Contagion

28

Phil came through the outer door of the abandoned building the Black Kings had taken over. The door was a piece of three-quarter-inch plywood bolted to an aluminum frame.

Phil passed the front room with the invariable pall of cigarette smoke and interminable card game and rushed directly back to the office. He was relieved to see Twin at the desk.

Phil waited impatiently for Twin to wrap up a payoff from one of their eleven-year-old pushers and send the kid away.

“There’s a problem,” Phil said.

“There’s always a problem,” Twin said philosophically. He was re-counting the ragged stack of greenbacks the kid had brought in.

“Not like this one,” Phil said. “Reginald’s been tagged.”

Twin looked up from the money with an expression as if he’d just been slapped. “Get out!” he said. “Where’d you hear that shit?”

“It’s true,” Phil insisted. He took one of the several beat-up straight-backed chairs standing against the wall and turned it around so he could sit on it backward. The pose provided visual harmony with the backward baseball cap he always wore.

“Who says?” Twin asked.

“It’s all over the street,” Phil said. “Emmett heard it from a pusher up in Times Square. Seems that the doc is being protected by the Gangsta Hoods from Manhattan Valley on the Upper West Side.”

“You mean one of the Hoods iced Reginald?” Twin asked in total disbelief.

“That’s the story,” Phil said. “Shot him through the head.”

Twin slammed his open palm on the desk hard enough to send the tattered stack of greenbacks wafting off into the air. He leaped to his feet and paced. He gave the metal wastebasket a hard kick.

“I can’t believe this,” he said. “What the hell is this world coming to? I don’t understand it. They’d do a brother for some white honky doctor. It doesn’t make sense, no way.”

“Maybe the doc is doing something for them,” Phil suggested.

“I don’t care what the hell he’s doing,” Twin raged. He towered over Phil, and Phil cringed. Phil was well aware that Twin could be ruthless and unpredictable when he was pissed, and he was royally pissed at the moment.

Returning to the desk, Twin pounded it again. “I don’t understand this, but there is one thing that I do know. It can’t stand. No way! The Hoods can’t go around knocking off a Black King without a response. I mean, at a minimum we gotta do the doc like we agreed.”

“Word is that the Hoods have a tail on the doc,” Phil said. “They are still protecting him.”

“It’s unbelievable,” Twin said as he retook his seat at the desk. “But it makes things easier. We do the doc and the tail at the same time. But we don’t do it in the Hoods’ neighborhood. We do it where the doc works.”

Twin pulled open the center drawer of his desk and rummaged around. “Where the hell is that sheet about the doc,” he said.

“Side drawer,” Phil said.

Twin glared at Phil. Phil shrugged. He didn’t want to aggravate Twin, but he remembered Twin putting the sheet in the side drawer.

Twin got the sheet out and read it over quickly. “All right,” he said. “Go get BJ. He’s been itching for action.”

Phil disappeared for two minutes. When he reappeared he had BJ with him. BJ lumbered into the office, his pace belying his notorious quickness.

Twin explained the circumstances.

“Think you can handle this?” Twin asked.

“Hey, no problem,” BJ said.

“You want a backup?” Twin asked.

“Hell, no,” BJ said. “I’ll just wait until the two mothers are together, then nail them both.”

“You’ll have to pick the doc up where he works,” Twin said. “We can’t risk going up into the Hoods’ neighborhood unless we go in force. You understand?”

“No problem,” BJ said.

“You got a machine pistol?” Twin asked.

“No,” BJ said.

Twin opened the lower drawer of the desk and took out a Tec like the one he’d given to Reginald. “Don’t lose this,” he said. “We only have so many.”

“No problem,” BJ said. He took the gun and handled it with reverence, turning it over slowly in his hands.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Twin asked.

“You finished?” BJ asked.

“Of course I’m finished,” Twin said. “What do you want, me to come along and hold your hand? Get out of here so you can come back and tell me it’s done.”

• • •

Jack could not concentrate on his other cases no matter how hard he tried. It was almost noon, and he’d accomplished a pitifully small amount of paperwork. He couldn’t stop worrying about the influenza case and wondering what had happened to Beth Holderness. What could she have found?

Jack threw down his pen in disgust. He wanted desperately to go to the General and visit Cheveau and his lab, but he knew he couldn’t. Cheveau would undoubtedly call in the marines at a minimum, and Jack would get himself fired. Jack knew he had to wait for the results with the probe from National Biologicals to give him some ammunition before he approached anyone in authority.

Giving up on his paperwork, Jack impulsively went up to the DNA lab on the sixth floor. In contrast to most of the rest of the building, this lab was a state-of-the-art facility. It had been renovated recently and outfitted with the latest equipment. Even the white lab coats worn by the personnel seemed crisper and whiter than in any of the other labs.

Jack sought out the director, Ted Lynch, who was on his way to lunch.

“Did you get those probes from Agnes?” Jack asked.

“Yup,” Ted said. “They’re in my office.”

“I guess that means there’re no results yet,” Jack said.

Ted laughed. “What are you talking about?” he questioned. “We haven’t even gotten the cultures yet. Besides, I think you might be underestimating what the process is going to be. We don’t just throw the probes into a soup of bacteria. We have to isolate the nuclear protein, then run it through the PCR in order to have enough substrate. Otherwise we wouldn’t see the fluorescence even if the probe reacted. It’s going to take some time.”

Sufficiently chastised, Jack returned to his office to stare at the wall behind his desk. Although it was lunchtime, he wasn’t hungry in the slightest.

Jack decided to call the city epidemiologist. Jack was interested in the man’s reaction to this case of influenza; he thought he could give the epidemiologist a chance to redeem himself.

Jack got the number from the city directory and placed the call. A secretary answered. Jack asked to speak with Dr. Abelard.

“Who should I say is calling?” the secretary asked.

“Dr. Stapleton,” Jack said, resisting the temptation to be humorously sarcastic. Knowing Abelard’s sensitive ego, Jack would have liked to have said he was the mayor or the Secretary of Health.

Jack twisted a paper clip mindlessly as he waited. When the phone was picked up again, he was surprised it was again the secretary.

“Excuse me,” she said. “But Dr. Abelard told me to tell you that he does not wish to speak with you.”

“Tell the good doctor that I am in awe of his maturity,” Jack said.

Jack slammed the phone down. His first impression had been correct: the man was an ass. Anger now mixed with his anxiety, which made his current inaction that much more difficult to bear. He was like a caged lion. He had to do something. What he wanted to do was go to the General despite Bingham’s admonitions. Yet if he went over there whom could he talk with? Jack made a mental checklist of the people he knew at the hospital. Suddenly he thought of Kathy McBane. She’d been both friendly and open, and she was on the Infection Control Committee.

Jack snatched up the phone again and called the Manhattan General. Kathy was not in her office, so he had her paged. She picked up the page from the cafeteria. Jack could hear the usual babble of voices and clink of tableware in the background. He introduced himself and apologized for interrupting her lunch.

“It doesn’t matter,” Kathy said agreeably. “What can I do for you?”

“Do you remember me?” Jack asked.

“Absolutely,” Kathy said. “How could I forget after the reaction you got out of Mr. Kelley and Dr. Zimmerman?”

“They are not the only people I seem to have offended in your hospital,” Jack admitted.

“Everybody has been on edge since these infectious cases,” Kathy said. “I wouldn’t take it personally.”

“Listen,” Jack said. “I’m concerned about the same cases, and I’d love to come over and talk to you directly. Would you mind? But it will have to be just between the two of us. Is that too much to ask?”

“No, not at all,” Kathy said. “When did you have in mind? I’m afraid I have meetings scheduled for most of the afternoon.”

“How about right now?” Jack said. “I’ll pass up lunch.”

“Now that’s dedication,” Kathy said. “How can I refuse? My office is in administration on the first floor.”

“Uh-oh,” Jack voiced. “Is there a chance I’d run into Mr. Kelley?”

“The chances are slim,” Kathy said. “There’s a group of bigwigs in from AmeriCare, and Mr. Kelley is scheduled to be locked up with them all day.”

“I’m on my way,” Jack said.

Jack exited from the front entrance on First Avenue. He was vaguely aware of Slam straightening up from where he was leaning against a neighboring building, but Jack was too preoccupied to take much notice. He flagged a cab and climbed in. Behind him he saw Slam following suit.

• • •

BJ had not been entirely confident he’d recognize Jack from the visit to the doc’s apartment, but the moment Jack appeared at the door of the medical examiner’s office, BJ knew it was him.

While he’d been waiting BJ had tried to figure out who was supposedly protecting Jack. For a while a tall muscular dude had loitered on the corner of First Avenue and Thirtieth Street, smoking, and intermittently looking up at the medical examiner building’s door. BJ had thought he was the one, but eventually he’d left. So BJ had been surprised when he’d seen Slam stiffen in response to Jack’s appearance.

“He’s no more than a goddamn kid,” BJ had whispered to himself. He was disgusted. He expected a more formidable opponent.

No sooner had BJ gotten his hand around the butt of his machine pistol, which he had in a shoulder holster under his hooded sweatshirt, than he saw first Jack and then Slam jump into separate cabs. Letting go of his gun, BJ stepped out into the street and flagged his own taxi.

“Just head north,” BJ told the cabdriver. “But push it, man.”

The Pakistani cabdriver gave BJ a questioning look, but then did as he was told. BJ kept Slam’s cab in sight, aided by the fact that it had a broken taillight.

Jack jumped out of the cab and dashed into the General and across the lobby. The masks had been dispensed with now that the meningococcal scare had passed, so Jack couldn’t use one to hide behind. Concerned about being recognized, he wanted to spend the least time possible in the hospital’s public places.

He pushed through the doors into the administrative area, hoping that Kathy had been right about Kelley’s being occupied. The sounds of the hospital died away as the doors closed behind him. He was in a carpeted hall. Happily, he saw no one he recognized.

Jack approached the first secretary he came upon and asked for Kathy McBane’s office. He was directed to the third door on the right. Losing no time, Jack hustled down there and stepped in.

“Hello,” Jack called out as he closed the door behind him. “I hope you don’t mind my shutting us in like this. I know it’s presumptuous, but as I explained there are a few people I don’t want to see.”

“If it makes you feel better, by all means,” Kathy said. “Come and sit down.”

Jack took one of the seats facing the desk. It was a small office with barely enough room for a desk, two facing chairs, and a file cabinet. The walls had a series of diplomas and licenses attesting to Kathy’s impressive credentials. The decoration was spartan but comfortable. There were family photos on the desk.

Kathy herself appeared as Jack remembered her: friendly and open. She had a round face with small, delicate features. Her smile came easily.

“I’m very concerned about this recent case of primary influenza pneumonia,” Jack said, losing no time. “What’s been the reaction of the Infection Control Committee?”

“We’ve not met yet,” Kathy said. “After all, the patient just passed away last night.”

“Have you spoken about it with any of the other members?” Jack asked.

“No,” Kathy admitted. “Why are you so concerned? We’ve seen a lot of influenza this season. Frankly, this case hasn’t bothered me anywhere near the way the others did, particularly the meningococcus.”

“It bothers me because of a pattern,” Jack said. “It presented as a fulminant form of a pneumonia just like the other, rarer diseases. The difference is that with influenza the infectivity is higher. It doesn’t need a vector. It spreads person to person.”

“I understand that,” Kathy said. “But as I’ve pointed out we’ve been seeing influenza all winter long.”

“Primary influenza pneumonia?” Jack questioned.

“Well, no,” Kathy admitted.

“This morning I had someone check to see if there were any other similar cases currently in the hospital,” Jack said. “There weren’t. Do you know if there are now?”

“Not that I am aware of,” Kathy said.

“Could you check?” Jack asked.

Kathy turned to her terminal and punched in a query. The answer flashed back in an instant. There were no cases of influenza pneumonia.

“All right,” Jack said. “Let’s try something else. The patient’s name was Kevin Carpenter. Where was his room in the hospital?”

“He was on the orthopedic floor,” Kathy said.

“His symptoms started at six P.M.,” Jack said. “Let’s see if any of the orthopedic nurses on the evening shift are sick.”

Kathy hesitated for a moment, then turned back to her computer terminal. It took her several minutes to get the list and the phone numbers.

“You want me to call them now?” Kathy asked. “They’re due in for their shift in just a couple of hours.”

“If you don’t mind,” Jack said.

Kathy started making the calls. On her second call, to a Ms. Kim Spensor, she discovered that the woman was ill. In fact, she’d just been preparing to call in sick. She admitted to severe flu symptoms with a temperature of almost 104°.

“Would you mind if I talked with her?” Jack asked.

Kathy asked Kim if she’d be willing to speak to a doctor who was in her office. Kim apparently agreed, because Kathy handed the phone to Jack.

Jack introduced himself, but not as a medical examiner. He commiserated with her about her illness, and then inquired about her symptoms.

“It started abruptly,” Kim said. “One minute I was fine; the next minute I had a terrible headache and a shaking chill. Also, my muscles are aching, particularly my lower back. I’ve had the flu before, but this is the worst I’ve ever felt.”

“Any cough?” Jack asked.

“A little,” Kim said. “And it’s been getting worse.”

“How about substernal pain?” Jack asked. “Behind your breastbone when you breathe in?”

“Yes,” Kim said. “Does that mean anything in particular?”

“Did you have much contact with a patient by the name of Carpenter?” Jack asked.

“I did,” Kim said. “And so did the LPN, George Haselton. Mr. Carpenter was a demanding patient once he started complaining of headache and chills. You don’t think my contact with him could be the cause of my symptoms, do you? I mean, the incubation period for the flu is more than twenty-four hours.”

“I’m not an infectious disease specialist,” Jack said. “I truly don’t know. But I’d recommend you take some rimantadine.”

“How is Mr. Carpenter?” Kim asked.

“If you give me the name of your local pharmacy I’ll call you in a prescription,” Jack said, purposefully ignoring Kim’s question. Obviously his fulminant course started after Kim’s shift had departed.

As soon as he could, Jack terminated the conversation. He handed the phone back to Kathy. “I don’t like this,” Jack said. “It’s just what I was afraid of.”

“Aren’t you being an alarmist?” Kathy questioned. “I’d guess two to three percent of the hospital personnel are out with the flu currently.”

“Let’s call George Haselton,” Jack said.

George Haselton turned out to be even sicker than Kim; he’d already called in sick to the floor supervisor. Jack didn’t talk to him. He simply listened to Kathy’s side of the conversation.

Kathy hung up slowly. “Now you’re starting to get me worried,” she admitted.

They called the rest of the evening shift for the orthopedic floor, including the ward secretary. No one else was ill.

“Let’s try another department,” Jack said. “Someone from the lab must have been in to see Carpenter. How can we check?”

“I’ll call Ginny Whalen in personnel,” Kathy said, picking up the phone again.

A half hour later they had the full picture. Four people had symptoms of a bad case of the flu. Besides the two nurses, one of the evening microbiology techs had abruptly experienced sore throat, headache, shaking chill, muscle pain, cough, and substernal discomfort. His contact with Kevin Carpenter had occurred about ten o’clock in the evening, when he’d visited the patient to obtain a sputum culture.

The final person from the evening shift who was similarly ill was Gloria Hernandez. To Kathy’s surprise but not Jack’s, she worked in central supply and had had no contact with Kevin Carpenter.

“She can’t be related to the others,” Kathy said.

“I wouldn’t be too sure,” Jack said. He then reminded her that someone from central supply had perished with each of the other recent infectious cases. “I’m surprised this hasn’t been a topic of debate with the Infection Control Committee. I know for a fact that both Dr. Zimmerman and Dr. Abelard are aware of the connection, because they have been to central supply to talk to the supervisor, Mrs. Zarelli.”

“We haven’t had a formal committee meeting since all this started,” Kathy said. “We meet on the first Monday of each month.”

“Then Dr. Zimmerman is not keeping you informed,” Jack said.

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Kathy said. “We’ve never been on the best of terms.”

“Speaking of Mrs. Zarelli,” Jack said. “She’d promised me printouts of everything central supply had sent to each of the index cases. Could we see if she has them and, if so, have her bring them down?”

Having absorbed some of Jack’s anxiety about the influenza, Kathy was eager to help. After talking briefly to Mrs. Zarelli and ascertaining that the printouts were available, Kathy had one of the administrative secretaries run up to get them.

“Let me have Gloria Hernandez’s phone number,” Jack said. “In fact, give me her address as well. This central supply connection is a mystery that for the life of me, I can’t understand. It can’t be coincidence and could be key to understanding what is going on.”

Kathy got the information from the computer, wrote it down, and handed it to Jack.

“What do you think we should do here at the hospital?” she asked.

Jack sighed. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I guess you’ll have to discuss that with friendly Dr. Zimmerman. She’s the local expert. In general, quarantine is not very effective for influenza since it spreads so quickly. But if this is some special strain, perhaps it would be worth a try. I think I’d get those hospital personnel who are sick in here and isolate them: worst case, it’s an inconvenience; best case, it could help avert a disaster.”

“What about rimantadine?” Kathy asked.

“I’m all for it,” Jack said. “I’ll probably get some myself. It has been used to control some nosocomial influenza in the past. But again that should be up to Dr. Zimmerman.”

“I think I’ll give her a call,” Kathy said.

Jack waited while Kathy spoke to Dr. Zimmerman. Kathy was deferential but firm in explaining the apparent connection between the sick personnel and the deceased, Kevin Carpenter. Once she had spoken, she was reduced to silence punctuated only by repetitions of “yes” at certain intervals.

Eventually, Kathy hung up. She rolled her eyes. “That woman is impossible,” she said. “At any rate, she’s reluctant to do anything extraordinary, as she puts it, with just one confirmed case. She’s afraid Mr. Kelley and the AmeriCare executives would be against it for PR reasons until it was undeniably indicated.”

“What about the rimantadine?” Jack asked.

“On that she was a little more receptive,” Kathy said. “She said she’d authorize the pharmacy to order in enough for the staff, but she wasn’t going to prescribe it just yet. At any rate, I got her attention.”

“At least that’s something,” Jack agreed.

The secretary knocked and came in with the printouts Jack had wanted from central supply. He thanked the woman, and immediately began scanning them. He was impressed; it was rather extraordinary what each patient utilized. The lists were long and included everything short of medications, food, and linen.

“Anything interesting?” Kathy asked.

“Nothing that jumps out at me,” Jack admitted. “Except how similar they are. But I realize I should have asked for a control. I should have asked for a similar list from a random patient.”

“That shouldn’t be hard to get,” Kathy said. She called Mrs. Zarelli back and asked her to print one out.

“Want to wait?” Kathy said.

Jack got to his feet. “I think I’ve overstretched my luck as it is,” he said. “If you could get it and have it sent over to the medical examiner’s office, I’d be appreciative. As I mentioned, this central supply connection could be important.”

“I’d be happy to do it,” Kathy said.

Jack went to the door and furtively glanced out into the hall. Turning back to Kathy, he said, “It’s hard to get used to acting like a criminal.”

“I think we’re in your debt for your perseverance,” Kathy said. “I apologize for those who have misinterpreted your intentions.”

“Thank you,” Jack said sincerely.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” Kathy asked.

“How personal?” Jack asked.

“Just about your face,” Kathy asked. “What happened? Whatever it was, it looks like it must have been painful.”

“It looks worse than it is,” Jack said. “It’s merely a reflection of the rigors of jogging in the park at night.”

Jack walked quickly through administration and across the lobby. As he stepped out into the early-spring sunshine, he felt relief. It had been the first time he’d been able to visit the General without stirring up a hornet’s nest of protest.

Jack turned right and headed east. On one of his prior visits he’d noticed a chain drugstore two blocks from the hospital. He went directly there. Kathy’s suggestion of rimantadine was a good one, and he wanted to get some for himself, especially given his intention of visiting Gloria Hernandez.

Thinking of the Hernandez woman made Jack reach into his pocket to be sure he’d not misplaced her address. He hadn’t. Unfolding the paper, he looked at it. She lived on West 144th Street, almost forty blocks north of Jack.

Arriving at the drugstore, Jack pulled open the door and entered. It was a large store with a bewildering display of merchandise. Everything, including cosmetics, school supplies, cleaning agents, stationery, greeting cards, and even automotive products, was crammed onto metal shelving. The store had as many aisles as a supermarket.

It took Jack a few minutes to find the pharmacy section, which occupied a few square feet in the back corner of the store. With as little respect as pharmacy was given, Jack felt there was a certain irony they even called the establishment a drugstore.

Jack waited in line to speak to the pharmacist. When he finally did he asked for a prescription blank, which he quickly filled out for rimantadine.

The pharmacist was dressed in an old-fashioned white, collarless pharmacist jacket with the top button undone. He squinted at the prescription and then told Jack it would take about twenty minutes.

“Twenty minutes!” Jack questioned. “Why so long? I mean, all you have to do is count out the tablets.”

“Do you want this or don’t you?” the pharmacist asked acidly.

“I want it,” Jack muttered. The medical establishment had a way of bullying people; doctors were no longer immune.

Jack turned back to the main part of the store. He had to entertain himself for twenty minutes. With no goal in mind, he wandered down aisle seven and found himself before a staggering variety of condoms.

BJ liked the idea of the drugstore from the moment he saw Jack enter. He knew it would be close quarters, and as an added attraction, there was a subway entrance right out the door. The subway was a great place to disappear.

After a quick glance up and down the street, BJ pulled open the door and stepped inside. He eyed the glass-enclosed manager’s office near the entrance, but experience told him it wouldn’t be a problem. It might take a short burst from his machine pistol just to keep everybody’s head down when he was on his way out, but that would be about it.

BJ advanced beyond the checkout registers and started glancing down the aisles, looking for either Jack or Slam. He knew if he found one, he’d quickly find the other. He hit pay dirt in aisle seven. Jack was at the very end, with Slam loitering less than ten feet away.

As BJ moved quickly down aisle six, he reached under his sweatshirt and let his hand wrap around the butt of his Tec pistol. He snapped off the safety with his thumb. When he arrived at the cross-aisle in the middle of the store, he slowed, stepped laterally, and stopped. Carefully he leaned around a display of Bounty paper towels and glanced down the remainder of aisle seven.

BJ felt his pulse quicken in anticipation. Jack was standing in the same spot, and Slam had moved over next to him. It was perfect.

BJ’s heart skipped a beat when he felt a finger tap his shoulder. He swung around. His hand was still under his sweatshirt, holding on to the holstered Tec.

“May I help you?” a bald-headed man asked.

Anger seared through BJ at having been interrupted at precisely the wrong moment. He glared at the jowled clerk and felt like busting him in the chops, but instead he decided to ignore him for the moment. He couldn’t pass up the opportunity with Jack and Slam standing nose to nose.

BJ spun back around, and as he did so he drew out the machine pistol. He started forward. He knew a single step would bring the aisle into full view.

The clerk was shocked by BJ’s sudden movement, and he didn’t see the gun. If he had, he never would have shouted “Hey” the way he did.

Jack felt on edge and jittery. He disliked the store, especially after his run-in with the pharmacist. The background elevator music and the smell of cheap cosmetics added to his discomfort. He didn’t want to be there.

As wired as he was, when he heard the clerk yell, his head shot up, and he looked in the direction of the commotion. He was just in time to see a stocky African-American leaping into the center of the aisle brandishing a machine pistol.

Jack’s reaction was pure reflex. He threw himself into the condom display. As his body made contact with the shelving an entire unit tipped over with a clatter. Jack found himself in the center of aisle eight on top of a mountain of disarranged merchandise and collapsed shelves.

While Jack leaped forward, Slam hit the floor, extracting his own machine pistol in the process. It was a skillful maneuver, suggesting the poise and expertise of a Green Beret.

BJ was the first to fire. Since he held his pistol in only one hand, the burst of shots went all over the store, ripping divots in the vinyl flooring and poking holes in the tin ceiling. But most of the shots screamed past the area where Jack and Slam had been standing seconds before, and pounded into the vitamin section below the pharmacy counter.

Slam let out a burst as well. Most of his bullets traveled the length of aisle seven, shattering one of the huge plate-glass windows facing the street.

BJ had pulled himself back the moment he’d seen the element of surprise had been lost. Now he stood, crouched over behind the Bounty paper towels, trying to decide what to do next.

Everyone else in the store was screaming, including the clerk who’d tapped BJ on the shoulder. They began rushing to the exits, fleeing for their lives.

Jack scrambled to his feet. He’d heard Slam’s burst of gunfire, and now he was hearing another burst from BJ. Jack wanted out of the store.

Keeping his head down, he dashed back into the pharmacy area. There was a door that said “Employees Only,” and Jack rushed through. He found himself in a lunchroom. A handful of open soft drinks and half-eaten packaged pastries on the table told him that people had just been there.

Convinced that there was a way out through the back, Jack began opening doors. The first was a bathroom, the second a storeroom.

He heard more sustained gunfire and more screams out in the main part of the store.

Panicked, Jack tried a third door. To his relief it led out into an alley lined with trash cans. In the distance he could see people running. Among those fleeing, he recognized the pharmacist’s white coat. Jack took off after them.