Alison was looking for a pen and paper when she was suddenly interrupted.
“Miss Alison!”
She spun around to find Bruna behind her, eyes wide with excitement.
“Bruna. Is something wrong?”
“Miss Alison. Come! Come quickly!”
“What is it?”
“Come! Come!”
Alison pushed away from the desk only to watch Bruna turn and rush back toward the entrance. She instinctively fell in behind her, trotting until they reached the doorway.
Bruna promptly opened one of the large doors and disappeared.
Alison caught the door before it closed, pulling it open again to peer down the hall. All she could see was Bruna hurrying away and quickly disappearing around the far corner.
When Alison caught up, coming around the same corner, she stopped dead in her tracks.
There in front of her in the lobby stood Lara and Ricardo Santiago, the parents of young Sofia. They were standing side by side. Lara’s eyes were red and swollen from crying.
Alison stared at them. Her face suddenly drawn. Oh no. Not Sofia. Not already!
“Mr. and Mrs. Ricardo,” her voice trembled. “W-what is it?”
Lara Ricardo gulped back a sob and looked at her husband. Without a word she turned slightly and took a step to the side. There was someone standing behind her. It was Sofia.
Alison was overwhelmed with relief, a feeling that was immediately replaced by astonishment. Sofia was not just behind her parents. With the help of crutches, she was actually standing!
There was a loud gasp behind Alison at which point she turned to find DeeAnn, stunned and frozen with her own mouth open.
“Sofia! You’re standing!”
Balancing carefully between the metal crutches, the young girl was beaming at both women. Next to Sophia, her mother began crying again.
“She’s getting stronger!”
18
Minutes later, Alison was sprinting at full speed back down the hallway. She burst through the double doors and continued across the room where she raced up the wide stairs. At the top, she continued until she reached the lab. In one motion she yanked the door open and rushed in, finding all three of the guys at Lee’s desk.
“Something wrong?”
She didn’t respond. Instead, she quickly crossed the room. Their expressions grew more concerned as she approached.
When she reached the desk, her eyes were on Chris, gazing at his face. She examined both cheeks and stepped back. “Take off your shirt.”
“What?”
“Take off your shirt!”
He blinked and shot a confused look at Lee and Juan. “Wh-why do you want me to take off my shirt?”
“TAKE IT OFF!”
Chris jumped. He promptly raised his hands and pulled his white polo shirt up and over his head, revealing his olive-colored chest and stomach. The latter was carrying about ten pounds too many.
He stood waiting. “Happy?”
Alison examined his front and then spun him sideways to see his back. “Your bruises are gone.”
“Yes, Ali. It’s called healing.”
She turned her gaze to Lee, who was also standing. “And what about you?”
He instinctively raised his hands when she stepped toward him. “Whoa! Whoa!” he grinned. “I’m married.”
“Quiet.” She closed in to place her hand on his side then pressed gently. There was no reaction. “What happened to your ribs?!”
Lee shrugged. “They’re better.”
“Ribs don’t heal that fast!”
“Maybe I have good bones.”
“It’s not the bones, Lee. It’s all the muscles around them. They should take months longer to heal.”
“Well, I guess it wasn’t as bad as they thought.”
She didn’t answer. Instead she glanced at the younger Juan, causing him to jump back. “I’m good!”
“Ali-” Before Chris could finish his sentence, Alison was already rushing back to the door. Once outside, she ran to the stairs and descended as fast as she could.
From the tank, Dirk and Sally noticed Alison rush back down the stairs. They continued watching as she crossed the room and grabbed her bag off a nearby table.
She rummaged through it and looked up, frustrated. She said something that IMIS couldn’t translate. She was clearly upset.
Her phone was still in her car, damn it. Alison thought for a moment, finally raising her eyes to the tank and to Dirk and Sally on the other side. They were observing her carefully.
She stepped forward and placed her hands on her hips. “Why don’t you have a word for sick?!”
It was a rhetorical question, but Sally drifted closer and replied.
We have Alison.
“No! Not injured…I mean sick! Like a cold, or a virus…or a disease!”