Ejecta

by William C. Dietz

  Nail whistled to let Sara know he was back, climbed up a set of weather beaten stairs, and entered the main compartment. The woman was there, just as he expected her to be, staring into space. “Hey, Sara,” the young man said cheerfully, as he shrugged the pack off his shoulders. “How’s it going? I’ve got some goodies for you! How does Spam sound for dinner? I know you like that…. And look! I bought two boxes of ammo. One for the .38—and one for the twenty-two. You shoulda seen the look the woman in the store gave me. But hey, this is America, so no problem.”

  ***

  Devlin was used to the chatter and found it soothing as she plucked a rock out of an old coffee can and licked it. The odds of scoring a chemical hit, of finding a mate laying next to the tracks were millions to one, but doing so kept the parasite happy. And keeping it happy was very important. Each rock made a clattering noise as she tossed it back over her shoulder.

  ***

  “And that ain’t all,” Nail continued. “I know how you like to read so I bought you a paper.”

  Devlin eyed the newspaper as it was placed in front of her. It was a copy of USA Today, and while not as important as licking rock samples, still worth a moment of her time.

  “I thought you’d like that,” Nail said, as his companion opened the paper and began to turn the pages. The story and the accompanying photo of a missing parasitologist named Sara Devlin was on page five above the fold. The first few paragraphs were focused on a corpse found in a river up in Oregon—and the possibility of a connection. It was clear confirmation that the government was looking for her and hoping to get some help from the public.

  Nail heard the sound of paper being crumpled into a ball and turned to see Sara shove some of the newspaper into the stove. “That’s right,” he said approvingly, “You start the fire—and I’ll cook the Spam.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Portland, Oregon

  There was a pleasant early morning buzz of conversation in the Benson hotel's formal dining room as Cooper entered and looked around. Palmer spotted the agent and lifted a hand. Cooper made his way over, removed the newspaper he was carrying under his arm, and gave it to Palmer as he sat down. “Take a look at page two.”

  Palmer put his coffee cup down, opened the paper, and saw the item in question. The headline read, “Motor home accident kills three.” According to the story a man named Ralph Murty had been behind the wheel of a motor home registered in his name when it left the highway, went over a steep embankment, and exploded just short of the river below. Murty plus passengers Tom Solly and Florence Kelty had been killed and their bodies burned beyond recognition. There was, according to the report, a strong possibility that alcohol had been involved. And police were running ballistics tests to determine if a handgun found in the vehicle had been used in the recent convention center robbery and homicide.

  Palmer looked up. “It's all very tidy. And the Blue Moon apartments?”

  “Murty's gang took care of that for us. They burned to the ground.”

  “That leaves the question of Kelty. Was she infected?”

  Cooper nodded. “Yes, she was.”

  “So what now?”

  “Here,” Cooper said, as he removed an envelope from an inside pocket of his jacket. “You'll find a temporary Arizona driver's license to replace the one you lost. Plus an ID card that identifies you as one of our agents.”

  Palmer's eyebrows rose. “Do I get a decoder ring?”

  “Nope. But the ID might keep you out of jail if things get nasty. By the way... After evaluating the movements of people believed to be hosts New Orleans looks like a fit. That's where Nexus is if it's anywhere.”

  “So Sara is headed there?”

  “Probably. We'll try and intercept her. Failing that we'll be waiting when she arrives.”

  “Okay, good. But you said things could get nasty. How so?”

  “We believe that Chinese agents are already on the ground in New Orleans,” Cooper answered. “With more on the way. They want samples.”

  “And you're going to stop them?”

  “No, we're going to stop them,” Cooper answered as he appropriated a piece of toast from Palmer's plate. “Based on what you were able to accomplish here Dr. Wilson thinks you're an asset. I disagree but he's in charge. Welcome to the team.”

  ***

  San Antonio, Texas

  The bulls were out in force as the train pulled into San Antonio, which meant that from the moment Nail and Devlin jumped onto the ground, they were forced to run. And, unlike the security types encountered earlier, these bulls were in good shape. And it seemed as if they were determined to catch the people they were after rather than simply go through the motions. But thanks to Nail’s savvy the fugitives were able to reach a potential exit point, toss their packs over the top of a six-foot high cyclone fence, and scale it before the bulls could catch up.

  Nail couldn’t resist flipping his pursuers off, before leading Devlin to the area around Commerce street and an inexpensive motel where they hoped to spend the night. Having ordered Devlin to guard the gear in an alley out back, Nail went about the business of making himself presentable.

  A side door allowed Nail to enter the hotel without passing through the lobby. Once inside he went looking for the first floor men’s room where he spent the next fifteen minutes removing as much accumulated grime as he could prior to presenting himself at the front desk.

  There were all of the usual questions of course. To which Nail responded with all of the usual lies and a soothing cash deposit. Then it was time to collect Sara and move into what felt like a palace after so many days spent riding the rails and camping out. Then came an orgy of showers, baths, and frenetic channel changing followed by a visit to the local Burger King.

  After eating their fill, it was back to the room for a relaxing evening. Nail was looking forward to watching some television while Devlin continued to lick the mineral samples she had accumulated during the last day or so. Each rock made a clattering sound as it fell into a metal trash bucket.

  And it was then, while Nail was watching the Simpsons, that Devlin found the piece of rock she’d been looking for. Within moments of sampling the object certain chemicals were detected, analyzed, and approved. The resulting rush was so intense that Devlin uttered a loud and somewhat revelatory groan.

  The noise caused Nail to turn and look at her. “Jeez, Sara, what’s going on over there?”

  Devlin, who was still enjoying the orgasm's rich afterglow got up out of her chair and crossed the room. “Here,” she said urgently. “Lick.”

  “No, thanks,” the teenager replied dismissively, as he wrinkled his nose. “That’s gross!”

  “You lick!” Devlin insisted stridently. “You lick now!”

  “No freak’in way,” Nail responded, as he retreated to the far side of the queen sized bed. “Now stop that—you’re scaring me.”

  “Lick it! Lick it! Lick it!” Devlin chanted, as she lurched forward.

  “Hold it right there,” Nail said, as he brought the .22 up out of her pack. “I don’t want to shoot you, but I sure as hell will, if you don’t back-off.”

  The woman kept coming with both hands extended. Kind of like a priest about to grant holy communion. Her eyes were wild, her lips were pulled back from her teeth and, and as she approached Nail pulled the trigger. The .22 went off with a loud bang. The bullet hit Devlin high on the left shoulder. That caused her to pause but the impact wasn’t sufficient to stop her.

  So he brought the little gun barrel down onto the top of Sara’s head. But whatever it was that granted the woman super-human strength couldn't be overcome so easily. She was forced to drop the mineral sample in order to grab hold of Nail’s wrist and battle him for the pistol. After bashing Nail’s hand into the headboard until he was forced to drop the weapon Devlin threw a leg across his waist and sat on top of him. The fingers of her left hand fastened themselves around the boy’s throat as she fumbled for the rock.

 
; That was when an amazing transformation took place. Nail saw determination and anger flicker through his friend's eyes followed by something softer. “Run!” the new entity ordered hoarsely. “Run while you can!”

  Nail felt the steely fingers release their grip on his throat, and that was all the youngster needed as he bucked Devlin off, and rolled to the right. Then, having made a successful grab for his pack, Nail dashed across the room. The door opened and slammed loudly behind him.

  ***

  Devlin left the bed and lurched into the bathroom. The blue-rimmed bullet hole looked ugly. But there was only a small amount of blood. And as she stared at the wound the flesh around the margins of it began to writhe and a blob of half congealed blood was forced out. A few moments later a slightly deformed .22 slug popped out of her body. There was a rattling sound as it fell into the sink.

  Then, after a minute or so, the wound began to close. By the time the hotel’s security guard knocked on the door there was nothing left to see but a slightly puckered scar. Devlin went to the door, opened it just enough to let him see her face, and forced a smile. “Yes?”

  “We had a report of a disturbance up this way,” the moon-faced man said apologetically. “Is everything okay?”

  “Good,” Devlin replied thickly. “Things good.”

  “Okay,” the guard replied doubtfully. “Have a nice evening.”

  Devlin produced a jerky nod, closed the door, and went back into the room. Bart Simpson was up to no good and one of Nail’s sweaters lay on the bed. Devlin took the piece of clothing and buried her face in the familiar smell. Then she began to sob. Only this time there was nobody to comfort her.

  ***

  Devlin was traveling lighter as she boarded the bus for the trip to New Orleans. A cheap carryall had replaced the pack. She was wearing a Texas Rangers ball cap, a waist length denim jacket, and matching jeans in place of the recently discarded cold weather gear. And, because her eyes were increasingly sensitive to light, she wore sunglasses all the time.

  It was a look similar to that sported by many of the other people on the bus. Except that nearly all of them were Hispanic and slightly suspicious of the gringa traveling in their midst. An attitude that quickly became apparent as they made disparaging remarks about the jorobado blanca, or “white hunchback.” Never dreaming that the woman they were talking about spoke fluent Spanish. But Devlin didn’t care what they called her—so long as they left her alone.

  Unlike the trains that typically ate up hundreds of miles between stops the bus paused more frequently so people could board or get off to buy food or use the local restrooms. The result was a seemingly endless journey punctuated by trips to filthy restrooms, soggy sandwiches, and the arrival of new seat mates. All of which took place within a thick miasma of sweat, hairspray, and baby formula.

  The result was a sensory overload so intense that Devlin found it necessary to stuff pieces of Kleenex into her nostrils and ears. That made the trip more bearable but opened Devlin to even more jibes. The man seated behind her even claimed that he had seen the hunch move. But Devlin took comfort in the knowledge that each passing hour brought her closer to her final destination and the only release she could reasonably expect. And that was death.

  ***

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  The house, like many others, was for rent during Mardi Gras and Palmer had been assigned to a room on the second floor. He opened the door, went in, and placed his suitcase on the full sized bed. It was, according to the literature that went with the house the “red room,” and had once been part of an upscale bordello. In addition to the bed there was an easy chair, a dresser with a flat panel TV sitting on top of it, and two vertical windows.

  Having just arrived from the airport Palmer knew that the annual craziness was already underway. Most of the more than one-million visitors the city of New Orleans expected were already in town. The hotels were full and thousands of enthusiastic tourists were out wandering the streets. Except some of them weren't what they appeared to be.

  Since learning that Florence Kelty had been headed for New Orleans, and having reexamined the information they had, the Department of Biosecurity had been able to confirm that all of the so-called “exploding people” had been traveling to New Orleans when they died.

  Half a dozen “explosions” had made the news so far. But thanks to a hastily organized disinformation campaign, the deaths had been attributed to a mysterious, and spurious disease called Hyper-Cerebral Electrosis, or HCE. A disorder said to result from an electrical overload following a period of unusually intense mental activity.

  Absurd though the claim was, some vaguely positive quotes from retired scientists plus some intriguing on-line references had been sufficient to send the press off in the wrong direction. It was the sort of governmental subterfuge that Palmer would normally have been critical of. But given the widespread panic the truth might produce he understood the necessity.

  Meanwhile the hosts who lived in remote areas of the world, or couldn’t afford to travel, were doomed to die mysterious and undocumented deaths as their parasites were forced to bail out. That problem would have to be dealt with later. In the meantime it was the CDC’s hope to take some of the infected humans off the street before the disease could spread further. The problem being that they didn't know who to looking for other than Dr. Sara Devlin. Who, once identified, could lead the agents to the spot where the parasites would congregate. Assuming they hadn't done so already. A possibility none of them wanted to contemplate.

  Palmer wasn't all that enthusiastic about the plan since he wanted the Department of Biosecurity to rush Devlin to a hospital the moment they spotted her. But his concerns had been brushed aside because, as Cooper put it, “This is bigger than any one person.”

  And, like it or not, Palmer knew that to be true. Especially after his encounter with Florence Kelty and her homicidal boyfriend. There was a mirror over the ornate dresser and he paused to examine himself. The bump on the side of his head had gone down. But the spot was still sore. And the stitches would have to come out in a few days.

  Cooper had called a meeting on the main floor. So Palmer left the bedroom and followed a hall to a broad staircase which took him downstairs. As Palmer entered the dining room he saw that the rest of the team was already present. That included Cooper Cooper, Manuel Hernandez, a neatly attired agent who introduced himself as Melvin Levar, and a woman named J.D. McCall. They were polite, but reserved, and a bit distant. Palmer might have an ID card but that didn't make him an accepted member of the group.

  “Grab some coffee,” Cooper instructed. “And there are some beignets on the counter.”

  Palmer poured himself a cup of coffee, took two of the square-shaped doughnuts from a platter, and sat at the table. It was made of distressed oak and large enough to seat six. The kitchen was decorated with period fixtures that were supposed to evoke the 1850's.

  “Okay,” Cooper said. “As you know our primary hope is to get a positive ID on Devlin and track her to the parasite party. The word is out, the police know she's coming this way, and they have orders to call us the moment she appears.”

  “What if they pick her up?” Hernandez wanted to know.

  “They have strict orders not to do so,” Cooper responded. “But if they do we'll order them to turn her loose so we can follow her.”

  “In the meantime we need to play defense. We're pretty sure that some Chinese MSS (Ministry of State Security) agents are already here. The most likely reason for this is their desire to add more parasites to a collection maintained by the Tenth Bureau. That's the part of MSS with responsibility for science and technology. Because if we have problems then a country with more than a billion people is bound to be infected with lots of parasites. And it looks like they were quicker to understand the problem than we were. That's why they went after Brisco.”

  “That doesn't seem to make sense,” Palmer observed. “If the Chinese already have a collection of specim
ens--why come all the way over here to get more?”

  McCall was young, wore her hair in what looked like a pink haystack, and had high cheekbones. Her lips were thin and the lower one was pierced. “It appears as though this is Nexus,” she said matter of factly. “By which I mean the place, or one of the places, where the parasites who haven't secured mates come to breed. Kind of like gray whales mate in Mexico's San Ignacio Lagoon, Flamingos get it on at Lake Natron in Tanzania, and the swallows return to Capistrano. We don't know why the parasites are attracted to this particular location. Although it's certainly true that Mardi Gras offers perfect cover for people who look weird and behave in a strange manner.

  “In any case it's quite likely that the Chinese scientists want samples taken at Nexus, so they can study what physiological changes if any take place prior to mating, and afterwards for that matter.”

  Cooper nodded. “J.D. has a Masters in Microbiology from UCLA,” the agent said. “She knows her stuff. But there's another reason as well. We believe the Chinese want to weaponize the parasites. Or will consider doing so. So keep that in mind.”

  Palmer knew that was Cooper's way of reminding him that the problem was bigger than Sara. A lot bigger. “Point taken,” he said.

  “We don't have a fix on the Chinese collection team,” Cooper continued. “But we have a pretty good idea of where they plan to take any specimens they manage to capture. And that's the Xinglong. A Francesco Nullo class research vessel docked here in New Orleans. Here's what she looks like.” At that point a Xerox copy of a black and white photo began to make the rounds.

  Lavar had closely cut black hair, a moon shaped face, and dark skin. He looked surprised. “Here? How did they manage that?”

  “The Mayor invited a navy destroyer, a coast guard cutter, and a variety of other vessels to take part in the Mardi Gras 'parade of ships,'” Cooper responded. “The Chinese government offered to send the Xinglong and the city accepted. And since all of the vessels are going to be open to visitors today--I'm sending Palmer and McCall down to take a look around.”