“I will return soon,” Elim said.
Outside the room, Elim carefully removed his PPE—personal protective equipment. He knew they didn’t have enough PPE in the hospital to protect all the staff who would need to care for the man. They desperately needed more equipment—and help. In the meantime, Elim would have to isolate the sick man and quarantine Lucas long enough to determine if he was infected too.
The middle-aged physician was weighing his next move when the nurse called out once again.
He raced to the hospital’s triage room, where he found yet another westerner, a tall white man, leaning against the door frame. He was older than the other two, but like the other sick man he was pale, sweaty, and smelled of diarrhea and vomit.
“Is he with the others?” Elim asked.
“I don’t know,” the nurse answered. “They sent him from the airport.”
“Sir, please lift your shirt up.”
The tall man lifted his shirt up, revealing a wide rash.
Elim took a photo to email to the Ministry of Health. To the triage nurse he said, “Escort him to Exam Two. Do not touch him. Keep your distance. Leave the room. No one enters.”
He dialed the Kenya Ministry of Health’s Emergency Operation Center. When the line connected, he said, “I’m calling from Mandera Referral Hospital. We have a problem here.”
Chapter 2
He had been beaten up. That was his first thought upon waking. His ribs radiated pain. His legs ached. He reached up and touched the tender knot on the left side of his head and quickly drew his hand away.
He was sprawled out on a king size bed, which was still made up. The morning sun shone through sheer curtains, blinding him and sparking even more pain in his throbbing head.
He shut his eyes and turned away.
A few seconds later, he slowly opened his eyes again. The nightstand held a silver lamp and a small writing pad. The letterhead read: Concord Hotel, Berlin.
He tried to remember checking in, but he couldn’t. And more: he didn’t know what day it was. Or why he was in Berlin. Or his own name, for that matter. What happened to me?
He rose and hobbled to the bathroom. His ribs ached with every step. He pulled the blue button-up shirt from his khaki pants. A bruise covered his left side; it was dark blue and black in the center, flowing to red at the edges.
He examined himself in the mirror. His face was fit and trim, with high cheekbones. Thick blond hair fell to his eyebrows, curling slightly at the ends. He had a faint tan, but from his complexion and smooth hands, it was clear that he worked inside, in a white-collar profession. He searched for the knot on his head. It was large, but the blow hadn’t broken the skin.
He reached in his pockets and found only a thin piece of paper the size of a business card. He drew it out and examined it: a 20% off coupon from Quality Dry Cleaning for Less.