Free Pestilence (Jack Randall #2) by Randall Wood

added, holding up a notebook.
    Sister Mary turned and spewed a torrent of Swahili at two nurses standing at the desk behind her. One immediately picked up the phone, while the other sprinted down the hallway. A third unlocked a room behind the desk, revealing shelves for supplies, many of them empty.
    “Please leave the boxes here and then follow me. The Americans are in surgery and the blood supply has run out.” She turned and walked away at a pace that was surprising for her age. She did it without looking back.
    The group looked to Jack for guidance and he simply replied, “Get moving.”
    They all dropped their boxes on the wall by the desk and sprinted to catch up. After two hallways and three flights of stairs they found themselves outside a surgical ward. Sister Mary spoke briefly with the nurse before turning to address them.
    “We only have three surgeons right now. One of the hospital’s surgeons was attending his father’s funeral in England. I’m told he is returning as we speak. The others were in country as part of the humanitarian efforts. They have been in the OR since the attack. We’ve exhausted our blood supplies and tapping the local population has proved to be too dangerous.”
    “How bad is it Mary?” Heather asked.
    “The last few patients have required auto-transfusion. They’re in recovery but . . . we need blood.” The nurse returned to Mary’s side and handed her some papers. She scanned them quickly and looked up, searching for Sydney.
    “I need two, maybe three, type A positive?”
    Sydney consulted her notes and barked out the names. “Murphy and Randall, Eric, you’re last. Everybody else just stand by. You need help in there?”
    Jack and Dennis moved to the front of the group just as a doctor pushed through the doors behind them. His face was masked and his bloody gloves were clasped together against his equally bloody surgical scrubs. He had tired eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses that perched on a sweaty nose. His feet were wrapped in booties and left a trail of bloody footprints. He corrected his posture and worked his neck from side to side before addressing them in American English.
    “I’m Doctor Dahli. Sorry to be brief, but I have an embassy Marine on the table who’s bleeding out and I don’t have anything to replace it. Who can donate?”
    Jack stepped forward with Murphy. “Right here, doc.”
    He nodded and turned to Sister Mary. “Get ’em prepped and in here now.”
    “Take off your shirt and shoes and put these on,” Sister Mary ordered as she flung two scrub tops in their direction. They scrambled to comply. Sydney began stripping down as well, oblivious to the men surrounding her.
    “Sydney?” Jack asked.
    She looked up to see Jack giving her a curious expression. She met it and turned to Sister Mary. “I’ll need one, too. I can help.”
    Her tone left no room for argument and the scrubs were provided.
    The three of them pushed through the doors and followed the footprints to the second OR. Here Sydney pulled a box of latex gloves off the wall and handed them out. Once they were all gloved, gowned, and masked, she put her back to the door and pushed it open, holding it for her boss and their spook.
    “Don’t touch anything. Just find a spot in the corner till I need you,” she told them. Once they had complied, she looked the room over. The surgical team was busy working on the Marine. Her paramedic eyes took in the injuries and the vital signs on the monitor. The Marine was a large man and muscular in the way most Marines are, but his color was poor, and the amount of blood on the floor combined with the blood pressure reading on the monitor told her he was close to bleeding out. She noticed a stretcher pushed against the wall that was adjusted to its highest setting.
    “Jack, get up on that stretcher,” she ordered. She walked to the supply cabinet against the opposite wall and began going through the drawers. It was actually a tool box,