Chicago

Dr. Claire Antonelli leaned her forehead against the window looking into the NICU. The babies, including Baby Boy Haney, didn’t look any different, still pink and wiggling just as they had been twenty-four hours ago. But now, because of her, the entire ward had been included in the quarantine.

Claire had spent the night as part of a team drawing blood samples from everyone who may have been exposed to Markus Schroder. The CDC’s early report had left the few administers and doctors who knew about the case in shock. Dr. Miles was pushing for a press conference to warn all those who may have been to the hospital in the last several days. The administration wanted to wait. The CDC wanted to wait. No one wanted to create a panic. But Claire could feel one already brewing in silent glances, shrugs that replaced answers, a nervous tension that already shortened tempers. It wouldn’t take long. Employees would be telling spouses that they wouldn’t be home after their shift ended. Families would start demanding explanations for why they couldn’t visit loved ones. Parents would insist on seeing their newborns. No, Claire knew it wouldn’t take long for the panic to begin.

The CDC representative, Roger Bix, had arrived at four in the morning, wearing an Atlanta Braves jacket and pointed-toe cowboy boots. He looked more like a sports agent than a CDC infectious-disease specialist. And he was young—too young, Claire thought. Young and cocky, giving orders before he even introduced himself. Not a good combination.

She had taken a break and come to the NICU, not to be reminded that these precious babies may have been exposed to a deadly virus, but because she wanted to be reminded of goodness and innocence. Dr. Miles had asked her to think where Markus Schroder may have contracted the virus. The CDC wouldn’t confirm until Monday what exactly the virus was, but Miles had already told Claire they were almost certain it was Ebola.

Days ago, when she was hunting for a clue, she had been over and over with Vera where Markus might have contracted something unusual. But the only trips the two made were to Terre Haute, Indiana, to check on a business that had been in Vera’s family for years. There was nothing remotely close to a safari in Africa or a tour of a research facility. Nothing that could have put Markus in contact with something like Ebola.

Now Vera sat quietly by Markus’s bedside, Markus unconscious and Vera taking on his earlier expressionless mask. She barely responded to outside stimuli, let alone any more questions.

But Vera, Claire was quick to note and to bring to Miles’s attention, didn’t seem to have the virus. Or at least she had no symptoms. They’d find out soon enough from her blood sample—the most difficult sample Claire had drawn all night. Vera had refused at first. Had told Claire that she didn’t want her touching her or her husband. Then she’d relinquished, sticking out her arm and whispering to Claire—fear momentarily cutting through her mask—that she didn’t want to go through what Markus was going through.

“You okay?” Dr. Miles asked from behind her. She hadn’t heard him come up the hall. Hadn’t even noticed his reflection in the glass.

“Tired. But not bad.” She rubbed her neck as she glanced back at him. “How about you?”

“I’m good.”

He gestured for her to walk with him. This ward was quiet, interrupted by the occasional baby cry, unlike the simmering chaos back in the surgery center and critical-care unit.

“Anyone who’s followed procedure,” he began, “should be safe. If they’ve gloved up, disposed of Schroder’s body fluids properly, kept basic protocol, there shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Mr. Bix confirmed that the virus most likely is not spread through airborne particles, but only direct contact with body fluids.”

“That should be a relief, but we both know there are a few who take shortcuts.”

“I know, but there won’t be any denying it this time if they did take a shortcut. I’ve got the unit secretary calling every single person who was in and out of Schroder’s room since he’s checked in, even if it was to change a lightbulb.”

Claire realized he was leading them in a circle around the NICU, a privacy buffer of sleeping babies.

“Surgery’s a different story.” He glanced down at her but kept walking. “We’ve both seen what this virus can do. There was a helluva lot of blood. We all had our hands soaked in it. Hopefully no ruptures in our gloves, no leaks, no swipes at an itch.” At this he smiled. “What a way to test procedure, right?”

“You said body fluids?” Claire tried to retrieve her other examinations of Markus. Did she wear gloves every single time? Then she remembered the black vomit. The alarm must have registered on her face and Dr. Miles noticed.

“Look, Claire, the hospital is letting the CDC call the shots. That’s their business.” He lowered his voice. “Out of all of us, you spent the most time with Schroder. The emergency ward’s setting up an area for employees’ families to come get tested. Get your son in here as soon as you can.”