Tommy Nightmare(17)

Heather sat down with them.

“Here’s our situation,” Artleby began. “First, the White House has declared this whole sorry situation a matter of national security. We’re keeping this thing more classified than the aliens at Roswell.” Artleby chuckled, but nobody joined him. “On a serious note, nobody says anything to anybody about Fallen Oak. Not your friends, your family, and sure as hell not the media.”

“We need to tell the public something,” Heather said. “Lots of people are dead. They’ll have families…” Heather trailed off. Schwartzman was cutting her a shut the fuck up look.

“Absolutely, little lady,” Artleby said. “And we have a whole team of experts to sort out the best approach to that. So don’t scramble up that sweet little face with any more worry lines.”

Heather scowled.

“Pressing on, if we may…” Artleby raised his eyebrows at Heather, as if asking permission.

“Go ahead,” Heather said.

Schwartzman removed his glasses, pinched his nose and squinted. That meant he was developing a migraine.

“Not one word about anything you see or do,” Artleby said. “Official messages will be put out through official channels.” Artleby looked at Heather expectantly, with an amused curl to his lip. She stared back at him, trying to look cold.

“Dr. Reynard will adhere to the President’s orders,” Dr. Schwartzman said. “Like the rest of us. Correct, Dr. Reynard?”

“Of course,” Heather said. “Sorry, I was asleep. I’m just trying to catch up.”

“Perfectly understandable,” Artleby said. “Why, this must be a whole blizzard of information coming at you all at once. Would someone get the lady doctor a coffee?”

A twenty-something Homeland Security officer in a blue uniform hurried to fetch it.

“That’s really not…” Heather began, though she was secretly relieved to have coffee on the way. Maybe she could fling it in Artleby’s face, if she got bored.

“Mr. Lansing here has flown with me from Washington,” Artleby said. “He’s in charge of this situation. And he’s my eyes and ears for the duration. You need anything, you hit any rough patches, you just come to him.”

The pinch-faced man gave a small nod and waved his hand a little, as if everyone might have forgotten that the word “Lansing” referred to him.

“Now,” Artleby said, “What is our first priority?”

“Identify the pathogen,” Heather said. “I’ll need to pull the medical claims histories of all the victims. And we’re still looking for any hint of a source.”

“No,” Artleby said. “Lansing?”

“Contain the situation,” Lansing said.

“Correct. You’ve collected all the bodies, is that right?” Artleby asked Dr. Schwartzman. “They’re not laying around exposed to the public somewhere, are they?”

“They’re in refrigerated transports,” Schwartzman said. “Parked in an empty warehouse in Fallen Oak, until we find a facility. We’ve started our initial laboratory testing, but—”

“Good,” Artleby said. “Now, priority two. Who else has the disease?”

“We haven’t identified any suspected cases, yet,” Schwartzman said.

“Test everyone in town,” Artleby said.

“Test them for what?” Heather asked. Intuitively, she suspected a highly mutated, even genetically engineered, strain of bacteria, but there was no evidence for anything yet. “We don’t even know what we’re looking for.”

“But we could perform a general screening,” Schwartzman hurried to add. He cut Heather another sharp look. “The population is only a few thousand. We could survey for symptoms matching the known cases, or anything out of the ordinary.”

“Could, should and will,” Artleby said. “Make sure nobody gets overlooked. Get blood and hair samples from every yokel in that town. We won’t break the quarantine until then.”

Lansing nodded along, looking from Schwartzman to Heather.

“If you want to test every person in town, we’ll have to set up a testing center in Fallen Oak,” Heather said. “And communicate that to the public. And then door-to-door outreach to everyone who doesn’t come voluntarily.”

“And funding for that, and security for that,” Schwartzman added, with a glance at Lansing. “I don’t want my people getting shot as trespassers. You’ll run across a few who don’t really care for the ‘feddle guvment’ poking around.”

Heather frowned. She hadn’t thought of that.