by Kathryn Hoff
“Bert Rasmussen,” I said, breathless with relief. “He’s behind all this—he’s trying to take one of the babies.” Baboon-face was putting up a tirade of accusations of mutant-breeding as the soldier marched the invaders down the steps.
“You have to find Bert.” I bounced Gabe—crying to get down—on my hip as I followed Stonehouse to the ground floor.
“Open the iso lab door for me,” I said. “Westerly told me to take Gabe inside where he’ll be safe.”
“The isolation lab’s not a good idea right now,” Stonehouse said.
“What? Why?” Exiting the stairway, I coughed on the lingering fumes of pepper spray. Gabe cried in misery.
Directly in front of me was the iso lab door. From beyond it came a cacophony of screeches and wails.
But in front of the door lay a body in a lab coat and, three meters away, a frightened soldier standing guard.
Paula’s body. Blood smeared her damp curls and the linoleum under her.
For a moment, my head got so light I almost dropped Gabe. “Paula!”
Stonehouse held me back with a hand on my shoulder. “Easy now. She was inside—she might be contaminated.”
I pushed him away. “Her hair’s wet—she already went through decon.”
After a pause, Stonehouse nodded to Private Koh, and she dragged Paula by the arms away from the door. Paula stirred and moaned.
Alive, then. In relief, I sagged against the wall. “What happened?”
“That asshole Rasmussen got into the isolation lab somehow. Bardo was inside. She tried to fight him off, but he cold-cocked her and shoved her out here.”
“He’s in there? With Deedee?”
“He musta got his hands on one of the docs’ badges.”
“Westerly’s.” My blood ran cold. Bert, convinced that the babies were monsters, holding the key that would unlock all the doors between him and Deedee.
Cries came from within the iso lab, human infant almost indistinguishable from chimp. Yeek! Eeek! Eeek! Wah! Wah! Wah!
“I’ve got it!” Bert shouted. “I’ve got one of Quinn’s experiments. This is my proof.”
My stomach dropped. Bert had Deedee—and he’d exposed himself to strain seven.
“Don’t be a fool,” Stonehouse called. “There’s no way out of this. Put the baby down and give yourself up.”
I clutched at Stonehouse’s arm. “He’s contaminated! He’s been in the red zone, breathing in strain seven. You can’t let him leave!”
Stonehouse nodded tightly. He sidled up beside the door. “Rasmussen! Put the baby down! You’ve entered an Eclipse red zone. Wait where you are for a quarantine unit.”
“Quarantine is a sham—strain seven’s coming no matter what. But before I die, I’ll show the world what evil has been done here. I’m coming out with the little monster. Back away, if you don’t want to be exposed.”
Yeek! Molly screeched. Deedee wailed. Gabe struggled frantically against my tired arms. “Deedeedeedeedee!”
“You can’t let Bert leave!” I repeated. “Don’t let him hurt Deedee!”
“I’m open to suggestions,” Stonehouse snapped.
Bert’s face appeared at the window. “Everybody back off! I’m coming out!”
Stonehouse raised his rifle and pulled the trigger.
The crack hurt my ears. It echoed down the hallway.
When I opened my eyes, the glass window in the iso lab door had shattered and Bert’s face had disappeared.
Deedee’s shriek ended with a thump.
Then, only silence came from the iso lab. My breath caught, my chest refusing to move.
Private Koh moaned softly, “Oh, lord.”
Then Deedee howled with a cry as loud and shrill as any of Molly’s. Molly answered with an enraged scream.
Stonehouse rubbed his chin. “Now what?”
White-faced, Private Koh eyed him fearfully. I could almost hear her thinking, I’m not going in there!
Paula moaned.
“Paula, stay still,” I said. “Help’s on the way.” It felt strange, me reassuring Paula.
Stonehouse said, “Doc Bardo may need some medical care. Where’s Doc Westerly?”
“Third floor,” I answered. “She’s hurt, and so is Charles.”
“Huh. Quinn?”
“Hiding somewhere, trying to protect his phage cultures. Rico’s on the second floor, in the linen storeroom. He was contaminated by strain seven—you’ll need a quarantine unit for him too.”
Stonehouse shook his head. “Regular quarantine won’t take strain seven. Have to fly in special units from ECA Central. Could take hours.”
My heart sank. “Hours? Deedee can’t wait hours.”
Stonehouse rubbed his chin, gazing grimly at the iso lab door.
How far would you go?
I took a deep breath. “I’ll go in.”
“You can’t do that, Miss Jackie! I’ll send in a soldier.”
“And do what? Deedee’s still coughing, so she’s still contagious. I know how to put on the hazmat suit, and how to take care of a baby, and how to take care of the chimp. Besides,” I pointed to my tattoo, “I’m a three. I have a better chance than most to fight off strain seven.”
Stonehouse looked a little sick. “Miss Jackie, I can’t let you…”
“Deedee’s sick. You gonna let her die in there for lack of care?” I took Paula’s badge from where it was clipped on her lab coat and held it up like a magic talisman. “Westerly told me—ordered me—to take Gabe to the iso lab. I’ll go in, put on a hazmat suit and take care of the babies. Westerly and Quinn can figure out how to get Rico inside, and how to decontaminate the room where Rico’s culture spilled.”
Stonehouse looked down, then nodded once.
I bounced Gabe on my hip. “Good news, buddy. You get to see your little sister. And Sergeant, please take care of Paula.”
I went in.
CHAPTER 28
Clean up,
aisle three
I stepped over Bert’s body, peppered with bits of glass from the window. At the sound of the door, Molly whimpered from the red zone. The bastard must have frightened her.
“Miss Jackie?” Sergeant Stonehouse called. “Is Rasmussen dead?”
“Oh, yeah. Definitely dead.” A quarter of his skull was blown away. Brains and blood oozed onto the floor in a big puddle. I felt sick, but not sorry.
In the puddle was an angry, bloody, crying, coughing Deedee.
A slow rivulet of blood inched toward the door. I stepped over it, wondering how to dam the flow.
I spotted a box of diapers. A diaper soaks up a lot. For that matter, Gabe’s was pretty full too.
Gabe had stopped squawking and gazed around this new place with big eyes and a scrunched nose. It smelled bad—the metallic scent of blood overlaid with pepper spray, pee, and crap.
Death is a messy business.
I threw a diaper down to contain the blood seeping toward the door. Fighting down nausea, I draped a surgical gown over Bert’s smashed head.
How had the other Jackie Kennedy felt, seeing President Kennedy’s head like that?
Stonehouse called, “Is the baby all right?”
“I think so. Keep everyone away from the door until I find something to cover the window.”
I tried to think. Bert’s blood and brains were icky, but not dangerous. Deedee was the source of contamination, even if she wasn’t coughing much. The prep room would have been safe if the damn fool hadn’t brought Deedee in from the red zone.
Cover the hole in the window, get into a suit before picking up Deedee.
Deedee was on all fours, trying to stand but she kept slipping on blood. Gabe struggled to get to her. Eh, eh, eh.
“Just wait a minute, kids.” I stuffed Gabe into the space under the desk, moving a chair in front to keep him out of the blood and mess.
To seal the hole in the window, I couldn’t think of anything better than a cut-open latex glove and medical tape. I pu
t on three layers. It wasn’t neat, but good enough.
“Sergeant? You can disinfect the area outside the door now.”
The empty white suits hung from the walls like giant white vultures waiting for supper. They were spattered with blood and brains, but I wasn’t going into a strain seven red zone without protection.
I picked out the smallest suit and sat on the chair to pull it on. Both babies cried furiously.
“Miss Jackie? What are you doing?”
“Putting on the hazmat suit.”
Ignore the crying, take your time. Gloves, helmet, air filter. It wasn’t perfect—I couldn’t see the seals at my back. I’d have to trust my E-3 immunity and whatever helpful phages were already circulating in my body.
With Paula’s badge in hand, Gabe and I entered the decontamination room. Paula’s white suit lay abandoned on the floor—she must have shed it in the rush to keep Bert away from Deedee. My eyes misted up at the thought of her fighting the scheming, obsessed asshole.
One more door. With a thumping heart, I used Paula’s badge again and carried Gabe into the red zone.
“Don’t worry, Gabe.” The helmet transformed my voice into a robot cackle. “You’ve got phages. And Molly and Deedee for company, and me to look after you.”
Hoo hoo hoo hoo? Molly cowered in her cage. It was depressingly small and isolated, shoved into a dim corner. The poor thing must have felt like a prisoner in solitary.
“Hey, Molly, old girl. It’s just me. It’s good to see you.”
I deposited Gabe into one of the two cribs and went back to the prep room. “Hey, there, Deedee! Remember me?”
I picked up Deedee and cuddled her as well as I could in the suit. “How are you, sweetie?”
Deedee smeared red stains onto the white suit. She was a bloody mess, but the blood didn’t seem to be hers.
“Bath time, sweetie.”
The intercom in the prep room buzzed. Westerly asked, “Jacqueline? What is the situation?” I knew she’d been injured, but her voice was cool as ever.
“Deedee doesn’t seem to be hurt, but she’s covered in blood. I’m going to bathe her and settle her and Gabe in the red zone. How’s Paula?”
“A mild concussion. She will recover fully.”
I closed my eyes and let go a relieved breath. “You better look after her! How are Charles and Reyna?”
“Charles suffered a slight injury. Reyna is frightened, but unharmed. She was courageous. You all were.” For a moment, Westerly sounded almost emotional. “Mr. Rasmussen’s accomplices have been arrested.”
“I hope they rot in prison.” In fact, I hoped for worse than that, the stinking baby-snatchers.
Westerly cleared her throat. “You understand that you must remain isolated until decontamination is completed? I’m afraid it will be some time before a strain seven quarantine unit can be mobilized.”
“I understand.
“You will have company. Ricardo has been exposed to a vial of Delta’s blood. Once he joins you, you must take whatever supplies you need from the prep room into the red zone, enough for at least two days. And, Jacqueline, I have full confidence in your ability, and Ricardo’s, to manage the situation in a calm and professional manner.”
Great. Me and Rico, shut up together. “I’m counting on you and Paula to look after us,” I said.
“Of course.” Westerly almost purred. “We shall. All of you.”
I gave Molly a couple of biscuits and let her sniff me through the bars of her cage. Her hair was patchier than ever—she plucked at it even as I watched—and her cage was smeared with feces. “Poor Molly,” I crooned. “I’m here now, old girl. I’ll take care of you.”
I bathed and dressed Deedee, changed Gabe’s diaper, and settled them both with bottles into one crib. They gazed at one another with happy fascination.
Two days. I hauled boxes of diapers and wipes, formula and baby food, ape chow and biscuits into the red zone. The babies were asleep. Molly hooted softly every time I entered and left.
I was doing a quick clean of her cage when there was a little commotion from the hall. Molly whimpered when I left her to see what was going on.
The door from the hall to the prep room squeaked open to admit a white suit. The smell of disinfectant oozed in behind him.
“Hey,” the robot voice said.
“Hey, Rico. Stop! Watch your step.”
He bent awkwardly over the dead man’s legs. “Dios mío, is that Bert? I think I’m gonna puke.”
“Better not throw up while you’re wearing that helmet. Here, shift over this way—don’t look down.”
“Don’t look down? Is that all you can say?” Rico’s robot voice squeaked.
“They had to stop him. He was going to spread strain seven.” I draped a couple more surgical gowns over the corpse, feeling more drained than angry. I hadn’t liked Bert and he’d been trying to do something terrible, but Eclipse made a lot of people do desperate things. “Go on into the red zone if you don’t want to see him.”
“Hell, no! I’m not going in there unless I’m sick.” He sounded scared as hell.
“The decon room, then. Wait, do up my seams in back first.”
He fumbled awkwardly with the fastenings. “That’s the best I can do, my hand’s hurt. Uh, can you look at the cut?”
We found a med kit in the decon room. I had to help him take the glove off his right hand. It hurt him bad enough that he had to wipe tears off his face.
“Ugh, that cut looks deep.” Glass had slashed into his palm and bits were still embedded. The flesh around the cuts was already red and swollen.
“Yeah. I tripped in the dark. My hand came down right onto a couple of vials of Delta’s blood. Strain seven, direct into the bloodstream. My goddam bad luck.”
I didn’t know much first aid, but he did. Rico gave directions as I squinted through the helmet’s visor to tweeze out bits of glass and apply antiseptic and a bandage.
“We’re gonna be all right,” I told him. Which was a witless thing to say.
“No, we’re not. We’re going to get strain seven and no one’s going to be here to take care of us. We’re gonna die here, all alone, with a goddam monkey.”
“Ape. And two babies.”
“Sure. An ape and two babies with shitty diapers.”
My laugh sounded like a robot witch.
“Can you help bring in supplies?” I asked.
“You mean, from the dead-guy room? I don’t want to go in there, and I don’t want to go into the red zone. Not until I get sick.”
“You’ve got the suit on, idiot. And you’re already exposed anyway. I need help to take care of the babies and Molly.”
He swore in Spanish. “To hell with it. Maybe it doesn’t matter anyway. Maybe we’re all dead. Bert just got it quicker. Maybe that makes him the lucky one.” Even through the air filter, he sounded gloomy.
I’d had enough of his griping. “You can feel sorry for yourself later. Westerly said we need enough supplies for at least two days.”
“Great. Quinn said to be sure to take lots of stool samples. We’re dying and he wants samples. He said he’s going to try to accelerate strain seven phage production with Gamma. Quinn called him ‘another little phage factory.’”
The intercom buzzed again, this time it was Quinn. “I want you both to listen carefully. It’s important that you both be inoculated as soon as possible with the phage that attacks strain seven. The simplest and quickest way to do that is to introduce the phage directly into your digestive system. There may be stool samples from Delta and Molly in the refrigerator in the prep room.”
“Yeah?” Rico spat. “And how are we supposed to get them to you? We’re contaminated!”
“You don’t need to get them to me, you need to use them yourselves.”
“How?” I asked.
“Eat them.”
CHAPTER 29
Diarrhea diet
Rico sputtered, “You want us to eat monkey turds?”
Even thinking about it made me want to vomit.
“Rico, it could save your life. If there are no samples in the fridge, then get some fresh ones. Both of you must consume the feces of both Molly and Delta, the sooner the better. Start with a few grams, say a tablespoonful from each. Measure how much you eat and when. Keep written records, that’s very important.”
Rico’s voice was flat. “A tablespoonful. From each. Of crap.”
“And repeat it again in six hours.”
Rico closed his eyes and whispered, “Dios mío.” Maybe it was a prayer.
I asked, “Uh, won’t that expose us to strain seven?” Panic made my nausea worse.
“Yes. Ideally, I would have a chance to isolate the phages and administer them without the Eclipse bacteria, but we have not been able to complete that step. You must take the chance. You needn’t bother with hazmat suits, they won’t matter. You will likely experience the Eclipse symptoms first. Expect a fever within twelve hours and coughing soon after.”
“Twelve hours!” That made me want to hurl even more. Rico made a noise like a sob.
Quinn went on. “Don’t panic. The phages are viruses—they proliferate faster than bacteria. When you get diarrhea, that’s good—it’s a sign the phages are working to combat the Eclipse bacterium. I expect you will both become rather ill, but with any luck, the phages will reproduce quickly enough to destroy the strain seven bacteria before the bacteria overwhelm your systems.”
Luck. I wanted to scream at Quinn. Never, ever talk to an orphan about luck.
Rico moaned. “Maybe you should send in some antibiotics. You know, like a safety measure?”
“Absolutely not. Antibiotics simply kill off the vulnerable bacteria, leaving the stronger microbes to proliferate in a new, stronger strain. That would suppress the phage process—we want the phages to feed on the bacteria and grow.”
Crap. As if I didn’t have enough of it in my life.
I swallowed hard and checked the fridge.
“There’s one sample here from Molly, and two small samples from Deedee. I don’t suppose you could send in something to mix it with, so we don’t throw up?”
