Tommy Nightmare (Jenny Pox #2) by JL Bryan

Heather said.
    Schwartzman removed his glasses, pinched his
nose and squinted. That meant he was developing a migraine.
    “Not one word about anything you see or do,”
Artleby said. “Official messages will be put out through official
channels.” Artleby looked at Heather expectantly, with an amused
curl to his lip. She stared back at him, trying to look cold.
    “Dr. Reynard will adhere to the President’s orders ,” Dr. Schwartzman said. “Like the rest of
us. Correct, Dr. Reynard?”
    “Of course,” Heather said. “Sorry, I was
asleep. I’m just trying to catch up.”
    “Perfectly understandable,” Artleby said.
“Why, this must be a whole blizzard of information coming at you
all at once. Would someone get the lady doctor a coffee?”
    A twenty-something Homeland Security officer
in a blue uniform hurried to fetch it.
    “That’s really not…” Heather began, though
she was secretly relieved to have coffee on the way. Maybe she
could fling it in Artleby’s face, if she got bored.
    “Mr. Lansing here has flown with me from
Washington,” Artleby said. “He’s in charge of this situation. And
he’s my eyes and ears for the duration. You need anything, you hit
any rough patches, you just come to him.”
    The pinch-faced man gave a small nod and
waved his hand a little, as if everyone might have forgotten that
the word “Lansing” referred to him.
    “Now,” Artleby said, “What is our first
priority?”
    “Identify the pathogen,” Heather said. “I’ll
need to pull the medical claims histories of all the victims. And
we’re still looking for any hint of a source.”
    “No,” Artleby said. “Lansing?”
    “Contain the situation,” Lansing said.
    “Correct. You’ve collected all the bodies, is
that right?” Artleby asked Dr. Schwartzman. “They’re not laying
around exposed to the public somewhere, are they?”
    “They’re in refrigerated transports,”
Schwartzman said. “Parked in an empty warehouse in Fallen Oak,
until we find a facility. We’ve started our initial laboratory
testing, but—”
    “Good,” Artleby said. “Now, priority two. Who
else has the disease?”
    “We haven’t identified any suspected cases,
yet,” Schwartzman said.
    “Test everyone in town,” Artleby said.
    “Test them for what?” Heather asked.
Intuitively, she suspected a highly mutated, even genetically
engineered, strain of bacteria, but there was no evidence for
anything yet. “We don’t even know what we’re looking for.”
    “But we could perform a general screening,”
Schwartzman hurried to add. He cut Heather another sharp look. “The
population is only a few thousand. We could survey for symptoms
matching the known cases, or anything out of the ordinary.”
    “Could, should and will,” Artleby said. “Make
sure nobody gets overlooked. Get blood and hair samples from every
yokel in that town. We won’t break the quarantine until then.”
    Lansing nodded along, looking from
Schwartzman to Heather.
    “If you want to test every person in town,
we’ll have to set up a testing center in Fallen Oak,” Heather said.
“And communicate that to the public. And then door-to-door outreach
to everyone who doesn’t come voluntarily.”
    “And funding for that, and security for
that,” Schwartzman added, with a glance at Lansing. “I don’t want
my people getting shot as trespassers. You’ll run across a few who
don’t really care for the ‘feddle guvment’ poking around.”
    Heather frowned. She hadn’t thought of
that.
    “Sharp girl you got there, Schwartzman.”
Artleby winked at Heather. “Sounds like you’ve got everything
thought out. Just let Lansing here know what you need. His
decisions are final, and so is his approval for disbursement of
emergency funds.”
    Lansing smiled a little at that.
    “Not one word escapes this town,” Artleby
said. “And, while you’re doing all this, can you please find one
goddamn witness who can tell us what happened?”
    “We’ll