They say there’s been no change in the condition of the students. All four are still unconscious and smoldering with fever. Dad’s in the treatment center too, still trying to isolate the anthrax microbes that have infected Brittany and the other kids. The doctors say he’s too busy to be disturbed, but I bet that’s not the real reason they won’t let me inside. I’m guessing they don’t want another incident like the one that happened this morning. My mom is probably still in the treatment center, still comforting Jack Parker’s mother, still praying for the kid’s recovery. And meanwhile I’m out here, outside the center’s heavily guarded doors, alone and angry. For a moment I consider barging in. I could easily shove the armed guards aside and bust through the air locks. But instead I just stand there and let the wave of anger run through my circuits. Then I turn my Quarter-bot in the opposite direction and march toward a squat concrete building half a mile away.
