Free Invasion by Robin Cook Page A

watched, Miss Golden managed to get the sagging Mr. Partridge down a half flight of cement steps and into the car. Mrs. Partridge didn’t get out.
    “He looks sicker than a dog,” Candee said.
    “Miss Piggy looks worse,” Jonathan said.
    The car backed up, turned, and accelerated up the ramp. Halfway up it scraped lightly against the concrete wall. The grating sound made Jonathan wince.
    “So much for the paint job,” he said.
    WHAT IN GOD’S NAME ARE YOU DOING BACK HERE?” Cheryl Watkins demanded. She was sitting at the ER desk as Pitt Henderson dragged himself through the swinging doors. He looked exhausted with dark circles under his eyes.
    “I couldn’t sleep,” he said. “So I thought I might as well come back and try to salvage what I could of my medical career.”
    “What on earth are you talking about?” Cheryl asked.
    “This morning when I went over to see that room you suggested, I committed a disastrous faux pas.”
    “Like what?” Cheryl questioned. She could see he was troubled, and she was concerned. Pitt was well liked in the unit.
    “I accidentally bumped into the Dragon Lady and spilled her coffee over her and her white coat,” Pitt said. “And let me tell you, she was royally pissed. She demanded to know what I was doing there and stupid me couldn’t think of a reason.”
    “Uh oh!” Cheryl commiserated. “Dr. Miller is not fond of getting her white coat dirty, especially early in the morning.”
    “As we all know!” Pitt said. “She was pretty blunt. Anyway I thought maybe by coming back I could at least impress her with my dedication.”
    “Can’t hurt, although it is above and beyond the call of duty,” Cheryl said. “On the other hand, we can always use the help, and I’ll make sure our fearless leader hears about it. Meanwhile, why don’t you check in a couple of the more routine cases. We had a bad traffic accident an hour ago so we’re way behind, and the RNs are all tied up.”
    Pleased to get a task, especially one that he enjoyed, Pitt grabbed the top clipboard and headed for the patient waiting area. The patient’s name was Sandra Evans, aged four.
    Pitt called out the name. From the multitude of people impatiently waiting on the hard plastic chairs in the crowded room, a mother and daughter stood up. The woman was in her early thirties and rather bedraggled. The child was darling with tightly curled blond hair, but appeared sick and dirty. She was dressed in soiled pajamas and a tiny robe.
    Leading the way, Pitt took them back to an examination bay. He lifted the child up onto the table. Her blue eyes were glassy and her skin pale and moist. She was sick enough not to be overconcerned about the ER environment.
    “Are you the doctor?” the mother asked. Pitt appeared much too young.
    “The clerk,” Pitt announced. Having worked in theER long enough and having checked in enough pre-screened patients Pitt was not self-conscious about his status.
    “What’s the trouble, sweetheart?” Pitt asked as he wrapped a child’s blood pressure cuff around Sandra’s arm and inflated it.
    “I got a spider,” Sandra said.
    “She means a bug,” the mother interjected. “She can’t get that straight. It’s the flu or something. It hit her this morning with coughing and sneezing. I tell you, it’s always something with kids.”
    The blood pressure was fine. As Pitt undid the cuff he noted a colorful Band-Aid on Sandra’s right palm.
    “Looks like you got a booboo too,” Pitt said. He got the body temperature instrument and was about to get a reading.
    “A rock bit me in the yard,” Sandra said.
    “Sandra, I told you not to fib,” Mrs. Evans said. It was obvious the mother was at the limit of her patience.
    “I’m not fibbing,” Sandra said indignantly.
    Mrs. Evans made an expression as if to say, “What can I do?”
    “Have a lot of rocks bitten you?” Pitt teased. He got a reading. The child had a temperature of 103° Fahrenheit. He wrote it and the