The familiar chime sounds, and Dr. Greenberg’s face fills my screen. He’s in his late fifties and is all business. I don’t think he’s ever asked me how I am. I don’t even think he’s so much as spoken about the weather.
“Good evening, Miss Lewis,” he says, his voice crisp and no-nonsense.
“Good evening, Dr. Greenberg.” I smile, even though he rarely returns the gesture.
“I’ve reviewed your weekly report.” He adjusts his glasses and glances down at what I assume is a printed copy on his desk. “Your vaccination numbers are consistent with previous weeks. Ninety-three shifters vaccinated this week, with a compliance rate of ninety-nine point four percent.”
“Yes, sir. We had one no-show who has been flagged for follow-up. The second no-show was successfully vaccinated today.” I pull up my notes, ready to provide details if he asks. “He required enforcement action, but he was vaccinated and held in compliance detention.” I can’t help but think of Grim.
“And the two runners from last week?” His eyes are sharp behind those glasses. “I take it that both were successfully brought in and vaccinated?”
“Yes, sir. They both came in voluntarily after receiving the final notice.”
Dr. Greenberg nods, making a note on his copy. “Good. And the batch numbers are all properly logged in the database?”
“Yes, sir. Every single vaccination is documented with the date, time, batch number, lot number, and my initials. The digital records sync with the Mainland database every evening at midnight.”
“Excellent.” He leans back in his chair. “Your attention to detail is one of the reasons we selected you for this position, Miss Lewis. Proper documentation is absolutely critical to the continued success of this program.”
A warm flush of pride spreads through my chest. “Thank you, sir.”
“Any adverse reactions this week?”
“None reported. The formula continues to be well-tolerated by the shifter population.” The vaccination was altered slightly, making it more effective. So far, so good.
“As expected.” Dr. Greenberg sets down his papers and looks directly into the camera. His expression grows even more serious, if that’s possible. “Miss Lewis, I want to take a moment to remind you of the critical importance of the work you’re doing on Draig Island.”
I sit up straighter. “Of course, sir.”
“I know we’ve discussed this before. I feel, from time to time, that it’s necessary to reiterate just what’s at stake.” He removes his glasses and cleans them with a cloth before pushing them back on his nose. “Do you remember your training? The module on Hemorrhagic Fever symptoms and progression?”
“Yes, sir. Fever, internal bleeding, organ failure…” I trail off, remembering the graphic images from the training videos.
“That’s the clinical description,” he says, replacing his glasses. “But let me paint you a more complete picture of what happens when a shifter contracts Hemorrhagic Fever.”
I lean closer to the screen, my stomach already starting to clench.
“The initial symptoms are flu-like. Fever, muscle aches, fatigue. Nothing that would immediately alarm anyone.” His voice drops lower, more intense. “But within twenty-four to forty-eight hours, the virus attacks the shifter’s nervous system. Specifically, it targets the part of their brain that controls their shifting ability.”
My breath catches.
“The shifter will spontaneously shift into their dragon form,” Dr. Greenberg continues. “And once in that form, they cannot shift back. Not ever. The virus essentially locks them in their beast form.”
Oh God.
“But it gets worse, Miss Lewis. Much worse.” He leans toward his camera. “The dragon, which was already feral to begin with, becomes completely, utterly mad with pain. The virus causes excruciating agony as it destroys them from the inside out. Imagine being trapped in a body that’s literally killing you, unable to communicate, unable to reason, with nothing but animal instinct and overwhelming pain driving every action.”
I feel sick, gripping the edge of my desk.
“That dragon will go on a rampage,” Dr. Greenberg says. “It will kill anything in its path. Other shifters, humans…it won’t matter. The creature will be so consumed by pain and madness that it will simply destroy everything it encounters. Fire, claws, teeth – all of it unleashed with no control, no restraint. It’ll be even more powerful and much harder to kill.”
“That’s…that’s horrible,” I whisper.
“It is. And do you know what eventually stops them, Miss Lewis?”
I shake my head, not trusting my voice.
“Death. The virus kills them within seventy-two hours of initial infection. But in those seventy-two hours, a single infected dragon can kill hundreds of people. Possibly thousandsif they reach a populated area.” He pauses, letting that sink in. “Now imagine if that dragon escaped Draig Island and made it to the Mainland.”
