Chapter 5 - GREG'S RETURN
The message from the pathology lab glowed ominously on the small digital screen of my pager: ID CONFIRMED: CUTEREBRA BAERZ. TROPICAL SPECIES. HIGHLY TOXIC DEFENSIVE SECRETIONS. CONTACT DR. ARIS IMMEDIATELY.
I felt a chill race down my spine that had nothing to do with the drafty hospital corridors. I guided Elaine to a quiet family waiting room on the pediatric floor, assuring her that Leo was still resting comfortably in the post-op bay, and then rushed to the nearest nursing station to dial pathology.
“Aris, it’s Dr. Thomas. Talk to me,” I said the moment he picked up.
“Claire, this is insane,” Dr. Aris’s voice crackled over the line, sounding completely bewildered. “I’ve never seen anything like this outside of a parasitology textbook, and even then, only in specific, isolated regions of the Amazon basin. It’s a variant of the botfly, but it primarily targets large mammals—jaguars, tapirs. The reason it’s so dangerous is that it secretes a potent neurotoxin to paralyze the surrounding tissue to prevent the host’s immune system from attacking it.”
“Does Leo have the toxin in his system?” I demanded, panic rising in my chest.
“We ran his bloodwork. He has trace amounts. Not enough to cause systemic failure, thankfully, because you got it out in time. But if that thing had been in his face for another twenty-four hours, the neurotoxin would have reached his central nervous system. It would have caused total respiratory paralysis. He would have suffocated.”
I closed my eyes, leaning heavily against the laminate counter of the nurse’s station. Greg hadn't just neglected the boy; he had inadvertently subjected him to a lethal biological weapon.
“What kind of environment does this parasite need to survive?” I asked.
“Extreme humidity, decaying organic matter, and host proximity,” Aris replied. “These things are usually transported accidentally in smuggled exotic timber or illegally trafficked wildlife. Whatever is in that shed, Claire, it’s a massive biohazard.”
“Thanks, Aris. Call the CDC and the Department of Agriculture. We need a hazmat team on standby.”
I hung up the phone, my mind racing. I needed to update Officer Vance. I walked back toward the elevator banks to head down to the ER lobby, but before I could press the call button, the heavy fire doors at the end of the pediatric hallway crashed open.
A nurse screamed.
I spun around. Greg was standing in the hallway.
He was soaking wet, his flannel shirt plastered to his massive frame, water dripping from his hair and beard. His eyes were wide, manic, and darting around the ward. He had a nasty cut above his left eyebrow, bleeding freely down the side of his face.
Somehow, he had overpowered the police officers outside, or managed to slip away during a scuffle, and bypassed hospital security to find the pediatric ward. He looked like a cornered animal who realized the trap was springing shut.
“Where is he?!” Greg roared, his voice echoing off the sterile tile walls. “Where is my kid?!”
Panic erupted on the floor. Nurses grabbed charts and ducked behind the reinforced glass of the central station. A terrified orderly dropped a tray of medications, pills scattering everywhere.
I stood my ground in the center of the hallway, planting my feet firmly. My heart was hammering against my ribs, but the protective fury that had fueled me all night burned hotter than my fear.
“Security!” I yelled at the top of my lungs, though I knew it would take them at least two minutes to reach this floor. “Code Gray! Pediatric Floor!”
Greg locked his eyes on me. He remembered me from the ER. He stomped down the hallway, closing the distance between us with terrifying speed. “You. You’re the bitch trying to take my family apart. Where is Leo? I’m taking him home.”
“You aren't taking anyone anywhere, Greg,” I said, keeping my voice loud and authoritative, hoping to project a confidence I didn't entirely feel. “The police are already on their way up here. You are facing federal charges for smuggling biohazardous materials, not to mention attempted murder.”
The mention of the smuggling made him stop. The manic rage in his eyes shifted into a cold, desperate panic. I had hit the nerve.
“You don't know what you’re talking about,” he snarled, taking another step forward. He reached into the waistband of his jeans and pulled out a heavy, black tactical flashlight. It wasn't a gun, but in the hands of a man his size, it was a lethal bludgeon.
“I know exactly what is in that shed, Greg,” I lied, attempting to stall him. I slowly backed up, maneuvering myself between him and the hallway that led to Leo’s recovery room. “I know about the crates from the docks. I know about the exotic animals. The CDC is already dispatching a team to your property. It’s over.”
“Shut up!” he screamed, lunging at me.
I ducked, narrowly avoiding the heavy arc of the flashlight. It smashed into a framed picture of a cartoon giraffe on the wall, shattering the glass. I scrambled backward, grabbing a heavy metal IV pole that was resting against the wall. I swung the weighted base of the pole at his legs, striking him hard in the shins.
Greg grunted in pain, stumbling, but he didn't go down. He swatted the IV pole out of my hands with terrifying ease, sending it clattering across the floor.
He grabbed the collar of my scrubs, his massive fist twisting the fabric, hauling me off my feet. I gasped, the fabric cutting into my windpipe. I clawed at his arm, my fingernails digging into his skin, but it was like trying to fight a grizzly bear.
“You’re going to show me exactly where the kid is,” Greg hissed, his hot, sour breath hitting my face. “And then we are walking out of here. If you scream, I’ll smash your skull in.”
“Let her go!”
The voice came from behind Greg. It was shaking, high-pitched, but laced with a sudden, desperate strength.
May you like
Greg turned his head. Elaine was standing in the doorway of the family waiting room. In her hands, she held a heavy, red fire extinguisher she had pulled from the wall bracket.
Before Greg could react, Elaine pulled the metal safety pin and squeezed the handle. A massive, thick cloud of suffocating white chemical foam blasted directly into Greg’s face.
