The Coward's Way of War by Christopher Nuttall Read Free Book Online Page B

he was just imagining it; the citizens were enjoying a normal day, unaware of the growing crisis.  That, he knew, wouldn't last.  No matter what the President said, it would not be long before the citizens of New York knew about the crisis, in a manner they couldn't ignore.
     
    ***
    “ You know,” Sergeant Al Hattlestad remarked, “perhaps I'm just being insane, but I feel as if I am in prison.”
     
    He gazed around the hospital room.  It was bland, painted a boring yellow-white, with nothing in the room apart from a bed and some complicated-looking equipment.  He had been transported to the facility – he had no idea where he was, or even if he was still in New York – and pushed right into the sealed compartment, having been stripped of everything he had been wearing.  They’d even taken his wedding ring and refused to return it to him.
     
    “This is not a prison,” the doctor said.  He wore a spacesuit-like protective garment, rather like the MOPP suits that Al had worn back in the Iraq War.  His face was completely hidden behind the goggles.  “This is an emergency medical centre operated by FEMA, among others.  While you are not a prisoner, Sergeant, honesty compels me to admit that we cannot actually permit you to leave.”
     
    “Sounds rather like a prison to me,” Al said, flatly.  He deliberately looked away from the doctor, towards the mirror that took up most of one wall.  Unless he missed his guess, it was a one-way window, allowing them to stare at him through the glass.  He lifted his hand and waved towards it; unsurprisingly, there was no response.  “How long do you intend to keep me here?”
     
    The doctor took his arm in a surprisingly gentle grip and pressed a hypodermic needle against his wrist.  “As long as necessary,” he said, flatly.  “We will keep you here until we know if you have been infected, at which point we will know how to deal with you.”
     
    Al waited until the doctor had finished drawing blood and then leaned back on the bed, staring up towards the ceiling.  “Doctor,” he said, “let’s not bullshit around, shall we?  That poor girl was infected with smallpox, right?”
     
    “Yes,” the doctor said.  He sounded surprised that Al had recognised it, even though it had been an essential part of the NBC course he’d taken in the Marines.  “The presence of the disease has been confirmed.”
     
    Al nodded.  “But I have been immunised against smallpox,” he argued.  “You should let me out and back onto the streets.  I'm going to be needed.”
     
    “There are several problems with that,” the doctor said.  “There is no way to know if the injection you received several years ago is still effective, or even if it was effective against this particular variant of smallpox in the first place.  If it is not effective, you are almost certainly infected and will infect others if we allowed you out of the room.  We will hold you here until we are sure that you can be released without posing a danger to others.”
     
    “I guess I can't argue with that,” Al said, finally.  He had to admit that the doctor had a point.  “Even so...do you have any idea how long I am going to have to remain here?”
     
    The doctor shrugged.  “Smallpox has a standard incubation period of up to fourteen days,” he said.  “We should be able to tell if you have been infected sooner, through blood tests and...ah...other methods.  If you don’t show any symptoms in a couple of weeks, we should be able to release you without further ado.”
     
    “I see,” Al said, wondering what had happened to Pearson.  The rookie had to be scared out of his mind.  “Is there any way I can talk to my family?”
     
    “I’m afraid not,” the doctor admitted.  “We don’t want to panic them unduly.  After a few days, we should be able to link you up with the other possibly-infected people, which will allow you at least something of a social life.  We