Saint Francis Hospital
Chicago

Dr. Claire Antonelli couldn’t argue with Roger Bix. She knew he was right. Her son needed to be included in the quarantine. She didn’t want to admit that he may have been exposed to the virus, thanks to her. Neither of them displayed symptoms. She had to believe they were okay, though it scared the hell out of her. Her son, however, pretended to see it all as an adventure.

“We just read about Ebola in World History. Maybe I can get extra credit,” he had joked.

The nurses in the surgical center had prepared a room for him. There was something ironic yet comforting about having him so close in the middle of all the chaos. She was on her way to see if he’d gotten settled, when Roger Bix sidetracked her again. Bix was making a habit of treating her as what he called his “point person.” On several occasions Bix and Dr. Miles had gone head-to-head on procedure and policy. Claire was simply too exhausted to argue…with anyone. This morning the media had shown up. WGN-TV, Channel 9 had cameras out front. If Bix was looking for a spokesperson he would need to keep looking.

Now Bix walked alongside her when she didn’t bother to stop or slow down by his presence. “We have the vaccine,” he told her. This, however, stopped her.

“That was fast.”

“Special air delivery.”

“How much?”

“Enough to get us started. It’s a series of shots. That’s what we need to focus on. What we need to tell everyone.”

So not enough, Claire wanted to say. That’s what he was really telling her. The idea of distributing false hope left a sudden lump in her stomach.

He must have seen her skepticism because he countered with, “It’ll be enough. We’ll start getting blood test results this morning. Not everyone who came in contact with this guy will be breaking with Ebola. The initial shots will simply be a precaution.”

“Of course,” Claire said, watching Bix’s eyes travel over her shoulder, across the lobby, everywhere except to her eyes.

“I need you to ask Mrs. Schroder if Markus received an unusual package in the week or so before he got sick.”

“A package? What kind of package?”

“Anything with a Ziploc plastic bag inside.”

Claire stared at him, but it was obvious this was as much as Roger Bix was ready to tell her. He started, instead, giving her a rundown of where and how they’d start administering the vaccine, when nurse Amanda Corey hurried up the hallway toward them.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said, out of breath and flushed. “I figured you’d both want to know as soon as possible. Markus Schroder is dead.”