Chapter Text
Here we are a thousand miles further down the road
Our cups are nearly empty, they still feel like a load
Our arms, they still look shiny
Between the rusty dents
I never thought I'd find you here
On the same side of the fence.
Tempest, Same Side of the Fence
10 August 2012
Rebecca Chambers hopped out of the helicopter and down to the roof, clutching her medical bag; her staff followed quickly with their own equipment. The rotor wash was strong, peppering her with dust and small debris; a woman, olive-skinned with close-cropped dark hair, waved her across the roof to the stairs. Her team followed, the last to exit slamming the door shut to let the copter return to the airport.
"Fernandes, medic with STARS Toronto," the woman said crisply, once the noise had died down. "Dr. Chambers?"
Rebecca nodded. "Yes. What's the situation?"
Fernandes briefed them as they followed her through the roof door onto the narrow stairs, and down to an elevator. The outbreak had started around 0930 local time, almost five hours ago, and the report had come in within minutes. The hotel had been locked down, the guests confined to their rooms, the staff confined to the first floor, and medical facilities set up on the second floor. BSAA was handling exterior security and on alert to provide any necessary backup.
"Corpse is on ice."
"The pathology team will report shortly." Two of them had been dispatched to check the offered facility while the others came to collect the corpse; if the facilities were unacceptable, they'd pack the corpse in ice and fly back to Vancouver. "How many victims?"
"Mild symptoms displayed by two hotel employees working in the breakfast room and the two guests who got splattered when Redfield put down the infected. They've been isolated and put on Level 2 antiviral treatment. Treatment commenced within approximately twenty minutes of the report, with the exception of Redfield, who began treating herself immediately. Lab's been set up, blood samples are ready for testing." The elevator slowed to a stop and chimed. "We're focusing on the breakfast room and the kitchen, and checking the HVAC system and the water; kitchen employees and waitstaff have been isolated as a precaution. That's a dozen people. The guests have been confined to their rooms. Bunks for the staff will be set up on the first floor." The doors slid open onto a guest floor, where another STARS member, a stocky Asian-American man, was waiting for them.
"Mike Yang, Bravo team communications specialist," the newcomer said. "I'll be assisting as needed."
"Great." She'd never been any good at languages, and her staff was mostly limited to French and Spanish. She quickly introduced her staff: Michael Ross and Teresa Fossum were experienced with field investigations, with Genevieve Orsenna and Mark Bascomb as more recent recruits. "Dr. Fossum and Dr. Orsenna will be working with the guests other than Ms. Redfield. Dr. Bascomb, start on the bloodwork. Dr. Ross, begin with the isolated hotel workers and then move on to the rest of the staff. I'll be down to assist as soon as possible."
Her staff scattered to get to work, Fossum and Orsenna down different corridors after Yang gave them marked maps indicating occupied rooms, then Bascomb and Ross downstairs with him. The corridor was softly lit and quiet, the soft rush of air from the heating vents almost the only noise; once or twice she heard a television or music playing from inside a room. The air stank of blood, urine, and feces, missing only the heavy odor of necrosis to make the classic zombie stench; it made her twitchy and uneasy anyway, watching the shadows and the crossways between corridors as if something was about to jump out. The stench got stronger as they walked down the corridor, until they turned around a blocked-off eight-foot section that had been completely encased in plastic, from ceiling to floor. In the center, blood, bone fragments and brain matter had been splattered over a wall, with some splattering on the ceiling and the opposite wall, and smeared thickly in a line down to the stained carpet.
"That's where Redfield put down the one who turned." Fernandes gestured unnecessarily at the sealed section. The carpet and the drywall would have to be removed and burned, possibly for the entire hallway and definitely for the stained section; T-Virus in blood and neural tissue, even dried, could remain potentially infectious for weeks. "Not every day you see somebody from an NGO with a Sig P220 and a set of antivirals with your name on 'em."
"Claire's an excellent shot." She should have expected that question; very few people got anything with her name on it. "She was exposed prior to the development of the vaccine and antivirals. We'd worked together previously, so I continue monitoring her condition."
Fernandes didn't seem satisfied, but they'd already reached Claire's room, where the woman on guard rapped sharply on the door before opening it. Rebecca walked in, noting the smell of blood and antiseptic in the air. Fernandes took up a position close to the door, where she could watch Claire and shoot if necessary. She didn't draw her weapon, but her stance was alert and watchful.
"The situation's already under control, I'm fine. Don't worry." Claire was sitting up in a chair, holding her cell phone with her left hand; she looked up and gave Rebecca an exasperated look, somewhat spoiled by the worn-out t-shirt and jeans she was wearing and the way her hair was falling out of the french twist. Usually she'd be wearing something more professional; they'd probably been disposed of as biohazards. "Rebecca's here - and no, don't call her later and harrass her. Yes, you would. I have to go, you know she pokes me with needles every time she sees me. Love you, jerk."
Rebecca shook her head, wondering if Claire actually believed she'd convinced Chris of anything. "You could actually come visit for something other than medical reasons." She set her kit down and leaned in to do the visual examination. The bite wound was badly inflamed, the teeth marks still clear despite the wound having been cleaned and trimmed, and had some fresh blood showing, probably from moving the arm. Claire's left arm looked mildly sunburned, with an irregular, crimson mark near the shoulder and some bruises, abrasions and scratches, but no bites. Rebecca swabbed a spot on her left arm with alcohol.
"I tried that two months ago and I still got stuck with needles." She'd spent a couple weeks in Vancouver between TerraSave assignments and decided that Rebecca was spending too much time in the lab. Rebecca was still amazed that Claire could find that many good clubs, bars, and restaurants in a city she didn't even live in. "Have you considered iron supplements instead of blood?"
"First you sic Chris on me, now you hit me with bad jokes. How long ago were you bitten?"
"About five hours ago, about the time I called STARS. I used the antiviral immediately." She shot her a disgusted look. "And I did not sic Chris on you."
"I think telling him I'm working on you counts," Rebecca said, wrapping the tape around Claire's arm. "How many doses have you taken?"
"Three total of mine, last dose about an hour ago. Two of the STARS antiviral."
Rebecca drew in a sharp breath as she took the first blood-collection tube from the pack. The STARS treatment was standard regimen, but Claire hadn't needed that many doses of the other that quickly in years. "You're lucky I'd just finished another batch for you." She checked the vein and started the draw. "You've got one left?"
"Yeah." Claire winced a little and didn't look at the blood filling the tube; she could handle monsters, zombies and nutcases, but not watching her own blood drain into a collection vial.
Rebecca inverted the tube a few times once it was full, then set it in the container and took out the next tube in the sequence. "Symptoms?"
"Mood swings, headache, dizziness. The bite itched for a while, but that's eased off in the last hour or so. Two hours ago my left arm was bright red all over."
If the itching had receded, the infection was probably losing to the antivirals. The fading redness in the other arm suggested the same thing. "Fever? Hallucinations?"
Claire shook her head. "No."
Rebecca asked about intensity and onset of symptoms as she continued the blood draw, then about the outbreak. Claire's story was more detailed than the version Fernandes had given her, but the same in general; she filled in details about the other two women who'd been exposed and the exact sequence of events. The woman Claire had shot had been an office worker, not a field agent, and consequently hadn't been vaccinated.
"Lisa Rawlins. She was a political researcher, her primary field was studying government management and reporting of outbreaks, and correlating data with our epidemiologists." Claire sighed. "She was supposed to give a talk this afternoon about the outbreaks in the South last year - the Carolinas and Florida."
Rebecca had been overloaded with an outbreak in Texas and had had to send Ross to deal with it. "Did she write those papers in the last Bioresearch?"
"Assisted Madhavi Senapati."
One had detailed collusion between WilPharma's Indian research branch and a local government to minimize the extent of an outbreak and its starting location near or possibly in a WilPharma vaccine research facility; there had been a companion paper detailing and supporting allegations of unethical and flatly illegal methods of obtaining human test subjects, and allegations of multiple disappearances in the immediate area.
"Was she working on anything else?"
"The San Francisco outbreak. I can get you a full list of her work if you need it."
That had been a well-handled outbreak, on the ground and politically; she'd never had less trouble getting reports, testimony and information from police or municipal governments. "Yeah, that might be useful." It was unlikely anyone would start an outbreak to get at a single person; hired killers were faster, cheaper and more effective. "How's Chris?" He'd called her in as a consulting doctor as soon as he and Jill had gotten back from Africa, much to the irritation of the BSAA's medical division. She hadn't been able to see him and Jill in a month, though, and had been hoping to find an extra couple of days off to go back down to the States and check on them.
"Better, but still worn out and stressed. I was supposed to stop by to see him and Jill after this conference."
"Not telling him won't help." Chris knew exactly when his sister was trying to keep him from worrying, was good at guessing about what, and was never happy about it.
Claire firmly changed the subject. "I saw David in Seattle week before last."
"Yeah, he came up for a couple of days after the conference was over. He said it was a complete waste."
"Zombies would have been more productive."
"About like usual, then?" Rebecca set the last blood sample in the case, then removed the tape from Claire's arm. "Here's your antivirals." She took the cold-case with the vials out of her pack and handed it to Claire. "Let me know how many you use before that - " she nodded at Claire's left arm - "is back to normal. Two more doses of the regular anti-viral, forty-eight hours -"
"-isolation and observation, more if symptoms persists or the blood tests aren't clean." Claire finished the sentence for her in a perfect mimicry of Rebecca's usual delivery. "I've enforced the protocols. I was there when you wrote the protocols."
Rebecca glared at her. "You and Chris keep forgetting the first one. Prevent your own infection first. There are probably resistant strains developing, and things that aren't even T-Virus out there. What do you want me to do, stuff you in a cryo-tube until I can cure you?"
"Not necessary," Claire said, wincing.
"Then be more careful!"
"I am not careless." Claire bit off each word. "Chris is not careless. We do not ignore the rule about preventing our own infection first. We know what we're doing."
"Fine. Just remember somebody, eventually, is going to have to tell one of you the other's dead." She'd almost prefer taking on a Tyrant with a peashooter to having to deliver that news to either Redfield.
"Yeah, I know," Claire said tiredly, looking away to the window.
"I'll check in on you tonight. Report if anything changes."
Claire gave her a completely exasperated look. "I know, I know. Same cell number and all the other contact information, if nothing else, get hold of Chris."
"Still have to give you the speech," Rebecca said, then repeated the usual spiel about what the information would be used for and how long it would be retained before she left.
"How long did you say you worked with Redfield?" Fernandes asked, once they'd left the room.
"A few years. It was a while back." Claire had been in STARS before going back to university; it wasn't a secret, and there were plenty of people still in STARS who'd known her then, but it tended to inspire a lot of questions she didn't have time for. Fortunately Fossum and Orsenna emerged at that point for a brief conference. Two more guests, both of whom had eaten breakfast at about the same time as the dead woman, had developed itchy, crazed-glass rashes and confused thinking and had the treatment plans changed to reflect it. If the disease progressed much past that point, there was no remedy except a bullet to the head.
She collected the samples Fossum and Orsenna had already taken to take to the lab with Claire's samples. "Right. I'll drop these off, head downstairs to assist Ross, and we'll meet in the lab when we've finished this round."
The pathologists called in to report that the autopsy facilities were acceptable and they were collecting the body immediately. Once the autopsy was complete and all required samples collected, they'd see the body cremated before returning to Vancouver to begin tests.
-----
Billy leaned against the wall, wondering where the hell the rest of the research team was. The lobby was crowded with most of the people who'd been working this morning, chattering or sleeping or staring into space; the kitchen workers had been moved into another room. The one new doc, a middle-aged guy with graying blond hair, was working his way slowly around the room with the help of one of the STARS people to translate where needed. He'd hated waiting on a mission more than anything; he still hated waiting, even if he was a civilian now and this wasn't any kind of mission. Forty-three hours until he could get the hell out of here, get the hell out of Toronto.
Gotten complacent, should have moved on years ago. He was screwed if they wanted prints, might be screwed if they just checked his papers or passed a photo in the wrong place.
There wasn't a damn thing he could do about it now, so he put the thought aside. He hadn't eaten since early this morning, he was damned hungry, and they hadn't offered to feed anybody yet. Probably MREs whenever somebody remembered, nobody could get in with a delivery and the kitchen was being searched. He rubbed the injection site absently; it felt hot and sore, kind of like a tetanus shot, the skin reddening a little. The blood draw site was bruised up; the medic had bitched that his veins sucked. Had the same problem in the Marines. The door to his left opened and the medic came back through with another doc. The medic gestured at him and he scowled; the medic glared back. Probably calling him an asshole, since he'd told her off after the third time she hadn't gotten the blood sample. They'd fucking well better find somebody else to do it if they needed another one. The new doc turned and looked at him, surprise flashing across her face, probably about as much as he felt.
Rebecca'd probably never figured to see him again either. He looked away, glancing at the other doc, still well away from him. Not a damn thing to do but wait. She started working on the other side, a little more efficiently than the other guy, working her way toward him. She'd changed plenty over the years, a hell of a lot more confident, like she'd seen all this before and knew exactly what she was doing. The rest of the crew wasn't as freaked out when she finished talking to them; still wary of anybody in a uniform with a gun, but not as freaked.
He'd forgotten how damned short she was. He loomed over her even slouched against the wall, but she wasn't impressed.
"Mr. Levitz?" Nice and smooth, as if she'd never seen him before. Professional.
"Who's asking?"
Her voice was calm and steady, despite the flash of annoyance on her face. "I'm Dr. Chambers with STARS. You were working down in the kitchen area when the outbreak started, correct?"
"Loading dock. Hauling in deliveries."
"Were there any new people doing the deliveries?"
He shook his head, surprised she wasn't asking who the deliveries were from. Might have that information from the manager, though. "Don't know the regulars, just filling in for somebody."
"Have you worked here before?"
Fuck. STARS and BSAA didn't enforce immigration law, that might be the only thing saving his ass about now. "Used to work as a bouncer when they had a nightclub in here." He'd gotten on well enough with some of the guys to pick up some day jobs when they were short-handed.
She didn't push the subject. The manager'd probably tell her the same thing anyway. "Did you notice anything unusual this morning?"
"Didn't see anybody running around with a test tube or anything." STARS needed to write a better questionnaire.
"Can't have it that easy." She didn't roll her eyes at him even though it sounded like she wanted to. Not nearly as easy to rattle as she used to be. "Did you observe anything or anyone out of place?"
"Too busy. Didn't see anybody on this end slacking, either." He stopped, thinking. "Boss got into it with one of the delivery guys, didn't hear what happened."
"Do you remember which service?"
He shook his head. He'd been out on the loading dock, too far away and too much noise to make out more than shouting, and it had been over by the time he hauled the next load in.
"How did you learn there had been an outbreak?"
He had to think about it a minute. "Housekeeping called for a manager, something about a shooting. Heard some gossip about somebody getting bitten." By the look on her face, he wasn't supposed to know something, whether it was the shooting or the bite or both. "Then STARS showed up." He rubbed the injection spot absently.
"Something wrong?" The question was more worried than sharp, and he could see her eyes shift down to his arm, see her stop before she reached out to check it herself. Probably professional, not personal.
Should have known better. "Damned sore, feels hot."
"That's normal." She sounded relieved and vaguely annoyed, maybe at the medic who ditched the side-effects lecture. "Usual side effects of the shot are soreness, redness, sometimes some bruising and swelling. Bad signs are a bulls-eye rash, red and white lines leading away from the site, or if it turns white. If you notice any of those, report them immediately."
"So not infection?" He'd never seen the initial stages, just the end result.
"Not infection," she confirmed. "We'll be keeping a close eye on all of you for any signs of infection."
Then she started asking the real questions, going through the morning, careful not to lead his answers or get into anything personal. Times, who'd been around when, who'd been delivering what, the order, where stuff had gone. Hadn't had anything to do with the guests, hadn't seen them except from a distance. Heard of TerraSave on the news a few times, some kind of anti-bioterrorism group, hadn't heard of the other groups at the conference.
"Thanks for your information. Is there anything else you need to know?"
"You planning on feeding us sometime today?"
"After we finish the interviews," she replied. "Can't promise anything good. Can't tell you when the kitchen will be available, either."
"No pineapple pizzas?" It was a stab in the dark; he remembered something about pineapple pizza and orange food from back then.
It got him a laugh; it was a tired laugh, and he noticed the dark circles under her eyes. Must be a hell of a job. "Nope. No pepperoni either." She must've remembered that conversation too. "We'll be eating the same thing you are, though, if that makes you feel better."
She gave him what sounded like a canned speech about how long he would be held, what would happen, and what would be done with his personal information, before going on to the next person. He dropped into a chair and didn't watch her go, thinking about getting out. She didn't need his help this time, neither of them needed him getting caught, she'd be fine. STARS did feed them later, MREs and some extra bottled water, the coffee in the MRE still a miserable imitation of coffee, and set up some bunkrooms.
Forty hours to go.
-----
Rebecca stood up and stretched, rolling her shoulders and stretching her arms, then rubbing her back. The makeshift lab wasn't particularly comfortable to work in, the tables and chairs set for people noticeably taller than she was, and she'd wasted time rearranging her work station to get everything in easy reach. These makeshift facilities were far too insecure to risk culturing the virus, but she'd developed a test a few years ago to pick up on some of the effects the virus had on the blood; it took about an hour to run and she'd only just started it.
She picked up the first batch of reports. Claire had tested positive for a multitude of T-Virus antibodies; no surprise between her history and her profession. No one else was showing symptoms, so the infection had most likely been contained. The symptoms in the infected were improving, though one of the guests and two of the workers were suffering vision problems and severe nausea, not uncommon side effects of the antivirals; nausea cleared up within days and the vision problems usually cleared up within weeks of the antivirals being discontinued. Nobody'd tried to break or take advantage of isolation yet. Bascomb had narrowed down the possibilities down to the C2B series; she scanned Claire's history and test results, noting that was a new one for her.
She skimmed through the rest of the reports, not sure if she was looking for Billy's or just looking; she didn't find a report for him, and she didn't see anything clearly out of place. She'd expected to never see him again, had been careful not to look, not to appear there was anything to look for. She hadn't expected to recognize him right away, hadn't expected him to recognize her, not more than ten years later. Nobody else seemed to have noticed, though, or understood. Claire would have, but she'd been upstairs, and Rebecca felt a flash of guilt at how relieved she was.
She put the reports down, rolled her shoulders again and reached back, trying to find a stubborn knot with her hand. As usual, it didn't work.
Billy hadn't been bitten, might not have been exposed if he hadn't been in or near the affected room. If they were careful and lucky, they'd both get out of this safe and undiscovered. He looked like he'd been doing fine since then, he'd be fine once he got out of here; she'd go back to Vancouver and everything would go back to whatever passed for normal for both of then. And they'd never see each other again. They shouldn't have seen each other this time.
She blinked suddenly, swaying on her feet; she looked at the clock and realized it was fifteen minutes later. Coffee, cold water on the face, anything to keep her awake until the last test finished. Maybe if she crashed hard enough, the nightmares wouldn't start up again. She nearly jumped out of her skin when her cell went off, the sound harsh and loud in the empty room. Her hands were shaking when she grabbed it to look at the number, and she took a deep breath before answering.
"Chris, don't you ever sleep?"
"How's Claire?"
"Last time I checked on her, she was going to try to sleep." She paused and collapsed back into her chair. "She turned off her cell, didn't she?"
She'd seen Chris bone-tired and moving by sheer Redfield stubborness before, back when they were still doing guerilla operations against Umbrella, and he'd sounded about like this. "Rebecca. Just tell me what's going on." He did not understand the concept of patient privacy when it came to Claire. Not that Claire was any better when the situation was reversed.
"Claire's going to be fine," she told him, trying to sound more authoritative than tired. "We've got the situation in hand. I'll call you -"
"Like you called me today?"
She'd walked right into that one, and tried to ignore it. " - if the situation changes." She briefed him quickly on the outbreak, leaving out that Claire had been bitten and had to shoot one of her own staff. "We're still working on the source and the strain." Reminded, she booted up her laptop to check on the strains Bascomb had identified.
"No accident." Too many outbreaks were caused by would-be terrorists losing control of the virus and infecting themselves; scenarios like this, where the perpetrators couldn't be quickly found, or at least the immediate origin of the outbreak, were a rarity. She logged into the secure net and started the search.
"Not likely. How's Jill?"
"Fine," Chris said, and then paused at Jill's voice in the background. "She says she doesn't care how hungry you are, feed off someone else."
"She and Claire need some new jokes. And I haven't taken any blood samples from her in a month."
"You still need to take fewer blood samples. I can be there tomorrow."
"She's fine, really." She found the relevant sections and started reading the file. The two strains had been collected in a still-unsolved incident in South Africa three years ago, and in an also-unsolved incident in Brazil last year. "You can yell at her on the phone in the morning. Even if you managed to talk your way into the building, yelling through a sealed door just doesn't work." The words slipped out before she realized what she'd done.
"How bad is it?" Chris demanded.
"The treatment is working. Standard isolation period, possibly extended given her history." She yawned hugely; definitely time for coffee. Just enough to get her through the last test. "Yell at her voicemail if you need to."
"She never listens to me."
"That's what she says about you." She paused, and said, somewhat more sharply than she'd really meant, "And neither of you ever listen to me."
She winced, almost hearing Chris counting to ten in the ensuing silence. "Neither of us is reckless. We do not ignore the rule about preventing our own infection. We - " She heard Jill snap at him in the background; Chris muffled the phone to argue with her and there was a rustling noise as the phone got passed off.
"Take a damn vacation," Jill ordered. "Every time you get stressed, you start yelling at everybody else."
"This is the second Canadian outbreak in two months - " The previous one had been in Ottawa; BSAA had handled the initial control and quarantine, and STARS had run the search for the culprits. "And the other - "
"You have a staff, Rebecca. They're supposed to be capable of handling an investigation on their own." Chris grumbled in the background. "You're going to have Chris underfoot if you've been yelling at Claire like this."
"If he shows up right now, I'll just need a blood sample for comparison." Chris hated blood draws only slightly less than Claire did.
"Stop complaining about the vampire jokes if you're going to do that."
"If you're going to keep making them, I'm going to deserve them."
Jill made an exasperated noise. "You need to back the hell off, Rebecca. They're both experienced field operatives and you don't get to determine their level of acceptable risk."
"Not even when I get to deal with them later?"
"I have to deal with them both." She sounded decidedly unsympathetic.
There was another argument and Chris took the phone back. "Keep an eye on Claire for me. Rumor mill says TriCell kept extensive files on anti-bioterrorism NGOs and their staff." He probably had the files and was combing through them to find out what they had on Claire.
She considered responses and gave up. "All right. I can only handle one Redfield at a time."
He ordered her again to call him if anything happened and hung up.
Rebecca sent an email to Carlos before logging off; he was technically BSAA North America, but he knew a lot of people in the South American branch and might know who she'd need to talk to there. She'd have to request the South Africa report from HQ. She rubbed her temples and went in search of coffee, boiling some water in the electric kettle and dumping instant coffee in her mug. Claire was going to be justifiably pissed, but she'd probably settle for yelling at her in the morning instead of going to court or to STARS. Probably. She had to be more careful, anyway. She poured water into the mug and stirred the coffee, then added creamer and sugar before taking it back to the work table.
Coffee or not, she dozed off a few times waiting for the bloodwork to finally finish. Bascomb came back in as she finished redacting the files, putting off sending them to the shared drive until she'd gone over them when a little more awake. He looked about as rested as she felt, dark hair untidy and dark eyes bleary; he cradled a large mug of coffee in his hands.
"Have you been working all night, Dr. Chambers?"
"Probably," she said, pushing herself to sit upright instead of slumping. "Got anything?"
"I need to run double-checks on a blood sample. There was a positive reaction."
"False positive?"
Bascomb nodded. "Possibly. It didn't react to the same strains the samples from the other patients did."
"Which strain did it react to?"
"A moderate reaction to A1A3 and a strong one to A1B1."
"That's unusual." A-strain designations were reserved for the strains found in the survivors of the mansion incident and the few survivors of Raccoon City itself. Or for the antibodies, anyway; they'd retrieved only two actual viral strains that matched up with the antibodies. "The patient may have been exposed years ago."
"I am aware of the length of time T-Virus antibodies persist in the body, Dr. Chambers." Bascomb snapped out the words with unnecessary emphasis.
She was too tired to deal with Bascomb's ego tonight. This morning. Whatever. "Good. Don't jump to conclusions like you did in Ottawa."
Bascomb shot her a look and very pointedly continued working.
She logged back on to check the two A-strains Bascomb had referred to, thinking she must be really tired to be having that much trouble remembering them; something was rattling at the back of her brain, telling her this was important. A1A3 was shared by all the mansion survivors and about twenty-five percent of the few Raccoon City survivors, including both Claire and Leon. It hadn't appeared in any incident since Raccoon died, so the patient almost had to have been in the area that summer; that didn't help much, since the Arklay forest had been popular with hikers, hunters and naturalists. She switched to the file for A1B1. Until today, it had been exclusive to her.
Billy. It had to be, none of the others had that antibody, and he'd been with her through everything before the mansion. She couldn't think of any way to warn him, arrange events so he could get away; she was too damn tired for any kind of plan at all.
"Have that report ready for me tomorrow. Dr. Ross and I will handle interviews and blood tests."
Bascomb didn't respond, and she left for the bunkroom.