The Key to Fear - Kristin Cast Page 0,23
in the MediCenter since she was four. What was the original reason for admission?”
“I’m sorry, Elodie, but you do not have clearance to access this information.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.” Elodie chewed the inside of her cheek and drummed her fingers against the smooth edge of the control panel. “Holly, I’m Lead Nurse for this shift. I have clearance to access any information about any of my patients. Why was patient Ninety-Two admitted to the MediCenter four years ago?”
“You do not have clearance to access this information.”
Cough.
Elodie read through the patient info, swiping each useless page off screen until there was nothing left except the live feed. “This has nothing in it. It’s all useless, generic.”
Cough.
“Holly, if you won’t tell me why she was admitted, give me a detailed health report. Nothing I have means anything. The physician was in earlier today. She must have uploaded something.”
“I have it right here.” Again Holly brought up Patient Ninety-Two’s records. This time, she’d highlighted the physician’s note. “Quote: Patient Ninety-Two is currently in healthy, stable condition. End quote.”
Cough.
“Yes, I can see that.” Elodie pointed to the holographic image and the column of green checkmarks lining the patient’s health assessment. She boosted the levels for Patient Ninety-Two’s monitor. “You’re literally showing me that information right now. But healthy, stable patients don’t end up in the Long-Term Care Unit.”
Haggard coughs echoed from Aubrey’s room, and Elodie winced at the labored breathing that followed. “They also don’t cough like that, and I know you can hear her. You hear everything. That’s not in line with healthy New American standards.”
Cough.
“Patients like that belong in the Quarantine Unit, not my LTCU. There is something wrong with her, and I need access to more than these surface files so I know what to administer. Show me something I don’t already have.”
“Error.” Holly honked.
“You can’t simply say error. What kind of error?”
“Error.” Holly repeated.
Another bout of wet coughs erupted from Aubrey’s monitor. “Momma?” She wheezed weakly, the steady beeping of her heartrate monitor spiking.
Elodie’s stomach churned and her heart slammed within her chest. Her patients didn’t speak or cough or wheeze. Except for the monotonous robotic beeping, her unit was silent. Always silent. That’s what she expected. That’s what she liked.
“Holly,” Elodie whispered. “Increase sedation to Patient Ninety-Two by two units.”
“Unable to comply. Sedation pumps are empty.”
“Dammit, Gus,” she hissed. “You said you’d refilled all of the patient pumps! Holly, flag Aubrey for immediate transfer. How long until a maintenance bot is able to refill her sedation meds?”
There was a pause while Holly calculated. “I’ve submitted the patient transfer request, and a maintenance bot will be available to refill the sedation pumps in forty-seven minutes.”
“It hurts,” Aubrey choked through tiny sobs.
Cold sweat sprang up on Elodie’s brow. She was back in lesson fifteen. Back with the little girl screaming for her mother. Back with the virus as it painted bloody prints across the girl’s small cheeks and turned her pores into gateways for its escape.
Elodie could barely swallow past the knot in her throat. “We don’t have forty-seven minutes. This is an emergency. Override whatever else the bots are working on and send one to the basement to refill the tubes. Now.”
“I’m sorry, Elodie. There are eight work orders before yours, and it’s not within my abilities to override them. The maintenance bot will arrive at the medi-pump lab in forty-six minutes.”
“Mommy?” Aubrey’s pained plea squeezed Elodie’s heart.
“Dammit!” Elodie’s knuckles whitened as she pressed her fists against the desk. “Holly, find the MediCenter’s schematics and upload the map to my vidlink.”
Aubrey’s coughing continued, wet and painful.
Elodie’s hands trembled as she hurried from the command station toward the elevator.
“Schematic uploaded to your vidlink. Do you need my assistance in locating an area?”
“The medi-pump lab.” Elodie held her wrist up to the scanner, and gulped in air, trying to calm her frayed nerves and speeding pulse while the little girl’s coughs echoed behind her. Her cuff flashed green and the elevator yawned open. The metal box threw distorted images of her through the open space. In some reflections she was tall, others short, wide, or thin, but in each one fear stretched her round eyes wide.
And Violet Jasmine Royale had let herself loose.
Elodie turned and charged toward Aubrey’s room.
The eight-year-old’s cries grew louder as Elodie reached the windowless door to Patient Ninety-Two’s room. Elodie stopped just short of the Violet Shield. Her breath came in short, panicked puffs. Each exhale passed through the haze, scrubbed and sanitized by the purple light,