Plague: A gripping suspense thriller about an incurable outbreak in Miami

side entrance.
‘Out of the goddamn way!’ yelled Dr. Petrie. ‘Get that truck out of the goddamn way!’
The truck driver tossed away a spent match and searched for another.
‘What’s the hurry, mac?’ he called back. ‘Don’t get so worked up – you’ll give yourself an ulcer.’
‘I’m a doctor! I have a sick kid in this car! I have to get him to hospital!’
The driver shrugged. ‘When they open the gates, I’ll move out of your way. But I ain’t shifting till I’m good and ready.’
‘For God’s sake!’ shouted Dr. Petrie. ‘I mean it. This kid is seriously ill!’
The truck driver blew smoke. ‘I don’t see no kid,’ he remarked. He looked around to see if the gates were open yet, so that he could back the truck up.
Dr. Petrie had to close his eyes to control his fury. Then he spun the Lincoln on to the sidewalk, bouncing over the kerb, and drove around the truck’s front fender. A hydrant scraped a long dent all the way down the Lincoln’s wing, and Dr. Petrie felt the underside of the car jar against the concrete as he drove back on to the street on the other side of the truck.
Three more precious minutes passed before he pulled the car to a halt in front of the hospital’s emergency unit. The orderlies were waiting for him with a trolley. He lifted David out of the back of the car like a loose-jointed marionette, and laid him gently down. The orderlies wheeled him off straight away.
Mr. Kelly leaned against the car. His face was drawn and sweaty. ‘Jesus,’ he whispered. ‘I thought we’d never make it. Is he going to be all right?’
Dr. Petrie rested a hand on Mr. Kelly’s shoulder. ‘Don’t you doubt it, Mr. Kelly. He’s a very sick boy, but they know what they’re doing in this place. They’ll look after him.’
Mr. Kelly nodded. He was too exhausted to argue.
‘If you want to wait in the waiting-room, Mr. Kelly – just go into the main entrance there and ask the receptionist. She’ll tell you where it is. When I’ve talked to David’s doctors. I’ll come and let you know what’s happening.’
Mr. Kelly nodded again. ‘Thanks, doctor,’ he said. ‘You’ll – make sure they look after Davey, won’t you?’
‘Of course.’
Dr. Petrie left Mr. Kelly to find his way to the waiting-room. He pushed through the swing doors outside the emergency unit, and walked down the long, cream-colored corridor until he reached the room he was looking for.
Through the windows, he could see his old friend Dr. Selmer talking to a group of doctors and nurses, and holding up various blood samples. Dr. Petrie rapped on the door.
‘How’s it going?’ he asked, when Dr. Selmer came out. Anton Selmer was a short, gingery-haired man with a broad nose and plentiful freckles. He always put Dr. Petrie in mind of Mickey Rooney. He had a slight astigmatism, and wore heavy horn-rimmed eyeglasses.
Dr. Selmer, in his green surgical robes, pulled a face. ‘Well, I don’t know about this one, Leonard. I really can’t say. We’re making some blood and urine and sputum analyses right now. But I’m sure glad you brought him in.’
‘Have you any clues at all?’
Dr. Selmer shrugged. What can I say? You were right when you said it looked a little like cholera, but it obviously isn’t just cholera. The throat and the lungs are seriously infected, and there’s swelling around the limbs and the joints. It may be some really rare kind of allergy, but it looks more like a contagious disease. A very virulent disease, too.’
Dr. Petrie rubbed his bristly chin.
‘Say,’ grinned Dr. Selmer. ‘You look as though you’ve been celebrating something.’
Dr. Petrie gave him half a smile. ‘Every divorced man is entitled to celebrate his good fortune once in a while,’ he replied. ‘Actually, it was the golf club party.’
‘By the look of you, I’m not sorry I missed it. You look like death.’
A pretty dark-haired nurse came out of the emergency unit doors and both men watched her walk down the corridor with abstracted interest.
Dr. Petrie said, ‘If it’s contagious, we’d better see about inoculating the parents. And we’d better find out where he picked it up. Apart from that, I wouldn’t mind a shot myself.’
When we know what it is,’ said Selmer, ‘we’ll inoculate everybody in sight. Jesus, we’ve just gotten rid of the winter flu epidemic. The last thing I want is an outbreak of cholera.’
What a great way to start the week,’ said Dr. Petrie. ‘They don’t even live in my district. The guy runs a garage on North West 20th.’
Dr. Selmer took of his green surgical cap. ‘I always knew you were the guardian angel for the whole of Miami, Leonard. I can just see you up there on Judgement Day, sitting at God’s right hand. Or maybe second from the right.’
Dr. Petrie grinned. ‘One of these days, Anton, a bolt of lightning will strike you down for your unbelieving. You know, I bent my goddamn car on the way here. Some sen of a bitch in a truck was blocking the street, and I had to drive over the sidewalk. Would you believe he just sat there and lit a cigar?’
Dr. Selmer raised his gingery eyebrows. ‘It’s the selfish society, Leonard. I’m all right, and screw you Charlie.’ They started to walk together down the corridor. ‘I guess that must have been when it happened,’ Dr. Selmer said.
‘When what happened?’
‘When the boy died.’
Dr. Petrie stopped, and stared at him hard. ‘You mean he’s dead?’
Dr. Selmer took his arm. ‘Leonard – I’m sorry. I thought you realized. He was dead on arrival. You better have your car cleaned out if he was sitting in the back. You wouldn’t want to catch this thing yourself.’
Dr. Petrie nodded. He felt stunned. He saw a lot of death, but the death that visited his own clientele was the shadowy death of old age, of failing hearts and hardened arteries.
The people who died under Dr. Petrie’s care were