Page 7 of Silent Dust
“Autopsy. The Commander called. One of his men was found dead under suspicious circumstances,” Flora explained, trying to keep her words light despite the gravity of the situation.
“Oh, wow. That’s not normal for this time of night.” Lindsey replied, concern threading through her words.
Flora took a deep breath. “Yes. Rhys is in charge, but I’d appreciate it if you could pop over shortly to make sure Kenzi hasn’t gotten too adventurous with her robot-building,” she added with a laugh, knowing that Lindsey had experienced some of Kenzi’s “experiments gone wrong” moments. Meanwhile, shecould see Kenzi diligently working on her project, while Amelia refilled the teacups for her dolls and stuffed animals.
“Absolutely. Rhys is a good kid. I’ll check in on them. Just focus on your work, okay?” Lindsey reassured her. Flora felt a small sense of relief knowing her children would be in good hands. Rhys would likely read his new book or play a game to keep his sisters entertained, allowing Flora to concentrate on the task ahead and not worry about her children.
“Thanks, Lindsey. You always know how to make me feel better.” Flora chuckled softly as she hung up, grateful for her support. “Just remember,” she said, turning back to her kids, “Aunt Lindsey is right next door if you need anything. Alright?” She gave each of them big hugs and kisses before grabbing her bag.
With one last glance back at her children, Flora stepped outside, ready to face the challenges ahead. Moving in next door to Lindsey and Greg Browning was a godsend. Greg had been Stephan’s mentor when he first made the Teams and by luck, the house next door to them had become available when Stephan and Flora were looking for a home for their budding family.
The streets were quiet as she drove to the naval base, the faint glow of the dashboard lights casting a soft illumination on her focused expression. Her mind raced with troubling possibilities, each one more concerning than the last. She had faced difficult cases before—violent deaths, chemical exposures, and even the occasional classified operation—but this call felt different. It wasn’t just the Commander’s words, or the lack thereof; it was an unsettling intuition that something significant was at stake.
As she passed the base gates and parked outside the medical facility. Commander Michaels escorted her to the morgue, his usual composure subtly undermined by a noticeable tension. “Dr. Kowalski,” Michaels said, his body language reflectingunspoken anxiety. “Thank you for coming on such short notice,” he said. “Before you begin, I want to give you as much background as possible.”
Flora nodded, her professional instincts taking over. “I’d appreciate that, Commander. What do we know?”
Michaels produced a tablet, displaying a redacted file. “This sailor, Petty Officer Andrew Marshall, was part of a team that successfully intercepted a chemical weapons shipment and neutralized the lab. But shortly afterward, he began exhibiting severe symptoms: respiratory distress, seizures, rapid organ failure. He died within forty-eight hours.”
Flora felt a pang in her chest at the mention of his name. Personalizing him made the situation even more real. Andrew was not just another statistic; he was a person who had bravely faced danger, only to fall victim to something insidious.
Flora frowned, instantly beginning to formulate her approach to the autopsy. “Was he quarantined after the mission?”
“Yes, but we’re still treating this as potentially contagious. Full protective gear is required,” Michaels added, his response clipped.
Flora had already pulled her hazmat suit out of her locker, but she focused her attention on Michaels as she put it on. She had a job to do, but the stakes felt higher than ever.
She scanned the report, her brow furrowing as she absorbed the details. “Were any other team members affected?” she asked, needing clarity.
Michaels shook his head. “No. That’s one of the anomalies. The rest of the team has been thoroughly examined and cleared. Andrew was the only one exposed.”
Flora’s gaze sharpened at his words. “That doesn’t make sense,” she said, her voice low. “If this chemical is as potent asyou suggest, how could only one person be affected? Were there breaches in protocol?”
Michaels sighed, fatigue evident in his posture. “That’s what we’re investigating. The after-action report indicates standard procedures were followed: full protective gear, contained lab. The leading theory is exposure during the cleanup phase, possibly cross-contamination or equipment malfunction.”
Flora tapped the tablet thoughtfully. “Cross-contamination would certainly explain it,” she said, her voice measured.
Michaels nodded grimly. “That’s our suspicion. It appears to be a weaponized synthetic opioid that’s fast acting and virtually undetectable. We’ve run preliminary tests, but we lack a complete profile. That’s why your expertise is crucial.”
A chill settled over Flora as she considered the implications. “If it’s that potent,” she said, her voice low, “it’s a threat not just to those who handled it, but to anyone who comes into contact afterward—including medical personnel and decontamination teams.”
Michaels’ expression was serious. “Exactly. That’s why this is classified at the highest level. We’re dealing with something far more dangerous than any conventional chemical weapon. If this gets into the wrong hands…” The unspoken threat hung heavy in the air.
Flora needed no further explanation; the stakes were terrifyingly clear. “I’ll do everything I can,” she said. “But I need to know if there’s any chance the rest of the team could develop delayed symptoms. Latent exposure is a real possibility.”
Michaels offered a weary assurance. “We’ve kept the team under observation. So far, no delayed effects. We’re confident this was an isolated incident, but we’re taking no chances.”
Flora took a deep breath, steadying herself. This wasn’t just another case; it was a race against time to understand a weapon with the potential to rewrite the rules of warfare. “I’ll startthe autopsy immediately,” she said, her voice unwavering. “And Commander, I’ll find answers for Andrew’s family.”
Michaels nodded, his gaze heavy with unspoken concern. “Thank you, Dr. Kowalski. And be careful.”
The room was sterile and cold, the harsh fluorescent lights buzzing softly overhead and reflecting off the metal surfaces. Flora sat still, her focus intense as she reviewed Andrew’s file. The faint scent of antiseptic hung in the air.
As she read, the sounds of distant footsteps echoed in the hallway, punctuated by the occasional murmur of voices. The rhythmic beeping of medical monitors provided a reminder of the urgency of the situation. Andrew’s name, rank, and details of his mission were blacked out, leaving only a clinical summary of his symptoms: respiratory failure, acute liver and kidney damage, cardiac arrest. Each word felt heavy, amplifying the gravity of what lay ahead.
Her heart raced as she prepped the autopsy room, a mix of determination and unease swirling within her. The conversation with Commander Michaels echoed in her mind, the potential dangers, the unanswered questions. She took a deep breath, steel and resolve settling in; she was ready to find answers.
“Let’s see what we’re dealing with,” she murmured, stepping toward the body.
