Caldera Book 6: New World Order

by Stallcup, Heath

  “In the meantime, I have work to oversee.” Hatcher watched him jump back into the fold and directing the men. Although there was activity all around the facility, it was the sound of children’s laughter that he carried with him the rest of the day. It was a sound that he hadn’t heard in a very long time.

  Carol paused at the workstation, her attention turned to the man who stepped through the door of the new lab. She watched as the yeoman stepped in and pulled his trusty clipboard from under his arm.

  “You asked about your fellow researchers…” His voice trailed as he glanced between Carol and Broussard. “I have what you want.”

  Carol set down the films she had been studying and stripped her gloves. “Good news I hope.”

  “Oh yes.” The yeoman pulled out a stool and straddled it. He pulled the papers from his clipboard and slid them across to her. “Your people were broken into teams, based entirely on what they were working on before you abandoned the Kauffman.”

  Carol glanced at the sheet then handed it to Broussard. “Why would you do that?”

  “It wasn’t me. Our ship’s doctor spoke with the first arrivals and determined which groups should go where.” He seemed to stiffen on his seat. “The brass didn’t want to risk all of humanity’s hope in the event of another outbreak.”

  Carol’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t suppose there is any chance we could speak with them?”

  The yeoman shrugged. “Calls could be arranged but all things considered, a request like that would have to be approved via the chain of command first. You’d have to prove a need to—”

  “Prove a need to collaborate with our coworkers?” Her eyes narrowed as she stepped closer. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  The yeoman held his hands up in surrender. “I didn’t make the rules. I only live by them.” He leaned back in his seat, away from her. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

  Broussard placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and pulled her back. When she looked at him he gave her a barely perceptible shake of the head. “This is not the time.”

  Carol’s voice rose as she argued. “Then when is the time?” She spun on the yeoman again. “I understand the desire to keep us separated. I understand breaking us into groups based on our work. What I don’t understand is why we need special permission to speak with them.”

  The yeoman sighed and stood from the stool. “I don’t pretend to know the specifics, but I can tell you that we have limited resources and we’re doing the best we can. Ship-to-ship calls aren’t like pulling your cell phone and dialing. It takes a lot of effort from a lot of people to make it happen.” He reached for his papers and tucked them back into the pile on his clipboard. “If you have a legitimate need to collaborate with them, let us know and we’ll make it happen. Just realize that it takes time to set up.”

  Carol lowered her eyes and nodded. “Fine.” She turned and threw her hands in the air. “Maybe somebody over there will think to bother to tell us if they brainstorm something important.”

  Broussard watched her storm back to her workstation then walked the yeoman to the door. “She is under a lot of stress. We appreciate your efforts in letting us know about the others.”

  The yeoman nodded and pulled the door open. “Try to explain to her that we are all doing the best we can under the circumstances.”

  “Of course.” Broussard held the door as the yeoman disappeared down the hallway. He turned to Carol. “Losing your composure does no good.”

  She braced her hands on the counter and blew a long breath out. “I know.”

  Broussard patted her back as he walked past her. “Our work is our work. Their work is theirs. If the two intersect, I am positive that we will be brought together again; it is only a matter of time.”

  Carol stood up straighter and stretched her neck. “Then let’s get back to it.” She handed him the films she had been studying. “These are all the gene sequences I’ve been able to identify that are common between all known strains.”

  Broussard held the films up and used the overhead lighting to highlight the white bands. “Very good.” He spoke softly as he compared the films. “We may have a fighting chance after all.”

  Carol raised a brow at him. “Don’t tell me there’s actual hope.”

  Broussard turned and gave her a broad smile. “Oui. More than just hope.” He shook the films at her. “A treatment.”

  Trevor struggled to get his “daughter” dressed again. She wanted to play. She kept trying to splash water at him. He got all but her socks on when she bolted and ran to the other side of the room. She giggled as she bent low and hid behind the bed; it was a raspy, growlish sound, but it lifted his heart to hear it.

  “Oh, you want to play hide and seek, huh?” Trevor crept across the floor and pulled the comforter up, spying her knees and feet on the other side of the bed. He slowly reached up and took a pillow in his hand. With a quick jump, he launched over the bed and brought the pillow down on top of her balding head. “Gotcha!”

  She squealed with delight and darted across the room, jamming herself into the corner beside the door.

  Trevor rolled off of the mattress and brought the pillow up in an exaggerated striking position. She hunkered lower, giggles escaping as he stalked closer. He stood just above her and held the pillow high in the air. As he brought the “hammer of death” down on her, she dove between his legs and darted to the other side of the room.

  Trevor spun slowly and gave her a mock scowl. “You can’t escape me, little missy.” He took exaggerated steps toward her, his voice low as he called out the steps. “Boom! Boom! Boom! I’m coming to getcha!”

  She squealed and slipped behind the flimsy black out curtains. Trevor smiled and pretended he didn’t know where she was. “Oh, no…where did she go?” He lifted the comforter again and peered under the bed. “Is she under here?”

  He popped his head back up and caught her spying him through the parted curtains. “Nope. Not there.” He heard her giggle then slip back behind the curtain. “Could she have gone back to the bathroom? Maybe she’s hiding under the water?”

  Her giggling quickly shifted to a near scream and she shot out from behind the curtain. She ran to Trevor and wrapped her arms around him, nearly taking him to the floor.

  “What’s wrong? Did you see something?” He tried to step toward the window but she held him tight. “Peanut, I need to see. I need to know what…” his voice trailed off. He bent low and turned her slowly. The back of her neck was bright red, small blisters beginning to form on her skin.

  “What the hell?” He pushed her away from him so that he could examine her. The backs of her arms were reddened as well, small blisters forming there as well. He ran his finger gingerly down the back of her arm and she winced.

  “How in the world did…” He turned her back around and saw the fear and pain etched on her tiny features. “You’ve got a sunburn. A bad one.” He glanced around the room, struggling to think of what he could use to soothe her burnt skin.

  He walked back to the bathroom and pulled a clean rag from the pile. He lifted the tank and dipped it into the cold water. He sat on the edge of the bed and gently applied the cold rag to her skin. “I’m so sorry, Peanut. I had no idea…”

  She whimpered softly as he cooled her skin. He pulled her to him and gave her a soft hug, being careful of her tender areas. “That’s enough playing for now.” He stood and went to the window. He peeled the curtain back slightly and glanced outside to ensure they were still alone. With a quick tug, he closed the gap, sending the room into darkness once more.

  “Okay, kiddo. Let’s get some rest. We have a big night coming up.”

  He pulled the blankets back and laid her gently down. With a quick peck on her forehead, he tucked her in then settled next to her.

  He stared at the ceiling and noted that she fell almost immediately asleep. He actually envied her ability to do that. He turned to his side and studied her little form breathing quickly bes
ide him. “I know there’s some good folks out there. And I know they have plenty.” He sighed and brushed a stray strand of hair from her face. “I just don’t know what they’d think of you.”

  He sat back and stared at the ceiling, praying for some form of guidance.

  Chapter 17

  “Say that again, but slower. I don’t think I heard you right.” Simon glared at Shooter as he spoke through gritted teeth.

  Shooter nodded. “You heard me right. They’re gone. Like, poof. Just up and disappeared.”

  Simon squeezed his eyes shut and slowly shook his head. “No.” He began to pace, his mind racing. “No, no, no…they can’t be…” He spun on Shooter, his eyes wide. “Were there bodies laying around?”

  Shooter gave him a puzzled stare. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, were there bodies? Like the Ragers made a Manwich out of them?”

  Shooter shook his head. “There was a trailer full of bodies, but they were all gray and bloody and…most had lost their hair.” He swallowed hard, trying not to gag at the memory of the smell. “I’m pretty sure they were the Ragers we led there. Like maybe the Cagers shot them then piled them up before they split.”

  Simon sat back and rubbed at his chin. “So, they killed off our little infected army but then they beat feet and split town?” He shook his head again. “That don’t make no sense.”

  “Sure it does.”

  Both men turned and stared at Sinner leaning against the wall. He held his bandages as he stumbled into the room and sat gingerly on the couch.

  “How you figure?” Simon asked.

  “They knew that we knew where they were. They had no choice but leave.” He shrugged with his good shoulder. “A place that big is too hard to tighten the defenses on.”

  Simon began to pace again. “And you didn’t see anything that might point out where they went?”

  Shooter shook his head. “Other than garbage and dead bodies, there was nothing. It’s like they were all geared up to split.”

  Simon fell into the overstuffed recliner and nodded slowly. “So maybe they’re like us. They keep a go-bag and a ride standing by. They just move from place to place.” He looked to Sinner who shook his head again.

  “Sorry boss. I didn’t see everything when I was there, but it looked like that place was a home to them. They aren’t the types to live out of a go-bag.”

  Shooter nodded, “Agreed.” He turned to Simon. “I heard them talk about making it a community. You know, rebuild mankind, that sort of shit.”

  Simon stifled a curse. “So they could be anywhere.” He threw his hands up then rubbed at his aching temples. “I need another drink.”

  “They weren’t in any of the buildings close by,” Shooter offered. “I could stake out the place. If they come back, I can follow them.”

  Simon shook his head. “If they stripped the place then they ain’t coming back.” He fished in the cushion of the chair and pulled out an empty pint bottle. With a grunt he tossed it across the room and was disappointed that it didn’t shatter.

  Sinner laid back on the couch and propped his head on the arm. “We could search for them. This town ain’t that damned big.”

  Simon shook his head again. “The more time we spend out there, the more we run the risk of running into Ragers. I don’t want them following us back here.”

  Shooter sat up and eyed Simon carefully. “Does that mean we’re staying put?”

  Simon sighed heavily and avoided his gaze. “It means we’re staying here until we find the Cagers and get our people back.” He scanned the room, looking for a bottle of anything. “After we pick them clean and leave their bodies for the infected, we pack up and hit the road again.”

  Shooter’s shoulders fell and he nodded. “No chance of staying, huh?”

  Simon gave him a sidelong stare. “Don’t tell me that the guy who hates crowds is buying into the whole ‘rebuilding mankind’ bullshit?”

  Shooter shrugged. “It sounds better than going town to town scavenging.” He turned a solemn face to Simon. “It feels like we’re rifling through the trash cans for scraps.”

  Simon snorted and motioned toward the windows. “That’s what the world is now. One giant trash can.” He came to his feet and stepped toward the garage door and the whisky he knew was out there. “And we’re the lucky sons of bitches who get to run it.”

  “So, by exploiting these genes, we can control all of the variants?” Carol stared at the printout in her hand.

  Broussard nodded. “The splicing will have to be careful. With the restriction enzymes we have available, we will have to take our best guesses at how best to accomplish our goal.”

  She stepped back and eyed him carefully. “And what exactly do you think we can do?”

  Broussard glanced around the room, hoping that the military hadn’t truly bugged the lab. “If we are fortunate, perhaps we can force all the variants to go dormant.”

  Carol raised a brow. “Like…permanently dormant?”

  “Oui.” Broussard leaned back in his seat and eyed her carefully. “Originally I had hoped to revert all of the infected back to the primordial variant; in this way, perhaps Dr. LaRue’s treatment would have worked.”

  “But now?” she asked, her voice unable to hide the hope that she felt.

  “Now…I think it may be possible to bring all of them under control.” He blew his breath out hard and raised his brows at her. “Possibly null each one.”

  “So…a cure.”

  He shrugged slightly. “I cannot call it a cure. But it would neuter the virus, rendering it asymptomatic. Like the herpes virus, non? Once you have it, you always have it. However, unlike the herpes virus which may resurface at any time, if we are careful here we may restore the infected to something akin to what they were before.”

  “Wait, what do you mean? Something ‘akin’ to what they were before?”

  “We cannot know the long term damage that they have suffered from the infection; at best, our results will vary from subject to subject.” He held a hand up to stop her then rolled his chair across the lab. “Look closely. This is from the one patient that showed improvement with Vivian’s treatment. Although he appeared ‘cured,’ if there was diagnostic testing performed, I have not seen the results.” He turned to her. “Did you?”

  Carol shook her head. “No, but I did speak with him; the patient, that is.”

  “Excellent. But without a baseline to how he was before, we cannot know whether his ‘personality’ was altered or…” He shrugged again. “But it is a beginning.”

  Carol nodded, still stubbornly clinging to hope. “Then let’s get started.”

  Broussard shook his head. “We lack fundamental supplies for gene splicing.” He gave her a sad grin. “And even if we had such equipment, how would we apply the treatment to the infected throughout the world?”

  She fell back into her chair and fought the urge to cry. “Then why are we bothering? If we can’t use it then—”

  “I didn’t say it couldn’t be used.” He patted her shoulder. “We can use the CRISPR method to recreate the virus; it is a most accurate procedure.” He shook his head. “But introducing that virus to an infected person…this is the problem.”

  Carol suddenly sat up and stared at him. “Wait a minute. If you can neuter the virus, can you also make it more virulent?”

  Broussard’s brows knit in confusion. “Explain.”

  “Make it airborne.” She came to her feet, her mind racing. “Make it more aggressive so that it tries to reinfect those that are already infected.”

  Broussard felt a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Infect the infected, this would overwrite the existing infection?”

  “Exactly.”

  He nodded slowly. “Oui. I believe this can be done.”

  “Then make me a shopping list and I’ll get it to our little go-between.” She fought the urge to whoop as she slid a pad of paper and a pen toward him. “Be precise. Whoever
goes out to find this stuff needs to know exactly what they’re looking for.”

  Trevor stood at the window, studying the darkening sky. He wanted to wait until he was certain it was safe for Patricia to be outside before he woke her.

  He watched as the last licks of color faded from the evening; he could feel the temperature drop through the double-pane glass. He closed the curtain and turned to wake her, only to find her standing beside him, her eyes trained on his every movement.

  “It’s time.” He bent low and lifted her to the dining chair. He slipped one of her sneakers on and was tying it when he noticed she was studying his actions. “You want to try?” He held the shoestrings out to her.

  She stared at him blankly.

  “Yeah, maybe another day.” He quickly tied her shoes then pulled her hoodie over her arms. He zipped it partially up then stood her beside the door. “Okay, darlin’. This is it.”

  He turned the knob and actually enjoyed the cool breeze as it washed inside the tiny motel room. He slung his pack then pulled the AR sling over his other shoulder. “Let’s go.” He felt her warm fingers wrap around his hand as they stepped out into the twilight.

  Trevor paused and listened. The night was eerily quiet; their footsteps practically boomed across the parking lot. He could hear the crunch of each step and he froze at the edge of the road.

  “There’s no crickets.” He turned slowly, straining his ears. “I don’t hear anything. No birds…cicadas…nothing.”

  Patricia stared up at him, unfazed.

  He tugged at her and she fell into step with him. He slipped between buildings and darted through alleyways, continually making their way eastward, hoping he could find the warehouse again.

  He thought he heard her stomach growl, and he paused. He bent low and whispered, “Are you hungry? Want something to eat?”

  She stared at him blankly. For a moment, he wondered if she were a different child than the one he had played hide-and-seek with earlier.