Dr. Do-Or-Die. Lara Lacombe

shook his head. “Not yet. But if this does turn out to be some new, supervirulent flu...”

      “I know,” she said softly. “We’d be stuck there.” Worry gnawed at the edges of her mind, dampening her earlier enthusiasm. Did she really want to take on this mess, knowing there was a possibility she’d be stranded for an indefinite amount of time?

      Her boss stared at her, sympathy welling in his eyes. “You don’t have to go,” he said. “Given the nature of this one, I can’t force you to go to Antarctica when there’s a chance you might get stuck there.”

      “It’s okay,” she said, dismissing the hypothetical outcome. If she focused on the potentially negative aspects of her job, she’d never be able to work again. There was always a chance she might get caught in a quarantine, or worse, get sick herself. Those were just some of the risks inherent in her line of work. She couldn’t give in to the fear and worry now, not when there was so much on the line.

      “Besides,” she continued, “it’s not like they’d forget about us. They’d do supply drops to keep us fed.”

      Harold acknowledged the point with a nod. “That’s true.”

      “And if they do shut things down, can you imagine the hazard pay I’d earn?” She winked at him, hoping to lighten the mood. It was nice of Harold to give her the option of refusal, but Avery couldn’t turn down this assignment. Identifying a new, virulent flu strain was the chance of a lifetime, and she wasn’t going to sit on the sidelines and let someone else do all the work.

      Harold smiled and shook his head. “I didn’t think you’d say no, but I wanted to give you the choice all the same.”

      “I appreciate it. Is it just me?”

      “No, there will be three other people accompanying you—two nurses and a lab tech. I haven’t met any of them personally, but from what I hear they’re the best of the best.”

      Avery nodded, pleased to hear about the reinforcements. If the situation was as dire as Harold believed, they’d need all the help they could get.

      He stood, and Avery did the same. “I’ll get your itinerary sent over. You’ll fly to New Zealand first, and get set up with all the cold-weather gear you’ll need to survive the place.”

      “Oh, good.” That was a load off her mind. The Centers for Disease Control was located in Atlanta, which wasn’t exactly known for winter weather. Avery didn’t think she had a coat that could handle a Chicago winter, much less the cold of Antarctica. “What about medical supplies?” Since the base hospital was handling everything, they probably needed a good restocking. “Can we get some antiflu drugs, too, just in case?”

      Harold nodded. “Draw up a list of medications and supplies you want added to the manifesto. I’ll see that it gets sent to the correct people.”

      “Thanks,” Avery said, already turning her attention back to her computer. She pulled up a blank document and started typing, knowing there was no time to waste.

      Containment suits, scrubs, respirators, bleach... Not to mention all the equipment she’d need to set up a field lab.

      Harold walked to the door, but before he opened it, he turned back to face her. “Avery,” he said, his voice serious.

      She glanced up, tamping down a surge of impatience at the interruption. “Yes?”

      “Be careful out there,” he said, his gray eyes solemn.

      Avery nodded, taken aback by his warning. In the five years she and Harold had been working together, he’d never once told her to be careful. For him to say so now drove home just how worried he was about the situation, and Avery felt a small weight settle on her shoulders. This case was different, she could already tell. And not just because of the exotic location.

      “I will,” she promised. “We’ll get this thing under control and I’ll be back here bugging you before you know it.”

      He tried for a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I hope so,” he said. Then he opened the door and left, closing it softly behind him.

      Three days later...

      “Dr. Jones?”

      The words drifted through the fog of fatigue that hung heavy over Grant’s mind. “Hmm?” Not his most eloquent response, but it was the best he could manage with his face half buried in the pillow.

      “The plane’s landed.”

      “M’kay.” The pillow was soft and cool under his cheek and he stretched, relishing the sensation of lying flat for the first time in days. He hadn’t caught more than a few snatches of sleep over the past week, and now that he’d managed to collapse on a bed he wasn’t going to get up unless the hospital was on fire.

      And maybe not even then.

      “Dr. Jones?”

      “Hmm?” Now he felt a flash of irritation. Why was the nurse still here? She’d delivered her message—why couldn’t she just leave him in peace so he could lapse into the coma his body so desperately needed?

      “The expert from the CDC is here and wants to meet you.”

      Damn. He was going to have to get up after all.

      “M’kay,” he muttered. He flipped onto his back, then brought his hands up to his eyes and rubbed vigorously. “I’ll be right there,” he called out, dismissing the messenger. She closed the door, leaving him alone again.

      Grant forced himself to sit up, knowing that if he didn’t it would be all too easy to surrender to sleep once more. But since he was the chief doctor on-base, it was his responsibility to brief the reinforcements about the “situation,” as he’d come to think of it. He preferred that to the more inflammatory term outbreak.

      Or apocalypse.

      He stood and forced the exhausted hamster back on the rusty wheel in his brain. Caffeine. He needed caffeine—industrial quantities of it.

      He stepped into the small adjacent bathroom and flipped on the lights, wincing at the sudden brightness. A dull throb started up behind his eyeballs, but he ignored it. He’d learned from experience that medication didn’t relieve his fatigue-induced headaches. Only sleep helped, and he wasn’t likely to get that anytime soon.

      A glance in the mirror told him he looked as rough as he felt. Too bad there wasn’t time for a shower and shave—he certainly wasn’t going to make a good first impression with his hair sticking out and a weeks’ worth of stubble on his cheeks. He sighed, dismissing the issue. With everything else going on, he just couldn’t muster up the energy to care about his appearance.

      He stepped out into the hall and started down the narrow corridor. Every inch of available room was crammed with stuff—supplies, medical records, bedsheets. They couldn’t afford to let any space go unused. When he’d first arrived, he felt claustrophobic and overwhelmed—how was he going to remember where anything was? But it hadn’t taken long for him to learn the system, such as it was, and now he navigated the apparent chaos with ease.

      He walked to the main desk, which faced the entrance to the hospital, expecting to find the new arrivals clustered around the door. But the small entryway was empty, along with the nurse who was on reception duty. Where were they?

      The sound of voices drifted down the other hall and he turned and set off, wondering what they were doing. Maybe one of the nurses was giving them a quick tour of the facility? And it would be quick—with only twenty beds, they weren’t exactly set up for the kind of cases they’d been getting lately. He shook his head, his mood sinking as it always did when he thought of the four patients he hadn’t been able to save...

      Fortunately, most of the beds were empty now. After the initial set of ten patients, they’d settled into a lull, and there hadn’t been any new cases in the last three days. He hoped this was a sign the outbreak was over, but deep in his gut he worried it was only