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.He did not want to see the child die, not after the fight to save him.Left alone with Philip Howland, Harry found himself helpless.There was only so much he could do now, only so much he was authorized to do, then the case would be decided by the administration.Harry wanted more equipment, more medication, an intensive care unit and all the help that brought.But he could not get it.Not now.During the next ninety minutes Harry watched the boy’s condition deteriorate.Breathing became shallow, his pulse light and erratic.As his circulation worsened, the tiny nails took on a bluish cast, the sunken face turned gray.Harry watched the monitor display, his face impassive, as the readout went inexorably on, a Greek chorus foretelling a necessary end.At 11:37 Philip Howland was dead.He had died alone.Harry sat in the darkest corner of the surgeon’s lounge, wondering why he had become a doctor.It felt.good to save lives.And when he had specialized in pediatric surgery, lengthening his schooling by eight years, it had all seemed worthwhile.When had he lost his faith? He rubbed his forehand with clammy palms.“Emile Harrison Smith?” asked a troubled voice.Harry looked up, startled.It was rare to hear his full name, especially in the surgeon’s lounge.For a moment he was confused.The woman in front of him was angular and slight, her too-square shoulders made, even more unattractive by her hospital whites.Her light-red hair might have been pretty, but it was caught at the back of her neck in a bun, emphasizing her jaw.Skimpy brows grew straight over pale-green eyes.She had been crying.“Dr.Smith,” she repeated in a surprisingly appealing voice, “I am Natalie Lebbreau.”Harry’s face stiffened as he recognized her.“I see.”“I came as soon as I could.” She looked away from him.Her hands were jammed deep into her pockets.“Not soon enough, though.You see, no one told me where he was until around noon.I didn’t know.”“I’m sorry,” he said, not knowing if he believed her.At first she said nothing, just stared toward the window where bright spring flowers nodded in the wind.She made a shudder like a sigh, then turned toward him.“Well, thank you.For what you did for Philip, I mean.I had hoped we’d be through with the two we have up on eleven, but.they were stronger than Philip.They lasted longer.”Harry studied her, wishing she would let go of her tense control, let herself mourn.Then he asked, “What two on eleven?”“Sick children like Philip.They have diphtheria, too.”“Diphtheria?” He frowned.It was true that the disease looked like diphtheria, that the symptoms were classic, but the computer had said “unknown virus,” and it could not mistake something so garden-variety common as diphtheria.Then he understood.She couldn’t handle the shock of losing her child yet.And she had been working with sick children herself.With growing compassion he began to sense the guilt she would be feeling now, the conflict she must have undergone while she worked with other children, learning that her son was dead.“They’re all coming back again,” she said wearily as she watched Harry.“All the old diseases.They will be back and we will have to fight them all over again.It’s hard, so hard.”Fight them all over again? “How do you mean that, Dr.Lebbreau?” He knew he sounded like an ass, but that didn’t matter.He did not want to think that this woman was giving way to the strain of her work.“I’ve treated children with polio, with diphtheria, and there’s even been an admit with smallpox.I saw him.”“Smallpox?”Yes, yes, nodded the flowers in the window.Oh, yes, Natalie covered her eyes with trembling hands.“Oh, hell,” she whispered.Harry reached out to comfort her, but as he touched her shoulder she pulled away.She was in worse shape than he had thought, but not as bad as he had feared she might be.“I’m truly sorry.You look so unhappy.I figured you might want to let it out.”Her expression was one of complete disbelief.Then her eyes brightened and her face sank into sadness.“Oh.I see.You mean about Philip.” She shook her head.“No, I can’t, not now.If I started mourning for him now, I’d never stop.” She looked around nervously, as if frightened.“There are all those others to mourn for.”So she was back to the others.Harry thought momentarily of notifying the Chief Resident on her floor, but then; perhaps because he did not trust the hospital administration, decided against it.“Let me call your husband,” he suggested gently, thinking she would want to be with him now.“No!” She was even more startled than he at this vehemence.“I mean,” she went on in some confusion, “it isn’t necessary.No.I am sure he knows by now.He had to know.He knew Philip was sick, and he knew why.He knows about.the diseases.He knows.”Harry tried to remember Dr.Howland: he was the one in charge of the labs, a tall young man with that tawny handsomeness that does not age well.He could be very charming—at least, that was what the nurses said.But Harry remembered now that he had always thought Mark Howland’s eyes were colder than Peter Justin’s.I’m doing this badly, I’m all wrong, Natalie thought, wishing she did not think of Harry Smith as the enemy, particularly now, when she wanted, needed an ally, someone who would understand, who would see the horror that had begun and fight to stop it.But she had no words for the open-faced blond man who looked at her now with critical reservation.“Is there.” He paused as he chose his words.“Is there anyone I should notify? School? Relatives?”She shook her head again.“No.No, thank you.I’ll do that.Just file the death report for the county.” She glanced anxiously at the door again.“I really have to get back.I’m supposed to be on rounds right now.They’ll wonder.I’ll get checked on if I’m gone too long.”“Then, maybe I’ll see you later.” To his own ears the words were stilted, but Natalie Lebbreau gave him the semblance of a smile.“Oh, yes.Thank you, Dr.Smith.”Just as she went out the door she said impulsively, “It was diphtheria.We’ll be seeing a lot of it soon.”Harry walked slowly back to his on-duty station, his hazel eyes clouded in thought.Obviously Natalie Lebbreau was in shock; emotionally she wasn’t ready to handle her son’s death.Her husband was certainly no help to her.For that reason she was inventing things, making up plagues to take her mind off her own loss, to make her son’s death bearable.“She can’t be right,” he said aloud.For if she was, they were headed for disaster.The seventeenth child did not appear for two days and Harry was beginning to hope that they had treated the last of the mysteriously sick children.He had almost decided that they had seen a random virus that was as short-lived as it was virulent.The late-night city patrol changed that.They brought in two children, a boy and a girl found sleeping under a freeway interchange.They had been abandoned the day before and were cold, hungry, frightened.and sick.“What’s your name?” Harry asked the girl.She was the older of the two, about nine.She was sitting on her unit bed, scrawny arms dangling from the capacious hospital gown.Her dark eyes were defiant and her young face was set into an expressionless mask.She had locked herself away from him.“Stephanie,” she said, as if it were a swear word.“Where have you taken Brian? I want to see him.”“He’s in another unit, just like yours.”The bright eyes showed scorn.“Why? Why’d you put him there?”Harry suddenly felt the desolation Stephanie must know.She had been left along a roadside with her brother, her parents gone to another city, another state.This was what it meant to be abandoned.And now they were in the hands of strangers who had separated brother and sister.He reached over and thumbed a concealed toggle.“There, Stephanie
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