1. Fracture
Don's brow wrinkled. "What do you mean, you were wrong?"
Charlie sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I mean I was wrong, Don. Not enough of the patients came from Union Station, less than fifty percent by far. But watch what happens when I change the point of origin to the Amtrak bus station."
He hit a key on his computer, and the system buzzed in concentration as the spidery roots that were the epidemic rearranged themselves, all connecting to the new point.
"More than eighty percent of the victims had contact with the terminal or people who had come from it," confirmed Charlie. "I'll have to re-work the equation again, find out where it'll spread based on this basepoint. It could take me a few hours, but if I start now…" He glanced nervously at his watch. "If I start now, then it'll only be… twelve when I'm done. Three hours, and I can have it for you, just give me three hours..."
Don studied him carefully, noting the frantic undertones in his voice and the wild hand gestures with worry. "Look, Charlie, it's nine at night, and this isn't even your case. If you want to second-guess yourself, that's fine, but you look exhausted. It can wait until morning."
Charlie shot him a disbelieving look. "Uh, no, Don, we can't afford to wait until morning." He turned and grabbed a marker off the desk and started scribbling on the board. "If we've been at this since seven this morning… and we have 18 deaths total so far… it's quite simple, really. Eighteen people in fourteen hours, that's one point two eight five seven one four two eight—" he scribbled each digit on the board, "—one point two eight five seven one four two eight five seven etcetera people per hour, Don. If I start now, then only three people…" He trailed off, slumping against the desk with a wild expression in his eyes, his face pale and sweaty. Don approached him cautiously, taking the marker from his hand and watching him with a stern expression.
"Go home, Charlie," he said. "Go home and get some rest. Your head's not straight right now."
Their eyes met, and Charlie slowly nodded, a dazed look on his face. "Okay," he said faintly, sliding off the desk. "Okay."
There was something about his tone that made Don turn as he made for the door. "You feeling all right?"
Stopping in the door, Charlie faced him. "Yeah," he replied. "Just a headache."
He made off across the darkened office and was gone.