Page 22 of Airborne
Did anyone else suspect Chad’s involvement? Choices... the substance that framed a person’s character. Where was her loyalty? Her husband? Her commitment to enforcing the law? God? A poison of shame assaulted her.
If she suspected Chad might have committed a vile crime, others were in the same camp.
Weariness settled into her body, and for the next hour medical personnel and investigators swarmed like bees in a hive. Although each assigned worker had a role and the passengers were treated with dignity, another forty minutes passed before the uninfected were addressed.
“I’m pregnant,” she told a CDC worker. “No signs of the virus at this point.”
The worker made notes.
The pilot asked for their attention over the interphone. “For those who remain on the aircraft and are free of symptoms, flight attendants will be issuing containment bags for your carry-on items. You’ll be escorted to a CDC medical treatment unit inside a hangar. There a team will draw blood, collect urine samples, and record your vitals. In addition, the FBI and CDC will be conducting interviews. Again, thank you for your cooperation during these distressing circumstances.”
Heather slipped her bag over her shoulder and secured her tote from where she’d sat with Mia, who’d been taken to Jamaica Hospital. Maybe she’d be allowed to visit her new friend if the quarantine unit’s location was close by. She secured a containment bag and joined the line to disembark.
Another worker escorted her to the portable medical unit, where she sat on a folding chair at the end of a row. Messages from Chad rolled into her phone except answering them had no appeal. The hum of voices lulled her closer to sleep. She’d always been on the other end of an investigation, caring for those emotionally, physically, and mentally damaged by tragedy, but nothing compared to the compassion and empathy that had taken residence in her heart.
Beside her sat a pilot. Blood dripped from his nose. “Oh no,” he whispered.
A medical worker escorted him to an ambulance.
Over two hours later, the health assessments, drawn blood, swabs, and questions were completed. In the predawn hours of morning, the group moved toward rows of luggage. Passengers identified their belongings and waited while their items were loaded into three awaiting buses. Heather ached from her toes to the hairs on her head.
“Where is the quarantine unit located?” Heather said to a CDC worker standing near her.
“You’re FBI, right?”
Heather confirmed, and the man continued. “You’ll be taken to an island in Jamaica Bay. It’s ample to handle those from flight3879. It’s best the public isn’t aware of the destination until you are safely transported. We need to avoid mass hysteria and a possible attack.”
“Is the island inhabited?”
“Not at this time. It’s occasionally used in the summer as a camp for troubled teens and for military training.”
Isolation of another type. Sounded like a prison to her. The person responsible for the virus likely inoculated themselves. The survivors might be living with a killer.
On the bus, she sat next to Catherine, who dabbed tears beneath her eyes. Heather placed her arm around the grieving woman’s shoulders. “I’m sorry Roy was unable to fight the virus.”
“Thank you.” She swiped at more tears. “He stopped breathing before they moved him to the back of the plane. He’s with God now. No pain from cancer or the effects of the treatments.”
“It’s impossible for me to understand what you’re going through, but I’m here.”
Catherine patted the hand on her shoulder. “You’re a sweet girl to risk getting sick to help others.”
Heather didn’t feel sweet or giving, only scared. What awaited them? A male CDC worker stood at the front near the driver.“We’re ready for a short bus ride. A ferry will transport you to a facility where a full staff will make you as comfortable as possible throughout the quarantine. I can’t tell you how long you’ll be guests. The duration is up to those analyzing what we’ve learned and will learn. Once we identify the cause of the illness or confirm you’re not contagious, you’ll be free to return to your homes. Testing and time are the contributing factors here. A counselor has been assigned to help you contact family and employers.”
“Do we have a choice?” a woman said.
“No. I’m sorry. Under 42 Code of Federal Regulations parts 70 and 71, ‘the CDC is authorized to detain, medically examine, and release people traveling between states who are suspected of carrying communicable diseases.’” He lifted a phone from his coat pocket and turned to the driver. The bus moved ahead.
“Who pays for time lost on the job?” a well-dressed woman said.
“The counselor at the quarantine unit will handle your questions.”
Discontent swept around the bus. Heather understood the tapestry of angst—concern for loved ones stricken by the virus, the anxiety of contracting the virus, and panic at the possibility of facing financial devastation.
Killers were motivated by scores of reasons to inflict harm, and they were a dangerous lot. Out of control fear had the ability to do much worse. If the person responsible for the virus confessed, he or she might not survive.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAD WAITED OUTSIDE SECURITYof Houston’s FBI for a taxi, his body no longer tense with the worry of being charged for a crime he hadn’t committed. Soon the FBI and anyone else who suspected his involvement with the virus would discover the lies against him.
