Once someone could tell me what room Rube was in, I got stopped at the door. The guy we called the Med Bouncer was on duty, which was really not good. He was Unca Joe’s version of quarantine.

“Sorry. Can’t go in right now.”

“Just want to see Rubio. I won’t take long.”

“Not right now.”

“But he’ll want to see me! I know he will!”

“No one’s allowed in.”

“Then at least tell me how he is . . .”

“The doctor’s with him. You’ll have to ask when he comes out.”

Flat-voiced and blank-faced. Ex-cop or military. Even Unca Joe had a few. Doing his job, but right then, I hated him for it. I turned away to lean against the opposite wall. This was bad. Very bad. I had to get in there somehow.

I knew the Ward. Nothing had changed much in the months since my time in Psych. The medical ward was a large, high-ceilinged room divided by a new-built wall. Big half for injuries, small half for infectious, nurses’ station in front. Rousseau, pragmatically prescient, had recruited early and hard among his disaffected medical friends when the shit really started hitting the fan. Once the downtown hospitals went down, only Empire State had better health care than Unca Joe. Of course, success varied with the staff’s ability to keep their salvaged and out-of-date equipment functioning, and even more on the rapidly decreasing availability of viable drugs and supplies.

Drugs were what worried me most right now. Did they have what Rubio needed? Sometimes a quick trade at the Souk could solve that problem, but with the Souk up in flames, that was no longer an option.

Meanwhile, the Med Bouncer had his hands full keeping the door shut, with packers coming through with loads, setting them down along the corridor, and heading back for more. Didn’t take long to find someone wide enough to cover me. I scooted in behind him.

The nurses’ desk was piled high, the tiny space too crowded. The door to Infectious was just closing after a load came through. I slipped right in.

With the beds all filled next door, the first bank of sheet-walled cubicles had been given over to the most critical Macy injuries, small bodies coming dopily awake, wondering where they were and what all the fuss was about. A secondary plastic curtain crossed this space, reserving the rear third for contagious cases. I peered through the split.