders. “Hey, baby girl.”
“I’m cold.”
“I’ve got you.” He brushed damp hair away from her forehead. “You’re going to rest for a little while.” He pulled the blanket up over her shoulders.
She sniffled, clutching the stuffed turtle tighter.
Ford helped Liana move the children into two pediatric isolation rooms. Kavi lay down with protest. “I want to be near Véronique.”
“She has a different virus than you do, pal. We don’t want you to get it.”
“Ford, I’m scared.”
“I am too. But we both need to be strong. Right now, I need you to lie down and rest. I’ll make sure you get some fun coloring supplies and cars to play with.”
“Okay.” As soon as he rested his head, his eyes closed.
By the time he went to check on Véronique, she was already drifting into shallow sleep. Liana adjusted the IV line. “I’ll start antivirals immediately.”
Ford nodded.
“Stay with her,” she added.
“I will.”
Inside Room 3, Eira slept curled on her side on the hospital bed, her skin flushed with fever. He checked her chart. Temperature: 103.4.
Ford stepped closer and placed a cool cloth on her forehead. “You picked a hell of a time to get sick.”
Her breathing remained slow and even. He stayed there for a moment longer. Then, the sound of another Jeep racing through the clinic gates echoed across the courtyard. He donned a fresh set of gear to meet it.
A man in a black uniform with a Tevenne crest carried a pregnant girl as he burst through the doors. Island patrol followed. Ford was already in the hallway.
“Help her,” the man rasped, lowering the girl onto a stretcher. She was pale beneath the fever flush.
Liana checked her quickly. “How far along?”
“Twenty-eight weeks,” the guard said.
The girl gripped Liana’s sleeve weakly. “Placenta… previa,” she whispered.
Liana froze.
Ford saw the look immediately. “Liana?”
“When is the plane with reinforcements coming?”
“Soon.” He provided a fresh mask to the male accompanying her and started his assessment. “Checking your temp.” He waited for the ping. “It’s 103.2 Let’s get you someplace comfortable.” He led him to a lounger in the larger isolation room.
“I’m Petrov. Thank you. Aurelia said you’d treat us. Please take care of Maria first.” His eyes scanned the room.
“I’m Ford.” He swabbed his nose and throat. “You work security?”
“Yes. Andrei Varga was my supervisor. Is he…?”
“He’s alive.” Ford packaged the swabs and gave Petrov two ibuprofen. “When did your symptoms start?”
“Yesterday.”
“Someone will be back with a dose of antivirals.” Ford grabbed the swabs. His brain was swimming with questions, but as Eira maintained, treat first.
KASAVOA AIRSTRIP
Outside, another sound rolled across the island, the low and powerful rumble of jet engines. Ford stepped toward the window. A white aircraft cut across the sky, descending toward the airstrip carved into the jungle ridge. Help has arrived.
Ford turned back toward Liana. “You’ve got this?”
She nodded.
“You’re sure?”
She gave him a sharp look. “Go.”
Ford stripped his isolation gear, washed his hands and donned a fresh mask and gown.
With a deep breath, he jogged across the courtyard toward the Defender.
By the time he reached the airstrip, the Gulfstream had touched down.
The aircraft rolled to a stop near the edge of the tarmac, out of the way for the second aircraft due in.
The door opened before the engines fully spooled down. Hunter Montgomery stepped out first. Behind him came six members of a medical response team.
Portable cases followed. Ventilators. Medical supply crates. Antiviral stock.
Hunter’s eyes locked on Ford immediately. “How bad?”
Ford didn’t soften it. “Bad.”
Hunter nodded. “Where’s Eira?”
“Room 3 in the clinic. Sick.”
Hunter went still. “For how long?”
“Fever hit this morning.”
Hunter exhaled slowly. “Alright.” He turned to his team. “Unload everything. Move supplies to the clinic immediately.”
They didn’t need to hear it again. They were already moving.
Another aircraft roared overhead and began its descent. Ford watched it drop toward the narrow strip of asphalt carved into the ridge above the clinic. The landing gear struck hard. The jet rolled past Hunter’s aircraft before slowing near the far end of the strip.
Hunter folded his arms, watching the approach. “That’ll be Flynn.” The engines wound down, and the door opened quickly.
Flynn Marsh stepped out first, scanning the airstrip before jogging down the stairs. Behind him came the rest of his team filled with respiratory specialists, nurses, med techs, and supply crews moving crates down the ramp with practiced speed.
Flynn crossed the tarmac toward Ford and Hunter. “Cox.”
“Marsh.” They clasped forearms briefly.
“How bad?” Flynn asked.
Ford answered honestly, “Numbers are climbing.”
Flynn was already looking toward the clinic buildings down the ridge. “Okay, let’s get moving.”
Hunter gestured toward the waiting supply stacks. “Hartt and Rios are already heading inside.”
Flynn turned to one of the men behind him. “Keller, stay with the respiratory units and get the equipment staged.”
The PA nodded and moved immediately toward the unloaded crates.
Another rumble rolled across the island. Ford looked up again. A third aircraft was coming in fast. It flew lower and heavier.
Hunter squinted toward the horizon. “You expecting more help?”
Ford shook his head. “No.”
The cargo-configured jet dropped onto the runway and rolled to a controlled stop near the end of the strip. The rear ramp lowered slowly.
Masked figures stepped out in two groups. The fourteen in the first group wore black polos and BDUs. The fourteen in the second wore khaki camouflage. All wore respirators and moved efficiently.
Ford frowned slightly. “That’s… security.”
The first man down the ramp pulled off his respirator long enough to grin.
“Kieran.” Ford blinked in surprise.
Kieran Chase, Vice President of Chase International, crossed the tarmac quickly. “Cox.”
They shook hands firmly as Kieran looked him up and down. “Well, I’ll be damned. You’re still standing.”
Ford gave a tired half-smile. “Working on it.”
Behind Kieran, the two teams spread out slightly, already assessing the terrain and equipment. Hunter watched them with interest.
“Security volunteers,” Kieran said. “Level-three team out of San Diego.” He nodded toward the second group. “And Eagle’s Talon.”
Flynn whistled. “That’s a lot of volunteers.”
“They insisted,” Kieran said. “Somehow, they all wanted to be here for Ford.”
Another figure stepped down from the aircraft ramp. Ford’s eyebrows lifted. “Tate?”
Tate Webster, CEO of Chase DC, walked across the tarmac with an easy stride. When he reached Ford, he didn’t bother with a handshake. He pulled him into a one-armed hug. “Good to see you upright.”
Ford chuckled softly. “Likewise.”
Tate stepped back, studying him. “You’re supposed to be resting.”
When Ford didn’t answer, Tate sighed. “Kieran and I had to practically tie Pete Walter to his chair to get him to clear you for duty.”
Ford shook his head. “That sounds like Pete.”
Tate folded his arms. “So, what do we do first?”
Ford glanced toward the open ground near the edge of the airstrip. “Tents.” He pointed. “We need medical tents up immediately.”
Dr. Rio’s team from Hunter’s aircraft was already unloading the structures.
Ford continued, “Isolation capacity. Triage overflow.” He gestured toward the clinic buildings below the ridge. “And I need better internet access before the sun goes down.”
Tate nodded. “Done.”
Ford led them toward the edge of the field. “Pitch them here.” He marked out the wind direction with a sweep of his arm. “Airflow’s better, and it keeps patient movement away from the main buildings.”
Kieran looked over the area. “Smart.”
Within seconds, the teams began moving equipment into place. Poles. Sealed tent panels. Portable negative-pressure units.
Ford turned back toward the group. “Alright, come on.” He started down the ridge trail toward the clinic. Hunter, Flynn, Tate, and Kieran followed.
Halfway down the slope, Tate reached into one of the gear bags slung over his shoulder. He tossed something toward Ford, who caught it. A high-grade respirator.
“You’ll need that,” Tate said.
Ford secured the mask over his face. He pushed open the clinic door and led them inside.