The Deep Zone

had just done. How long before they started to look like each other?

ok go 4 it.

i love you and miss you 247.

Lenny

She was about to hit the Send button when such a shot of adrenaline rushed through her that she gasped out loud. The commissary.

Oh God. She deleted “Lenny” and typed furiously.

do not repeat not go to commissary. stay away macdill. possible biohazard. shop civilian. Reply please.

She started to hit the Send button again, then stopped herself. I can’t say that. ACE info is top classified, close hold. The censors will pick it up and there will be fobbits all over me. Doug won’t get the message that way anyway.

As a physician, and a surgeon, and one who practiced in a combat area, Stilwell did not lose control easily. But now she recognized the signs of incipient panic in herself: hyperventilating, lightheadedness, shaking from adrenaline overload.

You don’t know that there’s any problem at MacDill.

But you don’t know that there is not, either.

You can’t let them go there. It’s not worth the risk. Just for groceries.

How to stop them?

She could feel Doug, halfway around the world, waiting for an email from her. If she made him wait too long, he might assume she’d had to break off for some emergency. She closed her eyes, tried to calm herself, forced her thoughts to become orderly. Then she thought of something.

Honey,

I would rather you shopped at Publix. From now on. Until I get home. They are donating 10% of profits to service families in need. Do you copy?

She sent the email, then shook her head. Do you copy? Lapsing into Armyspeak.

His reply came in seconds.

Hi Honey,

Sorry, no can do. Got those boat repairs coming and dough is tight. Plus saving for that vacation we’re taking when you get back. You know all that. But tell you what. I can shop on base and give 10% myself to that family fund and still come out ahead. Hey… have to go. I love you. Will try to call tomorrow. Or email.

        LOVE U.

No. No. She typed furiously, all caps. Maybe she could catch him.

NO. YOY DINR UNDERSTNND. CANNOT GO TOI THE CONIMA]

She stopped. More haste, less speed. It was garbled. Panic was disrupting her motor skills. Doug would be gone already. And in a message like that, or like the one she might revise and send, the Army’s censoring software would detect excessive anomalies and route the email to a human reviewer. And then… there would be hell to pay. After this was over, there would be a hard sit-down with the fobbits called insects, partly because they came from Internal Security, the Army acronym for which was InSec. Partly, but not completely. The other reason was that they were slimy men roundly detested for a willingness to walk their careers forward over the backs of other soldiers. She could not let that happen. There was too much need here.

But Doug and Danny, going to the commissary? The thought just about cracked her professional discipline. She sat back, wrapped one arm around her chest, and shoved the knuckles of her right hand into her mouth.

A few minutes later, someone knocked, very softly, on the flimsy plywood door to her plywood closet of an office. She composed herself, steadied her voice.

“Come in.”

The door opened just wide enough for one of the nurses to poke her head in. A beautiful young black woman from Brooklyn. She remembered that much. But not the nurse’s name. She knew it, but could not remember it, and that was a bad sign. So she just smiled and waited.

“Ma’am, there’s a call for you.” Muffled voice from the Chemturion hood.

“Can you handle it for me, please? I just need a few minutes here to finish up some paperwork.”

“Ah, ma’am, I tried to take a message. But it’s a colonel, ma’am. Says he spoke to you about coming here. Said to get you ASAP.” The nurse’s face contracted around the word “ASAP,” as though she had just tasted something sour.

The fobbit. Damn. She had forgotten all about their conversation yesterday. No, the day before. Or had it been last week? She could not recall. But she did seem to remember that the colonel had said he would arrive on Thursday, which had come and gone. Today was Saturday. What the hell? Well, colonels didn’t make their schedules to suit majors. He was here and had to be dealt with. “All right, I’ll speak with him. Is he inside here someplace?”

“No, ma’am. He’s outside. I don’t think he wants to come in. Even with a suit on.”

“He actually has a suit on? Out there? Okay, no problem. Thanks for letting me know.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The beautiful nurse went away, leaving Stilwell’s door ajar. She got up, rubbed her hands over her face in an attempt to scrub away some of the fatigue, and walked to the nurses’ station, where the telephones were located.

“Stilwell.”

“Major, this is Colonel Ribbesh.”

She had forgotten all about him. His voice sounded stiff and formal and distorted by his suit hood. Pissed off because some general ordered him to come out here, she thought. Now he’s going to pass it right on down the line. She wondered why he was wearing a biosafety suit, even though he was outside the unit.

“I had apprised you of my ETA, Major. There were some changes required. Did your staff apprise you?”

“No, Colonel.”

“That’s too bad. I instructed my staff to do so.”

I just bet you did, fobbit. Preemptive strike is called for here.

“Colonel, no disrespect, but I’ve got four more patients to see stat. Can this wait?”

“I’m afraid not. I understand you’ve declined to utilize a Bravo Sierra Lima-dash-Four unit.”

“Correct.”

“I think you should don one ASAP, Major. I know you’re aware that NBC regulations specifically state that all medical personnel in Level Four quarantine conditions shall be required to utilize Bravo Sierra Lima-dash-Four units at all times when in the presence of pathogens.”

“Thanks for your concern, Colonel, but no. Now I have to—”

“Major Stilwell, that wasn’t a request.” Colonel Ribbesh sounded like a teacher she’d had in seventh grade, a little man bitter as brine whose life purpose, it seemed, had been to make other people suffer. “It was an order. From a superior officer.”

She took a deep breath, fought her temper back down. “Colonel. These boys fight every day without magic suits. I can’t take care of them in one. And I’m sure you’re aware of Army General Order Seventeen, Section Four, Part b, which states that in situations pertaining to the health and welfare of military personnel, medical authority shall prevail over all other considerations. I have to go.”

Let it go right there, she told herself, but then it just came bubbling out. “See, a