“Screw it, then,” Kaye said. “I hope I know what the hell I’m doing.”
“Her head hurts,” Mitch said.
“She has aseptic meningitis. I’m going to bring the swelling down with prednisone, treat those mouth sores with famicyclovir.”
They had found the famicyclovir, medical tape, and other supplies in a small drugstore near the pet hospital. Kaye had also managed to score a box of disposable syringes. Her excuses had worn thin at the last. She had told the pharmacist, perched in his little elevated booth in the back of the store, that she was using the needles for a cloth dyeing project.
That would not have gone over well in the big city.
She prepared to give Stella an injection.
“I’m not even sure about the dose,” she murmured.
Mitch was half convinced he could walk out the door, drive off, and Kaye would never notice he was gone. He looked at his hands, smooth from lack of digging. How had this happened? He knew, he remembered, but none of it seemed real. Even the shadow of grief—was that what he had felt in the Jeep?—even that seemed unimportant.
Mitch could feel his soul winking down to nothing.
The drip of lactated Ringer’s slid down the long plastic tube.
“I’ll watch her,” he said.
“Get some sleep,” Kaye said. She slipped the used syringe needle into its plastic cap for disposal.
“You first,” he said.
“Get some sleep, damn it,” Kaye said, and her glance up at him was like the slap of a flat, dull knife.
45
OHIO
“It begins,” Augustine said. “I’ve dreaded this day for years.”
Standing in the number two tower, surrounded by stacked boxes, dusty old desks, and outdated desktop computers, Augustine and Dicken—and Augustine’s ever-vigilant agent—watched the Ohio National Guard troops set up their perimeter and cut off the school’s entrance. Their view encompassed the main road, the water tower to the west, a barren gravel field broken by lozenges of bare concrete, a line of scrub oaks beyond that, and a state highway slicing through low grassy hills.
DeWitt climbed up the last flight of steps and leaned against the wall, out of breath. DeWitt nodded. “Governor’s office called… the director’s line. The governor is jumping ahead… of the feds and declaring,” she sucked in her breath with a small whoop, “a stage five public health emergency. We’re under complete quarantine. Nobody in or out… Not even you, Dr. Augustine.” She nailed him with a glare. “Main gate reports twenty more… National Guard trucks… moving in. They’re surrounding the school.”
Augustine turned to the Secret Service agent, who tapped his earpiece and made a wry face. “We’re in for the duration,” the agent affirmed.
“What about the supplies?” DeWitt asked.
“They can drop them off at the entrance and we can send someone to pick them up, no contact,” Dicken said. “But they have to get here first.”
Augustine seemed less hopeful. “Not difficult to isolate us,” he said dryly. “It’s a prison to start with. As for supplies—they’ll have to go through state lines, state inspection. The state can intercept them and hold them. The governor will try to protect his votes, act ignorant, and shift our supplies to the big cities, the rich neighborhoods, the most visible and well-funded hospitals with the loudest administrators. Stockpile against a potential plague.”
“Leave us with nothing? I can’t believe they’ll be that stupid,” DeWitt said. “They’ll have a revolt.”
“By whom? The parents?” Dicken asked. “They’ll hunker down and hope for the best. Dr. Augustine made sure of that years ago.”
Augustine looked through the tower window and did not take Dicken’s bait. “All it takes to get elected in twenty-first-century America is a mob of frightened sheep and a wolf with a nice smile,” he said softly. “We have plenty of sheep. Ms. DeWitt, could I speak with Christopher in private, please? But stay close.”
DeWitt looked between them, not knowing what to think, and then left, closing the door behind her.
“It’s worse than any of them can imagine,” Augustine said, his voice low. “I think the starting pistol has been fired.”
“You mentioned that in the car. What in hell does it mean?”
“If we’re lucky, the president can put a stop to it… But I do not know Ellington. He’s kept his distance ever since he was elected. I do not know what he will do.”
“Put a stop to what?”
“If the situation gets any worse, I believe the governor will call Washington and ask for permission to clean up the schools. Sterilize the premises. He may ask for sanction to kill the children.”
Dicken stood up. “You have got to be shitting me.”
Augustine shook his head and looked him steadily in the eye. “State autonomous self-protection, as specified under Presidential Decision Directive 298, Emergency Action Gray Book. It’s called the Military and Biological Security Protocol, Part Four. It was enacted seven years ago during a secret session of the Senate oversight committee. It gives discretion to state authorities on the scene to use all necessary force, under well-defined emergency conditions.”
“Why was I never told?”
“Because you chose to stay a soldier. The contents of the directive are confidential. At any rate, I opposed the rule as extreme, but there were a lot of scared senators in the room. They were shown pictures of Mrs. Rhine’s family, incidents of Shiver in Mexico. They saw pictures of you, Christopher. The statute was signed by the president, and has never been revoked.”
“Is there any chance they’ll listen to reason?”
“Slim to none. But we have to try. The race is on. You have work to do, and so do I.” He raised his voice. “Ms. DeWitt?”
DeWitt opened the door. As requested, she had not gone far; Augustine wondered if she had heard anything.
“I want to talk to Toby Smith.”
“Why?” DeWitt asked, as if the thought of Augustine seeing the boy again disgusted her.
“We’re going to need their help,” he said.
“They’re hardly trained for this sort of thing,” Dicken said, following Augustine down the concrete stairs. His voice echoed from the hard gray walls.
“You’d be surprised,” Augustine said. “We need answers by tomorrow. Is that possible?”
“I don’t know.” Dicken was amazed at the transformation. This was the old Mark Augustine, jerked back to life like some sort of political zombie. His skin was regaining color, his eyes were hard, and the perpetual grimace of determination had returned.
“If we don’t have answers by then, they could move in and kill us all.”
Dicken, Augustine, Middleton, DeWitt, Kelson, and Toby Smith gathered in Trask’s office.
Toby stood before Augustine with a paper cup of water in one hand. Behind him stood Dr. Kelson and the two remaining school police officers. The officers wore surgical masks. The doctor did not seem to care very much whether he was protected.
“Toby, we’re short staffed,” Augustine said.
“Yeah,” Toby said.
“And we have a lot of sick people to take care of. All of them your friends.”
Toby looked around the office. The square, metal-framed windows let in the bright afternoon sun and a whiff of warm air that smelled of the miles of dry grass beyond the compound.
“How many students are healthy enough to help us do some work around here?”
“A few,” Toby said. “We’re all tired. Pretty koobered.”
“Koobered?”
“A word,” Toby said, squinting at Dicken, then looking around the room at the others.
“They have a lot of words,” DeWitt said. “Most are special to this school.”