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Under Patti’s direction, they worked methodically, each of them examining a lamb, checking its heart rate, its breathing, its mouth, and gut. She tried to keep her voice steady as she instructed Duke and Chuck, despite the fear gnawing at her insides. She couldn’t help but compare this situation to Thunder’s, and prayed it wouldn’t end the same way.
“Remember to check for any signs of fever and irritation,” Patti reminded them, gently stroking the head of a shivering lamb. It took time and patience, but eventually, it became clear that the lambs weren’t in as dire a state as Thunder had been. Yet.
Just as the tension in the air seemed to be waning, Patti felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. Her heart leaped, thinking it might be Trent with news.
But it wasn’t Trent. It was someone that she hadn’t heard from for a long time. Someone she had hoped that she would never hear from again.
The message read:“Having a tough day?”
It was her old boss, Brandon Grouse. Wait. Was he behind this? Surely not. How? Why?
Patti swallowed hard, her fingers hovering above the screen, unsure of how or if she should respond. She hesitated, ultimately deciding not to reply. The fear felt physical, like a rock in her throat.
Moments later, another message came through: “Get ready. Your day is about to get a whole lot worse.” The ominous words sent shivers down Patti’s spine, but she forced herself to take a deep breath and shove her phone back into her pocket. She couldn’t let Brandon distract her from the task at hand.
“Alright,” she said, her voice firm despite the terror inside her. “Let’s keep tending to these lambs. We’ll get them back on their feet in no time.” She glanced around at Duke and Chuck, grateful for their support and determination.
But somewhere, nearby, there was a tiny spark. A spark that would change everything.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Trentstoodinthedimly lit hallway of the Three Peaks lab, the flickering fluorescent light above casting a sickly glow on the linoleum floor. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled his nostrils as he tried to quell the rising unease curling in his stomach.
As Trent waited for Professor Packard, he whispered to himself, his brow furrowing as he considered the possibilities. “Anthrax? Botulism?” But no, those couldn’t be it–Thunder hadn’t shown any of the telltale symptoms. He sighed and leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. His thoughts drifted to Patti, alone at the ranch. At least she had friends there to keep her company.
She was probably still at the wake. He was sad not to be there, processing the grief that he still had for Thunder.
His thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of the professor. Trent hadn’t seen Glen for years, but the old gentleman looked as spry and smart as he had done when he’d been teaching at Cornell.
The difference was that today, Glen looked extremely worried.
They shook hands. “Professor,” Trent said. “Good to see you.”
“You too, son,” Glen said, warmly clapping Trent on the shoulder. “Although I wish it were under better circumstances. Follow me.”
No time for pleasantries. Obviously, this was important.
Their footsteps echoed against the linoleum floor as they made their way to a small back room. Professor Packard’s name was on the door, and inside was a computer, some lab equipment, and a couple of framed degrees from NYU.
“Grab a seat,” Glen gestured for Trent to sit down, and then flipped the switch on the coffee machine with a weary sigh. The hum of the machine filled the silence.
“Isn’t it a little late for coffee?” Trent asked, casting a sidelong glance at the clock on the wall.
“We’re going to need some,” Glen replied grimly, his eyes not leaving the machine.
Trent’s heart quickened, sensing that Glen’s news wouldn’t be good. He shifted in his chair, his fingers drumming nervously on the table.
“Alright, so what’s going on?” Trent probed, unable to wait any longer.
Glen exhaled heavily, running a hand through his thinning hair. “Okay, here’s the situation. The first load of results we got were all classic cryptosporidium. That’s what you’ve been treating, right?”
When Professor Packard had retired from his post at Cornell, it had been something of a scandal. Who works their whole life for tenure, finally gets it, and then leaves their post? “A man who wants more,” had been Packard’s explanation. “A man who wants to be out there, helping vets in the field.” Trent remembered Glen’s leaving party, the speech he’d given. “I just had to accept that, even though I thought I wanted this my whole life, when I got it… it just wasn’t me.”
“Right,” Trent nodded, thinking of the long hours spent tending to the sick animals. “Hydration, food in moderation, some antiemetics, and drugs for comfort. And they’ve been recovering.”
“Good.” Glen hesitated, pouring two cups of steaming black coffee. “But that isn’t what we found in Thunder’s sample.”
“No cryptosporidium?”
