THE PANGEA CHRONICLES . BOOK 1.. 107.9°

102.9°

Jefferson County Coroner/ Medical Examiner's Office

Birmingham AL

17 June, 2019

745 am

The short commute to the Coroner's Office seemed like it took longer than it should, with a heavy air of animosity hovering over them like a wool blanket.

Last night had turned into a late one, to say the least, with the staff interviews alone lasting till well after Midnight. Though they'd had a couple of flashes of heightened emotions from Nurse Timmons, Richard was beyond impressed by both her professionalism, and her sense of duty. She had stayed to assist hours after her shift was supposed to end, rounding up medical staff as needed to get an accurate portrait of Sammy Kehoe's final 2 days alive.

From what he could now tell, Mr. Kehoe had gotten sick with very minor flu symptoms approximately 14 days prior. Like most his age and condition of health, he, along with the girlfriend, tried home and over the counter remedies, and waited for the virus to run its course.

For most people sick with the flu, that would be the end of the story. But with Sammy Kehoe, the story had just begun. His hospital stay was marked by a rapid onset of an extreme fever. It had peaked at 107.9, a level that often produces multiple organ failure, and fatal brain injury can occur in minutes.

The pronounced decline of health that resulted in Kehoe's comatose state, left the task of obtaining any case information about possible exposure an uphill battle indeed.

The fact Desiree Parker had slipped away during the initial confusion surrounding her boyfriend's emergency room seizure made it almost insurmountable. And that bothered Crenshaw to no end.

"We have to find the Parker woman," Richard said, as he pulled the Lincoln into a parking spot and switched off the engine. "This case, Warren... something about Kehoe's death is bothering me."

"What are you thinking, Richard?"

Reaching in his shirt pocket, he pulled out his phone, put in the passcode, then opened his email.

"A couple things, actually. As you know, we had all his samples retested; serology, urine, and the cultures from the swabs."

"You have the results already?" Warren had a confused look on his face, as if he wondered how his subordinate was able to procure the report before him.

Richard smiled. "You're not the only one with important friends, Warren." Not waiting for Dr. Grayson to respond, he began scanning the attached files, a look of dark realization settling on his face.

"Jesus, Richard. Are you alright? You look like you've been punched."

Dr. Crenshaw remained silent, handing Grayson the phone instead. The results confirmed what they both expected. This was a Novel Strain, something never before seen in the human population. But apart from knowing it was Influenza, neither Doctor had any idea what they were dealing with.

"What's really bothering me, Warren," Richard said flatly, opening the door and exiting the car, "is the only person on the planet that has come in contact with whatever hosted the original virus...the one person that could help us fill in the gaps... is dead on that table in there."

Warren exited the passenger side of the car, stretched, and pulled a pack of Winstons from inside his blazer. Tapping the pack on the butt of his palm, he flipped it over, pulled off the top cellophane and foil, and removed a fresh cigarette.