Chapter 21 The Calculus Of Consequences

• The silence in the CDC tent was a living thing, thick and heavy with the residue of Alexander’s shattered ego. The Diazepam had pulled him under, not into peaceful sleep, but into a fitful, twitching unconsciousness. His face, even in repose, was a mask of anguish. The monitors reported stable, if weak, vitals. The immediate storm had passed, leaving a landscape of utter devastation.
• Dr. Thorne let out a long, slow breath, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet. He finished adjusting the IV rate and turned to me, his expression unreadable. Vance remained at her post, her gaze flicking between Alexander’s still form and me, her professional mask back in place, though the tension in her shoulders had eased a fraction.
• “His body can’t take many more episodes like that,” Thorne stated quietly, his voice devoid of judgment. It was a clinical fact. “The psychological stress is as damaging as the prions, maybe more so. Cortisol levels are off the charts. It’s accelerating the neural degradation.”