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But the medics must have given me the injection, because the ocean around me stirred itself, pushing me even deeper into the darkness. The voices faded to nothing. After another moment or two, so did I.
CHAPTER 7
SEARING PAIN JARRED me into full consciousness, and I quickly realized that I had never felt so horrible before. Imagine your worst body-wracking flu… then dial it up to a thousand.
When I was last conscious, I’d felt like my mind was attached to my dying body by a few spindly threads. Now it felt like someone had taken my brain and brutally stapled it to my skull, with little care or attention to reattaching the neural pathways.
I couldn’t tell whether I could move at all, or if it just hurt too much.
What time was it? What day was it? Where was I?I had no idea. I was in some kind of hospital room, and I could hear the tick of a clock somewhere nearby, but a curtain blocked my view.
And what about Kevin? By some miracle, had the EMTs been able to save him as well?
As I lost myself in these frustrating thoughts, an entourage of doctors and nurses entered my room. They were all clad in disposable gowns and surgical masks and gloves.Why the precautions? Was I infectious?
I could predict what the next several minutes would entail: the team running down their checklist, asking stupid questions, trying to draw out my mental condition. I considered playing unconscious so that I could simply listen to them discuss my medical condition amongst themselves instead. It would be the fastest way to learn the truth.
“Miss Bell?” one of the doctors asked in English. “Are you awake?”
Instead, I went for the direct approach and opened my eyes.
“It’s Ms. Bell-Drexel.”
“I’m sorry?”
My voice was dry and weak; no wonder the doctor had a difficult time understanding. I gritted my teeth and swallowed, but it felt like razor blades were sliding down my throat.
“I haven’t updated my information yet. Where is my husband?”
The doctor hovering in front of my face hesitated for a moment, and his strained facial expression told me everything I needed to know. When good people have to tell someone bad news, they flinch a little, as if they’re about to deliver a punch.
“I am so, so sorry.”
The doctor’s voice was full of genuine sorrow, expressed like an American. He’d probably been elected to speak with me because he appeared to be fluent in English—possibly schooled at Johns Hopkins or Baylor. I realized that I was fixating on his accent because I didn’t want to focus on his words. Meanwhile, his colleagues busied themselves taking my blood pressure and checking my other vitals.
“Where am I?”
“St. Hedwig’s. You were brought here earlier this evening.”
“Tell meexactlywhat happened to my husband.”
“We don’t have all of the answers yet,” the doctor said. “But you and your husband appear to have fallen victim to a chemical nerve agent that was released in the hallway of your hotel.”
“What? Released by who?”
“I do not know. That is not my field of expertise. Perhaps Interpol can tell you more. Our goal is to keep you stable and as comfortable as possible.”
“Tell me more about this nerve agent. There was a strange smell in the hallway when I found Kevin.”
“As far as I know,” the doctor said, “these agents are usually odorless, but again, I don’t know the exact type we’re dealing with.”
“Soman? VX? Novichok?”
The doctor blinked in surprise. “Do you know a lot about nerve agents?”
“I do a lot of reading. So which one is it?”
“Our guess is that this agent is similar to Novichok, in that it attacks the skeletal muscles, leading to respiratory or cardiac arrest. And we’ve given you galantamine, which has been proven in some studies to counter the effects of soman and Novichok.”
