He had almost a full second to stare at the keys, lying just inches out of reach on the wet concrete, and then the rats were on him. They hit his left leg first, then his right. He had a very clear sensation of the first few bites, those long teeth snapping together into his flesh, like a prehistoric stapler. Rats scrabbled up his body, biting, clawing, tearing, and agony blossomed in his mind. His knees collapsed, and he fell backwards, head propped awkwardly against the door.
The rats tore into him.
And ate him down to the bone.
CHAPTER 40
5:02 PM
August 13
Dr. Reischtal locked the door to the women’s restroom behind him and put the square package on one of the sinks. Bright florescent lights buzzed overhead, which didn’t hurt, but Dr. Reischtal had chosen this particular restroom because of the full-length mirror next to the paper towel dispenser. He set a bottle of medical lotion and a Mini Maglite on the tray over the sinks. He tested the lock one more time, then began to strip.
He removed his clothes with a methodical resolve, folding them neatly and stacking the items carefully on the sink. First was the lab coat. Then the stiff white button-up shirt, then the white T-shirt. Next came his slacks. His socks. And finally his underwear.
He scrutinized his naked body for a few long seconds. He stepped closer to the mirror. He turned the flashlight on his skin and examined the reflection. He started with his skull, moving quickly through the short bristles of gray hair, checking behind his ears, then down to his neck, his chest. He spent a long time studying his armpits. He poked a finger in his belly button and ignored the bizarre signals from the cluster of nerves inside. That was normal. It was empty, and that was all that mattered.
He slowed down again when he got to his crotch, meticulously combing through his graying pubic hair. Nothing. He continued down his legs, and once he had peered between each toe, he turned and started over using a small mirror to inspect his back. When he got to his buttocks, he bent over and spread his cheeks apart, satisfying himself that no multi-legged horror had latched onto the sensitive skin around his anus.
When he was satisfied that no parasite was lurking on his skin, he opened the square package and unfolded the hazmat suit. After squirting a liberal amount of lotion into his palms, he slathered the lotion across his body, this time working from the ground up. When he was finished, the bottle was nearly empty. His skin shone under the fluorescent lights. He knew that he might be forced to wear the suit for a long duration, and the lotion would help.
He stepped into the hazmat suit and zipped it tight.
Sealed in now and secure, he felt his muscles relax slightly. It wasn’t much, about the same as relaxing your fist just enough to let an excited dog pull its leash through your grip, but it was enough for Dr. Reischtal to take a slow breath and let it out of his nose.
He was safe from the bugs.
When Sam woke, Ed was driving through an industrial wasteland on the West Side. Sam stretched and checked his watch. He rubbed his eyes and scraped his tongue against his teeth. He found his flask, took a long sip, and passed it to Ed. “Miss anything exciting?”
“Oh, sure,” Ed said. He took a long drink and handed it back.
Sam watched the abandoned factories slide past. “So what’s our next move?”
“Shit. I been driving all damn day and still haven’t gotten any closer to figuring any of this out.”
“Well, hell. We’re goddamn detectives. Let’s detect.”
“You’re a fucking genius. Wish I’d thought of that.”
Sam watched the cracked pavement, weeds, and sagging, abandoned buildings slide past the window for a while. “I’ll tell you what’s been troubling me. Where the hell are the two guys from Streets and San?”
“Cook County General.”
“Right. But why hide ’em away? Why not let us talk to them?”
Ed was quiet for a moment. “It’s the rats. They caught whatever the rats have?”
“But why cover it up? Why lie to us?”
“Something else is going on. Something they want to keep quiet. Whatever this rat flu bullshit really is, I’m betting it’s a hell of a lot worse than they’re telling us.”
“Where are we?” Sam sat up, got his bearings. “Tell you what. Let’s hit that bar where all the Streets and Sans boys hang out, see if we can’t find anybody who works with ’em. Maybe they can give us something.”
Ed nodded his head. “Okay. But it ain’t gonna work.” Despite having essentially the same employer, the City of Chicago, the public workers, the rat catchers, the electricians, the IDOT men, the garbage collectors, all of them didn’t mix much with the first responders, the cops, the firemen, the paramedics. The pay scales weren’t much different, but folks at the bar looked at it as a kind of class issue, and they were proud to consider themselves blue collar. Cops also saw themselves as being blue collar, but for whatever reason, the division remained.
“Maybe so.” Sam shrugged. “Try and convince ’em that all we’re doing is trying to find out what the hell happened to their buddies.”
Ed gave a tired smile. “Sure. Easiest thing in the world, trying to convince a city worker in this town to trust a damn cop.”
“Beats the alternative.”
“And what’s the alternative?”
“Shooting all the assholes in that hospital and making ’em tell us what the fuck is going on.”
Tommy blinked his way out of a dreamless sleep to find Dr. Reischtal sitting in the folding chair next to the door, quietly watching him. Tommy let his bandaged head fall back against the thin mattress. He wanted to let himself cry. He’d been hoping for a dream of his daughter, just so he could see her face when he slept, but sleep had been thin and elusive.
“I trust you slept well,” Dr. Reischtal said.
Tommy wondered if Dr. Reischtal was making a joke. Probably not. The man gave off the peculiar impression that he had somehow been born without a sense of humor.
Tommy didn’t bother to answer. He didn’t say much these days.
He sure as hell didn’t sleep well. In fact, he wasn’t sure if it could even be classified as sleep, if that’s what you would call passing out from exhaustion for a few minutes at a time, on and off throughout the day. He was still strapped to the bed, for one thing. He had some kind of tube up his ass and a goddamn needle up his dick. The pain in his skull was constant, and with no medication, the dull ache clung to him like a stubborn shadow.
The hospital had been growing louder as well.
Especially at night. Tommy would lie in his bed, listening whether he wanted to or not, as more and more patients were brought to his floor. There was no shortage of screaming, as if demons chewed on their brains. And sometimes, when the doctors finished, giving up in disgust, the undisturbed silence was somehow worse.
Dr. Reischtal rose to his feet, crossed the small hospital room, and loomed over him. He now wore some kind of biohazard suit.
Dr. Reischtal’s cold, clinical eyes studied Tommy. “I still believe you know something. Something that you aren’t telling me.”
Tommy didn’t bother to answer. He watched the almost imperceptible flickering of the fluorescent lights.
“There must be a reason.” Dr. Reischtal continued, as if Tommy was some kind of exotic plant, incapable of communication. “Some reason why you haven’t contracted the virus.”
Tommy’s head hurt. He said, “Must be God’s will.”