End Days Super Boxset (80 page)

He typed a brief reply saying that he was on his way and then ducked through the hall and out the hospital doors without gaining the attention of the security guards nearby.

There were things, however, that Greg didn’t see. On the third floor, down a long hallway of closed doors, the two paramedics pushed an empty gurney back to the elevator. They had brought the patient—the coughing, bloody man—to a room nearby and left him there. The rooms on either side weren't identified by anything other than numbered plates to the side of each door.

There were small blood droplets on the otherwise spotless tile floor, and the hall beyond the paramedics led to a large secondary lobby of some sort. The reception desk was manned by several federal agents in protective gowns. A nurse walked by, covered from head to toe and pushing a medicine cart. A group of men in full HAZMAT gear came into the lobby, pushing mop buckets and carrying jugs of bleach into a room the size of a gymnasium.

In the open bay, beds aligned the walls on both ends, full of groaning patients hooked up to machines, many of them unconscious. The room looked as if it had once been a cafeteria but had since been turned a quarantine area, cleared to make room for infected patients. There were several people wearing HAZMAT gear roaming the area and monitoring the patients. Their suits identified them as CDC.

Laura Walsh's plane touched down in Carson City just as she got word that a large influx of patients was being treated at the National Institutes of Health in Bethesda, Maryland. Whether the patients tested positive for Ebola or not, her source could not tell her. What she did know, however, was that the quarantine was being kept under wraps. As it was the premiere biomedical research facility in the country, Laura didn't understand why all patients weren't being treated there, especially if only twenty or so were infected nationally.

She knew that the CDC had been tasked with managing the containment of the disease, but it still wasn't clear who was really calling the shots. Common sense would suggest that the White House was ultimately responsible, but during press briefings, their lips were sealed. The president hadn't addressed the Ebola outbreak in over a week, not since his weekly address.

Do they just think they are going to ignore it until it goes away?
Laura thought.

After landing, she exited through the Delta gate, pulling her wheeled suitcase packed with three days’ worth of clothes. She had her cameraman, Phil, with her, along with John, her assistant. It had been a long flight from New York, and they were ready.

Phil was a tall, skinny man, balding with a brown beard. He wore a sleeveless puffy vest with a long-sleeved flannel jacket underneath. Both men were in their thirties, but John looked a little younger and boyish. He still had a full head of hair and always wore a nice suit.

Laura was dressed in black jeans, blue button-up shirt, and black jacket, looking ready for the camera. They were in a time crunch. She was aware that several local news affiliates had already done reports at the Carson Tahoe hospital, although no one had scored an interview with Sergeant Timothy Shields. If he were under quarantine, that would be nearly impossible. Laura had learned a few persuasive tactics in her career and planned to pull out all the stops.

Her team picked up Phil’s checked-in luggage, which consisted of his camera equipment. They had three days to get the story, fly back to New York, and have it edited and ready for broadcast, if they were lucky enough to have the story chosen to air. It would, if Laura’s instincts were right. She sensed that there was something here: something that provided a link to the other hospitals around the country that were treating Ebola patients. All of it, she felt, was part of an attempt to contain the virus and not incite panic. If so, she believed that the CDC was doing no wrong.

“Let's just hope this isn't some wild goose chase,” John said, throwing his backpack over his shoulder.

“We have to find the army sergeant and talk to him. And I don't care how we have to do it,” Laura said.

The trio left baggage claim and headed toward the rental car area. Phil trailed behind, carrying multiple bags of equipment.

“Can we stop somewhere first to eat? I'm starving,” he complained with his raspy voice.

“We can get something to go,” Laura replied. “The hospital is probably already crawling with reporters, and we're a little behind as it is.”

“Fair enough,” Phil said. “Just as long as I get something.”

“We got it, Phil,” John said. “You'll get your Happy Meal soon enough.”

“Your mother,” Phil said.

The group laughed it off and went to the nearest rental car counter. It was late afternoon, and the airport was busy with arriving and departing flights. It was surprising to Laura to see so many people about when Carson City was known as one of the places where Ebola had a presence. Sergeant Shields was a Carson City native, but he wasn't the only area soldier who had returned from West Africa, though most residents didn't seem to think it was a big deal. They weren't getting the full story, and for that matter, neither were Laura and her team.

The crew picked up their rental van outside the airport and drove to a nearby economy hotel to drop off their stuff. Laura checked into her room, and Phil and John into theirs. There wasn't much time to unpack or get situated, but she did manage to make a call back to the New York offices and let her producer, Mike, know of their progress.

The next stop would be the Carson Tahoe hospital: ground zero. She had a contact there, a doctor, with whom she had arranged a brief interview. She had also contacted the CDC and local health agencies, attempting to ensure that she would have their cooperation.

The CDC had yet to respond to any emails or calls. The agency may have had their hands full, but to ignore her completely, she thought, was a bad sign. In her experience, the government often did all it could to stonewall, while the corporations weren't much better. She felt almost as if journalists were living in an anti-information age, with reporters reduced to second-class citizens.

Laura quickly left her hotel room, trying to race against the sun, which was fast disappearing. She corralled her group downstairs. They got all of their equipment together, and were prepared to launch into the investigation of Carson Tahoe. But as they were about to enter the van, John stopped her.

“Have you been watching the local news at all?”

Laura was distractedly flipping through contacts on her smart phone. “I haven't had a chance yet. I've been making calls to the hospital.”

“Well, they've kicked the media out,” John said.

Laura looked up. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that they physically removed reporters from the premises of the hospital. They're categorizing the hospital as a quarantine zone, unfit for visitors.”

“Who? The hospital staff?”

“No, it's bigger than that. The CDC took the place over, and they're using the FBI to enforce security.”

Laura placed her phone in her pocket, trying to wrap her head around the news. “That's what they're saying on the news right now?”

“Pretty much, which means that this story is toast. They're not even going to allow us in the hospital, let alone interview this sergeant.”

“What's going on?” Phil asked, walking toward them from the other side of the van.

“We're being shut out,” John answered.

Laura held up her hand. “We don't know if that's the case just yet. I just spoke with Dr. Henson an hour ago, and he agreed to an interview.”

“Where, at his house?” John said with hint of sarcasm.

She moved closer to John, nearly in his face. “We came here to speak with Sergeant Shields, and that's what we're going to do. If reporters are barred from the hospital, that'll be part of the story too.”

“I don't know about this,” Phil said. “Seems like we're playing with fire here.”

“Call that doctor right now,” John said. “Let's all make sure we're on the same page here.”

Laura pulled her phone out again, looking frustrated. “Fine.” She dialed the number, held the phone to her ear, and waited. The number rang and rang until going to voicemail. She glanced at John, frowning. “Hey, Dr. Henson, this is Laura Walsh from CBN News, New York. We're headed to the hospital soon, and we're just wondering when we could meet up and talk to you. Please call me back as soon as you can. Thank you.”

She hung up the phone, shrugged, and gave John a look that said, “There, happy?”

“You forgot to leave a number,” he said.

“Whatever, let's hit the road.” She turned to Phil as a new idea suddenly entered her head. “You brought those lapel cameras, didn't you?”

Phil thought to himself. “The spy cameras?”

“Yeah, the spy cameras. Did you bring them?”

Phil thought again, looking up into the graying sky. His blue eyes squinted, and he scratched his beard, trying to remember.

“I believe so. Let me check my pack.”

He went to the back of the van, pulled out a small black duffel, and unzipped it. The bag was full of wires, auxiliary cables, and a variety of plastic cases. After finding a particular case, he unsnapped the plastic brackets and opened it. Inside, resting on a foam lining, was a small camera the size of a button, connected to a portable power box.

“That's the one,” Laura said. “How many do you have of those?”

“Um, three,” Phil said, counting the two other cases inside the bag.

“Perfect. Three of us, three cameras.”

Phil stammered. “I don't know if they're all charged or not.”

“Well, check them all, and let's go,” Laura said.

Before Phil or John could respond, she walked to the passenger side of the van, swung the door open, and took a seat. The two men looked at each other and shook their heads. “She's determined, I'll give her that,” John said.

They drove the twenty miles to the hospital in the white GMC van as evening approached. Loss of precious light was critical if they were only shooting outdoors, but Laura was determined to make it inside the hospital one way or the other. It would be hard to convince John and Phil to breach a quarantine area, and she had to admit that there was considerable risk in doing so. Beyond those hospital doors, she believed, was the truth, and she was going to get to the bottom of it.

They drove up the winding desert roads leading to the brightly lit hospital complex, which illuminated its darkened surroundings. Beyond lay a vast mountainous backdrop. The area reminded Laura of Colorado, where her parents lived. She loved to visit Denver and spend some time out on the ski slopes. Though after moving to New York, she hadn't visited in two years. She couldn't believe how much time had passed. Had it really been that long? Her anticipation grew the closer they got to the hospital. Their windows were down, and a cool breeze flowed through the van. The radio was turned to the news as the team listened closely without saying much to each other.

“And in other news, the Centers for Disease Control have increased their role in direct treatment of American Ebola patients who contracted the disease in West Africa before returning home from their overseas humanitarian mission. Both Congress and the president have expressed full support of and confidence in the CDC's efforts in containing the disease and preventing any spread throughout nearby communities.

“Hospitals involved are in Carson City, Nevada; Tampa, Florida; Dallas, Texas; and Los Angeles, California. The president is expected to address the Ebola scare with reporters at a White House press briefing tomorrow. In other news, another plane crash was reported off the coast of...”

Laura turned around to face John. “I'm going to give that update a D+.”

“What was wrong with it?” he asked.

She jerked her head as if stunned.

“What was wrong with it? John, do I really have to go over this?” He didn't answer. She lay her hand out flat and counted her fingers with the other hand.

“One, they didn't mention anything about reporters being thrown out of the hospitals here or anywhere else. They didn't mention how many people were infected. They said nothing about how or why Americans have contracted the disease. Lastly, they didn't mention the National Institute of Health and all the patients they're monitoring. With that kind of cover, the government could sweep this entire thing under the rug without anyone knowing.”

“What's Twitter say?” Phil asked. He was driving but glanced at Laura.

She waved him off. “Nothing we haven't heard anywhere else.”

“Well, I'm sure the other reporters will give us some tips once we get there,” John said.

“Yeah. Other reporters,” Laura said, rubbing her face with her hands.

They continued up the road with the bright lights of the hospital buildings and the endless parking lot lights within view. There were plenty of cars—a packed lot—but Laura didn't see any news vans. Had they actually vacated the site altogether?

The van entered the lot of the sleek, modern hospital complex, Phil looking for an inconspicuous place to park. There were no security personnel in sight, but they did see plenty of police cars on the premises.

“Park in the nearest spot you can find,” Laura said. Phil circled several aisles before coming to a space near the flagpole, where wind rippled through both the US and state flags. She called Dr. Henson again and got no response. Irritated, she tossed the phone back into her bag. They were walking into the situation blind, with no idea of what to expect. Phil parked the van and shut off the engine. It was eerily quiet outside, and at that point they could see them: a group of armed security guards blocking the entrance of the hospital.

It wasn't clear whether they were local law enforcement or a private agency, but they were positioned at every entrance of the hospital. No one in, and no one out, without them knowing. That was the plan. John remarked that the place looked like a prison when Laura got out of the van, ready to investigate.

She walked around to the back of the van, the buzz of interstate traffic in the distance the only sound. Phil and John both stepped out and approached her, awaiting their next move.

“Dr. Henson is a no-show. We're on our own,” she said.

John groaned and put his face in his hands.

Laura continued. “Just a minor change of plans, that's all.”

A police car suddenly drove into the parking lot and circled near them, causing Laura to whip around. “Look, we don't have a lot of time. Let's get set up and go in there.”

“They've got that place on lockdown. It’ll never work,” John said.