+18 - eps 22-27 - A case takes Russell and Brock to the brink of death. It'll be up to Gillian and the team to rescue them before they're killed by a white supremacist militia. And in the aftermath of the Paris attacks, the threat of a bio attack fo...
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On their way back to the inn, Gillian called Ron on speaker, her feelings reflecting on her dull tone. "What d'you have, lads?"
"The six patients at the St. Joseph's are stable and the doctors are optimistic," Ron replied, his phone on speaker too.
"It's a good news-bad news situation, Reg," said Russell. "They're gonna make it, but..."
"Maybe they're gonna wish they didn't," she muttered. "Alright, see you back at the inn."
Brock glanced at her when she disconnected, noticing the grimace darkening her face. There wasn't much he could say to make the situation any better. But he gave it a try.
"Let's see what your team found, Gillian. Maybe then we'll have enough to work with Coleman on a rough profile. What do you think?"
Before she could even process his thoughtful words at her concern, the fangirl took over to wreck some havoc and her lips curled up. "I'd like that."
He smiled back with a quick nod, his eyes on the traffic. They both knew he was smiling way too much this morning.
But Gillian wasn't exactly about to complain.
And Brock felt she was worth it, falling so out of character for once.
Back to the inn, Aldana welcomed them with cold water and news at the 101. "Reg, I set up the meeting for seven p.m. at the Memorial. Nothing from the CDC yet. Hank's out in the yard, taking a crash course on this thing."
Brock glanced out at the garden and there he was. The biochemist lay on a lounger under a yellow umbrella by the swimming pool, wearing some flashy swimming trunks and even flashier flip-flops, tablet and water in hand. Gillian's roll call distracted him from his hurting proper-fed feelings.
"Kurt?"
"Too many names, Reg. We need to shorten this somehow. Virologists, geneticists, biochemists—any of them could've done this. My list borders four-figure numbers."
"The hospitals sent us a day-by-day report on the patients since they were admitted," said Fred. "To compare with the evolution of the known virus."
"That'll come in handy for Hank. T?"
"I think I've found the overlap. It's a convenience store around the corner from the theatre."
"Great, stay on it. Try to find out what they purchased." Gillian turned to Aldana. "Russ and Ron?"
"Hank sent them a list of books he needs to consult, so they stopped on their way back to buy them."
"Books? Why doesn't he just download them to his tablet?"
Fred shrugged. "Old school nerd? He says he needs them in paper, to compare, highlight, take notes."
"They're also bringing lunch," said Kurt.
Gillian and Aldana scowled at him.
"Lunch, Kurt?
"Seriously?"
To their surprise, Tanya came to the rescue. "Considering the traffic, they won't make it here before two p.m."
"So, how do we narrow our list, Reg?" asked Fred.
She arched her eyebrows. They were right, they had to narrow it down. But she needed a moment to come up with some bright idea before she could answer Fred. She finally got the memo of Brock's cologne drilling her nose to remind her he wasn't only a distraction, so she turned to him. "A word, sir?" she asked.
Brock managed to keep his blank scowl on not to smile. Again. He felt really sorry for the way his sarcasm started considering suicide at his reactions—Yay! We're gonna brainstorm like back in the good old days!
He'd barely nodded when Aldana said, in a warning tone, "Hank's outside."
"Should we clear the table and go for a walk?" asked Fred.
They all sounded so serious that Brock needed a minute to get the tease. He scowled deeper when Gillian's scoff confirmed his suspicion.
She shook her head, fighting the battle of the century to prevent spontaneous combustion. "Thanks, lads. Always so thoughtful. No need, though." We had a row on his desk just a few hours ago.
Their laughter filled the room when Hank showed up, opening the sliding door, eyes wide open in shock. His words fell like a bucket of cold water on them. "Reg, we're screwed. Big time. This Borna virus? It belongs to the same family with the Ebola and the flu."
A sudden, thick silence replaced laughter as all eyes turned to Gillian. Brock's included, and he got ready to step in, in case she hesitated or froze at such news. As if.
She nodded, not even flinching. "Nasty fellas," she said in her usual firm, plain way. "But what does it mean to us?"
"Well, considering such cousins, if they decide to tweak it and make it airborne, it'd spread like a wild fire, infecting every living thing on its way. Geometric progression. It'd reach the Canadian border in a few weeks."
Brock could but admire the way Gillian functioned under pressure. She just nodded again and even flashed a smile. "Alright. Keep reading, Hank. Al, make the CDC hate us. Kurt, search for the equipment needed to tampering with virus genetics and find who's got access to it in town. That will narrow your list. T, please print me a map of the area. Fred, can you make a timeline?"
