Hand of Fate by Lis Wiehl

This has overwhelmed all the hospitals, not just Good Sam. And they're all reporting the same thing--nothing."
    "What?" Allison took a step back, startling Estella, who began to cry. "That can't be right. I was there. What are you saying--that all these people made it up?"
    "Not at all." Sally sighed. "People were already on high alert because of the terrorist attack last month. You give folks clues like fire alarms and ambulances and emergency crews giving people oxygen right in front of them, and you throw them into a state of hypervigilance. It's the power of suggestion. The same thing happened in Tennessee a few years back. A teacher thought she smelled gasoline. She got dizzy, short of breath, and nauseated. They evacuated the classroom and eventually the whole school. The more ambulances they sent, the more they had to send. More than a hundred people ended up in the emergency room, and dozens were admitted."
    "And?" Allison prompted.
    Sally shrugged. "They tested and tested--but nothing. Most people who got sick said they smelled something, but they all reported something different--it was bitter; it was sweet; it smelled like something burning. Same thing happened today. People saw the hazmat team, heard there had been some kind of chemical spill, decided this was another sarin gas attack, and began to monitor themselves for symptoms. The air downtown doesn't smell or taste that good anyway, especially not when you add hundreds of idling cars when everyone tried to follow the mayor's order to evacuate. It's called mass hysteria. Otherwise healthy people convince themselves something is wrong."
    Allison was still having trouble believing it. "But I was there, Sally. I was there. Something awful happened."
    "Something awful did happen--it just didn't affect that many people. The hazmat people tell us there was a small release of some kind of gas at KNWS. Small and contained. One fatality. They're treating a couple of other people who were on scene, but only as a precaution!'
    KNWS. That rang a bell. "Who was the fatality?"
    "They said Jim Fate."
    "Jim Fate?" His name sparked the last bit of adrenaline Allison had left. "I was going to meet with him tomorrow. He'd been getting some kind of threats."
    Sally raised her eyebrows. "They must have been more than threats. I'm hearing we were lucky that, for whatever reason, he chose to stay i n h is studio, and it was nearly airtight. It kept this scene"--she swept her arm out to the hundreds of people--"from being a real disaster."
    Allison looked closer at the would-be patients. Sally was right. No one seemed in dire straits. "Why do you have all these people in the parking lot--why aren't they inside?"
    "It started when we thought they really were contaminated. We couldn't risk it spreading to the entire hospital. Now they're out here simply because we don't have room for them in there. And a lot of them won't go away--they don't believe us when we tell them they're okay. But not one of the people we're seeing has reddened eyes, irritated mucous membranes, or labored breathing. If this had been a real poison gas attack, we would have seen that, at a minimum. And we would be in a world of hurt. We don't have enough protective gear--chemical goggles, face shields, and respirators--even for our staff. We don't have enough nerve antidote kits for all these people. We don't have enough anything. Nobody does."
    "If it had been real, what would you have done?" Allison asked, shifting Estella's weight. Her panic was slowly ebbing.
    "Triage," Sally said bluntly. "You simply don't treat the weakest and the sickest, the ones who will probably die. You concentrate on the ones you can save, and you say a prayer for the rest."

    Chapter 10

Good Samaritan Medical Center
    Allison had taken a child. She had taken a child. At the time, she had thought she was saving Estella's life. But now that she knew there had been no danger, she felt sick when she thought of Estella's family. Somewhere