Survivor Song(23)

“How did Natalie get away?”

“She fought him off with a knife. She thinks she might’ve killed him.”

Dr. Awolesi stands in the hallway. The radio in her front coat pocket crackles and she pauses to listen, but does not retrieve the radio or respond. She pulls another handheld radio device from inside her coat. “There are only two channels. One is open to all staff and security personnel. Channel two is direct to me and other members of the coordination center. You can switch channels with this knob up top. And you press this button to speak.”

Ramola accepts the radio, turns it over and back, inspecting it as though she is well familiar with its circuitry.

Dr. Awolesi says, “There was another option for Natalie and her baby: sending her to Ames Medical Clinic, which is where pregnancy services for Norfolk County are currently being routed. Our infectious disease specialist ultimately decided against moving Natalie, worried the risk of introducing the virus within that clinic’s population is too great. I disagreed, and if we aren’t able to perform the cesarean section within the hour, and if she remains symptom-free, I might stick you both in an ambulance and send you there.”

Ramola says, “We had the radio on and didn’t hear about the Ames Clinic or the cessation of services within this or any other hospital.”

Dr. Awolesi doesn’t respond but holds Ramola in her gaze.

Ramola says, “I’m not saying it’s your or anyone else’s fault, of course. I’m only telling you—”

“Communication between government and emergency-response agencies has been less than ideal. Everything has been happening so rapidly, but the lack of clear communication with the public has been making the coordinated efforts less efficient, shall we say. Up until the last twelve or so hours, the vast majority of the people arriving here were not infected, had not been exposed, and were sent home. Because of what they’re reading online we were inundated with people who believe the virus is airborne, who believe this is some kind of Hollywood zombie apocalypse, thinking their headaches and colds are proof of infection, or that they caught it because their dog sneezed on them. I’m not making that last one up.”

“I’m sure you’re not.”

“Most of the information being broadcast has been focused on fighting general misinformation about the virus and the response, and it’s almost impossible to keep up.

“While the speed with which this virus infects is terrifying, it shouldn’t prevent us from containing it. If anything, given how quickly people succumb to the virus, if we can maintain a proper quarantine and isolation, we should be able to contain the outbreak. But that presumes people do not panic, that correct information and instruction are disseminated efficiently to the public, that the federal government follows the CDC’s recommendation to be proactive with vaccine, and not reactive. Animal culls and other reactive rabies approaches are not nearly as effective as vaccinating populations prior to infection. We should be offering prophylaxis to whoever comes through these doors.”

“Do we have enough vaccine to do that?”

“No, we don’t. We’re almost out, in fact. And to my knowledge the federal government has yet to enact an emergency vaccine-production protocol. I am going to send someone up to give you a pre-exposure dose, however.”

“Save it for someone—”

“Keeping staff healthy is a priority. Particularly as we’re probably an hour away from shutting the doors and quarantining the building. Which is another reason I’m tempted to send Natalie to Ames. If the building is quarantined, she cannot be moved.”

“Right.” Ramola nods. “Right. Well, we’ll all do our very best with what we have then.” She jumps as her radio spews a blast of static followed by a terse message in medical coding.

“Do you have any questions, Dr. Sherman?”

“Yes, I do. How many beds in this hospital?”

“Officially, two hundred sixty-four.”

“How many patients are currently in the building?”

“We’re approaching four hundred.”

“Where are you keeping infected patients?”

“Third floor.”

“Any particular department?”

“The entire third floor.” As though anticipating the follow-up questions, Dr. Awolesi tells her given the level of violence that infected patients present, for their own safety and the safety of others, they are administered sedatives as soon as their fever spikes.

Ramola asks, “Of those who have received the vaccine, how many have not succumbed to infection?”

“There are upwards of fifty patients on this floor, including Natalie, being monitored for infection.”

“Yes, but have you discharged any exposed patients, confident that the vaccine prevented infection?”

Dr. Awolesi says, “Not nearly enough.”

“Can I have a number?”

“Two,” Dr. Awolesi says, and then exhales sharply. “Two. Both patients were bitten on the lower leg. The virus had the longest possible distance to travel and they received shots within thirty minutes of exposure.”

Ramola floats unsteadily into the room, Dr. Awolesi’s words and their implications a fuzzy white noise in her head. She is not sure what to do with the radio in her hands. After everything she heard, she wants to shut it off and stomp it to pieces.