Plague Saint [REMOVING FOR PUBLICATION JUNE 1]

Chapter Two: In Sight and Mind

Three hours. River had started showing symptoms three hours before he was brought in. He'd been at the factory for an hour or so before that, but it was unlikely he was contagious before this morning.

Could he have infected Dad? Mom? Winter? And where did he catch it? The Plague Saint had estimated that red plague had an incubation period of about a day, but his sample size was small and unreliable. And what if Phoebe was right? What if this was something worse than red plague? Something that didn't have treatment, let alone a cure?

"Doctor?" the nurse pressed. "Is something wrong?"

Focus. Winter sucked in a deep breath. She couldn't save River if she was panicking. "You gave him a starter dose of Red-X?"

"Of course."

"He waited three hours to come in." Winter scanned the notes the nurses had made. "So put him on a level five schedule. Keep him hydrated. I'm going to bring him the supplemental treatment I've been working on." Working on. The Saint had 'supplemental treatments' for all five plagues. And he'd had some of them for months, based on his notes. "Has his family been contacted?"

"Not yet."

"Well, get on it." Dad had nowhere else to be today, and company would be good for River. They'd make him wear a mask and stay ten feet away, but it was better than nothing. Winter handed the clipboard back to the nurse. "I'll be back soon."

No need to panic yet. The Saint's medicine still had a decent chance of helping River. It would do far more than Red-X.

Red-X was one of the drugs developed by the hospital. Each plague had a corresponding drug, but the treatments the Saint had created were more effective. In the two weeks since Winter had taken over and used the Saint's treatments more...liberally than he had, the red plague survival rate had gone up from nine percent to fifty-two percent. Winter claimed a recent breakthrough, but the treatment had existed for nearly a month prior. And the Saint's notes even stated he used it on some patients.

But why not all of them?

Fifty-two percent. But there were a dozen factors she had to take into account. River had waited so long to come in. Idiot. How many of his coworkers had he spread it to? His supervisor had better pray Winter didn't retaliate. Was there someone she could file a complaint to? Would they care?

Not now. Winter had to save River. Retaliation—or, God forbid, revenge for her brother's life—would have to wait. Besides the plague, River was in decent health. His immune system was probably better than most who came in.

Winter threw open the door to the Saint's office and froze. Again. As if this day couldn't get any worse.

"Plague Saint." Director Adams adjusted the dark blue jacket of his suit. "We need to discuss a few matters."

"Now's not a good time." Winter fought to sound calm. Unconcerned. "I have a red plague patient I need to get treatment to."

"That's something I wanted to discuss, actually." Adams sank into the chair opposite Winter's desk, the same chair Phoebe usually sat in. Winter frowned, wondering where Phoebe was.

Seeming to read her mind, Adams said, "I told your assistant to take a lunch break. We'll have some time to ourselves." He nodded toward the door.

Winter pulled it shut behind her and crossed the room to her desk.

"As you know, I've been incredibly busy the past couple of weeks," Adams said as she sat down. "Mayor Atherton's been dealing with complaints about the city budget, especially in relation to the hospital." He leaned forward and clasped his hands together. "Of course, it's not your job to worry about that. It's your job to heal the sick, isn't it, Plague Saint?"