Xenofreak Nation

by Melissa Conway

  “Tell me about the pandemic,” she said.

  “Who is that?”

  “It’s Bryn Vega.”

  “No kidding?” he craned his neck in an attempt to see her again. “How the hell did you get here?”

  “You want to waste time discussing the details or do you want to tell me the truth so I can rescue you?”

  “Your dad told you, I assume? What did he leave out?”

  “All he said was he did this to me to protect me.”

  “Right, well, that was one of the reasons. Um, okay, it’s simple really. Your father was the one who first noticed that your mom never got sick after she got the pig heart.”

  “You were her surgeon?” It should have occurred to her long ago.

  “Of course. Don’t you remember?”

  “No.” She’d been a kid at the time. The doctors talked to her dad and her dad told her what was happening. She hadn’t had any interaction with the surgical team.

  “Well, yes, I was. I investigated your father’s concerns and discovered Miranda’s xeno heart somehow activated her immune system against normal human ailments both viral and bacterial. I still don’t know exactly how.”

  He was talking fast. The tunnel air was moist and cold enough to make her shiver even in her jacket.

  He said, “One of my xenos went to South America and came back carrying typhoid. I don’t know whether the bacteria he brought back was already mutated or if it somehow mutated after he’d contracted it, but yes, I do have a strain in my possession that has the potential to devastate humanity if it got out. There—is that what you wanted to know?”

  A groaning noise from a wooden beam over his head alerted her to the fact that the walls and ceiling were still unstable. She began digging. He set the flashlight down so it shone in his direction and helped with his free hand as best he could. Bryn concentrated on his left shoulder in order to dig out his other arm. The wooden beam groaned again. She picked up the flashlight and stepped back, shining it above Fournier’s head. With a suddenness that shocked her, the beam snapped. Earth from above forced it down so quickly she barely had time to jump away, and even so, her legs were buried up to her knees.

  The air was clogged with dust. She coughed and kicked her legs free. When she shined the flashlight on the pile of debris, she didn’t see Fournier at first. Then she saw his hand, clenching and unclenching.

  He was still alive. And more importantly, the tunnel was still open. She swallowed her panic and climbed up the pile, digging frantically. She concentrated on the place where she’d last seen his head, the place now occupied by a shattered support beam. Luckily, the dirt was loose enough that she dug his face free within a few seconds. He gasped for breath in the murky air. The flashlight revealed a deep gash across his forehead. The dirt on his face had become bloody mud.

  “Forget me,” he said. “Get out!”

  She hated this man with every cell in her body. Still, tears fell. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, looking through the narrow hole that led to the intact tunnel beyond him; the way to freedom.

  “Bryn.” His voice was weak. “Your mother would be proud.”

  It was quite possibly the last thing she expected to hear coming from the Bestia Butcher.

  “Tell your father…tell him Nicola is not for him. I made her for me.” He was whispering now. “But she was never Miranda.”

  Bryn had no idea what he was talking about. She would have to crawl over his head to get out, and as repugnant as she found the idea, she would do it to survive. But the tunnel wasn’t done collapsing. Clumps of dirt began to rain down on her and she was forced to back away again, toward the ladder. In one big rumble, the right wall completely gave way. Bryn climbed the ladder to the top, knowing she couldn’t help him now. She stumbled out of the closet, horrified that she’d witnessed Fournier’s death, and scared witless now that the tunnel was gone.

  She’d have to risk the elevator. She started for the door to Fournier’s office, but just then, the power went out.

  “Great,” she said, recalling Lupus’ words, “When the power goes out, you better be at the tunnel.”

  She still had the flashlight, and by its light she crept past the grisly display of body parts, aware of a strange new sound coming from all around, sort of a whooshing. She went by the bed and tripped over something on the floor. In reaching out to steady herself, she knocked into a podium with one of the jars on it. It began to fall and instinctively, she caught it.

  The flashlight illuminated the contents briefly. “Gross,” she muttered, recognizing a heart when she saw one, but the label on the jar stopped her cold.

  Miranda Vega.

  Fournier had kept her mother’s heart.

  She set the jar back on the pedestal, mouth working with no sound coming out until finally: “Oh, Mom.”

  She ran. Through the office, through the lobby and out into the maze of corridors. Even with the flashlight, it seemed as if her eyes had adjusted to the dark. There must be a light source. She looked around as she ran. The whooshing was louder and it was definitely getting brighter. She looked up. Several of the ceiling panels appeared to be glowing orange.

  Fire.

  And now she could smell it, noxious smoke from the synthetic material making up the panels. Shouldn’t they be fire resistant? But Fournier had built this place with escape in mind and perhaps he’d chosen a product with an inadequate safety rating. A product that to her untrained eye seemed to be more flammable than it should.

  Chapter Fifty-six

  When the power went out, Scott shoved Padme into the closet, shouting into the dark, “If you shoot, Kareem, you’ll hit the panda!”

  Lupus had taken the opportunity to make his way closer, as Scott found out when the big man smashed him into the wall and said, “Stay away from my woman.”

  Scott wanted to tell him she was all his, but wasn’t sure if Padme was still standing in the entrance to the tunnel. He didn’t want her to overhear and—well, not misinterpret exactly—he just wanted to keep her thinking he cared. He said nothing and Lupus backed off, but only because the Clinic’s incendiary devices had ignited.

  Scott made a move for the closet, but Kareem could see him now in the light from the fires all along the ceiling. “Stay where you are.”

  “Dude,” Scott said, “This place is on fire. You want to burn to death, be my guest, but I’m headed out the escape tunnel here.”

  “Not without the panda!” Kareem shouted angrily.

  Scott put his hands in the air. “It won’t fit. The tunnel’s too narrow.”

  “Then the two of you freaks will take it out of the cage and carry it.” Kareem brushed a burning bit of ceiling out of his hair, but quickly got back behind the sight of his rifle. Lupus began coughing in the smoke.

  “Lupus can’t carry anything. Your girlfriend shot him, remember?”

  “Then you do it!” From the pitch of his voice, Kareem was losing it. He might shoot them both out of spite if Scott didn’t at least try to save the panda. He opened the cage and reached in. The panda’s fur was coarse and thick; Scott struggled to get a grip, finally curling his clumsy fingers around its front legs and pulling. It rolled out onto the floor and uttered a weak, protesting cry. It got to its feet, though, and when Scott pushed it towards the closet, it took a few steps. It must have smelled the fresh, earthy air coming from the tunnel, because it staggered purposefully into the opening. Scott hoped there wasn’t a precipitous drop ahead of it, or the panda would certainly fall.

  “Now get away from that door,” Kareem ordered.

  Lupus stiffened next to him; Scott knew he was going to make a break for the tunnel. If that happened, Kareem would shoot, and Scott would be between Lupus and any bullets that came his way.

  But then, in a bizarrely unexpected turn of events, footsteps heralded another player in the game. A figure ran around the corner at the end of the corridor, waving a flashlight through the smoky air. Kareem had to turn to see who was
coming, and Scott’s eyes dropped to the jar of grease on the floor. To his left and behind him, Lupus ducked into the closet. The figure running toward them through the burning embers let out a cry of happiness. “Scott!”

  It was Bryn. Scott didn’t pause to think about Padme’s lie. He bent, picked up the jar of grease and hurled it. Kareem had swung his rifle in Bryn’s direction, but rightly judged her as a non-threat. He was swinging back around toward Scott when the glass shattered at his feet. He jumped back, but slipped on the grease and went down.

  Bryn skirted the mess and ran towards Scott, who saw Kareem roll over and point his rifle, murderous intent in his eyes.

  “Bryn, look out!” He yelled, but at that moment, a falling chunk of burning panel ignited the grease in a bright ball of cool fire. Engulfed in what he would assume to be flames, Kareem began screaming. Bryn didn’t stop her headlong flight. She slammed into Scott, strangling him with her arms and poking him mercilessly with her quills. He quickly disentangled himself, pushing her into the tunnel. “Later!” he yelled. “Go!”

  The fire surrounding Kareem had fizzled away to nothing, leaving a dazed and confused ARA leader. Scott rushed him before he got his senses back, snatching the rifle away. “You’re fine! Go, go go!” Kareem did as he was told, coughing and wiping his eyes as he staggered to the closet. Scott followed him in, prodding him in the back with the gun. “Move!”

  He shut the door behind him to keep out the smoke, but Bryn’s flashlight up ahead illuminated the dirt-lined tunnel, which was just as narrow and low as the one at Bluto’s. The ground slanted downward and then evened out. When they caught up to Bryn, she was kneeling over the panda. It was lying in a heap, growling with every exhale. Scott handed the rifle to Bryn and said to Kareem, “Help me.” Between the two of them, they managed to heft the weakly struggling animal.

  It was a long walk before the ground began to slant upward. Scott was sweating and shaking with effort. The panda had stopped struggling. After everything the xenos and the ARA had put the poor beast through, it was miracle it was still alive.

  That was only one of Scott’s worries. They finally reached the door at the end of the tunnel, but no matter what combination of kicks and thumps to its corners Bryn tried, it refused to open.

  Chapter Fifty-seven

  Bryn sat with her back against the door and coughed. The air in the tunnel was getting thicker with smoke. She’d seen Scott close the closet door at the clinic end, but it had probably caught fire and was no longer providing a barrier.

  Scott and Kareem were coughing, too. The panda, which they’d set down in the dirt, had gone limp and suspiciously quiet.

  Bryn felt tears trail down her cheeks as Scott sat next to her. “I thought you’d gotten out,” he said. “Padme told me you had.”

  She lay down and felt a faint waft of fresh air coming from under the door. “She locked me in the control room. There’s fresh air here.”

  Scott and Kareem joined her on the ground and all three pressed their faces to the door frame. Scott seemed to get strength from it, because he grabbed the rifle and said, “Get back.”

  Kareem coughed and said, “Don’t bother. No bullets.”

  Scott fired anyway, but the gun only clicked. He doubled over with coughing, and dropped to the ground again.

  Bryn shined the flashlight in Kareem’s face. “I don’t suppose you still have my holophone?”

  He reached into his pocket pulled it out. Scott grabbed it and immediately dialed. Seconds later, he said, “Shasta! It’s Scott. We’re trapped in an escape tunnel. Air’s going fast.”

  Even past the sound of Kareem coughing, Bryn heard Shasta’s reply, “We’re here at the Warehouse. What are your coordinates?”

  “Sending,” Scott said. He tapped at the phone.

  “Got it. You’re very close. On our way now. Can you report?”

  Kareem asked, “What are you, a xenofreak cop?”

  Scott ignored him and kept talking to Shasta. “Lupus and Padme got away. They may be in the building where we’re trapped, but they aren’t armed.” He paused to cough long and deep. “Fournier is still in the building-”

  “He’s dead!” In the light from the flashlight, Bryn saw his surprise. “There was another tunnel,” she said. “It collapsed on him.”

  To Shasta, Scott said, “Scratch that. Fournier is deceased.” He coughed again. “What’s your ETA?”

  Shasta’s voice came across sounding as if she were running and winded. “We’re here. Where are you?”

  Scott and Bryn shouted together, “Closet!”

  Bryn went into a coughing fit, but she heard sounds on the other side of the tunnel door. Shasta grunted and said, “There’s a printer here. Bastards. Hold on.”

  More noises, then a crash. This time, when Bryn banged her fist on the top right corner, the door swung outward. She forced it open as far as it would go and pushed her way through to the other side. The smoke from the tunnel followed her out. She expected Scott to be right behind her, but he and Kareem had stopped to get the panda. After they’d all gone through, Shasta shut the door against the smoke.

  Scott fell to his knees coughing, but gestured to Kareem. All he could say was, “Bad guy,” but it was enough for the agent with Shasta to immediately cuff the ARA commander.

  Bryn saw that they were in a building, but was coughing and choking too hard in between sucking in fresh air to notice much about it. Shasta shepherded them outside where an ambulance was waiting at the curb. Two EMTs rushed over with oxygen. Bryn confronted Kareem, angrily pulling her mask away. “Where’s Carla?”

  He acted like he couldn’t hear her as she gave Shasta a condensed version of her second kidnapping, focusing on what the ARA had done to Carla to obtain information. She glared at Kareem. “He knows where the house is.”

  Kareem’s hands were bound behind his back and his mask prevented him from speaking, so he only stared at her with hostile brown eyes. Shasta nodded to the agent holding Kareem’s arm, who removed the mask and handed it to the nearest EMT.

  “Where’s the house, Kareem?” Shasta asked in a soft voice.

  “I’ll tell you as soon as someone with the authority to cut me a deal gets here.”

  Scott made a move like he was going to punch him, but Shasta stopped him. “I have the authority to negotiate a deal,” she said. “But I’m not going to.”

  Bryn started to protest, but Shasta told her, “Don’t forget: all holophones save their location each time they’re used. If you accessed holomaps like you said while you were at that house, the coordinates are on your phone.”

  Kareem was quick to volunteer the address after that. Shasta dispatched a team to the house, telling him, “She’d better be alive.”

  “She’s fine,” he muttered.

  This time Bryn went after him. No one stopped her as she thumped him in the chest with the heels of her hands and exclaimed, “She’s not fine, you son-of-a-bitch! You tortured her!”

  Kareem yelled back, “We fixed her! She’s not a xenofreak anymore.”

  The agent yanked him by his arm and dragged him to a squad car. Shasta asked Scott in an undertone, “Did he have contact with Dundee?”

  “I don’t know,” Scott said. “Maybe. Did the lab identify the blood from the Wavecruiser? Is Dundee the carrier?”

  Shasta nodded grimly. “We’ll have to isolate Williams from the general population until we’re sure he wasn’t infected. Until we’re sure how this thing spreads.”

  Bryn remembered what Fournier said about one of his xenos contracting typhoid in South America. Dundee was more dangerous than she’d imagined. She looked over at Kareem and almost felt sorry for him. Scott must have misinterpreted the look. He slipped his arm around her waist. “He’ll get his. There’s a lot of xenos in prison.”

  Chapter Fifty-eight

  The column of smoke from the conflagration went from black to grey to white as the water from several fire hoses added steam to the mix. The wind bl
ew it away from their location, which made Scott suspect the smoke he smelled was actually coming from his own clothes and hair.

  The street was clogged with vehicles. Ambulances vied for space with police cars that made way for fire trucks. Animal Control officers were called to the scene. The poor panda was in bad shape. The officers scooped it up for transport it to the zoo, where experts would hopefully revive it.

  Scott stood off discussing events with Shasta, keeping half an eye on Bryn, who was still getting oxygen in one of the ambulances. Shasta’s boss, the Deputy Director of the XIA, arrived in all his pompous importance. Mark Unger was a silver-haired man in his late sixties who came to the XIA from the FBI, where rumor had it he was forced to transfer out due to a threatened sexual harassment claim. From Unger’s fastidious demeanor, Scott was pretty sure the claim hadn’t come from a woman.

  Unger’s personality made Shasta seem warm and fuzzy. He headed straight for them and barked, “Report!” from across the street. Scott dreaded telling him what he’d learned, but when he got close enough, he said, “Lupus’ real identity is Eduardo Quinones.”

  Unger sneered and looked off into the distance. “What about Friedman?”

  The other agent. “Deceased. Quinones killed him.”

  “How did you obtain this information?”

  Scott gave him a brief rundown on what Padme told him about the nanoneuron program.

  “Did you get a copy of it?” Unger asked.

  “No, sir.”

  Before he could describe the circumstances under which he’d obtained the intel, Unger said, “Fat lot of good that does us.”

  He directed small, rheumy eyes Shasta’s way. “Find out where Fournier’s body is. I want it located the instant the fire is out even if your people have to go in there wearing oven mitts.”