Logan and Zoe moved down the hall, guns drawn, clothing sticking to their still-oozing wounds. Logan expected to find someone inside the apartment, waiting for them. The police or another squad of blunt-faced assassins. Or company men, sent by his employer to clean up the mess. They would want his keycard to get into the lab. Or they would want to hold Zoe as collateral while Logan fetched the thing they were here for. But none of these things would have happened because Logan would have killed them on sight.
And none of these things had to happen, because when he opened the door, the apartment was just as they'd left it. Empty, undisturbed. They checked each room, each corner, each closet, under the furniture. No one would hide under a bed and attempt an ambush. But they would put a bomb underneath a bed. Or in a closet. Or in a cupboard.
No one was here, no one had been here. Who was left? After the scrub? After whatever series of events had led to Barnes being captured and injected with a bioweapon? The company that employed them was being burned to the ground.
***
Logan locked the door and pulled off his jacket, then his t-shirt. He surveyed the damage to his body in the bathroom mirror. He could see the imprint of treads where the burning tire had hit him. It wasn't bad, not nearly as bad as some of the injuries he'd had in the past. One more scar for the collection that road-mapped his body.
Zoe joined him, stripping off her shirt, and then her bra. Both were stained with blood.
They spent twenty minutes cleaning and bandaging their wounds and picking fragments of window glass from their skin. Logan closed the wound on Zoe's head with a liquid sealant.
"Think it will scar?" she said, examining the cut. There was something in her voice, something he hadn't heard before. It took him a moment to realize that she was self-conscious about her appearance. The scar would bother her. He realized how little he really knew her, and how badly he wanted to.
He also realized how difficult it was to recognize a simple, innocent concern. An idea haunted him: that he'd been disconnected for too long, that he was no longer fully human. That his exit from this career had closed without him even noticing.
"You alright?" she asked.
"Yeah. Just having a moment."
"We can't stay much longer."
"You should go. Get out of the city. Get out of the country. I can handle this on my own. It doesn't make sense for both of us to risk our lives."
She looked hurt, like the words stung to hear.
"I won't slow you down. I know I usually sit in front of a screen, I know I froze up earlier, but I think I've shown—"
"You saved my life from that thing. Again. This afternoon. That's the second time she's been ready to kill me, and the second time you stopped her. It's not that I don't think you can handle it. I'm just not confident this is going to work."
Her tone was steady and logical. "We have a better chance of success if there are two of us. That's true for grabbing this thing from Paradime, and it's also true for getting out of the city in one piece."
They changed their clothes. They pocketed their phones, weapons, and IDs. They packed their bags, one apiece. Anything they didn't need went into a dumpster outside. They would not return to this apartment.
CHAPTER 24
They found a vehicle through a car-share service.
A block away from where they picked up the car, Logan saw a man kneel down on the sidewalk and vomit black bile.
Further down, people were lined up outside a food store with shopping carts full of water and nonperishable food.
A block later, police in full riot gear were unloading themselves from an armored bus.
Logan and Zoe kept the car windows rolled up.
The clock on the dashboard said it was past midnight. Six hours since Barnes had been let loose inside that park. How many people had he infected there? How many more had those people infected? How many were being infected right now?
The map on the GPS app they used showed a grid of traffic alerts, street closures, accidents, delays, and police activity. They took a long, indirect route toward the Paradime campus, attempting to bypass the worst of it.
On the car radio, disc jockeys who had been playing pop songs or arguing with callers a few hours earlier were now in emergency mode, broadcasting a constant stream of newswire updates and taking calls from people witnessing the breakdown firsthand: reports of near-riots at food stores and pharmacies; reports of people hemorrhaging in emergency room waiting areas; reports of heavy police and military activity on all major highways. One caller even reported zombies.
***
Proceed with the job as planned.
Zoe would drop Logan off at the main gate. He'd use his employee ID to get onto campus. He would retrieve the chemtorch from where it was stashed in the gym. He'd use the stolen keycard to get into the building and the chemtorch to cut his way into the lab. He'd leave his gun in the car—he'd never get it past security, and he didn't want to kill anyone inside Paradime. If he got in a bind, he'd use the sound grenades. If things went smoothly, he'd take Outcome and leave the way he came in. If thing's didn't go smoothly, he'd improvise. He would keep an open comm line with Zoe. She would wait with the car and act as a getaway driver. Then they would call it in and wait for further instruction.
The moment they arrived at Paradime, it was obvious this plan wasn't going to work.
***
There were a thousand people lined up outside the main gates, where a wall of security personnel were dressed for battle—hazmat suits, body armor, assault rifles. More security personnel patrolled the crowds and parking lot, directing people and cars. More were stationed at the edge of the parking lot, scanning IDs. It reminded Logan of the refugee camps he'd seen during his time in the military.
Minutes ticked by as they sat in the car, watching.
"What do we do?" Zoe asked. She was thinking the same thing he was. Lots of people were going in, but no one was leaving; once Logan stepped onto campus, he wouldn't be able to leave without drawing attention to himself. And even if he did manage, there would be the army of security guards to contend with. The plan was dead on arrival.
"What should we do?" Zoe asked, repeating her question.
"I think we should go inside."
"Both of us?"
"Yes."
***
One of the security guards directed them where to park. Another scanned Logan's employee ID and asked for Zoe's.
"She's my girlfriend, she doesn't work here," he said. He expected resistance. He expected the guard to say that it was employees only beyond this point. He expected them to tell Zoe she had to leave.
But to Logan's surprise, the guard said, "Any ID will do. Driver's license, passport. The scanner reads and records almost anything."
Zoe offered her driver's license.
They walked forward and joined the back of the line.
Logan looked around for someone he recognized and spotted a girl named Claire, who had been in a few of his classes during the past week. She was a few years younger than him, a few years older than Zoe. Her eyes lit up when she saw him. "Logan, you got the message. I actually thought of you when it went out. I was worried some of the newer employees weren't on the distribution list. Sometimes it takes a week or two to get updated."
She was referring to a message sent out over the Paradime employee network. The phone Logan had been using as part of his cover had been destroyed in the car crash, and he'd been cut off from his Paradime inbox for most of the night.
"I'm here for work," he said. "I'm late because of everything going on. I don't have my phone with me. What message?"
"From Holden. Holden Fynn, our CEO," Claire said. "He's calling every Paradime employee in the city to campus. They're boxing up the city. Highways, bridges, airports, mass transit, it's all closed. Martial law. There's some kind of disease outbreak. There was some kind of terrorist attack. He's bringing us here to keep us safe
."
"What about people who don't work here?" Zoe asked.
"I don't know, but I haven't seen them turn anyone away. He must have a plan. He always has a plan."
***
There was a plan. That was apparent the moment they reached the front of the line and arrived at the campus gates.
Logan and Claire showed their IDs. Zoe showed her driver's license and was given a visitor's pass.
They walked through weapons detectors. More security guards in hazmat suits were patting people down. On a usual day, they conducted random checks, but now they were checking everybody. Logan and Zoe had left any weapons they'd been carrying in the car.
Up ahead, more guards were taking everyone's temperature, using an infrared thermometer. Logan and Zoe waited their turn, watching as several people were taken away, temperatures too high, apparently. Logan recalled his briefing before the job on the island. High fever was one of the first symptoms. They knew at least one thing about the disease they were looking for. Maybe the 911 call he'd made had helped.
"What will happen to them?" Zoe asked one of the guards when it was her turn.
In other places and circumstances, a question like that would have been ignored. Or it would have been answered with a rifle butt to the face and an order not to ask any more questions.
But here, the guard answered her. Politely. "Anyone with any sign of infection is being taken to the hospital on campus, where they're being isolated, observed, and treated. We don't know much about what's going on, but we're in contact with the city hospitals and we're sharing information."
The voice was muffled, distorted by the rebreather and mask, but it addressed her like she was a person.
Logan had seen situations like this before. Anywhere else, this could easily turn into an execution en masse. Anyone with the first sign or symptom would be shot, and the bodies would get thrown into a pit and burned. Anyone who didn't like it would get to join them.
But not here. None of the guards aimed their weapons at the people in line. The weapons were to protect these people from anything else that might show up, not intimidate them.
A person in a hazmat suit and mask aimed a laser at Logan's forehead. The device reminded him of the thermometer he kept in a drawer at home, in his kitchen.
After their temperatures were read, they were passed on to another person in a hazmat suit and the process was repeated. Redundancy—a second layer in place in case the thermometer malfunctioned or the person using it zoned out and looked at the reading without really looking at it.
They passed from one checkpoint to the next without incident. The few people who were pulled out of line because of high temperatures went without a struggle, knowing they were headed for treatment. Again, Logan recognized how well this was working. There was no panic, no hysteria.
Once they were on the other side, the crowd dispersed. Some people milled around, unsure of what to do. A few Paradime employees were directing traffic, telling people where to find food, where to sign up for housing for the night, what they could do to help.
***
There was an outdoor amphitheater at the center of campus, a circular stone stage set at the bottom of a green hill. During a normal workweek, the stage welcomed a full schedule of guests. Lectures about technology, culture, work-life-balance, problem solving, nutrition, and a thousand other subjects. Performances by musicians and actors. And one night a week, a movie projected on a big screen.
The movie screen was in place now and hundreds of employees were gathered on the hill, watching. Projected on the screen was collage of newsfeeds that showed the city being boxed up in real time. There was footage that showed mile after mile of traffic clogging the roads and highways. Footage of the armored vehicles and barricades that now plugged up every major artery leading out of the city, and footage of soldiers stretching razor wire and chain link across the gaps of land in between. Footage of soldiers in hazmat suits patrolling outside hospitals and pharmacies and homes. All of this just a mile or two beyond the boundaries of the Paradime campus.
***
Logan didn't know any other place to go, so he went to the gym. The door was open but the lights were off. He led Zoe inside. They checked each room. They were alone.
"Please tell me you're not thinking about going through with this."
Logan shook his head.
"What are we doing here?"
"If you thought we were making a mistake, you could have said so outside."
"I didn't think we were making a mistake. I thought we were making the best decision possible."
"What's that?"
"Staying together. Getting to safety. You heard what they're saying. The city's getting boxed up, closed off. We're already trapped. Do you disagree?"
"No. I'm with you one-hundred percent on this."
She looked relieved.
"You thought I was going through with it? The plan?"
Zoe seemed to age ten years from whatever thought was passing through her head. "I..." she mumbled, words failing to form. "The risks I've seen you take. The things I've seen you do. Two weeks ago, on the island, you went looking for that body. You just can't ever let something go."
She was right.
"I'm scared," she said.
"Me too."
"No," she said. "I don't think you understand. I'm not scared of whatever is happening out there. I'm not scared of the people we work for or what they'll do to us because we failed to deliver the thing they want. I'm not even scared of what the people running this place will do to us if they learn who we are and why we're here. I'm scared of you being this close to the thing you were here for, and having to let it go. Having to walk away."
He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing he could think to say rang true in his head. Things had changed in the past weeks, but he hadn't. He was the same person who'd gone searching for that body in the jungle. The same person who'd gone back to his apartment after she'd told him "flat drop."
But still, she was wrong.
"It's not about that anymore."
"What's it about?" she said. "You mean to tell me that you weren't the slightest bit relieved when Barnes gave us this job? I know I was. I'd just torched everything I owned. Going back to work... It was like a chance to hit reset. Finding out things weren't as bad as you thought they were."
"I was glad I got to go back to my apartment one last time, that I got to go to that beach one last time. But more than anything, I was relieved I hadn't lost you."
She smiled, looked at the floor. "Shut up."
"You're beautiful, you're too young for me, and you're my only friend. What the hell else in the world could I possibly want more than that? I wanted to kill Barnes when he gave us this job."
He stopped, realizing what he'd said. He pictured Barnes's screaming face, flames curling over the skin. "Shit," he said.
She moved toward him, wrapped her arms around him. "I'm sorry," she said.
"I didn't..."
"I know."
She rested her head against his chest.
"So, what now?" she asked.
"Something else."
CHAPTER 25
The helicopter lowered out of the night sky and onto the field. The aircraft's body was black. There were no lights on the outside, nothing blinking to give away its position. The rotors were silent, slicing the air in a whir that was no louder than an expensive kitchen appliance. It was the kind of thing designed for night raids, for delivering teams of soldiers behind enemy lines unnoticed.
Once it was on the ground, the rotors slowed, spun to a stop. The helicopter wasn't going anywhere for a while.
A man in a suit and tie emerged, carrying a brown grocery bag. He wore a pair of night-vision goggles. He looked around, seeing the world through a filter of incandescent green. He stood in a valley between a collection of concrete buildings. Some of the buildings were new, others were in ruins. Some were a f
ew stories tall, others were squat single-level bunkers. Some were dark, others had lights on the exterior.
His eyes lingered on the burnt-out husks of two vehicles, armored transports. Bodies were scattered here and there, twisted black shapes that looked like the leftovers of a prairie fire. The air had the dirty smell of fuel and flames and burnt flesh.
Three men with flashlights stood outside one of the single-level buildings.
The man in the suit walked toward them.
The men were dressed for combat. Dark fatigues. Body armor. Weapons and gear. They addressed the man in the suit as "Sir."
He handed the grocery bag to one of the soldiers while he removed the night-vision goggles. He slipped the goggles into his jacket pocket.
"Who is he?" the man in the suit asked.
"One of the bioengineers. From what we can piece together, they've had him locked up down there, alone. Two weeks, maybe longer."
Fourteen days was a long time in isolation. The man in the suit knew from experience.
"And the machine?" the man in the suit asked.
"It appears to be fully functional. The prisoner can tell you more."
"Take me to see it."
***
The machine was a giant metal box, almost like a shipping container, only mostly square instead of long and rectangular. Barrels were docked along the outside, with bundles of tubes and cables that snaked up the sides and connected to the mechanism on top. Next to the barrels was a workstation and a laptop where green text glowed from a dark screen. The whole thing was set on a platform in the center of the large subterranean room.
The machine was lacking in sleekness, rough around the edges; it had the look of something that had been built by hand. Somewhere between a first generation and prototype.
It was magnificent.
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