Sara pressed together her lips so that she would not explode.
Gwen had not missed her reaction. She said, “We’re a closed community.”
“One of those infected adults brought in measles from somewhere.” Sara told herself to stop, but she couldn’t. “Your husband and his men were in Atlanta yesterday. They murdered dozens of people, police officers among them, and set off two bombs.” Sara watched the woman’s face. Gwen did not register surprise or even shame, so Sara drilled down into the medical implications. “There are thousands of international visitors in the city every day. Any one of your people could’ve brought back whooping cough, mumps, rotavirus, pneumococcal disease, Hib.”
Gwen’s chin tucked to her chest. She wiped her hands on her apron again.
Sara asked, “Where is Michelle?”
“I understand the appendix ruptured before they could remove it. I gave her 400 mgs Moxifloxacin PO and re-sutured the incision.”
Sara let out a long breath. The bloody surgical bandage on Michelle’s lower abdomen finally made sense. “She needs five days of that, minimum. Push fluids. Keep her on clear liquids and bed rest.”
“I will.”
“Why did they bring her here? What was she supposed to do?”
Gwen kept her head down. She held out her arm, indicating the bunkhouse. “This way.”
Sara walked ahead of her. She wasn’t finished needling this woman for information. “Clearly, you know quarantine protocols. You can provide supportive care. You obviously have access to antibiotics. Why did they abduct Michelle?”
Gwen stared at her feet as if she needed to concentrate on her steps. She was stooped, cowered just as much as Michelle. Her hands went to her apron again. She kept wringing them into the cloth.
In the distance, Sara heard children laughing—not the ones from the clearing, but to the northeast, in the direction Dash had taken moments ago. She assumed that the second part of the Camp was where they were keeping the uninfected. Questions filled Sara’s mind—How many people were here on the mountain? Why did they take Michelle to Atlanta when there were dozens of hospitals that were closer? Why did they set off those bombs? Why was it so important to keep Michelle alive? What did they really want from Sara?
“Here.” Gwen had stopped at the sink outside the bunkhouse.
Sara washed her hands with lye soap. The water was hot. She scrubbed at her arms, around her neck and face.
Gwen said, “We could give you clean clothes.”
“No thank you.” Sara was not going to dress like a Victorian toddler. “How many adults here are vaccinated?”
Gwen saw through her query. “We have twelve unvaccinated men, two women.”
“And the others?”
“They’re staying at the main Camp.”
Sara had been right about the uninfected part of the compound. She thought about Dash letting his children kiss him on the face before heading up the path. If any of them were infected, he could carry the virus to the other side.
Gwen said, “My girl, Adriel. She’s still in quarantine.”
“You have seven children?” Sara was struck incredulous. The woman was barely into her thirties. No wonder she looked so depleted.
Gwen only offered, “God is good.”
Sara took a towel from the pile over the sink to dry her hands. The material was linen, not terrycloth. There were no tags. The seam looked hand-sewn. Was the Camp some type of religious cult? Those types of organizations didn’t tend to blow things up. They drank poison or picketed funerals.
Sara asked, “Does your religion forbid vaccination?”
Gwen shook her head. “You have two children?”
Sara had to catch herself before she responded. “Yes, two girls.”
A thin smile tightened Gwen’s mouth. “Dash told me that your husband died in the line of duty. It seems like lately, the world is filled with widows.”
Sara wasn’t going to bond with this woman. “Do Vale and Carter have wives who live up here, too?”
The smile turned into an angry, straight line. “They were not among us. They were mercenaries.”
“Mercenaries fight in wars.”
“We are at war.” She handed Sara a surgical mask. “We must use whatever resources we have available. Cyrus was a pagan, but he restored the world to order.”
Sara had spent a lifetime listening to her mother’s Bible stories. “King Cyrus also encouraged tolerance and compassion. Can you say the same about your husband?”
“We will blow the trumpet from the mountain,” Gwen said. “‘I form the light and bring darkness. I make peace and deliver evil.’ So saith the Lord.”
Sara tied the surgical mask behind her head so that the woman could not read her expression. She wasn’t against religion so much as the people who sought to use it as a weapon. One of the things that had drawn Sara to medicine was the immutability of facts. The atomic number for helium would always be two. The triple point of water was indisputably the basis of the definition for the kelvin. You didn’t need faith to believe either of these things. You just needed math.
She walked up the stairs. The door made a sucking sound when she opened it. The scent of disinfectant stung her eyes. The bunkhouse was long and narrow, cooled with two portable air conditioning units that hummed softly in the corners. A large medicine cabinet was stocked with rubbing alcohol, swabs, hypodermics and Ziploc bags filled with various colored pills. IV fluid was stored in overflowing coolers.
Three women were tending to the patients, rubbing them down with cold cloths. Their demeanor seemed to change as Gwen walked over to the medicine cabinet, her feet heavy across the wooden floor. Their hands moved faster. They quickly moved to the next patient. Furtive glances were exchanged. Sara reminded herself to pay attention to these subtle shifts. These women were afraid of Gwen, which meant that Gwen had given them good reason.
Sara’s gaze went around the room as Gwen laid equipment on a rolling cart. She counted twenty cots. Only eleven were occupied. White sheets draped over small bodies, pale faces blending in with white pillowcases. Every part of Sara keyed into their suffering. Coughing, sneezing, shaking, crying. The worst were the ones who were not moving at all. She was enveloped by sadness.
“We have these—” Gwen indicated the cart, which held gloves, a stethoscope, an otoscope for looking at the ear canal and tympanic membrane, and an ophthalmoscope for examining the retina and eye.
A child in the corner was racked by a sudden fit of coughing. One of the women ran to her, holding a bucket under her mouth. Another little girl started to quietly sob. This set off the rest of the children. They were all so miserable, so sick, so desperate for help.
Sara wiped away tears with the back of her hand, asking Gwen, “Tell me where to start.”
“Benjamin.” Gwen led her over to a young boy lying beneath a window. The glass had been covered with a white sheet to keep the heat at bay.
There was a chair beside him. Sara held his hand as she sat down. The child was shivering, though his skin was hot. His face showed the telltale rash that would eventually cover his entire body. The lesions were starting to coalesce. With every cough, his cheeks turned a brighter red.
“I’m Dr. Earnshaw,” Sara told the child. “I’m going to try to help you, okay?”
His eyelids would barely open. His cough echoed inside of his chest. Normally, Sara would explain everything she did and why, but this boy was too sick to follow along. All she could do was give him the peace of a quick examination so that he could return to his broken sleep.
She found a chart by his bed. Eight years old, BP 85/60, temp 100°. The prodrome started with fever, malaise, anorexia and the three Cs: cough, coryza and conjunctivitis. The cough was on full display. The child could not stop. His nose was running so badly that the mucus had chapped his upper lip. His eyes looked as if someone had poured bleach into them. According to the record, his temperature had not dropped below 100° since three this morning.
Measles was a virus, not a bacterial infection that could be treated with antibiotics. All they could do was give him Tylenol, IV fluids and tepid sponge baths to keep him comfortable. Then they would need to pray he didn’t go blind or deaf, develop encephalitis or, in seven to ten years, show signs of acute SSPE, a degenerative disease that led to coma and death.
Gwen said, “Benjamin is our most recent case. The spots showed up two days ago.”
That tracked with the rash. He had probably been exposed fourteen days ago, which meant that the quarantine could potentially stop the outbreak in its tracks. Slim consolation for the parents who had already lost their children or might have them returned with irreparable damage.