Page 52 of Deadly Strain

“None of that is true!”

No one paid her any attention. Not even Marshall spared her another glance once his men had her under control.

She twisted her body and head around as far as she could in order to yell, “Wait! We have to go back to the village and get new samples. The ones I took are too old and possibly contaminated.”

No response.

A few members of the medical staff flicked glances at her, and she could tell they were worried, but with Marshall in no mood to listen to anyone, no one said anything.

“Colonel, please,” she begged. “Send another team.”

Her two jailers marched her faster.

The last thing she heard was Marshall ordering Sharp locked up with her under the same charges.

Holy shit. Marshall had just made a horrible situation a thousand times worse.

There was nothing she could do to stop him.

***

Sharp lay on the gurney, playing possum for all he was worth. The last thing he wanted anyone to know was that he was conscious. Grace had talked to the doc who was still sewing him up. This was the third wound he’d put stitches in and there might still be a fourth. They’d also stuck an IV in his arm and were giving him a unit of blood. He felt better already.

He’d pretended to pass out during his first stitching up, mumbling something about being afraid of needles.

His gurney was on the other side of the cloth wall from where Grace got checked out and stitched up, so he’d heard every word Marshall said to her.

The guy was a paranoid buck-passer, but the charges he’d leveled against Grace were no joke. Things were FUBAR and Marshall had decided to make her the scapegoat. Along with Sharp’s A-Team.

He was going to regret that.

Sharp continued his lights-out routine as the doctor finished up, then played dead when Marshall came and breathed right on his face.

Someone needed a mint.

“Why isn’t he awake?” Marshall demanded. “I was told he was talking to the bitch on the bird.”

“Maybe he was, but from all the bruising and swelling on his head he’s had his bell rung at least once. He lost consciousness while I was sewing him up.”

Marshall stepped away and grunted. “Move him to the brig.”

“I’m afraid I can’t allow that, Colonel,” the doctor said. “Sergeant Foster needs to remain immobile until after I’ve done a scan of his skull and spinal column. If he’s got the concussion I think he has, I might even need to perform emergency surgery.”

No one said anything for a moment, then Marshall grunted again. “He’s under arrest for the same charges as Samuels. When he wakes up, contact me.”

“Yes, sir,” the doctor said.

Heavy footsteps walked away, followed by a couple of others.

Other people started talking, mostly medical-speak.

One of those voices belonged to his doctor, who ordered the cleanup of the exam room he was in and the one where Grace had been. After a few minutes, things seemed to calm right down.

A soft sound told him someone was standing close by.

The doctor whispered in his ear, “You can stop faking now.”

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