Page 8 of Deadly Strain

No other recent source of food was immediately evident.

Was this the source of the agent that killed them?

From the condition of the bodies—no burns, evidence of seizures or skin discoloration—she could cross off chemical weapons.

Was the agent airborne or did the victims have to have direct contact with infected fluids or tissue?

So many questions and, so far, no answers.

“I want to look in the other homes.”

“Is it me or does everyone look the same?” Sharp asked.

He had a good eye for details. “It’s not just you.”

They left the first house and entered another and another. The same horror greeted them in each home: entire families, young and old, men and women, all of them dead. All of them with bleeding eyes, noses, mouths and ears. All of them with bloody lesions.

It appeared that everyone in the village got sick at the same time. The chances of that happening by accident were nonexistent.

Water, food, air, or more than one?

Grace and Sharp went through a half-dozen homes before she decided she’d seen enough. She needed to collect samples and determine what killed all these people.

She and Sharp joined Leonard and Bart at their hastily erected communication post where Bart manned the satellite phone and computer. She gave Leonard a brief report.

“Man, so many little kids,” Leonard said, shaking his head.

“I’m going to start collecting samples,” she said to him in a tone so cold she expected frost to coat the air between them. She knew it made her sound unfeeling, but what they didn’t know was she paid dearly for her professionalism in emotional pain after the crisis was over. “Anything else in the patrol’s report that might be pertinent?”

Leonard swallowed hard, but answered readily enough, “The last real-time contact with the village was a little over sixteen hours ago. Another US Army patrol passing through. They met with the headman of the village who requested some humanitarian supplies. Blankets, tents, fuel for cooking. No report of illness or injury.”

Grace checked her watch. It was now zero-seven-thirty. That put a window of opportunity for this event at less than sixteen hours. “Bart, contact the base and have that patrol placed in isolation. I want them checked to be sure they aren’t carrying our deadly agent. Also, ask the base to check satellite images to see what activity there’s been here since the previous patrol.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She turned to Sharp. “Something happened between those two patrols to kill every person in this village.”

“Sixty-eight people,” Sharp added. “So far.”

“Do we have an idea of how many permanent residents there are in this village?”

“I’m afraid not. The only census taken in Afghanistan was back in the seventies. Nothing since. The population can be very mobile if there’s a natural or man-made disaster. They just move to another part of the country.”

“So, we have no idea if any survivors packed up and left in the middle of the night?”

He shrugged. “Extended family, traders, or even someone just traveling through the area could have stopped here.”

“Well, the news can’t get any worse.” If someone had left the village and had taken the illness with them, the infection could spread.

“Doc,” someone shouted, stress making the word sound higher-pitched than it should.

Here came the worse news. She should’ve kept her mouth shut.

Grace squinted at the soldier coming toward her at a run. It was Rasker.

“Did you find any survivors?”

“No, ma’am, we found more bodies.”