Doomsday Book (Oxford Time Travel, #1) - Connie Willis Page 0,95
Indian flu,” Mrs. Gaddson said, “I hope you will remember that you were the one who encouraged him in his poor eating habits. It is clear to me what led to this epidemic. Poor nutrition and a complete lack of discipline. It’s disgraceful, the way this college is run. I asked to be put in with my son William, but instead I’ve been assigned a room in another building altogether, and—”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to take that up with Finch,” Dunworthy said. He stood up and wrapped Colin’s marmaladed toast in a napkin. “I’m needed at the Infirmary,” he said and escaped before Mrs. Gaddson could start off again.
He went back to his rooms and rang up Andrews. The line was engaged. He rang up the dig, on the off-chance that Montoya had obtained her quarantine waiver, but there was no answer. He rang up Andrews again. Amazingly enough, the line was free. It rang three times and then switched to a message service.
“This is Mr. Dunworthy,” he said. He hesitated and then gave the number of his rooms. “I need to speak with you immediately. It’s important.”
He rang off, pocketed the disk, picked up his umbrella and Colin’s toast, and walked out through the quad.
Colin was huddling under the shelter of the gate, looking anxiously down the street toward Carfax.
“I’m going to the Infirmary to see my tech and your great-aunt,” Dunworthy said, handing him the napkin-wrapped toast. “Would you like to go with me?”
“No, thanks,” Colin said. “I don’t want to miss the post.”
“Well, for goodness’ sake, go and fetch your jacket so Mrs. Gaddson doesn’t come out and begin haranguing you.”
“The Gallstone’s already been,” Colin said. “She tried to make me put on a muffler. A muffler!” He gave another anxious look down the street. “I ignored her.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Dunworthy said. “I should be home in time for lunch. If you need anything, ask Finch.”
“Umm,” Colin said, obviously not listening. Dunworthy wondered what his mother was sending that merited such devotion. Obviously not a muffler.
He pulled his own muffler up round his neck and set off for Infirmary through the rain. There were only a few people in the streets, and they kept out of each other’s way, one woman stepping off the pavement altogether to avoid meeting Dunworthy.
Without the carillon banging away at “It Came Upon the Midnight Clear,” one would have had no idea at all that it was Christmas Eve. No one carried gifts or holly, no one carried parcels at all. It was as if the quarantine had knocked the memory of Christmas out of their heads completely.
Well, and hadn’t it? He hadn’t given a thought to shopping for gifts or a tree. He thought of Colin huddled at Balliol’s gate and hoped his mother at least hadn’t forgotten to send his gifts. On the way home he’d stop and get Colin a small present, a toy or a vid or something, something besides a muffler.
At the Infirmary, he was hustled immediately into Isolation and taken off to question the new cases. “It’s essential we establish an American connection,” Mary said. “There’s been a snag at the WIC. There’s no one on duty who can run a sequencing because of the holidays. They’re supposed to be at full readiness at all times, of course, but apparently it’s after Christmas that they usually get problems—food poisonings and overindulgence masquerading as viruses—so they give time off before. At any rate, the CDC in Atlanta agreed to send the vaccine prototype to the WIC without a positive S-ident, but they can’t begin manufacturing without a definite connection.”
She led him down a cordoned-off corridor. “The cases are all following the profile of the South Carolina virus—high fever, body aches, secondary pulmonary complication, but unfortunately that’s not proof.” She stopped outside a ward. “You didn’t find any American connections for Badri, did you?”
“No, but there are still a good many gaps. Do you want me to question him, as well?”
She hesitated.
“He’s worse,” Dunworthy said.
“He’s developed pneumonia. I don’t know if he’ll be able to tell you anything. His fever is still very high, which follows the profile. We have him on the antimicrobials and adjuvants which the South Carolina virus responded to.” She opened the door to the ward. “The chart lists all the cases which have come in. Ask the nurse on duty which bed they’re in.” She typed something into the console by the first bed. It lit up a chart as branching