Part 2
“What is he doing?” Mara asked.
“I don’t know.” Daniel kept the leash short. “Scout. Back.”
The shepherd obeyed, but his eyes remained fixed on the cabinet. He licked his nose, sneezed again, and drew a quick breath toward the hanging feed.
Mara reached for the pump. “Stop it.”
Nia caught her hand before she touched the controls. “Let me.”
“The bag is going into him.”
“And pulling at the wrong connection could hurt him faster.” Nia paused the pump, clamped the line at the approved point, and checked the label. “This bag has been up for an hour and forty minutes.”
She tilted it toward the monitor light. A thin oily line clung to the inside near the top.
“Is that normal?” Mara asked.
“Fortifier can separate.”
Nia opened the capped sampling port and held it several inches from her face. Her eyebrows drew together.
“What?”
“It smells off.”
“Sour?” Daniel asked.
“Old milk. And something waxy.”
He did not move closer. “Scout gave us a reason to look. You’re the one who found a problem.”
Nia placed the bag in an empty basin. “I’m calling Dr. Reyes.”
The door opened before she reached the phone. Dr. Keene stood in the hall.
Her gaze moved from Mara to Daniel, then to Scout and the paused feeding pump. Anger tightened her face, though her voice remained controlled.
“Take the dog out of this unit.”
Mara stepped between her and the crib. “Something is wrong with the feed.”
Keene looked at Nia. “What did you observe?”
“Separation and an abnormal odor.”
“Before or after the dog reacted?”
“After. The bag still smells abnormal.”
“Then initiate a product complaint and preserve the sample.” Keene turned to Daniel. “You need to leave now.”
“We’re leaving,” he said.
“Nurse Alvarez, report to the charge desk after another nurse relieves you.”
Mara’s chest tightened. “You’re suspending her for checking a bag?”
“I’m removing her from duty for bringing an unauthorized animal into critical care.”
“I asked her to.”
“She is the licensed employee.”
Dr. Reyes arrived in shirtsleeves, breathing hard from the stairs. Nia gave him the sequence in short sentences while he pulled on gloves. He inspected the bag and smelled the sampling port.
“Hold feeds from this lot,” he said.
Keene’s eyes narrowed. “Samuel.”
“The nurse documented an abnormal product characteristic. I can replace the calories and fluid while pharmacy checks it.”
“You are making this decision in a compromised scene.”
“I’m making it because holding one feed is reversible.” He set the bag back in the basin. “Ignoring it isn’t.”
Keene looked at Noah, then at the label. “Quarantine the lot. Notify nutrition and infection prevention.” Nia blinked, surprised by the agreement.
“Your administrative review still stands,” Keene said. “Finish the transfer of care and surrender your badge.”
Daniel guided Scout toward the door. The dog passed the cabinet, then veered half a step toward the baseboard behind it. He sniffed once at the double outlet used by the feeding pump and a small warming unit.
His nose wrinkled.
Daniel pulled him back. “Leave it.”
Scout came willingly this time.
After the dog was gone, Nia crouched beside the outlet. “Is that cover supposed to be brown?”
Reyes knelt without touching it. “It feels warm from here.”
Keene took out her phone. “Call facilities.”
Cal Foster arrived carrying a voltage meter and the expression of a man expecting a loose faceplate. The expression disappeared when he saw the outlet.
“Unplug the warmer,” he said.
Nia did. Cal shut off the receptacle circuit at a nearby panel, confirmed it was dead, and removed the cover. The insulation behind it had darkened around one conductor.
“How long has the light been rattling?” he asked.
“Since before we got here,” Mara said. “Eleven weeks.”
Cal looked up. The fixture clicked twice, paused, and clicked again.
He went into the nutrition alcove next door. The refrigerator there held prepared fortified feeds for several PICU rooms. Its compressor started with a heavy shudder. Cal checked the wall panel, then called someone and asked for the temperature-alarm log.
Keene stood in the doorway. “What are you thinking?”
“That this room was altered during the renovation, and the labels don’t match what’s in the wall.”
“Is there an active danger?”
“I’ve killed the patient receptacles. I need the electrical drawings and a thermal scan before I tell you anything else.”
Nia had begun sealing the remaining feeding bags in a clear bin. She stopped when Cal’s phone chimed. He read the screen, then scrolled upward.
“The refrigerator logged heat excursions in September and again last week,” he said.
Keene stepped closer. “Were they cleared?”
“The service ticket says monitor pending replacement.”
“Who approved continued use?”
Cal did not answer. He opened another file on the work-order system and turned the screen toward her. “This room has two prior recommendations to come out of service…”
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