Page 3 of Deadly Strain

A mental blanket slid over her, numbing her to the horror to come. It was the first self-preservation tactic doctors learned. Compartmentalize all that terrible stuff or go crazy in a week. Sometimes she wondered when all those boxes in her mind would break open and rip her apart from the inside out.

There was an entire crate named Joseph Cranston.

“Warm or cold?” She asked even though she already knew the answer. Runnel never looked this rattled.Please say warm.

Her warm go-bag was a trauma kit, a backpack with everything she’d need if she was dealing with bullet holes, shrapnel lacerations, or broken bones. The typical things most people expected her to treat since she was a trauma surgeon. But that wasn’t all she was.

She was also an infectious disease specialist.

Her cold go-bag contained the very latest in biological detection technology. One or two-step tests that identified anything from anthrax to Ebola to a weaponized flu. She was a member of a select group of virologists, microbiologists, and infectious disease specialists the US Army relied on to train not only their own troops, but the soldiers of other nations, in the detection of and protection against biological weapons. They were known officially as the Biological Rapid Response team, but most soldiers called them Icemen or Icequeens.

Lately, the army had been assigning BRR team members to work with Army Special Forces teams—Green Berets. She’d been working with Sharp’s team for almost a year. Her job was to assist in training Afghan forces in everything from combat and demolitions to the most survivable responses to biological, chemical or nuclear weapons.

“Cold,” Runnel said. “No drill.”

Shit.

Adrenaline spiked through her system as Grace got up and followed Runnel. He led the way back to whoever was calling the shots, Sharp right behind her as they ran at a trot. She might be the base’s resident expert on biological weapons, but it was knowledge she wished fervently she didn’t have to use.

They entered the staging area where she’d been doing some of the training. Several members of Sharp’s team were using it to gear up. Runnel glanced at her and angled his head toward Colonel Marshall. He was looking at a map with several ranking officers, including the A-Team’s commander, Geoffry Cutter, and a man dressed in Afghan clothing. The man said something to Marshall in a voice that didn’t carry.

Marshall nodded and replied. The Afghan glanced over his shoulder at her before leaving the area. His expression was...odd. A combination of disgust and disdain.

Cutter cleared his throat. “The major is here, sir.”

Marshall gave her a glare before returning his attention to the map in front of him.

He’d called her afucking quackyesterday as he walked past her. If he kept demeaning her in front of the Afghan forces and their own soldiers, she’d lose the credibility she needed to successfully train them.

“Major,” Marshall said without looking at her. “One of our patrols reported in about ten minutes ago with whatappearsto be a biological incident.”

She waited, but he didn’t add any more details. “What led them to believe that, sir?”

He met her gaze with an even colder expression. “An entire village dead. Some of the bodies show lesions and bleeding from the nose, mouth, and eyes.”

Holy Mother of God.

Bad. This was very bad.

“I concur with their assessment of the situation, sir. Your orders?”

“Get the fuck out there,” he snarled at her. “Figure out what happened and fix it.”

That part she knew already.Asshat. She’d hoped he’d give her some detailed orders, with a timeline and what kind of manpower she could expect. Not more sarcasm and snark. She came to attention and saluted. “Yes, sir.”

He took two steps away, then stopped and turned around. He addressed Cutter and only Cutter, who had somehow inched his way over until he was right next to her, with Sharp on the other side. What a couple of papa bears. “Send half of your A-Team with the Icequeen. The other half will stay here in case I need a second team to go in.”

Grace bit her tongue hard to keep from voicing what she thought of him and his orders, and mentally promoted him toasshole.

“Yes, sir.” Cutter saluted, turned to her, and gestured at the map. “The location of the village is here.” From a distance Cutter looked like the least threatening person in the room. He was the shortest, skinniest guy on the A-Team, but he more than made up for that in stubbornness and stamina. He was also smart.

Grace moved closer so she could get a better look. “How far is it from the Pakistan border?”

“About two klicks.”

“Not very damn far.” She ran her index finger over the spot on the map. “Mountain valley?”

“Yeah. It’s a small village. Less than one hundred people.”