Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 110809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
“Your sister, as in the president?” the one with red hair and a twinkle in his eye asks.
“That’s the one.” My fingers finally skim the edges of hard plastic, and I grab the badge and pull it out triumphantly. “See?”
“We really didn’t need it, Dr. Clark. We know who you are.” The redhead—whose uniform reads ‘Howard’—pulls the door open for me.
“Then why—”
“Gotta do something to keep the days interesting. Guarding a bunch of scientists doesn’t really give us a whole lot of entertainment.” He winks. “All right, in you go.”
I frown up at him and hurry inside. It’s bitter cold out. I forced myself to walk to the hotel from the White House, telling myself the entire way that I was safe, that no gunmen were lurking in the quiet buildings or silent streets. The Secret Service member following along a block behind me helped, I suppose. He’s already chatting up the soldiers out front as I enter the hotel’s atrium. It’s gorgeous, far more opulent than it has any business being. Then I see a familiar face and break into a smile.
“There you are, Doc.” He stands from one of the cushy blue chairs. “Been waiting for you. Worrying a little, of course, after what happened yesterday.” He shakes his head.
“Gene! I’m so glad to see you!” I hurry to him, my steps on the shiny tile floor echoing somewhat. “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?” I tease.
“Oh, I get around.” Gene laughs. “This place ain’t so bad.”
“Did you get settled in all right? How’s the housing?” We’re in the lobby of what used to be a fancy hotel. The furniture and fixtures are still here, but the bar at the back of the expansive room is empty of bottles except for the top two rows that look about twenty feet high. Despite the glitz, the entire space has a hollow feeling, as if it misses the people that used to frequent it. The blue furniture is turned this way and that, clearly not in the stately arrangement it must’ve been when this place was still in business. But nothing seems to be missing, save most of the liquor.
“A lot better than Austin. Hot meals and a decent bed. No hooligans as far as I can tell.” He looks up at the golden girders overhead in the atrium and the enormous American flag that hangs from one of the top floors. “I’ve never stayed in a place as fancy as this.”
“Oh, so you’ve got a room here?” My cheeks heat at the fact I didn’t know these details. I should know where he’s staying. I’m the one who insisted Juno bring him as part of her first sweep of new hires.
“Yep, fourth floor.” He leads me toward a large set of doors off the atrium. “Labs are down here in the ballroom.”
“Hey, wait a sec.” I stop. “I want to tell you thanks for coming with me. Just seeing you here makes it seem … I don’t know, infinitely more comfortable. But I know it was a big ask.”
“Not so big, Doc. Not so big at all. What do I have left in Texas? Not much. Here, I can help you with the Lord’s work. That’s more important, isn’t it? Not to mention the federal paycheck.” He starts moving again, his limp still pronounced. “Now it’s time to get down to it.”
“I suppose it is.” I follow him through the wide double doors, my nerves evident in my clammy palms. I wipe them on my jeans and take a deep breath. “This place is huge.”
“You know, I was reading the plaques out in the front part, and it said this used to be a post office. Can you imagine coming in here just to send a package?”
“Nope.”
He turns left, then pushes his way through another set of doors—these seem newer, far more clinical than the ornate construction of the rest of the hotel. “Not sure what you do in here, Doc, but it’s clean.”
“It’s their HCL.” I look around at the biohazard suits, respirators, soap and water station, and several other cleaning supplies.
“Eh?” Gene asks.
“High containment lab. It’s the safest way to study the virus when it could potentially be in an aerosol form. Looks like they’re at level four, strictest for cleanliness and cross-contamination. Likely has its own airlocks, circulation and tons of other safeguards for workers who go inside.”
He gives me a quizzical look.
“Sierravirus can be in the air, as you know, though it’s far more contagious from surfaces. It takes a relatively high concentration of the aerosol to infect someone as opposed to say, smallpox or measles. But it’s still transmissible. All this is so we don’t breathe in the virus. It’s the same way I use my centrifuge cover and we wear two layers of masks in the lab. This is just—” I glance at the nearest respirator that seems to have more bells and whistles than actual lab equipment. “—way more high tech.”