We All Fall Down (10 page)

“Donnie. Donnie Quin.”

“When are they sending him over to the morgue?”

“Don’t know. Listen, I gotta get back to the Korean’s store.”

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Vince.”

“Yeah, tomorrow.”

Rodriguez tapped me on the shoulder and left. I took a final look at the white sheet and toe tag. Then I left as well.

CHAPTER 21

Rachel had scrubbed any trace of herself from the apartment, right down to the shelf and a half of healthy food she’d kept in my fridge. The good news was that left more room for beer. I’d bought a four-pack of Half Acre tallboys and found a spot for them beside two different kinds of mustard. Then I popped one and walked back into the living room. I thought about calling, but knew I’d get her machine. As bad as I was with people these days, I was even worse with their machines. So I sat on the couch instead and looked at the spaces where her things used to be. Things I’d hardly noticed until they were gone. Spaces I’d need to get used to. It was past midnight when I turned out the lights, climbed into bed, and closed my eyes.

It was a soft day in Chicago. The sky was blue, the smell of fresh grass and dirt thick in my nostrils. I stretched my eyes across a long, patterned canvas of outfield. There were people dotted here and there, crouching forward, bare hands clamped on knees. Others idled along the foul lines in groups of two or three, chatting pleasantly and drinking beer
.

I felt more than heard the crack of the bat. The ball, high and dark in the sky. Hit almost directly over my head. I ran, but couldn’t feel my legs underneath. The ball reached its apex and began to drop, seams spinning as it fell. I reached, careful to keep my hands wide, fingers straight, and caught it softly over my shoulder. Sixteen-inch softball. Simplest thing in the world. As long as you didn’t think about it. Or were dreaming
.

I pulled up in three steps and turned to throw the ball back toward the infield. My mother was there, on the other side of an outfield fence I hadn’t noticed before. She clapped noiselessly but didn’t smile. I thought it was because she was ashamed of her teeth. Or maybe she was just ashamed. I tossed the ball in and followed
.

By the time I got to the dirt skin of the infield, the players were gone. The air, slack. My brother stood near home plate, face and shoulders limned in shadow. I moved closer. Philip turned, lips creased in a yellow curl. I tried to scream, but my voice, like my mom’s, was gone. A cold hand held my heart until it shivered and stopped
.

I sat straight up in my bed. The pup was balled up in the corner, tail wagging slowly, head flicking from me to the hallway. My alarm clock rolled over to 2:00 a.m. Someone was knocking at the front door.

I got up, found a bathrobe, and squeezed a look through the peephole. I thought about what I saw, then swung the door open.

“You change your mind about coffee?”

Ellen Brazile hugged herself and glanced at the apartment across the hall.

“Don’t worry,” I said and stepped aside. “He’s either out at a bar or dead drunk asleep.”

Ellen walked in. I sat her in the living room and switched on a lamp. Her long cheekbones looked like sculpted ivory. Her profile, a scuffed portrait in the thick of a Chicago night.

“I’m sorry for coming over like this.” She took a quick glance around the apartment.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“It was just hard to talk before. And  … ”

“And you want to talk about something that can’t wait?”

“Yes.”

“Go ahead.”

She tightened her mouth and wrinkled her forehead.

“You came all the way up, Ellen. Why stop now?”

“Did you tell me the truth about Cook County?”

“You want to see the X-ray?”

“No. Just tell me the truth.”

“Hold on.” I padded out to the kitchen and got another Half Acre out of the fridge. Then I reconsidered and found the whiskey. I moved back into the living room, sat down, and showed her my drink. She shook her head.

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

I took a small sip of scotch. “I was working a case and banged up my ribs. Not too bad, but enough. End of story.” I took another sip and placed the tumbler on a side table. “Now, you want to tell me what’s really bothering you?”

A pause. “I lied about why I was at the hospital.”

“I know.”

“You do?”

“I know you lied, yes. Why? I have no idea.”

“Maybe I’ll take that coffee.”

I wound up making her a cup of Barry’s Tea. She puffed her lips and blew on it. Then she took a sip. “Good tea.”

“It’s Irish.”

“Of course.” Another sip and she was ready. “You want to know what black biology is all about?”

“I thought I got an earful today.”

“Hardly. People talk about weaponized anthrax and the like. Child’s play compared with what I have on my laptop.”

“Maybe I don’t want to hear this.”

“Who does? Ever think about cancer as a transmissible disease? You catch it like the flu. I got that beauty mapped out right now. All I have to do is build it. Got a stealth version as well.”

“Stealth?”

“The pathogen lies dormant in the body until it’s triggered by some external event. Like the herpes virus is triggered by stress.”

“Except the external event in this case  … ”

“Would be designed and controlled by whoever created the pathogen. You infect the community and wait. Trigger the event at your time and choosing and activate the virus.”

“Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?”

“Who’s asking for that?”

“Sounds like you might be. If you can’t handle the pressure, get out.”

“I don’t want to get out. Not now. Not when we’re so close.”

“To what?”

She shrugged. “What do you think? Creating life from nothing.”

I looked at my glass of whiskey and wished I’d brought in the bottle. “Why are you telling me all this, Ellen?”

“I’ve left three messages today for Matt Danielson. He hasn’t returned any of them.”

“The subway thing was a false alarm. He’s probably moved on to bigger and better disasters. He’ll get back to you.”

She hunted around for someplace to put her cup and wound up placing it on the floor. “Is that okay?”

I waved a hand. “Why were you at Cook tonight, Ellen?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Are you afraid there’s been a release?”

“I’m always afraid of that. Been that way for five years.”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“The stuff we found in the subway is harmless.”

“What about the kid you saw in the ER? Looked like one hell of a case of food poisoning.”

“I’m heading back right now to take a look at his blood.”

“You ever sleep?”

“I’ll get the tests running and grab a few hours.”

I walked over to my desk and scratched out a name on a piece of paper. “There’s a Chicago cop named Donnie Quin. He died today. You can find his body either at Cook County Hospital or the morgue.”

“And?”

“Do me a favor and check out his blood. You’re looking at the kid anyway.”

Ellen hooded her eyes. “Actually, there are six cases I’m looking at.”

“Six?”

“Yes. Three more sick, two dead in the past seven hours.”

“All like the kid?”

“Somewhat.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I’ve got six cases of something. They all live in a fifteen-to-twenty-block radius, so I’m thinking maybe they’re related.”

“And maybe it’s not something they ate.”

“I’ll know more when I see the blood.”

“How ready would we be if something did happen?”

“Something more than food poisoning?”

“Yes.”

“You saw what went on tonight. Anyone in an ER is at grave risk.”

“The patients?”

“Patients, doctors, nurses. They have limited training, no protective equipment. No chance.”

“So what happens to them?”

“Depends on the pathogen. If it’s a bad one, they die. Then we autopsy them. Hopefully soon enough to make a difference for the rest of us.”

I nodded at the scrap of paper I’d given her. “Check out Quin. Let me know what you find.”

She didn’t agree. Just shoved the note into her bag. Maggie picked herself up from the corner and ambled in for a little attention.

“Your pal?” Ellen reached down and scratched the pup’s ears. Maggie rolled onto her back and wagged her tail for more.

“She keeps me from talking to myself.”

“She’s very cute.”

“Everybody thinks so.”

I walked Ellen out of my living room. She stopped just short of the door and turned. My shoulder brushed hers in a hallway that was suddenly all corners. I could smell the heat off her skin. For a moment, I thought she might reach out and touch my face. For a moment I didn’t know if that was the best thing that ever happened to me. Or another nightmare. Instead, she pulled at a lock of hair that was floating free and tucked it behind her ear.

“What is it?” My voice sounded thick and clumsy.

“There’s something else I want to ask.”

“Go ahead.”

“It’s personal.”

“You already turned me down for coffee, and I’m standing here in my bathrobe. So jump right in.”

“Why were you screaming?”

I poked myself in the chest. “Me?”

“Yes. I heard it from the hallway. When I was outside.”

“I was asleep.”

“Then why were you screaming in your sleep?”

“I don’t know. Next time I’ll wake myself and see if I can find out.”

“You think that’s funny?”

“Not really.”

“If you want to talk, let me know.”

“Why?”

“Because I know where the demons live, Michael. And maybe I can help.”

“Good night, Ellen.”

“Good night.”

CHAPTER 22

Ellen Brazile went straight to the lab at CDA. She walked into the bathroom, turned on the tap, and watched the water run through her fingers. It was cold and left her numb.

She took up a washcloth and scrubbed her face until it was just bare skin. Then she looked in the mirror. She was thirty-eight now, and her scars had lightened over the years. So much so that sometimes even she forgot. Her skin had blossomed when she was twelve. Cystic acne left her complexion pitted and the quiet teenager on the outside looking in. Her sister had gotten all the looks. Everyone knew it. But all Anna ever talked about was how smart Ellen was. How special she’d be.

So that’s what she became. The special one. The brilliant one. With a layer of makeup, even the halfway good-looking one. Ellen glanced at her cell phone, sitting on its marble pillow. No text. No message. She looked back up at her reflection and ran a hand across her cheek. There was a knock on the door. It was past three, but Ellen had no illusions she might be alone.

“Come in.”

A smooth face the color of amber floated in the mirror beside her own. It was Jon Stoddard, director of CDA, as well as a fellow scientist. Stoddard was a Chicago guy. West Sider made good. He didn’t have the brains of Ellen Brazile. Few did. But he had a face that was easy to look at and a silken touch that made the people who counted warm and fuzzy. Jon was Ellen’s boss. And that was okay by her.

“How are things going?” Stoddard said.

She wiped her face a final time with the washcloth and wrung it dry. “I’m doing fine, Jon. How are you?”

“It’s almost four a.m.”

“I know.”

“Where have you been?”

“Down at Cook.” Ellen slipped her phone into her pocket and walked back into CDA’s main lab. Stoddard followed.

“The ER down there should be shut down,” Ellen said.

“You don’t know that.”

She sat down at her desk and picked at a stack of papers. “Is that really the way you want to play this?”

“It doesn’t matter how I want to play it. And don’t get so excited. They’re moving us all down to Cook. For a few hours, anyway.”

“Who are ‘they’?”

Stoddard took a seat across from her and steepled his fingers under his chin. “The government, Ellen. They want you to take a look at the bodies. We have a car ready downstairs.”

“I can find my own way, thanks.”

Stoddard shook his head. “You’re the lead scientist on the ground here.”

“For the time being.”

“Someone’s gonna be on you 24/7. Just how it works.”

“What did the CDC come up with?” she said.

“They don’t have our field experience or expertise.”

“What did they recommend?”

“They’ve ID’d seventeen potential cases. Based on a first look at the blood work, they’re saying it’s a possible release. Emphasis on ‘possible.’ Maybe some modified strain of anthrax.”

“They got it half right.” Ellen hit a couple of keys on her computer and data filled the screen.

Stoddard swung around to her side of the desk and put on a pair of reading glasses. He studied the screen for a moment, then eased the glasses up onto his forehead. “How certain are you?”

“The symptoms mostly match anthrax, but there are some inconsistencies.” Ellen pulled up a map of the West Side. Small flags dotted the landscape on either side of the Ike. “Suspected infection pockets start where the Blue Line surfaces. There are a couple of cases, however, that popped up more than a mile from any stop on the train line.”

“And you’re positing that the anthrax spores could not have traveled that far?”

“I’m saying the likelihood of that happening is problematic. And, best we can tell, none of these people were anywhere near the Blue Line at the suspected time of the release.”

“So?”

“So if it’s a pathogen, it might be spreading by some other means. Most likely person-to-person.”

“Anthrax doesn’t work that way.”

“Anthrax isn’t supposed to manifest itself in a matter of hours either, but it appears that’s happening as well. The reality is a pathogen will work however it’s designed to work, Jon.”

Stoddard sat back and tilted his head to one side. “You don’t think this came from any lightbulb pilfered out of Detrick, do you?”

“Based on what I saw today, not a chance. This is a chimera, possibly synthetic. Cutting edge.”

“Similar to anything we have here?”

“I won’t know until I see the DNA.”

“But what do you think?”

“It might be a close cousin.”

“Big difference there, Ellen.”

“You think so?”

“I do. And so do you. What are the chances of containment?”

“Depends on the method and ease of transmission. We’ll know more as cases come in. You realize the Blue Line empties out at O’Hare?”

“I’m aware of that,” Stoddard said. “What am I supposed to do about it?”

Ellen had her hands full with the world living under her microscope and let the question fall away.

“This is not where we want to be,” Stoddard finally said.

“I told you in all of our mock-ups. Once there’s a release, the best we can hope for is to minimize casualties and hope we get lucky.”

“A vaccine?”

“If we have something close in our library, maybe. But it’s going to take a while.”

“So there are going to be more bodies?”

“Yes, Jon, there are going to be bodies. In Chicago, probably lots of them. Has Homeland talked about a quarantine?”

“They’re full of plans. Question is: who has the balls to pull the pin?”

“What about a policy on those already infected?”

“Is that something you really want to know?”

“We can’t be part of that.”

“We’re not.” Stoddard pulled a flash drive out of his pocket and slipped it onto the desk.

“What’s that?”

CDA’s director shifted his shoulders, eyes taking a walk around the room. “I recorded Homeland’s presentation tonight—laying out its plans for how to deal with any infected on the West Side. Asshole went into great detail.”

“Why give it to me?”

“I know Danielson dragged you into this. And now he’s off the grid.”

“So you do think we’re going to be made scapegoats?”

Stoddard pushed the drive forward with his thumb. “A little insurance, Ellen. Days like these, it’s not a bad idea.”

She shook her head once but slipped the drive into her pocket. Stoddard stood and walked to the door.

“Let’s hope we’ve got it all wrong,” he said. “I have a six a.m. call with Washington. I’ll catch you up after that.”

And then Ellen was alone again. The clock on her computer read 4:12 a.m. She typed and clicked for a few minutes, even as cold tears filled the cracks in her cheeks.

“Hey.” Molly Carrolton had slipped in without a whisper. Or maybe she’d been there all along.

Ellen grabbed a Kleenex from a box on her desk. “I’m sorry. Long day.”

“And night. You okay?”

“Been better.”

“Stoddard?”

Ellen shook her head. “It’s not his fault.”

Molly took the chair Stoddard had just vacated and inched it closer. “What is it, then?”

“Nothing. Everything.”

“You heard from Anna?”

Ellen felt the cell phone, heavy in her pocket. “Not yet.”

“I checked the hospitals,” Molly said.

“Thanks. I did as well.”

“She’s fine. Probably forgot to turn on her phone when she landed.”

“I know.” Ellen recognized the lie between them but didn’t have the energy for anything else.

“Why don’t you get some sleep?”

Ellen shook her head. “The government wants us down at Cook County Hospital within the hour.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s where the dead people are, Molly. Now, help me pack.”

Ellen began to shove files into a leather case. Molly hesitated a moment, then did the same. By 5:00 a.m., they were back down at Cook. A half hour after that, they started cutting people open and saying hello to whatever killed them.