“I wouldn’t want to…” She paused for several seconds. “To trouble you.”
“It is no trouble at all. Here, I will walk you back to your apartment, then I’ll pick up everything.”
Jiao placed her hands on the other woman’s arm and eased her away from the wall.
Without another word, they walked into the building, and slowly up the stairs to the third floor where Madam Zhang lived with her husband.
When they reached the door, Jiao carefully took the key from Madam Zhang and let them in. She led her friend over to a cushioned chair and helped her sit down.
“Where is Mr. Zhang?” Jiao asked. The place was quiet.
“Lying down.”
It was clear he’d given whatever he had to his wife.
“Here. Give me your list,” Jiao said. “I won’t be long.”
The woman handed the list over. “You’ll need some money.”
“You can pay me later.”
“That is unnecessary,” Madam Zhang said, but the look on her face was relieved. Jiao got the impression that the energy it’d take to look for her money was not something her friend had.
“You just rest,” Jiao said.
She stopped back at her apartment to pick up one of her shopping bags, and headed out. As she walked, she decided she would cook something for Madam Zhang when she got back. The woman had always been kind to her in the past. It was the least she could do.
With a smile, she continued down the street, unaware that later that evening, she would be cooking her last meal.
Harold Wolf drove past the Brandenburg Gate, an uneasy knot in his stomach. He had never seen Berlin so quiet. The only places with any action were the areas where the shipping containers had been found.
Thank God he hadn’t drawn that duty. Instead he was ordered to enforce the twenty-four hour curfew, which had so far been extremely easy.
That was why he was nervous. Easy was always a warning signal to him. He knew it wouldn’t last. And he was right.
The call came over his radio four minutes later. A problem at one of the hotels not far from the American Embassy.
Making a U-turn on the usually busy Ebertstrasse, he headed for the Dorint Hotel near the Gendarmenmarkt. The trouble was immediately apparent as he rounded the corner onto the block where the hotel was. There were at least half a dozen people standing outside the entrance, banging on the glass doors, and shouting angrily at hotel security staring back at them from inside.
Wolf pulled to the curb fifty feet away. Knowing it was more than he wanted to handle on his own, he radioed in for backup. Unfortunately, one of the people outside noticed him and headed over.
“You’ve got to tell them to let us in!” the man yelled.
“Please stand back, sir,” Wolf said, climbing off his bike.
The man slowed his pace but didn’t stop. “They won’t open the door. We have rooms here. We’re guests!”
“Please, sir. Just stand back.”
He touched the gun at this waist, emphasizing the point. The man seemed to finally get the message, though his anger didn’t subside.
“You need to talk to them! Where are we supposed to go? Those are our rooms!”
Wolf closed his eyes for a second as a wave of pain shot through his head. Great. Just what he needed. A migraine.
“Let me see what I can do,” he said.
“We can’t stand out here like this,” the man said. “Who knows what’s in the air?”
“Sir, just a minute. Please.”
Wolf took a step toward the hotel, then stopped suddenly, a wave of dizziness rushing over him.
“Hey. Are you going to help us or what?” the man asked.
“Are you all right?” A woman’s voice.
Wolf realized a few of the others had come over.
“I’m fine,” he said. “It’s just a long day.”
Another step, and this time it was his stomach.
He was only able to turn partially away before his breakfast made a quick exit out his mouth.
“Jesus!” the first man said, jumping back. “You’re sick! Dammit, you got some on me!” He started wiping viciously at his suit jacket. “Dammit!”
Wolf fell to his knees and retched again. When he finished, he looked up and saw the others staring at him as if he were death itself.
“Please, someone call for help,” he managed before his stomach churned again.
Taru leaned against the side of a car, exhausted. He’d been up walking the streets since six a.m. and it was now past four in the afternoon. That in itself would have been enough to tire most people, but he had to also carry the heavy container of anti-malaria spray on his back.
Up and down his assigned roads he’d gone, spraying the liquid along the edge of the streets. Whenever he started to run out, one of the suppliers would invariably show up and fill his tank again.
But it wasn’t the walking or the burden that had caused him to stop. Though he didn’t know it then, nor would it dawn on him later when he started to hallucinate, the cause was directly attributable to the fact he had stopped wearing his face mask not long after the morning had grown hot.
His exposure to the virus, in extreme amounts, was inevitable, but he also had a genetic makeup that accelerated the KV-27a virus’s effects, making him one of the first to contract the disease.
He coughed, and was surprised that it hurt deep down in his chest.
He must be catching something, he thought. Ironic, given the mission of mercy he was on.
He coughed again then spit a wad of phlegm into the gutter.
“Just a few more hours,” he told himself.
A full day would include an extra bonus, and that was money he sorely needed.
“Just a few more.”
He pushed off the car and started walking again.
Forty minutes later, he was lying half in the road, the contents of the container on his back spilling across the ground.
34
Martina heard someone moving around, but she didn’t want to open her eyes. Sleep was what she wanted, a place where she could pretend she was somewhere else. At school, perhaps, getting ready for the softball season. Or back home, helping her mother finish putting up the Christmas decorations. Or somewhere on the coast with Ben, finally spending enough time with him to solidify their relationship.
“Has anyone seen Laurie?” Mrs. Weber said.
Reluctantly, Martina opened her eyes and propped herself up on an elbow. Riley looked like she had just woken up, too, but both Pamela and Donny seemed to be still asleep. Laurie’s sleeping bag was empty.
Mrs. Weber was standing near the front door, frowning and clearly worried.
“Did you check the bathroom?” Riley asked.
“First place I looked,” her mother told her. “She’s not there. Her coat’s missing, too.”
“Her coat?” Riley sat up. “What time is it?”
“A little after six.”
The look on Riley’s face began to match her mother’s.
“Maybe she went for a walk,” Martina suggested.
“Laurie?” Riley said. “Are you kidding me? She doesn’t walk. And she would definitely not do it at six a.m.”
“She’s not in the house so she must be outside,” Mrs. Weber told them.
Donny rolled onto his stomach and covered his head with his pillow.
“Didn’t either of you hear her leave?” Mrs. Weber asked.
“I didn’t hear anything,” Riley said.
“Neither did I,” Martina added.