When she arrived back at the isolation ward, one of the CDC lab techs told her that Dubchek had gone back to the hotel at 5:00 A.M. He didn’t know where either Vreeland or Layne was.
At the nurses’ station things were a bit chaotic. Five more patients had been admitted during the night with a presumptive diagnosis of Ebola Hemorrhagic Fever. Marissa collected the charts, but as she stacked them in order, she realized that Zabriski’s was missing. She asked the day nurse where it was.
“Dr. Zabriski died just after four this morning.”
Although she’d expected it, Marissa was still upset. Unconsciously, she had been hoping for a miracle. She sat down and put her face in her hands. After a moment she forced herself to go over the new charts. It was easier to keep busy. Without meaning to, she caught herself touching her neck for swelling. There was an area of tenderness. Could it be a swollen lymph node?
She was pleased to be interrupted by Dr. Layne, the Director of the CDC’s Hospital Infectious Disease Program. It was obvious from the dark circles under his eyes, his drawn face and the stubble on his chin that he had pulled an “all-nighter.” She smiled, liking his slightly heavyset, rumpled looks. He reminded her of a retired football player. He sat down wearily, massaging his temples.
“Looks like this is going to be just as bad as L.A.,” he said. “We have another patient on the way up and another in the ER.”
“I’ve just started looking at the new charts,” said Marissa, suddenly feeling guilty for having left the night before.
“Well, I can tell you one thing,” said Dr. Layne. “All the new patients seem to have gotten their disease from the hospital. That’s what bothers me so much.”
“Are they all patients of Dr. Zabriski’s?” asked Marissa.
“Those are,” said Dr. Layne, pointing at the charts in front of Marissa. “They all saw Zabriski recently. He apparently inoculated them during his examinations. The new cases are both Dr. Cester’s patients. He’d been the anesthesiologist when they had surgery during the last ten days.
“What about Dr. Cester?” asked Marissa. “Do you think that he contracted the disease the same way that Dr. Zabriski did?”
Dr. Layne shook his head. “Nope. I talked at length with the man, and I found out that he and Zabriski were tennis partners.”
Marissa nodded. “But would such contact count?”
“About three days before Dr. Zabriski became ill, Dr. Cester borrowed his towel between sets. I think that’s what did it. Transmission seems to depend on actual contact with body fluids. I think Zabriski is another index case, just like Dr. Richter.”
Marissa felt stupid. She had stopped questioning Dr. Cester just one question short of learning a crucial fact. She hoped that she wouldn’t make the same mistake again.
“If we only knew how the Ebola got into the hospital in the first place,” said Dr. Layne rhetorically.
Dubchek, looking tired but clean-shaven and as carefully dressed as always, arrived at the nurses’ station. Marissa was surprised to see him. If he’d left at five, he’d hardly had time to shower and change, much less get any sleep.
Before Dubchek could get involved in a conversation with Layne, Marissa quickly told both doctors that Zabriski had attended the same San Diego medical conference as Richter had and that they had stayed in the same hotel.
“It’s too long ago to be significant,” Dubchek said dogmatically. “That conference was over six weeks ago.”
“But it appears to be the only association between the two doctors,” protested Marissa. “I think I should follow up on it.”
“Suit yourself,” said Dubchek. “Meanwhile, I’d like you to go down to pathology and make sure they take every precaution when they post Zabriski this morning. And tell them that we want quick-frozen samples of liver, heart, brain and spleen for viral isolation.”
“What about kidney?” interjected Layne.
“Yeah, kidney, too,” said Dubchek.
Marissa went off feeling like an errand girl. She wondered if she would ever regain Dubchek’s respect, then remembering why she’d lost it, her depression was wiped out by a surge of anger.