Free Pestilence: The Infection Begins by Craig A. McDonough Page A

He liked Calgleef’s plan and told him so, he especially liked it that the contract wouldn’t be affected and therefore neither would his stipend. But he didn’t tell him that much.
    “The disturbance at the hospital will be explained away as an aggressive reaction from a mixture of the Legionnaires’ disease and the contaminated vaccine, a tragic situation yes, but an accidental one.”
    Moya realized too that Calgleef was made of the same substance as Thorncroft; you had to be to make and keep money these days, he assumed, and he had become no better.
    “How long will this take?”
    “Not long, Dr. Moya, with the situation at the hospital and the cost factor, believe me the government will be distancing itself from any immediate scrutiny. Laying blame on a malfunction in the seals due to cabin pressure on the plane—which can’t be proved either way—is an easy out. I expect an announcement tomorrow and a recall of all vaccines to follow shortly thereafter. In a month or so the first batch will roll out from the US manufacturers. Sound good to you, Dr. Moya?”
    It did, music to his ears as the saying went. He had an instant thought, with that timeline in place his presence wouldn’t be necessary, he could return to London and should anything break out in America in that time, well…
    “It does indeed, Dr. Calgleef. And the press?”
    “They’ll toe the line. They always do.”
    “Good to hear. Well if there’s anything you need from me, I’ll be here at the hotel for a few more days and—”
    “Few more days! Did Thorncroft not inform you?”
    Moya remained silent as he felt a hole open up in the pit of his stomach.
    “You’re to oversee and advise on the production of the vaccines here in the United States, Dr. Moya.”
    He should have known you don’t just walk away that easy—not from Noel Thorncroft.
    But at least I’ll get away from this city. This thought, his only consolation.

    * * *
    T ilford took his time to pushed open the door; his mop cocked ready at his shoulder. He and the others avoided the smudged blood below on the cream linoleum floor of the maternity ward.
    Hospital doors do not, as a rule, creak when opened, but Tilford wasn’t about to take any chances. He looked back to check on the other three; Delaney, dressed in a white doctor’s jacket like him, and the two nurses in their blue scrubs were right behind. Tilford noted the difference in facial expressions. Delaney had a determined look, which didn’t mean she wasn’t fazed by the abhorrent nature of affairs. It hadn’t affected her looks at all, which Tilford took more notice of the longer he was in her company. Sanders had an eager expression; there was fear in her eyes for sure but not quite panic. Nurse Childs, on the other hand, was close to panic if not already there. Her dark eyeliner ran in streaks down her cheek from her tears; her hands trembled sending a shock wave through her leg-of-pork-sized arms, causing them to quiver. Tilford didn’t pass judgement on her though. Hell, he felt like crawling into a corner somewhere, putting his head between his knees and hoping it would all go away. It wouldn’t of course, and doing so wouldn’t help them get out of here, he couldn’t afford to do it—they couldn’t afford it.
    There was a line of patient rooms on each side of the corridor before them, and approximately fifty yards of open travel before they reached the aisle that would take them to the security office. In another time, there wouldn’t be a thought about the distance, but now it looked as daunting as crossing the Grand Canyon—in a single bound. The doorways to each of the rooms weren’t directly opposite each other in the corridor, but offset.
    “Stick to the wall.” Tilford said, loud enough for them to hear but, hopefully, no one else. This allowed them to peer into the patient rooms opposite as they inched their way along, step by step, one foot after the—
    “Oh my God!” Childs