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?"
Winter's heart hammered against its cage. Was he accusing her of something?
"So, you understand why I haven't been here much," Adams continued. "And why I've only been able to communicate with you through letters. And letters can easily fall into the wrong hands."
Winter needed to say something. Anything. "Of course."
"That being said, I do find it interesting that survival rates have increased so dramatically over the past couple of weeks."
This is what she'd been afraid of. There was a status quo, and no matter how many entries she read in the Saint's notes, there were things she couldn't replicate: relationships, habits, and all the little details of whatever agreement he had with the hospital director.
"I've made some rapid progress in my treatments."
Adams leaned forward. "I understand that being mysterious and aloof is your thing, but don't forget that I'm the one paying you." His voice lowered. "I also understand that I haven't been able to communicate my desires for our patients. But I'm back now. And I'm very close friends with the owner of the factory River Pierce works at. This whole incident is a lawsuit waiting to happen, if he survives. Or worse, protests."
Adams rose to his feet. "Medicine is expensive," he continued. "I think we should keep Pierce on Red-X for now. That should do just fine, don't you think?"
A Red-X-only treatment schedule would kill River. Winter stood up, mirroring Adams. "I agree."
So much for Winter's plan of billing the factory and saving her family from even more debt. She watched the back of Adam's head as he approached the door. Her best option was to sneak the better treatment to River somehow, right? Blame his recovery on pure luck? Pray Adams wouldn't question her further?
Adam paused. "Oh, and I'd like you to get me an update on Andersen's payment by the end of the day. Otherwise, I'm sending the bill to the city guard. If you have time, maybe track down his next of kin and give them a warning? But don't concern yourself too much with it, if you're busy."
Winter's jaw clenched. She nodded. She knew from her time working in the guard office exactly what would happen: the guard would track down whatever poor soul was Andersen's closest living relative, and if they couldn't pay the bill, they'd be thrown in jail. Or at the very least, be thrown out of their home.
Winter couldn't let that happen. But she was on thin ice as it was. Clearly, the Plague Saint had been picking and choosing who to save based on Adams' requests. Monsters. Both of them. And the factory owner, as well. Winter paced back and forth across the office. With Adams back, she'd probably have to stop sharing new information with the other doctors.
Well, Winter had already killed one man...
By accident, she reminded herself. She dismissed the thought as soon as it entered her mind. It was insane. She couldn't just kill the hospital director.
The door opened, and Winter braced herself for the director to give her even worse news, but it wasn't him. It was Phoebe. Phoebe, with tears streaming down her face and a folded piece of paper in one of her clenched fists.
Oh, God. What was Winter supposed to do? "Is something wrong?" she asked. Did she sound concerned enough? Or did she sound too concerned, for someone as supposedly mysterious and aloof as the Plague Saint?
Phoebe sniffed. "Director came by earlier. Said the hospital's budget is being slashed, and he has to cut my pay in half."
That was rather absurd, considering the pay raise the Saint had been given last week. Adams hadn't said anything about cutting pay. "I'm sorry," Winter said.
"I'm not going to be able to pay my tuition!"
"Tuition? What tuition?"
"I'm taking night classes at St. Minerva's College." Phoebe sniffed again and wiped an arm across her face. "Nursing classes. I applied for this assistant job to get my foot in the door, you know? But now it might not even matter."
Winter had a dozen other problems to deal with. But Phoebe was always so upbeat, and seeing her like this was oddly disheartening. "I'll talk to the director," Winter said. "I'm sure there's money somewhere."
Phoebe looked up. "Really? You think he'd change his mind?"
"I think I can convince him." Definitely not. But Winter was making three times what she'd made at the guard station, and she'd simply been stashing it away in case of emergency. What she had now wouldn't cover River's hospital bills, but she could spare a little for Phoebe anyway, and let her believe it was from Adams. "How much more do you need?"
"Two hundred pieces."
Okay. Doable. Winter nodded. "I'll talk to him by the end of the day, okay?" She paused, a question crossing her mind. She really didn't need the answer, but she was curious. "I thought you were only seventeen."
"They let you start classes as young as sixteen, if you pass a bunch of tests."
"Hmm." Winter moved toward the lab. "I'll let you know what Adams says later. But right now, I have a few things to take care of."
She entered the lab and poked around. She swore she'd had some red treatment leftover from the last time she'd made it but couldn't remember where she'd put it. It wasn't much, but it would at least give River a boost while she made more.
She tried a few cabinets. Most were empty, but sometimes she threw random bottles and tools into them to deal with later. She reached the end of a row and pulled open the last door. Empty, except for some cobwebs and a dusty brown book leaning against the back wall. Frowning, she reached for it. She must not have opened this cabinet before, because she didn't recognize it.
Winter grabbed the book and found it to be stuck. What the hell? Was it nailed to the cabinet? She pulled harder. The book tipped half an inch, and something clicked.
The wall to Winter's right groaned. A vertical gap appeared, and then a section of the wall swung open.
Seriously? That had been there the entire time? Winter stood up. She'd been here two weeks and failed to find the Plague Saint's secret—dungeon?
She darted to the lab door, checked that it was locked, and returned to the secret entrance. A set of stairs took her down a level and into a long, narrow hallway that took nearly five minutes to traverse. At the end, she opened a heavy iron door and stepped into—
A lab. Another lab. What did the Plague Saint need a second lab for?
A secret lab, Winter reminded herself. Did anyone else know about this? The Saint had an agreement with Director Adams, but maybe there were things he was keeping from his boss.
A quick sweep of the room revealed three things of note: a black notebook similar to the Plague Bible, which at a glance appeared to have completely different entries and notes; more than a dozen vials and bottles that, based on their labels, were older versions of treatments for the plagues; nice black pens with gold bands near tips matching the ones in the Saint's office; and, strangest of all, empty cages.
Winter poked around the cages. Whatever they'd held was small. Other than that, the lab had most of the same equipment as the one upstairs. Some of it was basic stuff that Winter knew how to use: microscopes and pipettes and centrifuges. There was even a camera similar to the one upstairs, along with some film. Everything else was more advanced machinery that the Saint had been using in his research, but nothing Winter needed to mix serums and make medicine.
Winter tucked the notebook under her arm and, after one last sweep of the room, headed back upstairs. She wanted to do a more thorough investigation, but that would have to wait until she knew no one would come looking for her. And a look through the notebook might give her a better idea of what she was working with.
The beginning of the notebook had an explanation for the lab itself. The hospital had originally been built with plenty of underground rooms and access to tunnels under the city, primarily for carrying out bodies during the height of the worst plague waves. The entrance to the lower lab from the upper had been blocked off during renovations at some point, and Plague Saint had uncovered it during a round of more recent renovations. He'd had the hidden door and switch installed by essentially bribing a few of the workers. And, according to his notes, Adams had no idea it existed.
Unfortunately, a few pages later, he switched to writing his notes in code. Winter spent five minutes trying to decipher the jumble of letters before tossing the book onto a table in frustration. She didn't have time for this right now.
But even as she went back to her usual work and turned her mind to River, she couldn't help mulling over the notebook in the back of her mind. The secret lab. The empty cages.
What the hell had the Plague Saint been working on?