Ebola K: A Terrorism Thriller Read Online Free PDF Page A

evenings. It was a wholly different
experience than what he was used to back home in Denver—being on
the plain, watching the sun sink behind the Rocky Mountains.
    “Let’s go.”
    Austin turned away from the yellow sky, took
a few quick steps to catch up with Rashid, and together they walked
up the center of the dirt road through the deserted town. An
occasional muffled cry carried on the wind. Austin cocked his head
to try to hear it again, but the sounds were elusive and soft, hard
to define.
    Ahead on the hospital’s wide front porch, a
heavyset figure was reaching up to put a flame in the lantern that
hung above the door.
    “Electricity is out again,” Rashid
deduced.
    With the lantern’s glow growing, the woman
went back inside.
    Austin said, “That was Nurse Mary-Margaret, I
think.”
    “Yeah,” Rashid agreed.
    They continued up the road, seeing no one
until they climbed the six steps up to the hospital’s porch and let
themselves in the front door. The smell of sickness rolled out of
the interior gloom, turning Austin’s stomach.
    Lanterns hanging down the length of the ward
on the ceiling’s beams weren’t bright enough to lift the
rectangular room entirely out of darkness. The concrete floor
reflected little light, and the sea foam green paint on the lower
half of the cinderblock walls didn’t help. A dozen screened windows
were equally spaced across the white upper half of each of the
walls. Those on the west side of the building let in the last of
the sun’s rays.
    At the other end of the ward, one door opened
to a simple operating room, another to an exam room, and a supply
closet. The two shabby desks that usually sat just inside and on
either side of the door were gone. Not moved to anywhere Austin
could see—they were just gone. Near the far end, Dr. Littlefield,
an American, was talking to his Ugandan counterpart, Dr. Ruhindi.
Nurse Mary-Margaret had just joined them. The two African nurses,
faces covered with surgical masks, full aprons, and rubber gloves,
were each busy doing something for one of the—
    Austin’s mouth fell open as his eyes adjusted
to the dimness and he saw the number of patients.
    With forty-eight generously spaced beds, the
hospital hadn’t been more than half full all summer. But extra cots
had been brought in, all of which were full. Even the space between
the beds was covered in rows of people lying on mats and blankets,
sleeping, coughing, and bleeding. The smell of urine, feces, and
vomit were thick in the air. Austin covered his mouth.
    Some primal memory told him those people were
dying, while instinct urged him to run.
    The door banged closed. Nurse Mary-Margaret
turned and hurried toward them. The look on her face made it clear
that it had been a mistake for them to come inside.

Chapter 8
    Austin couldn’t take his eyes off of the
hundred people lying on soiled sheets as they coughed and wheezed
and stared into space with all hope gone from their eyes. Nurse
Mary-Margaret bodily pushed him and Rashid out onto the front
porch, pulling the door closed behind her. “Why did you come
back?”
    “Uh,” was all Austin could think to say,
feeling like he’d been punched in the gut.
    In a voice that seemed to come from somewhere
down the street, Rashid asked, “Ebola?”
    Nurse Mary-Margaret nodded and tears welled
up in her eyes, but they didn’t flow. She had gotten very good at
keeping them under control. “You should go to your sponsor’s house.
Stay there.”
    “Nobody’s home,” Austin said, as though that
had any relevance. He was still reeling.
    Mary-Margaret glanced over her shoulder at
the closed door behind her.
    “What?” Austin implored. There was something
in that look.
    Rashid asked, “Isaac…is he in there?”
    For a second, Mary-Margaret didn’t answer.
“Yes.”
    Austin started putting the pieces together.
“Benoit, Margaux. They’re not at the house.”
    Mary-Margaret hesitated again. “Inside.”
    “They have