Pulling up to a red light, she turned to him with a smile. “That’s better than anything I’ve come up with. That is, unless you’re partial to my plan to join a survivalist colony in Idaho.” The light went green, and as Lopez turned back to look at the road, her smile faded. “Graham, there won’t be any delay in getting Oraloxin to those who need it, right?”

“No,” Kilburn said. “SeptoMed has un-blinded the study drugs. They should have already given the first doses this morning at Harborcenter.”

“And we’ll know within forty-eight hours if Oraloxin is going to work?”

“We might have an idea within twenty-four,” he said. “How many cases are in quarantine at the hospital?”

“As of last night, there were eight critically ill patients with invasive MRGAS,” she said. “Three with necrotizing fasciitis, three with pneumonia, and two with sepsis. Fifteen others have milder forms of MRGAS—strep throat or skin infections similar to Angie Fischer’s. Twelve people have no symptoms at all, but their swabs grew positive cultures on routine hospital screening.”

“Sure, the carriers.” Kilburn exhaled heavily. “I’ll be curious to see how all three groups respond to treatment.”

“Curious. And you accused me of understatement!”

Kilburn’s attention was suddenly drawn by the noise outside the car.

“Oh, shit!” Lopez said as she turned the corner.

The entire block was lined with news trucks and vans. The street was so congested that she had to circle twice before finding a space. As soon as she put the safety brake on, she hit the power button to raise the vinyl roof. But it was too late. The reporters recognized her. Cameras and microphones swarmed them as soon as they stepped out of the car.

“How much worse is it today, Dr. Lomas?” a chunky woman called out, muddling Lina’s surname.

A man pushed a mike in front of Lopez. “Has there been further spread?”

“Is San Francisco hit harder than us?” another female voice yelled.

Lopez lowered her head and pushed her way through the throng of reporters. Kilburn had trouble keeping up with her because the gaps closed as soon as she squeezed through. But he followed her lead and shouldered his way through the scrum.

At the doors to the Washington Health Department building, which housed Warmack’s office, two burly security guards waved the media types back from the door. Lopez flashed her ID badge. After scrutinizing it carefully, the guards allowed them to pass.

“This is fun,” Lopez grumbled as she trooped toward the elevator.

“Lina, I can’t see it getting anything but worse in the short term. This story is huge.”

On the seventh floor, Kilburn followed Lopez down the hallway to the office in the far corner. The door was open a crack. She knocked but didn’t wait for an answer before pushing it further open and walking inside.