Dogs by Nancy Kress Page A

whispers went, have gotten a chicken sandwich elected president if he’d really wanted to. The president’s detractors said that he already had.
    The deputy repeated Joanne Flaherty’s report on Tyler, adding, “This is a chance for FEMA to redeem its reputation a bit, after that piss-poor performance with…well, you know. Send Scott Lurie down there, protect citizens proactively, better safe than sorry. The locals themselves are recommending quarantine, I checked on that, and some are being deputized, which really lends credence to their wanting help. And if there is any terrorist involvement—"
    Hugh said sharply, “Any indication of that?”
    â€œNot that I know of. But I can check with the intelligence director.”
    â€œDo that. And check with the intel agencies separately, too—communication inter-agency still isn’t what it should be.” Martin rose. “You come with me.”
    â€œNow?”
    â€œHe’s wrapping up in there. We’ll just take three minutes to brief him on Tyler, then I’ll make the calls.”
    The deputy straightened his tie, ran his hand over his hair, and followed Hugh Martin into the Oval Office.

SATURDAY

    Â» 17
    When Cami Johnson woke early Saturday morning, having slept eleven hours straight, everything had changed.
    She turned on KJV-TV on the small television on her dresser. The station was doing a weather report. She switched to CNN, not expecting much, and saw with a shock that Janet Belville stood in the lobby of Tyler Community Hospital. Cami, near-sighted without her contacts, rushed to the screen and practically pressed her nose against it. Yes, that was the hospital lobby, the gift shop behind Janet, the reception desk, the bright arrows on the walls pointing to the cafeteria, to the lab, to the pharmacy. Two men in uniform took hold of Janet’s elbows and began walking her forward.
    â€œâ€”forced to leave this emergency situation by FEMA, in control here in Tyler since six A.M. this morning. Although I want to emphasize again—” a camera followed her as she was eased toward the door “—that no one is actually leaving Tyler until the CDC has determined how contagious this pathogen may be, both to animals and to humans. "Nobody out," was the terse statement from FEMA critical-incident manager Scott Lurie. This is the same Lurie who came under heavy fire last year for his handling of—” The uniformed men pushed her through the door.
    Cami put her hand to her mouth. Scott Lurie, she vaguely remembered, was the head of FEMA, or maybe of Homeland Security. Or something. And Janet Belville was one of the CNN reporters who usually covered wars . And ‘Nobody out’? How bad was the situation at the hospital? Cami better get over there right away. This was supposed to be her day off but it sounded as if they were going to need all the ER help they could find. She threw on scrubs, ran a comb through her hair, and opened the bedroom door to go brush her teeth.
    Belle stood in the hallway, snarling.
    For the long moment before she slammed the door, Cami stood still, in shock. Belle! The gentlest dog in the world… Belle, infected and ready to attack!
    The gentlest dog in the world, but also the frailest. And Cami had a job to do.
    She yanked the quilted comforter off her bed, opened the door again, and threw the thick spread over Belle. The dog growled and thrashed, but she was old and arthritic and couldn’t get free. With one strong tug Cami rolled Belle over, hauled the quilt through to the bedroom, and closed Belle in. As she grabbed her car keys and purse, Cami could hear her pet working her way out of the comforter, barking and snapping. Cami ran out of the apartment. Belle had had access to food and water all night; she would be all right in the bedroom until Cami could figure out what to do next about her.
    But in the hallway she stopped at 2-B. Last night she really