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With that worry settled, I followed the GPS’s instructions back to civilization, pulling over once as an ambulance screamed by.
My car rocked in the wake, and it suddenly clicked where I’d seen Kristi’s black-eyed bodyguard before. The roadblock. He was the guy FBI agent Sorsha Aberdeen arrested. So how the hell was he out and about now? And why had Sorsha been after him?
I didn’t have any answers, but for the first time in the last few godawful days, I felt as if I finally had a lead. A thread to tug. Maybe it would turn out to be a dead end, but at least I could take some action. Sorsha Aberdeen had arrested Kristi’s bodyguard for a reason, and I intended to find out why. ASAP. I needed to ask a cop with access to the right info. And I knew just the one.
Chapter 22
Unfortunately, ASAP would have to be after the autopsies of the two shambler victims. When I arrived at the morgue, the bodies were waiting—along with Dr. Leblanc and two doctors I’d never seen before.
“Angel,” Dr. Leblanc said. “This is Dr. Yolanda Lafferty and Dr. Bernie Reid from the CDC.”
I did the polite nice-to-meet-you thing then excused myself and ran to the bathroom. With the door locked, I Googled both names. Not that I was completely devoid of trust, but I was completely devoid of trust.
I breathed a sigh of relief as both appeared to be exactly who they said they were. I didn’t know whether having the CDC here was good or bad for the Tribe, but their not being obviously Saberton was a definite plus.
After sending a quick text to Dr. Nikas, I scurried to the cutting room to prep the bodies.
I unzipped the first bag to reveal t
he face of a teenaged boy—Nigel Copper. Sandy blond hair lay dank against his skull, and his forehead bore a scattering of acne. Heartsick, I opened the second bag—Tristan Copper—and found a young man with similar features but clearly a few years older. Dark stubble covered his jaw, and a gorgeous tattoo of a wolf’s head was a spot of color on the pale skin of his upper arm.
My stomach churned. These were the brothers Allen had told me about. Only twenty and seventeen. How could they be dead less than twenty-four hours after being infected?
After a moment to recover my composure, I got the older brother onto the cutting table and made sure all the tools were at hand and ready. Dr. Leblanc came in with Dr. Lafferty and Dr. Reid, and the autopsy began.
Other than some medical lingo, neither of the CDC docs were big conversationalists, which was fine with me. I did my morgue tech duties with quiet efficiency—being careful not to drop any brains this time—and kept my eyes and ears open for anything odd or interesting.
As the autopsy proceeded, I picked up the gist of what happened. The older brother had showed symptoms yesterday and bit the younger. The parents didn’t know what was going on and took them to an urgent care clinic where both brothers received steroid shots. In the process, both parents were bitten. By the time all were transported to the hospital, the brothers were comatose, and the parents were symptomatic. Antibiotics, an antiviral, and an epinephrine drip were administered during the hospital stay, the same as for other patients showing shambler-symptoms. But by morning, the two young men were dead.
“Mosquito bite,” Dr. Lafferty said, pointing to a tiny bump on the side of the older brother’s upper arm. She exchanged a significant look with Dr. Reid.
“This is Louisiana,” I pointed out. “Mosquito bites aren’t exactly rare.” I kept my tone light, but inner me huddled in the fetal position. If this shit could be transmitted via mosquito, we were fucked.
Dr. Lafferty’s mouth pursed. “Mosquitoes are vectors for a good number of diseases, including several varieties of encephalitis.”
By the time we started on the autopsy of the younger brother, inner me was rocking and gibbering in a corner. Both victims had a mosquito bite. To my frustration, Dr. Lafferty excised both bites for analysis, leaving no sample for Dr. Nikas. Dammit.
The presence of a few bites doesn’t mean mosquitoes are spreading the shambler epidemic, I told myself, but the flimsy self-reassurance didn’t ease my worry one bit.
After finishing up the second body, Dr. Leblanc and the CDC doctors left to review results in the main office. Allen returned, and while he helped me get the bodies sewn up and put away in the cooler, I gave him a quick rundown of the brothers, the steroids, and the bites—both mosquito and human.
“I’ll get samples of these two for your people,” he said as we heaved Tristan Copper W/M 20 YOA onto the shelf. “Let’s hope to god they supply some answers.”
“I’ll ask Philip to swing by for them,” I said. “Dr. Nikas will want the samples sooner rather than later.”
“Have him contact me, and I’ll make the arrangements.”
I shoved a laden gurney to the side. “I need to go to the Sheriff’s Office to talk to Ben Roth. Is it okay if I do that now?”
“As long as you make it snappy. No telling how many more of these encephalitis cases will come in.” He glowered at the crowded cooler. “I need to light a fire under the asses of the funeral homes so we can move out some of our guests.”
“I’ll be quick,” I promised.
He stalked off. I shucked my protective gear, grabbed my keys, and pushed open the back door.
And yanked it shut again at the sight of a dark green Chevy Impala pulling into the lot. Special Agent Sorsha Aberdeen. Shit. Last thing I needed was to be sucked into a conversation with her.
Hide? Except the only place to hide in the morgue was the cooler, and she might go in there to look at shambler bodies. Besides, I still needed to talk to Ben, and skulking in the cooler didn’t fit with Allen’s “make it snappy” order.
