Virals tb-1

by Kathy Reichs

  A clipboard hung from a hook beside the glass partition. I snatched it, read furiously. The attached papers resembled a hospital chart, largely incomprehensible. My eyes dropped to a line of handwritten notes scribbled at the bottom.

  “Subject A not responding to experimental regimen for parvovirus XPB-19. Scheduled for immediate termination.” The form was signed: Dr. Marcus E. Karsten.

  Anger exploded through my veins like the Incredible Hulk.

  That bastard Karsten was planning to put Coop down!

  I won’t let this happen! No chance! No way!

  “I’m getting Coop out of here,” I said, in a tone that brooked no argument. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to help.”

  Shelton tapped the clipboard. “It says he’s infectious.” His voice cracked. “It’s not safe.”

  “The dog must be in that box for a reason,” Ben agreed.

  I shook my head fiercely. “Coop has parvo. I’ve heard of it. The virus is bad, but not infectious to humans, only other dogs. It’s no threat to us.”

  Hi jumped in. “Look, normally I’d be with you. I hate this crap too. But if that dog’s gone when Karsten comes back, all hell’s gonna break loose.” His voice became a plea. “We’ll get caught.”

  Breathing deeply, I met their eyes. Which, frankly, were unconvinced.

  “We won’t get caught.” My mind groped. What to say? Taking in the scene, I considered what we’d stumbled upon.

  Intuition flashed.

  Of course!

  But how to convince them?

  “Karsten is breaking the rules.” I spoke slowly, carefully ordering my thoughts. “Everyone thinks this building is shut down, right? But inside we find gorilla security and a hidden lab. Shady.”

  As the words hit the air, I started to believe my own theory. Nothing else made sense. “And this secret experiment? Karsten is testing on freaking dogs. Dogs to be euthanized. Ever hear of trials like that on Loggerhead?”

  Hi chewed his lower lip. Ben and Shelton looked, if not persuaded, at least like I’d created a crack.

  “Karsten’s running something secret,” I pressed, convinced. “Off the grid. I doubt he’ll ever report Coop missing. Coop’s not supposed to be here in the first place.”

  “Where would we take him?” Shelton asked. “If he’s got some doggy disease, we can’t release him on the island or he’ll infect the whole pack.”

  I’d thought of that. “The bunker. No one knows about it. We can nurse Coop there.”

  No response.

  “We can at least give him a chance. Parvo isn’t always fatal.”

  True, but without veterinary treatment the virus killed more times than not. I didn’t say that. Caring for Coop wouldn’t be easy, and there was no guarantee he’d pull through. Parvo had no known cure. I didn’t say that, either.

  Still nothing.

  “I’m going to try.” I crossed my arms and braced for opposition. “Will you help?”

  Seconds passed. Five. Ten. Twenty.

  “Okay.” Ben first. Unexpected.

  “Fine,” said Shelton. “But I hope you’re right, Tory. I’m not cut out for prison.”

  Hi muttered to himself. “Stupid, stupid, stupid!” Then, glancing up, “All right, but if we get caught, I’m blaming the whole thing on you three. I’ll even make stuff up.”

  Tears welled. Thankfully, I kept control. “You guys are the best. I mean it.”

  “True,” said Shelton. “But it’s time to bounce.”

  Raiding the shelves, I shoved medical supplies into an empty plastic bag. Then I opened a small refrigerator and appropriated bags of intravenous fluid. I noticed three vials of antibiotics and swiped those as well.

  Last, I grabbed a small animal carrier and lined the bottom with a spare lab coat. Best I could do to make the crate more comfortable.

  Satisfied, I approached Coop’s cell. The glass enclosure wasn’t locked. When I pulled the handle the door released with a soft hiss.

  I unhooked the drip bags from the stand, making sure not to disturb the lines. Coop would need fluids; best not to remove the tubes from his leg.

  Finally, I opened the cage. Odd smells seeped from within. I switched to breathing through my mouth, reminding myself that Coop couldn’t infect me.

  As Ben lifted the dog, I arranged his collar and tubes. Together we placed him inside the carrier. Ben would be our pack-mule and carry Coop off the island.

  Eyes closed, the puppy sprawled inside the crate, too tired to resist.

  “Ready?” I asked.

  “Ready.” All three.

  Right then, the alarm sounded.

  CHAPTER 14

  An ear-splitting wail pulsed through the building. I slammed the cage door and froze, hoping against hope the sound would stop.

  No such luck. Blasts screamed at three-second intervals.

  “We’re screwed!” Hi sounded close to panic.

  “Hold it together!” I snapped. “No one’s seen us yet. We just have to get out!”

  The alarm shrieked on and on.

  “Move!” hissed Ben. “Quick and quiet, back the way we came.”

  Shelton streaked down the hallway. Ben followed, clutching Coop’s carrier to his chest. I could have kissed him. I raced close behind, lugging the supply bag.

  Last out, Hi pulled the metal door shut.

  The blaring ceased.

  My head whipped around.

  “The electro-lock triggered the alarm,” Hi said, chagrined. “We should’ve closed the door.”

  Too late for that now.

  Hurrying to the staircase, I risked a quick glance out the second floor window. Rain was still falling. Water ran down the glass in tiny rivers and stood puddled in the courtyard.

  My heart froze in my chest.

  The alarm had registered in the security booth. Three-hundred-pound Carl was lumbering our way, sky-blue uniform already drenched.

  “Carl’s heading for the front steps!” I hissed.

  “We’re screwed,” Hi repeated.

  Ben took charge. “He’ll check the main lab downstairs first. We hide on the stairs, wait till he passes, then bolt out the back.” He looked at each of us in turn. “No noise. Got it?”

  We did. And it worked. Carl waddled right by us, shedding water like a duck.

  Out the back door, we skimmed the rear of the building. At the corner, I peeked around to check. The yard was empty.

  Ben tied his jacket over Coop’s crate to shield him from the downpour. We exchanged glances, bracing for a suicide sprint.

  “Now!” I commanded.

  We charged.

  I slogged through ankle deep puddles, nearly losing my balance more than once. Lightening bolts slashed the sky, cutting bright streaks across my vision. I heard someone go down with a splash.

  Arriving at the Turtle Beach gate, I spun and waved the others through. Hi. Ben and his cargo. Shelton, covered in mud. The boys snaked into the woods.

  With shaking hands I closed the gate and slammed home the lock.

  A loud bang cut through the drumming of raindrops. A door?

  Panicked, I dove for the nearest cover, a thin strip of holly just short of the tree line. Rolling to my belly, I looked back through the chain-linking.

  Carl emerged from the building and scanned his surroundings. His gaze landed on the back gate. Standing in the deluge, he looked wretched but determined.

  My camouflage wouldn’t survive close inspection. Movement would give me away. Only the driving rain had protected me this far.

  As Carl stepped toward the fence, the clouds pulled out all stoppers. Rain fell in torrents.

  Carl looked up, reconsidered. Shaking his head, he retreated toward the dryness of the inside world.

  Miracle. Thanking various deities, I rose to a squat and crab-scuttled into the forest.

  The ole bunker had never looked so good.

  Commandeering the back room, I stripped and wrung out my sopping clothes. Fail. Soak
ed stayed soaked.

  I rejoined the others in the main chamber and together we constructed a makeshift recovery ward for Coop. After, Ben sat on the bench, a bundle of beach towels before him. Coop lay inside, alternating between dozing and halfheartedly licking rain from his fur.

  The ride back had been a horror. Rain and seawater drenched us as Sewee struggled over head-high breakers. Seasickness claimed more victims than Hi.

  Huddled in the stern, I’d tried my best to keep Coop dry. Everyone had been nervous. When we finally slipped into the bunker’s cove, I’d whispered a quiet prayer of thanks. To whom, I wasn’t sure.

  “What now?” Hi was ruffling Coop’s outrageously oversized ears. “I know squat about caring for a sick pup.”

  “Re-hang his IV bags,” I instructed. “We’ll need to change them when they run out.” The pilfered supplies were lined up on our table. “Until then, we keep Coop warm and hydrated and try to get him to eat.”

  And hope.

  It was the best we could do.

  Coop lay on his side, looking miserable. I hated keeping him in the bell collar but had no choice. Without it he’d rip out the IV tubes.

  I proposed a plan. “We’ll take shifts. I’ll watch Coop today. Let’s meet here before school tomorrow and set up a rotation. Bring any dog supplies you can find at home.”

  “No blabbing,” instructed Hi. “This fiasco stays secret or we’re all screwed.”

  Shelton raised a hand. “What happens when Coop’s better?”

  “If he beats the virus, he’ll be immune,” I said. “We can find him a normal home.” I couldn’t keep the dog. Kit was opposed. And knew him. But we’d craft Coop a good life somewhere.

  “I’m dead serious.” Hi wouldn’t let up. “Secret. Undisclosed. Covert. Let’s swear a blood oath or something. Lock it in.”

  Shelton chuckled. “Fine.” He took a knee. “I swear on my life, I’ll never breathe a word about the dog.”

  “Ditto,” said Ben. He caught a sharp look from Hi. “Okay, okay!” Air quotes. “I swear. Happy?”

  “Somewhat. Tory?”

  “I promise, Hi. Not a word.”

  I looked down at Coop, sleeping in his improvised burrow. “I’ll take care of you,” I whispered. “Just get well.”

  Outside, thunder rolled.

  CHAPTER 15

  Dr. Marcus Karsten went cold.

  Standing just inside the door to his secret laboratory—the entry upon which he’d misplaced so much faith—he could see that his fears had been realized.

  Subject A was gone.

  Impossible!

  One hour earlier, Karsten had been at home reviewing papers. The phone rang. Annoyed at the interruption, he’d answered.

  Carl from the institute. Someone had broken into Lab Six. The esteemed professor had dropped the receiver and raced to his car, panicked.

  Karsten sped to the marina, running red lights. Wrangling a boat, he’d ordered the captain to take the short way to Loggerhead Island, tide notwithstanding. Paid double. Speed was everything.

  Karsten had talked down his nerves during the rain-soaked crossing. No one knew about the upstairs lab, he told himself. His secret was safe.

  The guards couldn’t even open the electronic lock he’d special-ordered. No one else had the combination. Once he determined what had triggered the alarm, he’d slip off to double-check the hidden room.

  Slowly, Karsten’s fear turned to anger. Some lazy tech must’ve needed supplies and didn’t want to fill out the paperwork. Typical. Whoever tripped that alarm would get both barrels.

  Upon landing, Karsten hurried directly from the dock to Lab Six. The downpour did little to improve his mood.

  Carl waited outside on the steps. Now sporting a massive black raincoat, he resembled an enormous bowling ball on legs. A nervous one.

  Karsten scowled upon seeing the guard. This buffoon is the best we can do for security?

  “Out with it,” Karsten demanded. “Was there a break-in? Was anything taken?”

  “Uh . . . we, uh . . . I mean, I don’t know.”

  Despite his bulk, Carl stood barely five feet tall. Karsten towered above him, glowering.

  “Doctor. Sir.” Carl added, just to be safe.

  “Check. The. Video. Tape.” Slowly. Karsten had no time for fools, and considered Carl one short step above.

  “That’s just it, sir.” Carl wished he were anywhere else on the planet. “We can’t. The recorder broke last week, and the replacement is still on backorder.”

  Karsten closed his eyes, willing self-control. He vaguely remembered a memo to that effect. “Did you examine the locks?”

  “Oh yes, sir!” Safer ground. “The gates were closed and locked. And both of the building’s outer doors remained secure.”

  Carl scratched his head, stumped. “I even went inside. Nothing missing, nobody there.” A pause. “Of course, I couldn’t sweep the back part, upstairs.”

  “Not your concern!” Karsten spoke more sharply than he’d intended. “That area is safe, I assure you. No one can get in there.”

  Carl blanched. “But sir, that’s the sector that was breached.”

  Karsten froze. “What?”

  “The alarm that activated,” Carl mumbled. He could tell Karsten was taking this news badly. “The signal came from the new electronic lock, upstairs.”

  Karsten’s mind rifled the terrible possibilities. He’d assumed only the first floor had been violated. The building entrance wasn’t alarmed, but two inner doors were.

  Think, he chided himself. Gates, locked. Doors, locked. No signs of forced entry. Yet something had tripped the most secure alarm in the complex.

  “Who else is here?”

  “No one,” Carl answered quickly. “I checked everywhere. Not a soul. Mr. Blue’s first shuttle won’t arrive for another hour.”

  “The steel door was closed when you arrived, yes?”

  “Yes, sir. Doctor.”

  The alarm malfunctioned, Karsten told himself. Nothing else made sense.

  “The storm must’ve tripped the sensor. Go finish your report. I’ll verify upstairs.”

  Carl wavered. “I’m supposed to look myself, for the report, or—”

  “Guard.” Karsten’s voice was granite. “You are dismissed. I will let you know if further services are required.”

  That was enough for Carl.

  Karsten watched the guard waddle off before entering the building.

  The subject, he thought, racing up the stairs. The subject must be secure!

  One look sent Karsten’s hopes crashing.

  The wolfdog was gone.

  Karsten struggled to process the magnitude of the calamity.

  Professionals, he thought. Burglary specialists. No one else could have breached the gates, the doors, and the keypad lock. No one else could have evaded capture so seamlessly, left no trace of a crime.

  Karsten had always suspected there were factions who wanted to steal his research. His findings could one day be worth millions, perhaps billions. But how had they discovered this lab?

  Particles of an idea coalesced with a jarring shock. The intruders must have known the cameras were down!

  Dear God! An inside job!

  They’ve no idea what they’ve done.

  Horror flooded Karsten’s mind. Subject A was infected with the experimental strain of parvovirus. Though he’d told no one, he had a terrible suspicion about XPB-19.

  Karsten picked up the phone and dialed with trembling fingers.

  “Dr. Marcus Karsten here. My business is urgent.”

  Karsten listened to dead air as his call was transferred. A click. Two long beeps. A voice answered.

  “Yes.”

  Karsten forced his voice calm. “We have a problem.”

  Minutes later the professor stood with gut clenched, receiver still clutched in his hand. Thinking one thought: I need a drink.

  His instructions were clear.

  Find the dog. />
  Or else.

  And he’d held back the worst of it, even from him. Hell, especially from him. That news was far too dangerous to share. His sponsor was far too dangerous a man.

  Karsten rummaged through his pockets, found a key ring, and unlocked a desk drawer. Yanking papers and scattering files, he finally located a document at the bottom of the stack.

  Karsten recognized his own handwriting at the bottom. He examined the record again, wishing it read differently.

  It didn’t. His words screamed from the page. Accusing.

  “The highest caution must be employed. Due to its radical structure, Parvovirus strain XPB-19 may be infectious to humans.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Is at in the Bolton Prep library, researching on my lunch hour. After a dozen Googles, I knew my adversary. Nasty. Heartless. A serial killer that fought dirty. But my investigation confirmed that the enemy could be beaten.

  Parvo. The puppy plague.

  Unvaccinated dogs are virtually defenseless against it. A remorseless assassin, parvovirus often kills within days of invading its host.

  Not on my watch.

  I vowed to deprive the microscopic murderer of yet another victim.

  Monday morning. A new school day had me back in uniform. Dull plaid tie and matching pleated skirt. White button-down shirt. Black knee socks.

  Blech.

  I shouldn’t complain. Without the dress code the Bolton Prep hallways would host a yearlong fashion show, one in which I could never compete. Unlike some girls, I play the outfit straight and don’t slut it up at every opportunity.

  The information I’d downloaded wasn’t pleasant. My memory had been correct: no cure exists for canine parvovirus. But the survival stats provided a glimmer of hope. I clung to it like an anaconda.

  A voice sounded from directly behind my chair. “Hey, Tory, shopping for prom dresses?”

  I spun, defenses slamming into place. All year I’d been the target of ridicule. I knew the drill.

  But it was only Hi, strolling to the neighboring computer station, his Bolton Prep jacket inside out to expose the blue silk lining. Hi claimed that if he wore the required attire, he met the dress code. Period. The administration disagreed, but after a year of defiance, Hi had prevailed. Teachers seldom tried to make him conform anymore.