by Nick Thacker
“Dr. Torres — are you okay?”
“I — I’m all right,” she said in return. “Just got another request. Something… I didn’t expect, but we’ll get going on it pretty soon.”
“Sounds good. I can prepare equipment and send word down to Vanessa that some samples will be arriving. Do you have a date?”
At first, Dr. Torres didn’t know how to respond. She stood up from her chair and walked toward the young man at the doorway. “Not sure, Charlie. Let’s get everything set up now just to be ready. It’s just going to be me and you on this one, understand?”
Charlie Furmann nodded without hesitation. The bulk of the company’s projects were government funded, but the employed scientists were free — encouraged, even — to pursue personal interests and research projects when time permitted. Some of these projects, Charlie knew, weren’t exactly public knowledge.
“I’ll get everything set up this afternoon. I’ll have Vanessa bring the package up personally when it arrives and leave it outside my office. The lab is open tomorrow night from about 8:30 until the next morning — shall I get it booked?”
“Yes, please. Thank you. I’m going to finish up in here and head home. Don’t worry about cleaning anything up; I’ll be back in bright and early.”
Charlie didn’t say anything else. He left the room, closing the door behind him. Dr. Torres turned back to her computer and sat down in the chair. The screensaver had already resumed, and she wiggled the mouse to wake it up.
She stared at the screen for another minute, reading the email over and over again.
14
Northwest Territory, Canada, One Year Ago
It’ll be any minute now, Gareth Winslow thought. He’d called in, just the way he’d been instructed, over three hours ago, just after he’d finished reading out loud the small journal they’d found. Dr. Fischer was ecstatic, mostly because their findings would verify and support his tenure.
He couldn’t believe it himself, really. Some weird powdery substance that killed people? It was pretty exciting. But what was it? Gareth knew that was the ultimate question, but there was no way Dr. Fischer was letting any of them near the cave and the rest of the unopened baskets. It was way too risky, and besides, they didn’t have the equipment to start a field analysis of whatever might be inside.
Still, Gareth knew everyone was curious. Beyond curious, actually. Dinner was campfire-cooked foil packets filled with vegetables, and the conversation surrounding the bonfire in the middle of camp related to two topics: What was the powdery substance made out of and who put it there?
Theories were that it was the dried remains of some mysterious plant that the native tribes in the area held as sacred, or at least viewed as medicinal. Either that or it was some extravagant conspiracy against the Russians from a Romanov-era traitor or enemy. Even Dr. Fischer, clearly playing along, threw in a far-fetched story of alien invaders using a cosmic element to start their takeover of the human race.
Gareth listened intently, as curious as everyone else, but he didn’t contribute to the building exuberance of the conspiracy theorists. He wasn’t sure what was in the baskets, but he knew it didn’t matter.
Only a matter of time, he told himself again. They should be here by now.
As if on cue, his ears picked up the faint beating of helicopter rotors. It was low pitched and vibrated gently, seeming to emanate from within his body rather than from a machine flying in from miles away. As it grew in volume, a few other students picked up on it.
“Hey, shut up for a sec — you guys hear that?” one of the students asked. Everyone went silent, and only the crackling of the fire in front of them could be heard.
Another few seconds passed, and another student heard the noise. “Is that a helicopter? Out here?”
Dr. Fischer was frowning — he probably couldn’t hear it yet, Gareth thought — but he was focusing intensely on the surrounding forest.
Suddenly, Dr. Fischer’s eyes opened wider and Gareth stood, acting out his role. “It definitely is. Weird; I wonder where they’re headed?”
Gareth stood up from the rock he was using as a makeshift seat and excused himself from the group. He walked to one of the trucks in their three car caravan and opened the passenger-side door. He reached below the seat, squeezing his arm into the gap between the truck’s floor and the bottom of the chair, and felt around.
He found his prize and slowly withdrew his hand. The dome lights in the truck illuminated the small device, and Gareth took a look at it.
It was black and silver, plastic with some metal components. A small rubber antenna extended from one side of the rectangular box, directly above a tiny button. He pushed the button, held it, and waited for a faint LED light to flash red once.
Done. It was amazing what technology could do. The tiny GPS tracking device was now activated, and the inbound helicopter would stop tracking the archeology team’s expected location within a grid of longitudinal coordinates and begin tracking their actual location. Their general coordinates had been posted on the university’s internal boards months ago, but even Dr. Fischer was unsure where exactly their hunt for the Russian team would take them.
For that reason, the Company needed someone on the ground.
Gareth Winslow was brought on the team to provide IT and administrative support — a part of archeology that hadn’t existed a few years prior, when much of the data collected was shipped off and documented elsewhere. Using his interest in archeology and his undergraduate degrees in Computer Science and Technology Systems, he had assisted in building a suite of software tools that were helpful to archeologists, geologists, and geographers.
And since he was the one who had written the program, he was the perfect grad student to operate it. The recruitment interview with Dr. Fischer was short and sweet — they shook hands, Dr. Fischer asked if he was interested in helping out, and Gareth was in.
It was only after they’d started planning the trip that Gareth was approached by the Company. A shady guy in a black suit showed up at his apartment one day, knocked on his door, and gave him a check.
It was a larger paycheck than any Gareth had seen his name on before, and he hadn’t done anything to earn it.
“There’s another one just like it after your trip,” the man said.
“For what?” He knew that everyone had their price, but he wasn’t about to kill someone.
“Don’t worry, it’s nothing illegal. The Company deals in information, and we’ve set up similar deals with plenty of other digs and research projects around the world.”
“And what company is that?” Gareth asked.
“I told you — the Company.” Gareth nodded once, still consumed by the amount of money on the check. He interpreted the answer to mean he wasn’t supposed to ask about it again.
“Okay, that’s fine. I can live with a mysterious benefactor. But why not just go to the university? Or the expedition lead, Dr. Fischer?”
“We can’t have a legal battle if there’s anything of value found. You understand that. Plus, we need the expedition to run as smoothly as possible, without any hiccups along the way. Follow?”
“I do. You don’t want anyone jealous that I’m making this kind of money on some low-profile dig.”
The man nodded. “Good. You understand. As I said, the Company is prepared to write another check in this amount if you successfully report any findings during your excursion.” He made sure Gareth was looking at him as he finished. “You have a few days before you depart. I would suggest cashing the check so you know we’re not messing around, and then you’ll be given instructions.”
Gareth’s hand had been shaking the entire conversation, but as the man finished speaking, he suddenly found a boost of confidence. “You got it. I’m in.”
That was over a week ago, and Gareth was still riding the high of knowing what would be in his bank account one week from now. He thought through the list of instructions he’d been given after he cash
ed the check, to make sure he wouldn’t mess anything up.
It was a short list:
1. Participate in the expedition and do nothing to raise suspicion.
2. If any profitable or seemingly conspicuous items are found, email details to the address below.
The rest of the letter was a simple liability waiver, “that by accepting and depositing the check the Company was hereby removed from any liability yada yada…”
He’d sent the email after reading the journal for Dr. Fischer, using his laptop and satellite connection. Gareth mentioned briefly that they’d found “some sort of powdery substance that supposedly led to the demise of the entire Russian expedition…” and “we believe there to be more of the substance available in a nearby cave…” He sent it, and almost immediately there was a response. It was simple:
“We are converging on your general location. As the included battery will not hold much power, use the device only when you believe we are close to help us find your exact position.”
Wow, Gareth thought. These guys are on the ball.
Now, as the helicopter’s rotor wash grew, he knew they’d be on them in minutes. Do I need to do anything to prepare?
He placed the tracking device back under the seat of the truck and slammed the door. As he turned back to the campfire, he noticed the students and Dr. Fischer standing and looking around the sky, trying to figure out where the helicopter was coming from.
“There it is!” the Korean guy yelled out. Gareth hadn’t bothered to learn any of their names — he knew they’d go home empty-handed, so there was no reason to become part of the team.
They all looked to where he was pointing. Southwest, hanging low over the tree line. If it weren’t for the slowly receding hill they were on, they wouldn’t have been able to see the bird at all.
Gareth examined the growing shape in the dusky sky. It looked dark, almost black, but that could be due to the lack of light at this time of day. It seemed to be sleek, too, not like the commercial helicopters he’d seen flying around cities. It was flatter, more military-looking.
Stealthier.
The copter finally drew near. It slid gently over the trees, slowing to their location, and began to descend. Where the hell is it going to land? Gareth thought. He looked around at their small clearing. The trucks, tents, and campfire were spread out almost evenly over the area, and he couldn’t see where a helicopter that size would fit.
But the pilot had a different impression of the clearing. Gareth watched as the pilot masterfully guided the machine to a spot less than twenty yards from the campfire and then straight down to the grassy platform. He watched the skids land gracefully on the blades of grass, finally coming to a rest without the slightest bump or hop.
Before the copter had even hit the ground, though, three men jumped from its interior. Dressed in black and silver body armor and flight gear, they immediately began walking toward the group of students as the pilot finalized his landing.
It was hard to hear over the rotor noise, but the first man yelled over it anyway. “Gareth Winslow!” he paused and looked at each student and the professor, waiting for a response.
“R— right here,” Gareth yelled.
The three men turned to him and met him halfway between the trucks and the campfire.
“Gareth Winslow?” the man said again. Gareth nodded. “Good. Take me to the location of the discovery.”
“What is this?” Dr. Fischer yelled. “What’s going on here?”
“It does not concern you,” one of the men said. “Gareth, take us to the location.”
Gareth snapped to attention, remembering his duty. “Right. Okay, come on. We’re about a quarter mile away, through these trees.”
He led the way, the three men and the rest of the group following behind. As they neared the cave, one of the men held up a hand and grabbed Gareth’s shoulder. “Wait,” he said.
Gareth watched him enter the small cave and return a minute later. He nodded to the two other men from the helicopter and began walking back toward them. He addressed the entire group of confused students and professor. “Who is leading this expedition?”
Dr. Fischer raised a hand. “I am. And do you mind telling me what’s going on?”
The man eyed Dr. Fischer. “I see. And you have an idea of what might be inside that cave?”
“I — I guess. We found it earlier today, on accident. I believe whatever was in there killed the Russian expedition we came here to find.”
“I understand that much, Dr. Fischer. But I’m asking if you have any idea what, exactly, killed them?”
Dr. Fischer though a moment, then replied. “I have some ideas, but none that I’m entirely confident about just yet.”
“I see.” The man marched back through the group, the two other men following behind. He delivered orders without turning back. “Mark the location. Get me the coordinates saved and ready to go.” The two men nodded and peeled off from the group, heading back toward the cave.
Gareth was now at the back of the line, watching as the lead man entered the helicopter once again. He heard him address the professor from the inside of the vehicle. “Dr. Fischer, would you care to join us? I would like to discuss your knowledge and experience with the items found within the cave.”
“I’m not sure I feel comfortable —”
The man cut him off as he drew a pistol from a hip holster and pointed it directly into Dr. Fischer’s face. “Let me rephrase the question, professor, so that it doesn’t seem so… optional.”
Dr. Fischer swallowed, then starting climbing into the helicopter. “What about the others? The students?” he asked.
The two men reappeared, apparently having finished marking the coordinates, and jumped onto the helicopter. Gareth looked around at the frightened students, and a growing wave of nausea filled him.
What have I done? he thought. The helicopter, filled with the pilot, the three men, and their professor, lifted a few feet off the ground. The students, wide-eyed and confused, began yelling.
“You can’t do this!”
One of the men appeared in the open door of the helicopter and made eye contact with Gareth, just as he lifted something off the floor. It swiveled, held by some support mechanism, and swung out and stopped just outside the helicopter.
Gareth felt his blood run cold.
It was a gun. A huge gun. Gareth recognized the gigantic bullets, strapped together in a shiny gold chain of death. He took a staggering step back, trying to form words. We need to leave, he tried to say.
The words didn’t escape his mouth. Instead, he felt himself being lifted off the ground and thrown backwards, hard, just as he heard a new noise. It was a chug, chug, chug sort of sound, but fast. He saw the gun’s fiery tip burning as each round left the barrel and flew into one of the students. He wanted to close his eyes, but he didn’t need to.
Everything went black.
15
As he walked past the newsstand just inside the door of the gas station, Ben noticed the tiny black and white television sitting on the shelf above it. It was programmed to a news channel, most likely only syndicated throughout the small region of southern Montana they were in.
They’d stopped just past Red Lodge, on a stretch of highway that looked like it had been abandoned for a century. When they came to the service station, Julie had opted to stay in the truck while Ben ran in for some snacks and to go to the restroom.
He turned up the television’s volume knob and watched the station’s reporter on location outside the Yellowstone gates. The information wasn’t anything new; Julie’s second-in-command and assistant had been keeping her in the loop, and she passed on relevant information to Ben as he drove.
The explosion was, in fact, a bomb, based on air sample analysis done on site and in a radius around the park. It was a type of thermobaric bomb, combining heat and pressure into a 5-kiloton explosion. Initial estimates postulated that the Yellowstone detonation was contained
mostly underground, due to the vast amount of crust that had turned up around the site, as well as the relatively mild explosion. But it wasn’t just the immediate effects of the bomb’s blast that had the CDC and this news station worried: the thin layer of crust beneath Yellowstone had been rattled, causing the cracks and earthquake-like effects Ben had experienced.
Ben turned away from the television and placed a candy bar and a bag of chips on the counter. Julie had told him she didn’t want anything, but he’d grabbed the chips just in case. He paid and headed back to the truck.
“Got you some chips,” he said through Julie’s open window. “Want to drive?”
“No,” she said. “I’m actually enjoying being a passenger.” She smiled.
“You should be,” Ben said. “Getting all that work done, catching up on your reading…”
“Just get in. We need to get to my office before tonight. Did you hear anything from your boss, Randolph, yet?” she asked.
“I got a text from him before I walked in the store. I’ll call him back now.” Ben swung into the lifted truck and started the engine. He slid his phone out of the cup holder in the center console and dialed the number for his headquarters at Yellowstone.
The phone rang three times before Randolph picked up. The man sounded exhausted; breathing heavily, his voice raspy. “Ben — that you?”
Ben acknowledged and asked if everything was okay.
“No. No, it’s not, Ben. There’s — well, there’s been…”
“Slow down, George, just tell me what happened.”
“The disease. The thing that got Fuller. He’s — he’s dead.”
Ben frowned, then whispered the news to Julie. Her eyes widened.
“I’m sorry to hear that, boss,” Ben said. “He was a good man.”
“That’s not it, Ben. Whatever got to him, it’s spreading.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean it’s spreading. Jumping, almost. We can’t figure it out. It’s fast. Much faster that we would have thought. Those of us who helped Fuller are covered in the rash, and our skin is starting to burn.”
