Edge of Black. J.T. Ellison
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she drinking last night?”
“Yeah, maybe a little bit. She left early—she was going home to spend the night and the Metro closes at midnight. She came back this morning, I saw her come out of Foggy Bottom when I went for coffee.”
“Do you know if she has any preexisting conditions? Is she diabetic?”
“Not that I know of. I’ve never seen her take anything other than, like, Advil. I don’t know her that well, she lives on my hall is all.”
Brooke’s breathing was getting worse. She needed medical attention immediately. And thankfully, there was a hospital less than half a block away. It would be faster to take her there than call EMS to come to the school.
Decision made, Sam stood up and announced, “I need someone to carry her.”
Reggie came to her side. “I’ll carry her. What’s wrong? Do we need to alert the school?”
“We need to get her over to the emergency room. She needs oxygen. We can worry about the school after she’s stabilized. Let’s go. Kids, class is dismissed.”
The students poured forth from the room, quiet and somber. A few were crying, including Brooke’s dorm mate, who stood frozen on the steps. Sam reached back and touched her arm.
“You need to come with us. Sorry, what’s your name?”
“Elizabeth.”
“Elizabeth. I know you’re concerned. But we need your information about Brooke’s activities over the past few days. So tag along, okay?”
“Yes, Dr. Owens.”
Reggie lifted Brooke into his arms. She folded into him, lethargic and coughing, and Sam grew even more concerned. Elizabeth grabbed the girl’s backpack.
Sam led the way, out the doors, down the hallway and out onto the street. The thin wail of sirens rose in the background, and she felt a chill crawl down her spine. Premonition. Déjà vu. Something.
They exited the building on 22nd and crossed the street to the GW Medical Center. Sam walked them directly into the emergency room entrance, and right up to the triage window. There was a lot of activity behind the glass. Sam glanced around and realized the emergency room was full. Strange for this time of day—they usually filled up at night, when people were ill and couldn’t see their primary doctor, or got themselves involved in a brawl or had too much to drink or took too many drugs. Ten on a Tuesday morning wasn’t exactly peak time.
She pounded on the glass until she got the attention of the harried triage nurse, who flung the glass window open and said, “Have a seat, we’ll be with you in a minute.”
“I have a hypoxic teenager here in acute respiratory distress. She needs oxygen immediately.”
“Jesus, another one?” The nurse slammed the window closed and came around the desk to open the door. “Bring her in.”
Another one? What the hell?
They brought Brooke into the triage station. The nurse took one look at her, opened the door to the back and yelled, “Stretcher, oxygen, STAT.”
Two seconds later a gurney rolled up to the door. Reggie deposited Brooke on the white sheet. She was looking even worse, her eyes closed, her breath coming in little pants. Sam could hear the laboring breath, wheezing in and out, knew the girl was most likely developing rales, the first steps to pulmonary edema. But without a stethoscope, she couldn’t be sure.
This was maddening.
“You may need to intubate her. What do you mean, another one?”
“You’re a doctor?”
“Yes.”
“We’re getting slammed with people with breathing issues this morning. From all over town.” The nurse glanced furtively at Reggie and Elizabeth, whose faces were strained with shock. “We don’t know the cause yet. You two wait out here. You, Doc, come with me.”
Sam narrowed her eyes at the nurse. She turned to Reggie and Elizabeth. “I’ll take it from here. You guys don’t leave without me, okay?”
“Yes, Dr. Owens,” they chimed.
Sam followed the nurse as she pushed Brooke’s stretcher back into the bowels of the emergency room. Obviously she was trying to keep from alarming everyone, but it was clear something major was happening. This was an emergency room in crisis.
The nurse slammed an oxygen mask on Brooke’s face and shouted, “Dr. Evans, we have another one.”
A doctor, bald on top, with a tonsure of curly gray hair circling his skull, approached the stretcher as they pushed.
The nurse ran through the symptom list quickly as the doctor examined Brooke. Brooke’s breathing was declining, and as they pulled the stretcher into an open bay, he called for an intubation tray. A team of doctors and nurses leaped into action, swarming the girl, cutting off her clothes, putting the breathing tube down her throat, getting IVs started in both arms, taking blood. Brooke didn’t even whimper, or fight. She was just lying there, almost comatose.
Sam stepped back out of the way and let them do their work, but couldn’t help noticing that Brooke’s clothes were being handled with extreme care, and all the people working on her were in level-two special protective clothing.
Not good.
The doctor, who Sam surmised was a supervisor, turned to her.
“Are you exhibiting symptoms, too?”
“No.”
“Name?”
“Dr. Samantha Owens.”
“I’m just going to have a quick look.” He shone a light in her eyes, felt her pulse. “Ph.D.?”
“Forensic Pathology, thank you very much.”
He met her eyes then, a lopsided smile on his face. “Southern girl, too.”
“Nashville.”
“I’ve been there. Good barbecue. Any shortness of breath?”
“No. I’ve got no symptoms. I’m her professor, we were in class at GW when she decompensated.”
“Okay. Fever? Cough? Tightness in the chest?”
“No. Nothing. I’m fine. As far as I know, so is everyone in my class except for Brooke. What is going on?”
“We don’t know. We’re seeing people from across the city who are all presenting in respiratory distress. You stick around, okay? Just in case, here’s a mask. We’ll do everything we can for her. Might want to get her parents in, if you can.”
He turned away, dismissing her. He wasn’t telling her everything. Despite his attempt at good humor, she could see the tight lines around the edges of his mouth and eyes. She put on the mask, then allowed the triage nurse to lead her back to the waiting room.
Reggie and Elizabeth had found a corner oasis free of coughing people. Sam took two masks from the nurse and went to the students.
“Put these on.”
They both slipped into the masks, eyes wide with fear.
“What’s happening, Dr. Owens?”
Long low beeps began, different tones and beats. All of the phones in the room were chiming, including hers. She reached for it, but Reggie beat her. He turned his phone in her direction so she could read the text. It was from Alert DC.
Washington D.C. Metro System is temporarily closed. Tune to your local emergency channels for updates.
Sam felt a massive ripple of unease.
Reggie got another text. “It’s up on GW Alert, too. What do you think’s happening, Dr. Owens?”