Before he realized what he was doing, Sam had a hand on Ed’s arm, stopping his partner. He said, “Uh, you know what, guys? It’s getting awfully late.” He made up some bullshit about checking in with the watch commander and how this wasn’t their only case. The whole time, Sam had the gut-churning feeling that if they got into the elevator, it was inevitable that these soldiers would take them to a basement somewhere under the emergency room and shoot them in the head. Whoever was in charge of the hospital could explain the deaths any way they wanted.

Ed had immediately sensed his partner’s hesitation and didn’t try to argue. They strolled out the front door and climbed into their Crown Vic, feeling the soldiers’ eyes on their backs the entire time. They ended up just a few blocks north, at Monk’s, and at midnight, when the bar closed, they found a 7-Eleven and spent the night drinking vodka and orange juice, trying to figure out their next move.

Sam took a leak and washed his hands and face again. He pulled out his phone and dialed the nursing home in Skokie. Despite the time, almost five o’clock, and her age, almost ninety-two, he knew she wouldn’t be sleeping. She’d be sitting up in bed, watching the Weather Channel. Her cell phone would be on the nightstand alongside the remote control for her adjustable hospital bed. Sometimes, she wouldn’t have the strength or coordination to open the phone, so she would gently tap the edge of the phone on the corner of her night table, like she was cracking an egg where she wanted the fluid shell of the yolk preserved.

“Hello?”

“How are you feeling, Mom?”

“Oh, you know, I’ve been better. Still, I can’t complain. And you? How’s life with the Chicago Police Department?” She would then go on complaining for a full five minutes, sometimes making jokes about how much it hurt getting off her ass and getting to the bathroom. At least she had stopped asking when he would get married again.

At some point, Sam would invariably say, “I’m doing well, Mom.”

This morning, his call was interrupted by a call from Ed.

Ed said, “Turn on your radio.”

Chicago detectives, like all Chicago police officers, were required to carry department-issued radios at all times. Most detectives clipped them into their bulletproof vests, another pain-in-the-ass direct order, but left the radios off. They knew the boss would use the phone. Almost all the time.

“Listen, sorry, Mom, I just got a call from headquarters. I have to hang up now. I will call you later, okay?”

“Well, if you have to leave your mom worried sick and everything just because of work, I understand,” she said, both of them knowing damn well she didn’t.

“I’m glad, Mom. Bye,” Sam said, switching on his radio.

“—and therefore, district commanders will be in contact with their individual teams. All department personnel are required to report for duty, regardless of rank. This message will repeat every five minutes.” A click. “All department personnel are on high alert for persons exhibiting unusual behavior.”

What the fuck constitutes unusual behavior? Sam wondered.

“Specifically, be on the lookout for signs of an addict undergoing severe withdrawal symptoms. Pale skin. Uncontrollable shivering. Sweating. Bloodshot eyes.”

Sam unwrapped a stick of nicotine gum. Were they fucking serious? By now, he was at the car.

“You hearing this Dragnet shit?” Ed asked, holding up his radio.

The radio continued. “First responders are required to wear appropriate protection when in contact with anyone displaying these symptoms. Members of law enforcement are directed to transport any individuals exhibiting these symptoms to Cook County General Hospital, where a team of emergency personnel has been established to counter the situation.”

Sam and Ed looked at each other.

Ed’s cell phone rang again. “Fuck. It’s Arturo.”

“Might as well answer it. Get it over with.”

CHAPTER 35

7:56 AM

August 13

“Have you heard of the rabies virus?” Dr. Reischtal asked.

“Of course,” Tommy said.

“This new virus . . .” Dr. Reischtal trailed off, looking beyond Tommy. “It’s not exactly rabies though, is it?” It was clear Dr. Reischtal was asking a rhetorical question. “Similarities, oh, certainly. But something else, indeed.” He gathered his thoughts and pinned Tommy again with his gaze. “We believe you are hiding the virus.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“That is, I believe the virus is hiding from you.”

“What?”

“You and your partner deliberately placed yourselves in a hot zone when you engaged in skin-on-skin contact with an infected rodent. You ruptured this animal’s body with . . . an aluminum baseball bat, I believe, releasing possible airborne toxins. Blood-borne pathogens as well, with the remains left on the wall. You—knowingly or unknowingly, it makes no difference—infected an entire building, no less than the government building of City Hall of Chicago and Cook County, Illinois. Whether or not you meant well or were being a bad boy makes no difference.”

He gave that rictus grin again. “And this is why I retreated. I could not risk having my team exposed to a new disease. We were not properly prepared. Now, we are.”

“That’s good, right?”

“Precisely. This is why it is important that you answer the following questions. It is my job to track this . . . virus. It is my sworn duty. My sacred duty.”

Tommy watched Dr. Reischtal warily.

“This city”—Dr. Reischtal sat on a wheeled lab stool and rolled closer—“this city is facing an invasion, do you understand this? The danger is there, waiting . . . waiting for us, to relent, to slip, to ignore it and turn our backs. If we fail to recognize the true signs, the pure signals, we are doomed. Organisms that exist, thousands of them, millions, within the dregs of your glass of water. A billion in the crumb of your donut. That breath you take between the kitchen counter and your refrigerator. The blood between you and a . . . partner.” He fixed Tommy with his tiny glasses. “Was your partner bit?”

“Bit? By what?”

“Do not play games with me, Mr. Krazinsky. We are out of time and it is imperative that we trace the path of infection. Do you understand?”

“I guess so, sure.”

“Was your partner bit?”

“No.”

“Were you bit?”

Tommy forced himself not to look down at the scratches on his hands. “No.”

“I am not a fool, Mr. Krazinsky. You cannot deny the evidence.”

“Okay, fine. I was bit. Not by that rat.”

“Where then?”

Tommy didn’t answer. He didn’t want to mention the house party. He didn’t want to get anyone in trouble.

“Where did you and your partner go after leaving City Hall?”

“Nowhere. I mean, we did our job. Drove around, checked traps.”

“I see.” Dr. Reischtal pulled off his glasses and leaned in close. His eyes, without the glasses, appeared startlingly large and unblinking. “I will ask only one more time. Before you answer, consider this room carefully. It may be where you draw your final breath.”

He replaced his glasses, pulling the curved wires over his ears. “Your partner is infected with a virus that, until now, was unknown. We have since determined this virus possesses the capability to devastate our species. I implore you to consider the implications. Now, for the last time, where did you go last night?”

Tommy was a guy who spent his life following the rules. Listening to authority. Deep down, he truly believed that fate worked out in the end, that life really would reward his patience and understanding, his genuine kind-hearted virtues, and that nice guys didn’t necessarily finish last. He wasn’t naive enough to believe they might actually come out on top all the time, but he thought once in a while, God might recognize someone who lived an honorable life.