by Joseph Souza
“Who shot them?”
“They were pretty drunk by the time they brought us up here. The one named Gus tied us to the sofa. I have no doubt he would have… tried something, Tag, if not for that mysterious person who saved us.”
“Mysterious person?” Tag said in confusion. “What mysterious person?”
“I don’t know who it was because I could barely see. The person was wearing a mask and costume. They got our attention through the window when the others weren’t looking. Then he—or she—walked in through the front door and shot each one of these gang members while they were drinking. By that point they were so drunk they could barely move.”
“I don’t understand. What kind of a mask?”
“You’re not going to believe this, Dad…”
“Try me,” he said, turning toward his daughter.
“They were wearing a liger mask.”
“A what?”
“She’s right, Tag. It was a liger mask. We couldn’t see who the person was because they were wearing a robe of some kind with stripes across it.”
Tag stood and ran to the window. The purveyor of this infectious disease had been on the island the entire time and had been watching them. How else to account for the fact that this person, the one who had put his family in jeopardy, had been the one to save them as well? The thought of this caller watching his family frightened him and made him paranoid. It was like Big Brother in reverse.
He returned to Monica and Taylor still sitting on the couch. He knelt in front of them and examined the red dots on their faces and arms, trying to determine the extent of the pox. With no pharmacy on the island, they’d have to make do with whatever he had on hand. He ran downstairs to the supply room in the basement and retrieved his medical kit from the top shelf. All the supplies inside the room had been organized and stacked neatly, and every item had been tagged. He had enough dry food stored away to last the next three years if need be, and enough weapons to fight a small war.
Locking the door, he sprinted upstairs. Taylor had fallen back on the sofa by the time he’d returned, her head resting on her mother’s lap. Monica ran her hand through her daughter’s sweaty hair, trying to ease Taylor’s discomfort. Tag opened the kit and pulled out two compact IVs, a bottle of liquid antibiotics and one of liquid codeine. He unfolded the collapsible metal frame and inserted it into the stand. Then he set up the drip bag and filled it with a saline solution containing amoxicillin. He repeated the same procedure with his daughter. The metal frames were light enough that they could carry them upstairs to their bedrooms if need be, but for now he made sure the IV stands remained stable while they rested. He spooned out doses of liquid codeine and administered them orally. It would help alleviate the intense aches and back pains that would inevitably rack their bodies.
He stood and studied them. The doctor in him had now taken over and refused to admit that the worst had occurred. If the vaccine provided to him had been a protective measure, it meant that Monica and Taylor had contracted the less severe form of smallpox, in which case there was nothing he could do but wait and do what he could to ease their suffering. The virus would need to run its course naturally, and in the end it would either kill them or they would come out the other side. The IV solution and codeine would only treat the symptoms.
Versa! He’d momentarily forgotten about the intolerable island woman. He went from room to room until he found her in the guest bedroom upstairs, one hand tied to the top bed frame and both her feet tied to the end board. Duct tape covered her mouth. Once he set her free, Versa shot up off the bed, cursing like a Teamster.
“Where are those lousy bastards?!”
“Someone came in last night and killed them.”
“Not your family too?”
“No, Monica and Taylor are fine. The others, though, are all dead.”
A big smile spread over Versa’s face. “Serves those scum right.”
“There’s no time to gloat. We need to clean up the bodies and scrub the place clean.”
“Killing them was too nice. I would have clipped battery cables to their balls and fried them for hours on end.”
Once back on the main floor, Tag located his cell phone, put it on speakerphone, and dialed the private number of Special Agent Blake Whelton of the FBI’s Hazardous Materials Rapid Deployment Team. Whelton was not only one of his best friends but also the most experienced and knowledgeable agent in the field. He had no doubt that Whelton would be put in charge of this complicated case. Whelton possessed considerable clout in the bureau, and his years of experience had given him special insights into the ways and methods of bioterrorists. In fact, he probably had his team of FBI agents set up along the Portland waterfront right now. The phone rang, and a taped message asked callers to leave a detailed message.
“Blake, this is your old buddy Tag. Call this number immediately when you get the chance. It’s urgent, as you no doubt already know.”
He stuffed his phone back into his pocket, wondering why no one had called and filled him in on the situation unfolding. Unless they knew about the RF threat and were trying to protect him. No sense worrying about that now, because he had too much else to do at the moment. The corpses sprawled on the floor needed to be carried out and disposed of in a timely fashion. Where would he put them? He went over to the bay window to see if there were other people out on the street, but didn’t see a soul. He passed through the door leading into the garage and pushed his wheelbarrow out the door and into the backyard. Then he went back inside the garage and got his blue tarp and set it up inside the trunk of his wife’s Beamer. He rolled the corpses up in plastic bags, wrapped duct tape around them, and then dragged each corpse out back. He stacked the bodies two at a time in the wheelbarrow. Each of them had a bullet hole in their head, indicating to him that their executioner had been a professional marksman. Before leaving, he grabbed a lasso of rope and pushed it up his arm until it rested on his shoulder.
He placed Gus, Slade, and the corpse of one of the women inside the trunk, fitting them snugly. He felt no remorse for their deaths, yet the sight of those two thugs had filled him with apprehension. The crisis on the island had brought out the worst in these men, and now they’d paid the ultimate price. Would there be other gang members out looking for them? Would the police think that he’d been the one who shot and killed them? By ditching the bodies, he wasn’t about to let anyone find out.
Versa filled a bucket with soap and water and cleaned off the blood and bits of brain matter scattered along the floor. The sight of the bloody massacre had no effect on him. Having conducted countless autopsies on humans and animals, he’d long ago gotten used to seeing blood.
“You okay cleaning that stuff up, Versa?”
“Don’t bother me in the least, Colonel. Hope those bastards are rotting in hell.”
“I’m going to dispose of the first three corpses. I’ll be back shortly to get the others.”
Sitting behind the wheel, he took off down Sandy Lane and toward one of the many hidden coves on the southern tip of the island. He came to a stop at Atlantic View Road, making sure no other vehicles were on the street. His heart thumped in his chest at the prospect of being caught dumping corpses off the pier. Seeing that the coast was clear, he proceeded down Atlantic View Road and toward one of the hidden coves on the southern tip of the island, searching for a secluded dock where he could quickly toss them into the ocean.
He hadn’t traveled more than a mile when he heard a car behind him. Looking in the rearview mirror, he saw that it was a Portland P.D. cruiser. He took a few deep breaths, trying to control the panic welling up inside him, and slowed to a crawl. The lights flashed, and the siren blared. A man’s voice over the loudspeaker ordered him to pull over, and he recognized Officer Mueller’s voice. He confirmed that it was the same two cops he’d encountered yesterday. Where the hell had they been when he really needed them? And now they wanted to pull him over while he transported three corpses to their watery graves.
> I’m in deep, deep shit.
Chapter 10
He pulled the car over to the shoulder of the steep road and sat waiting for the officers to approach. Sweat dripped from his blistered forehead, thinking about the consequences of being found with three dead bodies in his trunk. Looking into his rearview mirror, he saw Officer Mueller get out of his car and amble down to the Beamer. The cop had one hand on his service revolver and the other down by his side. The two officers obviously wouldn’t have recognized his wife’s car. He wondered why they were pulling him over when chaos and rioting were taking place all over the island.
Officer Mueller approached his window, the face mask Tag had given him over his mouth. Behind him stood his female partner, Silva. Tag waited for the middle-aged cop to pull up to the window.
“Colonel? What in the world are you doing driving around right now? No one’s supposed to leave their home.”
“How was I supposed to know?”
“We’ve been going around telling people to find someplace to stay for the night. The inns are all full to the brim. We’ve even set up some temporary shelters at Saint Matthew’s and the Cooke’s Episcopalian church. Despite our efforts, it’s getting worse on this island.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, but I warned you that this thing could get ugly.”
“Where you headed so early in the morning?”
Tag considered his words carefully. “I wanted to check on my neighbors down below and see if they’re okay.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Colonel. We had some problems with some bikers in the downtown area. Fighting and looting and such. With this virus going around, I think it’s best you head back to your house and stay there until this situation is under control. My partner and I will check on them later.”
“Of course, officer, I wasn’t thinking,” he said, nodding as if he’d screwed up. “Have you been in contact with the police chief yet?”
“They haven’t given us any information other than to tell us to try to maintain order until this threat is over. They believe it’s some kind of Chinese virus, possibly the flu. They even told us to cover our faces whenever we come in contact with other people. So thanks for the masks. We wear them whenever we do crowd control.”
“Good thinking.”
“Now turn your vehicle around. We’ll follow you back to your house.”
“No need for that, officer. I’ll head straight home. And thanks for all the good work you two are doing.”
“Wouldn’t want an important guy like you to get hurt out here, Colonel.”
Mueller started back toward his car. Tag watched him through his rearview mirror, his heart hammering in his chest. He’d given them no reason to check his trunk, but he’d been nervous all the same. Once he started the ignition, he conducted a three-point turn on the steep road and started back to his house. He passed the cops on his left, waving jovially as he drove by. As soon as he was out of sight, he accelerated until he reached his driveway.
He parked the car in the driveway. Disposing of the six corpses would have to wait. Their decomposing bodies would soon begin to give off a foul odor, and the stench would be difficult to get rid of. He was about to exit the vehicle when the car’s Bluetooth chirped. He tapped the speaker button and answered.
“Hey, Tag, Blake Whelton here. I hear you’ve got quite a situation on that island.”
“Blake, please tell me that you’re standing on the Portland Pier and that you’re the supervising agent in charge of this case.”
“Wish I could say that, Tag, but I’m relaxing on my deck right now and enjoying a cup of ice coffee. Susan Bishop has been put in charge of the case.”
“Bishop? Why her when you’re the number one agent in the bioterrorism unit, Blake?”
“The usual reasons, as you might well suspect. Politics dictate everything in this department and in this town.” The FBI agent paused for a few seconds. “Look, Tag, you and I both know that I could get in lot of trouble for talking to you right now about this case. You should be consulting directly with Agent Bishop.”
“How was I to know? No one has told me anything or even tried to contact me,” he said. “Besides, I’m allowed to call on an old friend and see how he’s doing, aren’t I?”
“I couldn’t agree more, but the FBI may not see it that way,” Whelton said. “What’s happening on that island?”
“Someone has released a biologically engineered virus, and the person or persons responsible for doing this are here on the island as we speak.”
“Little old Cooke’s Island? For what reason?”
“I don’t know the reason. I was hoping that you might be able to provide me with some additional information.”
“I’m completely out of the loop on this one, Tag. What kind of threat are we dealing with?”
“A hybrid virus with the first component being smallpox. This asshole has been taunting me over the phone as if he’s playing a game. And he’s calling it the liger virus because of its dual capacity.”
“Liger virus, huh? Creative. You couldn’t identify whether the caller was a male or female?”
“They’re using voice-encrypting software. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that they’re redirecting these calls using sophisticated, untraceable routers.”
“If they’re even half as smart as they sound, I bet it’ll be near impossible to trace these calls in a timely manner. Bishop’s a smart cookie. I guarantee that she’s already tried to trace your calls, which means she knows about this one.”
“So what? The other component of this hybrid virus is still unknown to me, but the caller, who goes by the name Lenny, warned me not to put a cell phone to my ear, which is why I’m using my Bluetooth. I believe this is smallpox minor.”
“The liger virus. Boy, I still can’t get over that nifty name,” he said, sounding impressed. “But how do you know it’s smallpox minor?”
“He left a vaccine for me in the backseat of my Jeep and directed me to take it. Then yesterday I came down with blisters all over my body. Felt like shit too. I still have them and am only now starting to feel better, but now my wife and daughter are coming down with it.”
“Fast turnaround,” Blake said. “What does using a cell phone have to do with it?”
“The caller said something about radio frequency waves triggering abnormal cellular activity.”
“I’ve read a few reports about that over the years. Sounds farfetched, but I try to follow every development as it relates to terrorist threats. Supposedly, radio frequencies can trigger cells in certain regions of the brain. It’s quite possible that he created a dormant brain virus that could be triggered by even the slightest presence of an RF wave. It sits there waiting, harmless, until hit by the RF.”
“I’ve never heard of that happening except in a Stephen King novel, but that doesn’t mean it’s not possible.”
“No offense, buddy, but as fascinated as I am with this mysterious virus, I’m completely out of the loop. I’m afraid this conversation has to end, Tag, so my career doesn’t. Make sure you call Agent Bishop immediately.”
“Will do, Blake.”
“Maybe that’s why she hasn’t contacted you first. Quite possibly she caught wind about this RF connection and fears triggering the cellular activity in your brain, thinking you’re not on it. Too bad she doesn’t know that you have no brain.”
“You been talking to my wife again?”
“Don’t worry, Tag, it’s contagious. My wife says the same about me.” Blake laughed. “And Tag?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sincerely hoping you get off that island in one piece. Beers and barbecue on my deck when you do.” The line went dead.
Tag exited the car and made his way inside the house. He had to somehow dispose of those dead bodies before they started to decompose and cause the car’s interior to reek. As soon as he opened the front door, he saw Monica and Taylor semi-conscious on the sofa. Their faces radiated brigh
t red, and he could clearly see that they were feverish. He looked around for Versa but couldn’t find her anywhere.
He placed the back of his hand up to first his wife’s and then his daughter’s forehead. Both were burning up. The IV bags above their heads dripped antibiotic solution through the needle and into their bodies. He filled plastic bags with ice from the freezer, wrapped them in hand towels and placed them over their heads. Then he dug inside his medical kit and pulled out the plastic bottle filled with Tylenol. Unscrewing the cap, he emptied four capsules onto his palm. He gave two to his wife and the other two to his daughter.
“I need some water, Tag. My throat is so dry it hurts,” Monica rasped.
“Sore?”
“Extremely. Is that a bad sign?”
“I’ll get you a glass of water.” He got up and returned with a glass. “Where’s Versa?”
“Went home,” Taylor mumbled.
“She left after she cleaned up the floor. Said she was sick of this place and was going back to her own place, where she could protect herself and all her stuff,” Monica muttered.
“How long ago did she leave?”
“Twenty minutes before you returned,” his wife replied.
He looked around but couldn’t find his Glock. That bitter woman had jacked his pistol and was going to get herself killed trying to make her way back to her house. The thought of her leaving pissed him off more than anything else, especially after he’d taken her in and kept her from harm. If Monica and Taylor were infected, chances were that she carried the virus inside her as well. By merely coughing she could create an efficient viral mist and pass it on to every person she came across. He checked in on his wife and daughter. Unfortunately, there was nothing more he could do for them. Their fever and body soreness would be followed by coughing fits and then a significant increase in the pustules.
Taylor and Monica eventually fell asleep. The codeine had knocked them out, and they now appeared to be resting comfortably. He needed to try to convince Versa to return home with him so as not to spread the virus. With the angry mobs roaming the streets, she’d need him as well. Besides, she’d stolen his Glock and knew the truth about the dead bodies. If she went to the police with that information, they’d lock him up and throw away the key.
