Edge of Black. J.T. Ellison
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HAZMAT is getting positives for an unidentified neurotoxin. Might be a false alarm, but I’ve seen too many people who aren’t looking good to think it’s just a mistake. Good news is, while we’ve got a few critical, none are dead yet. Hang in there. It’s going to be a while before we can release you.”
“I have HAZMAT training. I can help.”
“We’re fine right now. We’re the best in the country at response. Thanks, though.”
She was shuffled off to the right again, taken down a long hallway, then asked to sit on the floor and wait.
This was insane. She should be helping, not sitting in a hallway with a bunch of scared people waiting to see if any of them started coughing.
They couldn’t stop her from thinking about the situation, though. She knew exactly what the HAZMAT teams were doing, the tests they’d be running. If there was powder, they’d be able to analyze it on-site. If it was airborne, that was a whole different kind of response.
The logic of the situation started to eat at her. If Foggy Bottom was ground zero, why stage a biological or chemical attack at the Metro station closest to the best decontamination unit in the area? Remorse? Desire to allow innocents to live? Terrorists wouldn’t be kind, or allow for convenience. They’d stage as far away from help as they could to maximize the dead, then hit the first responders as they came in, as well.
Come on, Sam. You are really jumping to conclusions now. You don’t even know what’s happening—it could just as easily be a chemical fire as it could a terrorist attack. The Metro was constantly under repair, and steady work was being made on the new Silver Line to the airport. This was most likely just a local issue that needed extra precautions.
That made her feel better. It wasn’t like her to assume: she was a scientist, after all, logic and evidence her closest friends. But it felt different to be involved, not on the outside trying to figure out what was happening. Without a cadaver, a set of sharpened Henckel knives and a dissection tray, she was sometimes lost.
But she’d been involved in plenty of investigations in the past. She couldn’t help herself. She let her thoughts distract her. How many victims would there be? If it was a biological or chemical hazard, it could take hours until they knew what they were dealing with. If it was airborne, it could be ten times worse. So many of the airborne toxins took hours to manifest symptoms, and were practically impossible to contain. With this many people already down, perhaps it was something else. Chemical, most likely.
It was rather cruel and unusual punishment that there wasn’t a TV in the hallway they could tune to. She figured the media was going absolutely stark raving mad by now.
Her iPad was first generation wireless only, damn it, or else she could be researching exactly what was going on right now. Her phone was just that, a phone, with the ability to dial in and out, and receive texts. She wished she could text Reggie, let him and Elizabeth know she was stuck back here, but she didn’t have his number in her phone.
She wished she could call Xander. But he was fishing today, off in the wilderness. She’d never be able to reach him. One of the things that they were both happy about in the relationship was the freedom. Sam wasn’t a hoverer, and Xander needed his space. He liked being able to come and go without letting her know his every move, and so did Sam. It was becoming the bedrock of their relationship. But right now, all Sam wanted was to hear his voice, to know that he was okay. To feel his arms around her.
The people near her started talking among themselves, and she listened to the rumors fly.
“It’s all over Twitter. They don’t know what’s going on but they’re saying fifteen dead.”
“I just heard two dead.”
“Twenty-nine bodies.”
“No one knows what the deal is.”
“Holy shit. They’re ordering extra body bags.”
Sam felt the blow to her gut. Any casualty would be too many. Two, fifteen, twenty-nine—she hoped to God those numbers weren’t just climbing as more cases were reported. If that number was even close to the truth...and with many airborne toxins, instant death was rare. Obviously people had made it out of the Metro; the triage nurse wouldn’t have asked her if they hadn’t.
Jesus. She just wanted to know what they were dealing with.
Fletcher.
Ah. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? Detective Darren Fletcher, her buddy in D.C. homicide. He’d tell her what was going on, if he knew, at least.
She went through her phone until she found his cell number. She hadn’t talked to him since she got back to town and started teaching, irrationally hoping he wouldn’t be upset with her. She’d worked a case with him before she moved back to D.C., the death of her ex-boyfriend, and the two of them had formed a bond. Fletcher would have liked that bond to go further, but he’d respected the fact that she was with Xander now. Sort of. She hadn’t been willing to test that theory yet.
The phone rang and rang and rang, finally going to voice mail. Well, that wasn’t good. That meant he was either avoiding her call or too busy to take it. She decided to try one more contact—Dr. Amado Nocek, one of the city’s medical examiners. Nocek had offered her a position with the M.E.’s office when she told him she wanted to move to D.C. She appreciated that offer so much, but being an M.E. wasn’t what she needed to be doing right now. She was still recovering, still trying to make sense of her life. Her job in Nashville had become an albatross around her neck instead of a joy. She needed to do something that didn’t involve day-to-day contact with the dead.
That’s why teaching appealed to her. She could talk about her field in a theoretical way, and not be hands-on again until she was ready.
Nocek answered on the first ring. His strangely lilting voice, the result of a European upbringing that drew on both Italian and French, combined with several years in the polyglot accent that made up D.C., calmed her immediately. “Samantha. It is very fine to hear from you this morning. I suppose you are calling to ask the nature of the emergency we find ourselves in, and not developing plans for a small, intimate gathering for dinner at your new house?”
Nocek always did have a way of cutting to the chase.
“You know me too well, Amado. I’m actually sitting outside the decontamination unit at GW. No one’s been forthcoming with information.”
“I will give you what I myself know. We have been getting reports of a biological contaminant that was released in the Metro. Multiple reports of people being taken ill, all over the city.”
“Any idea what the contaminant is?”
“No. People are presenting with respiratory distress, fever and coughing. It could be most anything.”
“Casualties?”
“None that are related to this that we are aware of yet, but that will most likely change as the day wears on. We are in an uncertain time at the moment, Samantha. I am well pleased to hear that you are safe.”
A stern-looking nurse tapped Sam on the shoulder. “Ma’am. Please turn off your cell phone.”
“And you, Amado. I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to go. Will you call me if you can once you find out more?”
“Of course. Be well, my dear.”
Sam hung up the phone. The nurse nodded at her, satisfied that the breach was under control, and strode away.
There was a young man sitting next to her. He raised an eyebrow and said, “Well?”
“Nothing concrete,” Sam said. She wasn’t about to tell a stranger what Nocek had just disclosed. That was just enough information to cause a wild panic.
“Are they going to let us out of here?”
“I hope so. My friend said there have been no confirmed casualties. So that’s good news. This