Kyle scrolled back through the test logs, his brow scrunched as the information did not add up.
The soft rumble of the server rack filled the mobile command van, the only stability in the rest of the unsettling quiet. The rain had stopped, but its lack only made the air more so, filling it to a thicker point, pressing in on him from all sides. He could feel it, the slight plop of water somewhere above, as if the world was holding its breath.
He let his eyes refocus on the screen.
Sam Whitaker's result was miraculous. Her immune system — usually the first to fail — was stabilizing. The virus was still present in her bloodstream, but it wasn't advancing. Her T-cells had been steady, no sign of neurodegeneration, no aggression. It was as if the disease had come to a halt dead inside her, causing no more harm.
But there was a corner of him that knew better. This wasn't normal. Nobody lived like this. Not without treatment. Not without the right genetic makeup.
He drew a slow breath, summoning Edward Raines' file next.
Edward's test had come back clean — initially. No viral load, no antigen in his blood, no inflammatory markers. His immune system was intact, still functioning as it was supposed to. He was clean to fly and to visit Sam.
But there was a gap in the paperwork.
Kyle looked over the logs again, tapping his fingers on the table in aggravation. He'd already read Edward's sample submission a dozen times, but now it was like he was reading the same thing over and over again: there was no follow-up test.
The test had been done following his first contact with Sam, before she had shown any aggression. But there was no history of a second test following her onset of symptoms. Kyle'd assumed that Edward would've been reminded to, procedure would've ensured that he was re-tested.
Nothing. No follow-up.
A creeping feeling of dread spread over his skin. It was supposed to be a standard procedure. After contact with an infected individual — in this case, someone like Sam, who had begun acting aggressively and suffering from cognitive dissonance — a second test was standard procedure. But nothing had been noted. No swab. No after-data. No re-test.
Kyle felt a shiver of anger.
The policies had been clear-cut. And he knew the destruction that came from such failures all too intimately.
He leaned forward into the screen, studying the timestamps and comments again. He scrolled through the results, switching between separate patient data points. But nothing in Edward's record appeared to rival the dire circumstance with Sam.
The Sam report was strange, to say the least. The virus was coursing through her veins, yet recovery was as close to a miracle as he'd ever seen with this pandemic. Even the strongest survivors weren't so stable, so normal after such exposure.
He yanked up the video of the checkpoint. Edward's trip to Sam, grainy images. They only crossed paths briefly, and the camera recorded little of it, but Kyle watched the twice, scanning for any indicator that would define why Sam called Edward by name, why she had appeared to be so fixated on him when she approached.
Edward had stood back, reserved, distant — a courtesy pause. And Sam? She'd smiled, even in the midst of her past misunderstanding. She ran her fingers along the arm of Edward's jacket, the touch fleeting. Her eyes were half-shut, but there was something known in her eyes, as if she recognized someone on sight.
Kyle watched carefully. The stiffness of Edward's posture, the tension in his shoulders as she touched him — it was minute. Barely noticeable.
It was there.
Kyle's fingers slid across the mouse, and he zoomed in on the moment when Sam put out her hand, her fingers grazing Edward's shoulder. That was where it had happened — where Sam had touched him. That was where he could have been infected.
But why wasn't there a follow-up test for him?
He closed down the video and got up, suddenly noticing the pressure of silence surrounding him.
The van was small, crammed in, and rain streamed down the windows. The light outside had taken on that odd, flat tone, that gray wash before the skies were darkening to twilight. The mist clung to the ground, draping the trees and the stringy undergrowth with a veil of fog hanging low, blurring the horizon. The outside world was quiet, holding its breath.
There was just the gentle hum of the van's generator, and Kyle could hear his heart beating to its cadence.
This was all wrong.
He dialed Edward's number.
The phone rang twice, and Edward answered, his voice smooth and even, but with an edge.
"Raines."
"You failed your follow-up test," Kyle said, his voice cold, trying not to let the frustration seep in.
Edward's voice was steady, but the pause before the response carried a sting. "I was cleared. The first test was fine."
Kyle's eyelids tightened. The air outside seemed to be colder, pushing against the windows. He could almost sense the tautness stretching tight between them, running along the phone line.
"You're supposed to have a follow-up after being exposed to someone symptomatic, Edward. That's standard protocol. You've had no re-test."
Edward didn't answer immediately. Kyle could practically hear him processing it.
"I don't need another test," Edward finally said, his voice flat. "I'm not sick."
"You were exposed to Sam," Kyle answered. His voice deepened, his words measured. "And we both know that the virus affects people differently. We can't know for certain unless you send over the sample."
A silence that stretched out long.
"Is this really necessary?" Edward asked, his voice tinged with irritation.
Kyle stood up, walking to the door of the van, his mind racing. "Yes, it's necessary," he said. "I'm coming to you. I'll bring the kit myself."
The line clicked off before he could say another word.
Kyle stepped out into the outside air, his boots crunching over the gravel. The air was cool and cold, biting at his skin. The mist remained on the forest floor, and the trees rose like dark, still sentinels. Above him, the sky had an ashen tint, thick clouds boiling in a low ceiling. It was the kind of sky that felt like there was always going to be a storm.
He climbed into the SUV and turned the ignition, the dashboard light illuminating a warm beam across his face. He tightened his hand on the wheel, the pull of doubt grasping harder in his chest.
The missed follow-up test wasn't all that was broken. It was not just the inconsistency in the data.
It was the whole scenario.
Something was slipping through the cracks.
He needed answers. And he needed them soon.