Page 74 of Airborne
“Sir,” Dr. Weslyn said, “Dr. Lawrence requires medical attention. He has a concussion, but we need to know the extent of his injuries. Your conversation can wait.”
“Thirty seconds won’t make a difference,” McNally said.
Chad moistened his lips. “Called me a murderer.”
“We’re interviewing the reporters for ID of the assailant,” McNally said. “Where are your devices?”
Chad fought to stay conscious. “Phone. Laptop... in backpack.”
“Thanks,” Agent McNally said. “I’ll swing back and return these in two to three hours. In the meantime, security cameras should help us ID the assailant. I assume you’ll be here at the hospital.”
“I’m flying home tonight.” The results of the CT scan wouldn’t change his plans.
“I’ll be in contact.” Agent McNally grabbed Chad’s backpack, and his cell sounded a text.
“Please... read.”
McNally obliged. “From Agent Rivera. ‘Can you talk?’” He looked at Chad. “What do I say, or do you want me to handle it?”
“Go ahead.”
McNally texted on Chad’s phone. Immediately it sounded again. “I explained your condition. He asked for you to call later.”
Did Heather face the same backlash because of their relationship? Odd, in the moments before the head pain registered again, his mind explored a fresh start with her. Her smile welcoming him, things they could do together, and how to raise a son. Chad drifted into blackness.
Heather stared at the steady trickle of fluids dripping into her veins. How long would she be in the hospital? Most procedures were day surgery, but those patients hadn’t squared off with appendicitis, pregnant, or been subjected to a killer virus. Depressing but true.
As a girl when life threw her into a tailspin, Mom and Dad always proposed the thankful game. She despised it at the time, but today she’d play.
Her appendix was in some depository of mangled medical waste, never to cause problems again.
Her baby son rested safely in her womb.
So far the virus had passed over her.
Her heart pumped blood to the rest of her body.
Thank You, God.
Stubbornness stopped her from concentrating on Chad’s visit. The Heather from last week would have viewed his presence with the enthusiasm of a vulnerable woman. No longer did she believeChad deep down cared and would one day return to the man she married. Whoever said lonely people ate lies when they were hungry needed to spit out the garbage.
A hint of his visit crept across her mind... The cavernous pits etched beneath his eyes. He’d lost weight.
She picked up the TV remote and flipped through the channels.An earlier scene from Jamaica Hospitalscrolled across the screen in bold letters.
A female reporter spoke a voice-over about an incident in the lobby of the hospital. “Dr. Chad Lawrence of Houston, suspected of masterminding the life-threatening H9N15 virus and collaborating with terrorist Braden Taversty, arrived at Jamaica Hospital earlier today. His wife is reportedly hospitalized there as well as the victims of the virus. When Lawrence exited the elevators, an unknown person shouted, ‘Murderer’ and assaulted him. Lawrence is listed in stable condition at the hospital. No arrests or suspects. H9N15 has taken the lives of thirty-one people and infected 152...”
She muted the TV and texted Jordan.Is Chad okay? Just saw the news.
Will be. Concussion. Had a CT scan. A doctor is stitching the back of his head.
Any witnesses?
No.
Being admitted?
He refused.
