The Dead Series (Book 1): Tell Me When I'm Dead by Steven Ramirez Page B

on, I’ll give you a ride back to your house.”

    I half expected to see police cars and dead people, but Isaac’s street was quiet. I followed him into his home office and found the walls covered with maps and sticky notes. His bag and medical kit lay on the floor next to piles of medical books.
    “What’s all this?” I said.
    “I’ve been trying to put it all together, how this thing started,” he said, going over to one of the maps. “The best I can figure, it started in the forest here.”
    “How do you know?”
    “I’m basing it on all the deaths in the area—both animal and human. Take a look at this spot.”
    I moved closer. The spot Isaac had circled looked familiar. It was near where Jim and I had crashed.
    “Here is where that hunter said he found that woman, Sarah Champion. What I can’t figure out is, some of the victims were nowhere near the forest when they got sick.”
    “Maybe they were infected by someone who was.”
    “Right. There is one clue. Some of them had been bitten recently.”
    “By an animal?” I thought of the dog coming after me that night, Jim’s dog. But this wasn’t rabies.
    “No, in every case, they were human bites.”
    “Was Jim bit?”
    “I don’t recall seeing any bites in the autopsy. Hang on.”
    He opened a file cabinet and pulled out a thick manila folder. Then he grabbed a dozen or so autopsy photos and spread them out on the floor. It hurt me to look at Jim’s cold, naked body.
    Isaac examined the photos with a magnifying glass. Then it hit me. When I drove Jim home, I noticed what looked like a bite mark on his left hand. It must’ve happened days before, because it was partially healed.
    “Do you have a photo of his left hand?” I said.
    “Here.” Isaac studied the photo, clucking his tongue. “I’ll be damned. How did I miss this? Time for some new glasses.”
    He showed me the photo with the magnifying glass. There it was—a bite mark. “This isn’t a human bite.”
    I told Isaac about having seen Jim’s dog that night and about how rabid he looked.
    “What doesn’t make sense is, this isn’t rabies. It’s something else. We might have an outbreak on our hands.”
    He indicated the arrows pointing outward from Tres Marias. Who knew how far the disease—if that’s what you wanted to call it—had spread?
    “What about the CDC?” I said.
    “I tried them again, but they’ve gone dark on me. Won’t even take my calls.”
    “Weird. So I have a question. What happens when the police can no longer contain the situation?”
    “You may have seen the highway patrol in full force,” he said. “If it becomes a state emergency, I suppose they’ll send in the National Guard. There’s a rumor going around that’s about to happen.”
    “I need to be with Holly,” I said, getting up and going to the door.
    “That’s what I recommend,” he said, studying one of the maps.
    “What are you going to do?”
    “I’m driving to San Francisco tonight to meet with an immunologist friend of mine.”
    Isaac’s cell phone rang. “Isaac Fallow,” he said. “What? When? I’ll be right there.” Then to me, “Dave, can you drive me over to the hospital?”
    “Isaac, I’d like to but—”
    “Please, it’s important.”

    The police were already at the hospital when we arrived. Isaac and I went to the office of the hospital administrator, Dr. Vale, who looked to be in her sixties. Next to her stood Isaac’s neighbor Patty, frightened and confused.
    “Isaac, thank God,” Dr. Vale said. “Who’s he?”
    “Dave Pulaski. He’s with me. Where’s the patient?”
    “We had to lock him in a utility closet.”
    “Eileen, listen. And this is important. Did he bite anyone?”
    “A couple of nurses. And an orderly.”
    “You need to find them and isolate them as well.”
    “They’ve already gone home.”
    “All right, give the police their addresses and ask them to pick them up.”
    “But they haven’t done anything.”
    Isaac looked