Инструктор. Первый класс. Андрей Воронин

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      She held out her fist. They’d all started here together. They were friends. And this was their little show of unity. ‘May the best girl win.’ Lara and Anna held out their fists so that all three were one on top of the other.

      Lara gave a wink. ‘Time to fight dirty, girls.’

      * * *

      Grace was trying to appear casual, trying to appear calm. But it wasn’t working. Since she’d arrived back at her seat she’d been making frantic notes. Things she could put on her résumé if they asked for one. Conversations she could try and have with Donovan Reid to let him know she would be the best person for his team.

      She blew her bangs out of her eyes and leaned back in her chair. Who was she trying to kid? Donovan Reid had never had a conversation with her. He barely knew she existed. Her eyes focused on the sign above the phone. ‘NORMAL PEOPLE DON’T PHONE THE DPA.’ Didn’t she know it?

      Ten calls in the last hour. Six from people who had rashes that they thought ranged from bubonic plague to scarlet fever. The other four from healthcare professionals who had patients they couldn’t diagnose. The internet was a wonderful thing. These days she could ask callers to take a picture and send it to her, giving them a diagnosis or reassurance in a matter of seconds.

      She glanced at her watch. Crazy bat lady was late today. She’d usually phoned in by now. It was always the same conversation. Could the bats nestling in the nearby woods and caves be rabid? What kind of diseases could they carry? What would happen if she came in contact with bat droppings? All the doctors who manned the phones at the DPA knew crazy bat lady, she even greeted some of them by their first names.

      Grace turned to the pile of incoming mail. The admin support was off sick. The irony of a sickness and diarrhoea bug sweeping around the DPA headquarters wasn’t lost on her. She started opening the brown envelopes and sorting the mail into piles. Lots were lab reports, some queries about different infectious diseases, some journal articles and a few requests from reporters. Nothing too difficult.

      The last letter was stuck in the envelope. More difficult to get out than the rest. She gave it a little tug and it finally released, along with a plume of white dust.

      The powder flew everywhere like a waft of white smoke, clouding her vision and catching in her throat.

      And just like that, everything around her halted.

      * * *

      Donovan heard the collective gasps around him. The office was usually noisy, with a chatter of voices constantly in the background, along with mumbled telephone conversations and the rattle of keyboards.

      Every sense went on alert.

      He stood up, looking over the top of his pod, his eyes automatically scanning in the direction in which all the heads were pointing.

      Was that smoke? No one was allowed to smoke in here. Realisation struck him like a blow to the chest.

      That girl. That curvy, gorgeous brunette he’d been meaning to ask a few people about. She was standing stock still with a look of terror on her face. Dust was settling around her, covering her hair, face and clothes with a hazy white powder. If it had been any other setting, and any other season, she might have looked like she’d just been dusted with the first fall of snow.

      But this was the DPA in the middle of autumn. And that was no snow.

      Donovan was used to dealing with emergency situations, but they didn’t normally occur in his office space. He went into autopilot.

      He was the most senior member of staff in the room and the responsibility of implementing safety procedures fell to him. All staff were trained about biohazard risks in the field. But he was already aware by the panicked faces that not everyone would have the quick thinking adaptability to apply them to their own workplace. He had to take the lead.

      His long strides took him to the wall where he thumped the red button and the alarm started sounding. ‘Everybody, this is not a drill.’ His words brought the few people who hadn’t already noticed what was happening to their feet. ‘Biohazard containment procedures, now!’

      He kept walking, straight towards his frozen co-worker, racking his brain for her name. Darn it. He should have asked days ago. She was on his list of possibilities for a replacement for Mhairi Spencer. He might not know her name, but he’d noticed her capabilities. Smart. Switched on. And focused. Three essential components.

      The last remnant of dust was settling around her. He was walking straight into a potential disaster. But it was far more dangerous to leave her in an office space with circulating air-conditioning. She looked shocked and needed a push in the right direction. He took a breath before he reached her and clamped his mouth shut tight, putting both hands on her shoulders, spinning her round and marching her towards the door.

      He didn’t speak. He couldn’t speak. The risk of inhaling or ingesting the substance was too great. He could only hope she was sensible enough to have stopped breathing.

      He glanced sideways at a colleague who pressed the automatic door release, letting the door swing open and Donovan keep his hands in place.

      He steered her to the left, nudging another button on the wall with his elbow and heading into the showers he’d just left. The door sealed behind him with a suck of air.

      He could hear the motors above him stop. Perfect. The air-conditioning had been switched off. This whole building was designed for a possible disaster—the laboratories downstairs handled a whole range of potentially lethal toxins and pathogens. But this was the first time to his knowledge that there ever been a biohazard via the mail system.

      The showers started automatically around them. Steam started to fill the room. ‘Strip.’

      The word sounded harsh and there was a fleeting second of hesitation in her face before she started to comply, tearing off her shirt and sliding her trousers down over her thighs.

      He took the same actions. Pulling off the shirt and tie he’d only replaced ten minutes ago and kicking off his brand-new Italian leather shoes. His designer trousers lay crumpled at his feet. All of these clothes would be incinerated.

      It wasn’t just her at risk any more, it was him too. And everyone else in the building.

      As soon as they were both naked he pulled her into the showers, grabbing antibacterial scrub and starting to lather it into both their skins.

      There was a glazed look in her eyes. She was following instructions but didn’t seem to have quite clicked about what had just happened.

      There was no room for shyness, no room for subtlety. Everyone in this department knew what to do in the event of exposure to a potential biological threat. Evacuate. Decontaminate staff and area. Isolate any threats. Identify agent. Act accordingly.

      He looked at a clock hanging on a nearby wall. ‘Fifteen minutes.’ The minimum scrub time after exposure.

      They had to try and remove every tiny particle from any part of their skin, face, hair and nails. No trace should remain. They couldn’t do anything about the particles they might already have inhaled, but further exposure should be eliminated.

      Her eyes met his. Caramel brown in this steam-filled room. Her skin was glistening. Her hair was glistening. What was that stuff?

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