by Ellis, Tara
Other than his dad, Hernandez was the only one without a mask on. Tyler was afraid it meant he was more concerned about being killed by the approaching men, than he was by the prions. Pulling at his father’s arm, he got him down and into an awkward position up against the wall, wedged between it and the couch. A large window was right above their heads, and Tyler couldn’t resist taking a peek. He could just make out a black helicopter idling down in the field past the garden. Moving toward the front of the house were two men dressed all in black, complete with techy-looking gas masks and black gloves. They were holding automatic rifles, and they obviously weren’t there for a social visit.
“I’d say it’s damn clear at this point that someone is quite bothered by our crazy scientist,” Hernandez continued, looking outside again. “Or, they were alerted that we’re here. Either way, we’re caught in the crossfire. I’d wager they aren’t going to give us an opportunity to explain ourselves.”
“If they found out who we are, they’d probably kill us, anyway,” Tyler reminded them, having leaned back from the window to stick his head out from behind the couch. “I’m sure we’re on their hit-list, too.”
“Get back, Tyler!” Peta scolded, which Tyler found rather ironic. Less than a minute before, he was gearing up for an argument about going inside to see his dad, and now he was being ordered to practically lay on top of him.
Tyler did as he was told, and pressed his back against the wall. Closing his eyes, he was briefly tempted to pull the mask off. Why not? If they survived the assault, it would put an end to any debate over letting him stay behind. It lasted for all of about five seconds, and then his overwhelming desire to live kicked in, causing his hand to fall back into his lap. Tyler’s eyes snapped open. He hadn’t realized he’d even reached up for the straps.
“Dr. Madeline Schaeffer!” A man shouted from outside, causing him to jump and shift his attention back to the more urgent matter of being shot.
Peta scooted across the open space between the office and kitchen, holding a hand up. She stopped near Hernandez and Devon, off to the side of the front door. “My bet is they’ve never met Mads.”
Hernandez grinned and nodded emphatically. “Stay out of sight. I don’t think they know anyone else is here, or suspect it. That’s our only advantage, so let’s keep it.”
Tyler suddenly understood why Hernandez had put their jeep in the garage. He’d thought it stupid and paranoid at the time, but he was learning. Assess and adjust. Tyler would add ‘expect the unexpected’ to the list of rules.
Peta cautiously opened the front door a foot, and stood off to the side. “I’m Doctor Schaeffer!” she called out. “What do you want? Who sent you?”
There was an agonizing minute of silence before the man answered. “Your old friend Mr. Kabir Bakshi sent us to collect you and your research. We understand you aren’t feeling well, and we have some of the greatest doctors at your disposal.”
Peta’s head jerked around, and she nodded in confirmation. “The last email Mads sent was to that guy,” she whispered. “He’s with ICONS, and it didn’t sound like they were too chummy.”
Hernandez frowned and rolled his shoulders, before gesturing toward the door with his gun. “I don’t buy it. They’ve got to be after the research.”
“So, give it to them!” Tyler interjected. “Isn’t that what we want?”
Peta stared at Tyler thoughtfully, and then looked at Hernandez and Devon for input. “He has a point.”
“I don’t see how we accomplish that while getting out of this alive,” Hernandez countered. “If anyone has an idea let’s hear it, but they’re not going to wait for an invitation and I’m betting their trigger fingers have a light touch. They don’t send these kinds of guys out of concern for someone’s well-being.”
“They’re moving!” Devon croaked, peering between the curtains.
“I’m contagious!” Peta shouted, moving to shut the door. “Let me give you the documents and you don’t have to come inside.”
“I’m afraid that isn’t part of the plan!” the man yelled back as he ran up the last few steps.
Tyler could hear the footsteps pounding. Peta slammed her weight into the door, but the man on the other side hit it at the same time. Hernandez pivoted and fired once before the door was open more than a few feet.
Gasping at the incredibly loud sound in the enclosed space, Tyler twisted over onto his stomach and covered his head. His dad grabbed at his leg. His mask fogged up and he couldn’t catch his breath.
More footsteps. A grunt.
“Stop!” Peta screamed, and the sound of someone hitting the floor underscored another gun shot.
Panting, Tyler tore his mask off. He had to see. He had to help.
Peta was wrestling with one of the men, while bent backwards over the kitchen island. Hernandez was leaping for the assailant’s back, tearing him away from her in one seamless motion.
Devon was lying on the floor less than ten feet away from Tyler. He was sprawled out on his back, and a pool of blood was gathering under him. The first man to enter the house was also on the ground, motionless in the doorway.
Tyler pulled himself forward on his hands and knees, grunting with the effort. He was still aware of Hernandez throwing the attacker against the wall, but was focused on Devon. Was he breathing?
Devon’s gun was lying inches from his outstretched hand, and Tyler picked it up without thinking. As he reached to touch the man’s neck and check for a pulse, he heard a sound behind them.
The distinct sound of the sliding glass door being opened.
Rolling over onto his back, Tyler raised the gun at the same time. There was a third man. Dressed in black, moving fast and holding a weapon out if front of him. It was pointed at Peta.
The Glock in Tyler’s hand bucked, and it wasn’t until his ears rang in response that he realized he’d fired the weapon.
The man fell with a grunt.
Another shot, from behind him. The smell of gunpowder burned his nose. His eyes watered, and Tyler took a shuddering breath.
He’d shot someone.
“Tyler!” Peta cried, kneeling next to his head at the same time that Hernandez pulled the gun from his white-knuckled hands. “Are you shot?” she demanded, running a hand over his chest and head.
“He’s okay,” Hernandez barked. “Devon isn’t.”
Tyler blinked slowly, and it took an incredible effort to roll over onto his stomach. His chest hurt. It hurt to breathe, and there was a crushing weight on him.
“Tyler.” His dad spoke close to his ear, and he realized Devon was no longer on the floor in front of him. How much time had passed?
“Tyler, please speak to me. We need to get your mask back on.”
“I’m okay.” Gathering his hands under himself, Tyler realized it was the truth. He could breathe again, and his head was clearing. Sitting up, he rubbed at his face and then looked around the room.
Off to his right, Devon was lying on the kitchen table, and Peta was leaning over him, tying something onto his arm. Straight ahead, the body in the doorway was still there, and hadn’t moved. The second man had joined him on the floor, and Tyler was guessing he wouldn’t be running any marathons, either.
Hernandez grunted. Tyler looked to his left, where the ensign was on the floor of the office, struggling to tie the third man’s arms behind his back. He wasn’t dead.
“I didn’t kill him?” Tyler managed to whisper, his voice coming out hoarse and strained.
Grinning, Hernandez slapped the man on the chest, eliciting a moan. “Body armor,” he explained with an uncharacteristic glee. “Which is great, because maybe now we can get some answers. I don’t think this guy belongs to the gun club, do you my friend?” he asked, cinching down the rope and prompting another moan. “Good shot, kid,” he added, smiling at Tyler.
Tyler was too busy feeling relief to reply. Taking the mask his dad was shoving into his lap, he put it on and then stood up on shaky legs. R
eaching down for his father, his brief moment of happiness evaporated. His color was worse, and when he hauled him up, he could hardly stand. “Come on, Dad.” He was able to get him back onto the couch, and arranged the cushions under his head. “Try to rest. I think we’re okay now.”
“But your mask—”
“Shh,” Tyler interrupted. “It’s okay.” Except it wasn’t okay, and turning away from his dad, Tyler’s gut ached with the realization that his panic had killed him. He was exposed to The Kuru, and he was going to die.
“I’ve got the bleeding stopped.” Peta’s voice brought him back to the present, and Tyler decided not to think about what he couldn’t control. What was done, was done. There were no take-backs.
Devon was awake and trying to sit up, but Peta was pushing down on his chest. “Please, Devon. Just listen to me this one time and lay still long enough for the bleeding to stop completely, okay?”
“Did it go through?” Hernandez asked. He’d finished tying the man up, and was standing, looking down at his handy work.
“What do you mean?” Peta asked.
“The bullet. Did it go all the way through? Is there only one hole? Or is there also an exit-wound?”
“Two,” Peta answered, staring at Hernandez with a somewhat glazed look. “It went all the way through his lower arm.”
“That’s good.” Moving over next to the table, Hernandez smacked Devon’s leg. “If you’re going to get shot, that’s the way to do it. You’ll be fine.”
Devon scoffed, and against Peta’s advice, allowed Hernandez to help him sit up. “I wish I shared your optimism.”
“Why are you in such a good mood?” Bill asked from his perch on the couch.
Hernandez grinned and went back to his prisoner, who was watching the exchange with interest. Tyler guessed he was probably in his late thirties, and looked to be American. As Hernandez stood over him, it didn’t take a trained soldier to tell the guy was terrified.
Pulling his Glock from his back waistband, Hernandez racked the chamber and held the muzzle against the man’s head. “I’m just happy to have made a new friend,” he said cheerfully.
The man whimpered.
“Is that really necessary?” Peta asked nervously, tensing.
“You work for ICONS,” Hernandez barked, his tone switching dramatically from friend to accuser.
Flinching, the man whimpered again before shaking head. “No. I work under contract with the US Government. Those men work…worked for ICONS. I’m just the pilot.”
“Why are you here?” Peta asked, surprising Tyler. He didn’t think she’d fall into the role of interrogator quite so easily. But maybe having to fight for your life and watching your friend get shot could change a person.
The man’s eyes flicked nervously back and forth between Hernandez and Peta.
“Answer her!” Hernandez shouted.
“Okay!” he moaned, cowering away from the gun. “We’re desperate. We’re all desperate, and ICONS offered a…I guess you’d call it an exchange. I have no idea how they arranged it, but they said this woman and her research was the CDC’s best bet at creating a cure. If ICONS delivers her and the research, their board will be the first in line for whatever shakes out of it.”
Tyler was still trying to figure out how it all fit together, but Peta was already moving on to the next question. “Where were you taking her?”
“A Black Site,” the man said immediately, and Tyler noticed how he sounded excited to tell them. Hopeful, maybe, that it would be enough to buy his way out of there. “In southern California. It’s a level-four lab that the CDC is currently based out of, and they need all the help they can get.” He looked around the room, wild-eyed. “We’re all screwed, you know. All of us. We’re all dead if they don’t figure this out.”
“Well, then,” Peta said, leaving Devon’s side to go stand next to Hernandez. Squatting down, she got at eye-level with the man. “If you really believe that, then you’ll want to help take us to this Black Site.” She twisted to look over her shoulder at Tyler and his dad. “All of us.”
Chapter 18
JASON
Black Site, Level-4 CDC Biolab
Southern California
Jason eyed the voice-activated headset lying next to him with frustration. He’d attempted to communicate with Eddy several times over the past five hours, but the government-issued CM-7M gas masks with large respirators made it nearly impossible. While they came with a built-in hydration system, it garbled their voices too much to trip the microphones on the only device that made speaking coherently in the loud helicopter possible. They’d managed to yell the most important details back and forth, but the bulk of their reunion conversation would have to wait until they landed, which was apparently going to happen soon.
Jason tried to pick out the skyline through the window of the huge Sikorsky Super Stallion helo, but it was too dark to see much of anything. It appeared that a good chunk of the power was already down throughout the vast area they’d covered between Washington State and California, which was daunting, to say the least.
The Private hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said the helicopter wasn’t going to wait. He’d caught Eddy up in a shocked, massive bear-hug for all of about ten seconds before they were being ushered back to the helicopter. As Jason donned the new respirator, Eddy quickly told him how he’d woken up that morning. After pumping himself full of some fluids, he was able to work the radio and get ahold of the FEMA contact they’d been communicating with for the past week. Eddy hadn’t expected the helicopter to actually come for him, but they were apparently nearby and he was suddenly a much-wanted man by the CDC for his Lazarus performance.
Glancing over at Eddy, Jason pulled Marty a little tighter against his side as he considered the implications. Not only was Eddy a brilliant neurologist, he had somehow survived the prion infection. How? And how’d he come through it without any obvious neurological affects? He’d been sleeping during the last two hours of the flight, and seemed perfectly relaxed from the moment Jason first saw him.
The lighting in the helo was dim, but Jason had already studied Eddy’s features enough to know his friend was incredibly pale, and obviously weak; side-effects from being unconscious for over two days. Though he was having a hard time understanding how Eddy was still alive, in the scope of things it didn’t matter. He’d get all of the important details in due time.
Marty whined and turned to push his muzzle under Jason’s chin, sensing his unease. When the dog tried to unsuccessfully lick his cheek, he chuckled and rubbed his friend’s neck to reassure him. “It’s okay, bud,” he said, not certain Marty could hear him. “We’re going to get to our new digs and I’ll find you a nice big can of Alpo.” When Marty chuffed, he laughed harder and got his face as close as he could to the Shepard’s ear. “You’re right. It should be a steak. A fat, juicy steak with the bone still in it.”
His mood lightened and Jason felt more optimistic as the helicopter began its descent. Getting Eddy to a CDC lab where he could actually help them work on a potential cure, or a way to stop the disease from spreading was a small miracle. They might not even need him and his immune blood to stick around, and he could continue his journey south sooner than he’d thought.
Eddy stirred in response to the change in pressure, and raised a hand in Jason’s direction when he saw he was watching him.
Having already given up on the impossible task of speaking, Jason pointed downward and then gave a thumb’s up. Eddy nodded once and then settled back again. It looked like he was going back to sleep.
Jason frowned, concerned Eddy was feeling worse than he let on. His friend would have normally been pretty pumped to be riding in a big Marine helicopter.
He put his other arm around Marty, holding him steady as they hit some chop on the way down. The last thing Jason wanted to have happen was for him to get spooked and leap away. His goal was to avoid giving whoever was in charge at the site any viable excuse to take M
arty from him.
Less than fifteen minutes later, Jason watched as a three-story, non-descript cement building came into view. It was literally in the middle of nowhere, and had to be running on a generator, as most of the windows were lit up. It was almost ten at night, but there were several vehicles coming and going down a lone road, and it looked like a busy place. Which made sense. If it was the country’s greatest chance at stopping The Kuru, Jason doubted anyone there would be getting much sleep.
They were met on the cement landing pad by four people dressed in full hazmat suits. Part of Jason’s military training as a medic included hazmat certification, and he recognized them as a type A, encapsulated suit that included a self-contained breathing apparatus. The yellow moon suits always reminded him of the Minions, though it wasn’t enough to elicit a smile. Being outside in the dark desert, eerily illuminated by the red landing lights, and being met by the hooded soldiers was more than unsettling.
The first man to reach them handed Jason an in-suit communication device. Placing it on his head, he turned to show Eddy how to stick the small microphone onto the front of their masks. It acted as a boom mic, and would adequately pick-up and project their voices. First problem solved.
“Doctors Hunter and Chase?” A deep voice bellowed in Jason’s ear as soon as the headset was in place.
Wincing at the volume, Jason lifted a hand in response. “Doctor Hunter, here. But you should call me Jason. I’m not acting as a physician here, but a sort of patient. I’m the one who’s apparently immune to The Kuru. My pal here,” Jason pivoted to gesture at Eddy. “He’s the doc you really need to talk to.”
“Neurologist, right?” A woman asked, from which suit Jason couldn’t tell. “We’re told you’ve recovered. Is that accurate, Doctor Chase?”
“Fortunately for me, yes.” Eddy stepped forward and then set his large backpack on the ground. “I wish I could tell you that I know why, but I do have quite a lot of documentation pertaining to both myself and a couple of hundred other patients I cared for. None of them survived to my knowledge, but I suspect we might have enough data to make an educated comparison between myself and the others. I have a minor degree in virology, so I’m confident in my work. I hypothesize we’ll eventually find what made the difference for me, which is likely to be genetic. My friend Jason here, on the other hand, will undoubtedly prove to be a combination of circumstances. We’ll need others to study in conjunction, in order to narrow those variables down.”
