The Lethal Helix

by Don Donaldson

  The blast erupted through the floor of the mansion’s theater, blowing out the walls. Along with twisted seats, pieces of framing lumber, and a hailstorm of plaster, the theater’s lone occupant, his legs severed at the knees, his head crushed, was thrown from the wreckage onto the front lawn, where his body became just another lump of smoldering debris. Because of the smoke and dust, Bruxton was unaware that Holly was outside the house when it exploded. His distress at the loss of his belongings was therefore mitigated by the belief that her debt to him was now paid.

  While reflecting on the devastation he’d created, he was startled to see a piece of gilded picture frame fly past the helicopter’s windshield. Realizing that he was in some danger here, he decided it was time to leave. The helicopter had moved barely ten feet when a silver candlestick hurtled out of the smoke below and hit the main rotor blade.

  The copter shuddered and went into a sliding dive, slipping toward the flaming wreckage below. Bruxton fought the controls, trying to save the situation. But his efforts were fruitless.

  A scant second before impact, he closed his eyes, took his hands off the controls, and let the vortex have him.

  FIRE . . .

  As Holly rolled across the grass to put out the flames eating their way to her flesh, the word blinked behind her eyes in neon letters higher than the sulfurous smoke plume that boiled from the mansion’s remains into the night sky. Focused on her own survival, she was barely aware of the additional explosion as Bruxton’s helicopter disintegrated, adding to the flames and producing a second wave of shrapnel that whistled and twittered in all directions.

  Almost as though Bruxton were trying one last time to kill her, a jagged piece of the helicopter’s control panel dropped from the sky and impaled the lawn where Holly’s head had been a millisecond earlier. She continued to roll until she hit one of the theater seats, then reversed direction.

  Finally, the flames were out.

  Struggling to a sitting position, she could smell singed hair and fabric, but her skin didn’t feel as though she was burned anywhere.

  Where was Susan?

  Oh God.

  The explosion had knocked out all the security lights, but in the hellish glow from the raging fire in the mansion’s ruins, Holly saw that one of the flaming objects on the lawn was Susan. And she wasn’t moving.

  Holly scrambled to her feet and hurried to her fallen friend, pulling off her own charred jacket as she ran. When she reached Susan, she fell to her knees and smothered and beat at the dancing flames feeding on her. It seemed as if it took much longer, but in less than a minute the fire was out.

  Holly crawled around to Susan’s face and leaned close. “Susan . . . can you hear me? Susan?”

  There was no response.

  Holly lifted Susan’s hand and applied a finger to the older woman’s wrist. Her pulse was weak but steady. She needed an ambulance. Surely the explosion and fire had been reported by someone.

  Suddenly, Holly heard a sharp crack behind her. The flaming wreckage was to her left, so she thought the sound was probably from a burning tree or piece of the house blown onto the lawn. But when she turned to look, she saw Billy Lynch lumbering toward her, one hand holding his side, the other aiming a gun at her.

  He fired again and the bullet slapped into the ground at Susan’s side. Which of them was he after? Probably both of them. Susan for having wounded him, and Holly to keep his record intact. If she ran, that would leave Susan unprotected.

  The Beretta.

  She was sure Susan had it in her hand when they’d run from the house, but it wasn’t there now. Where was it? Holly frantically searched the ground nearby.

  Where was it?

  Billy fired again, and Holly felt the slug drill into the calf of her left leg. She couldn’t just stay put and be shot. Hoping that Billy would think Susan was already dead, or would realize he could come back for her later, Holly ran. But there was nowhere to hide, and every time her left foot hit the ground, white pain ran up her leg and exploded in her skull so that she wasn’t able to move much faster than Billy.

  He fired again, and the bullet tunneled through her hair. Still running as well as she could, she glanced back to see where he was.

  He appeared to have ignored Susan and was coming after her, at a steady, plodding rate.

  Where could she go?

  There was lots of debris on the lawn, but nothing she could use for a shield. And the flames from the house were burning so brightly that the darkness had been banished for at least a hundred yards in all directions.

  Billy fired again. How many rounds did that damn gun have?

  Then she saw the grisly remains of the driver who had brought her to the house. So filled with terror there was no room for any other emotion, she at first viewed the legless corpse as simply another consequence of the explosion. But just as she was about to lurch off in a different direction, she saw that the body could be her salvation.

  She gimped her way to the grisly corpse and stepped over it. Ignoring the blood on the grass from the raw stumps of its legs, she dropped to the ground beside it. The driver had removed his jacket in the theater so that his Glock and shoulder holster were visible.

  She removed the weapon from the holster and with both hands pointed it at Billy, who was still trundling forward, but was now weaving slightly. And his arm was shaking. Whether he did so because he saw the gun in Holly’s hand, or just figured he was close enough now, he began firing rapidly.

  With slugs slapping the ground around her and stuttering into the body in front of her, Holly pulled the Glock’s trigger again and again and again, firing before she’d fully compensated for the way the gun was bucking.

  She was firing so fast she couldn’t count the rounds, but he kept coming. Finally, one of her shots found its mark, staggering Billy. He reeled to the side as another hit him. She kept firing even as he fell, unable to stop, her mind screaming at him to die.

  Finally, the magazine was empty. Still pointing the weapon at him, Holly watched Billy with wide eyes, her ragged breathing drowning out the sounds of the burning mansion. She watched and watched him for the slightest movement. But Billy would never move again.

  Finally, in the distance, she heard a siren coming closer. Suddenly, the Glock was too heavy to hold and she let it fall from her hands. Forcing herself to her feet, she gave Billy’s body a wide berth and hobbled toward Susan.

  38

  WHEN OTTO LEARNED from Holly that the creation of human fetuses for commercial use was a federal crime, he informed the FBI, so the investigation became a federal, state, and local effort.

  Susan Morrison suffered a concussion and second-degree burns over most of her right arm and the back of her neck. Following a night in the hospital, she was fit enough to answer questions.

  After hearing Susan and Holly’s account of how Billy Lynch had died, the attorney general’s office decided that both women had acted in self-defense. Though they weren’t pleased with Susan’s “commando raid” to save Holly and could have filed some charges against her, they didn’t. So within twenty-four hours after that wild night, Susan and Holly were free to leave the state.

  The bullet that had struck Holly’s calf had removed some tissue and temporarily left her with the need for a cane. Otherwise, like Susan, she was travelworthy. Afraid that Walter might have another heart attack if she told him what had happened to her, Susan didn’t mention it when she called him. With their work in Wisconsin finished, the two women booked themselves on the same flight to Chicago, where they would then take separate planes home.

  Accompanied by Richard and Jessie, Holly and Susan were now sitting in the Madison airport terminal, where their attention was drawn to a newswoman on the TV nearby. “And now more on the story from Midland, Wisconsin, where yesterday, it was learned that, in violation of federal la
w, the anti-cancer drug Vasostasin, a product of Bruxton Pharmaceuticals, was being purified from human fetuses carried in cows genetically engineered to support human gestation. At about the time authorities were making this discovery at the dairy where most workers thought the animals were ordinary milk cows, Zane Bruxton, CEO and founder of Bruxton Pharmaceuticals, was killed when his helicopter crashed after taking off from the roof of his palatial home in Midland. For more, we take you to CNN correspondent Bob Rains in Midland, Wisconsin.”

  The scene switched to an overweight man wearing a trench coat and standing in front of the Midland Dairy. “Bob, do we know what caused Zane Bruxton’s helicopter to crash?”

  “Liz, apparently, the initial report we had blaming the explosion and fire that destroyed Bruxton’s home on the helicopter crashing into it, was wrong. The house exploded first and it’s believed that the aircraft was brought down by flying debris.”

  “Do we know why the house exploded?”

  “Not yet. There’s speculation that Bruxton’s long-time aide, Phillip Boone, knows something about it, but he’s not talking.”

  “Is he a suspect in that explosion?”

  “No. There was a clause in Bruxton’s will stating that as long as Boone never speaks about Bruxton’s private life and what went on in the home while Boone worked there, his salary will continue, paid from a trust fund set up years ago. That’s apparently why he’s remaining silent.”

  “There have been reports of three people in Midland recently dying from a form of mad cow disease after eating meat from one of the dairy’s cows,” the newswoman said. “Have you learned any more about that?”

  “Phillip Boone may not be talking, but the dairy manager, Don Lamotte, in return for prosecutorial immunity, is saying plenty. According to what he’s told FBI investigators, after one of the dairy’s animals was put down for aborting the fetuses it was carrying, Lamotte discovered that the dairy’s incinerator, where they disposed of all their biological waste, was broken and couldn’t be repaired for two weeks. Needing to dispose of the carcass, he called the local dog food plant to take it away. Instead of being used for dog food, meat from the animal found its way onto the dinner table of three townspeople, all of whom died.

  “Fearing that he was seeing the start of an epidemic, a local neurologist, who traced the disease to the dairy, tried to get the state health department to inspect all their animals. But Bruxton allegedly paid the director of the health department to look the other way because he was afraid the special nature of his animals would be discovered. She’s been suspended pending a full investigation of her actions.”

  “Wasn’t Bruxton worried about spreading mad cow disease in the milk the dairy was selling?”

  “The herd of seventeen hundred cows was composed of clones generated from genetically altered cells of twelve animals. When Bruxton learned that it was one of his animals that had caused the deaths of those three people, he had all the other animals from that clone put down and their carcasses disposed of in the dairy’s incinerator. Investigators have seized all the sacks of bone and ash from that incineration to make sure they’re not infectious. And of course, the dairy is now closed.”

  “Bob, there’s speculation that two other people from Midland were killed by an enforcer Bruxton hired. Are any details available regarding that aspect of the story?”

  “Two bodies in addition to Bruxton’s were found at his home. Don Lamotte has identified one as a member of the dairy’s security force and the other as Billy Lynch. Lynch was apparently the enforcer you mentioned. Lamotte has told investigators that Lynch was responsible for the deaths of Midland residents Chester Sorenson and Henry Pennell, who had both learned the real source of Vasostasin. It’s believed the security man died in the explosion. But Lynch had been shot repeatedly. Two as yet unidentified women were apparently taken from the scene to a local hospital. So far, their role in all this is unclear.”

  “An amazing story, Bob. Thanks.”

  The newswoman looked at the camera. “In a related development, earlier today the FDA withdrew its approval of Vasostasin. Later, a distinguished panel of religious leaders and physicians will discuss the ethical dilemma posed by the use of engineered humans for commercial purposes. Stay tuned.”

  “Well, we certainly figured prominently in that report,” Jessie said. “Local neurologist, unidentified women. I wasn’t even mentioned.”

  “The anonymity suits me,” Holly said. “I just want to forget the whole thing, though I doubt I ever will. Think they’ll close the pharmaceutical plant too?”

  “If they do, it shouldn’t be for long. The company was profitable even before Vasostasin. And there’s a board of directors that can elect a new CEO. Be interesting to see if they change the name to make people forget this mess.”

  “Probably wouldn’t have to,” Richard said. “The public has a very short memory.”

  Susan looked at the clock on the wall. “I’m going to head for our departure gate.”

  Richard stepped over and helped her up. “Susan, it’s been a privilege meeting you. I hope we’ll see you again and that you’ll have a quick recovery.”

  Joining Richard, Jessie added her good wishes. Gesturing to Susan’s bandaged right hand, where only Susan’s fingers were visible, Jessie added, “Are they going to give you some help getting through security?”

  “Supposedly that’s all been arranged.”

  “I’ll be there, shortly,” Holly said to Susan.

  “She’s a tough woman,” Jessie said, when Susan was out of earshot.

  “I wouldn’t want to get on her bad side,” Richard said.

  Given the all clear, Richard’s parents had immediately brought Katie back from England and caught a connecting flight to Madison, which would arrive in just a few minutes. Knowing they were coming and wanting to see Katie, Holly had chosen to leave Madison on a flight that would allow time for a short meeting.

  About ten minutes later, a wave of passengers that were likely from Katie’s flight began entering the terminal. Among them, Holly spotted an older couple with a little girl. Seeing Richard and Jessie, their expressions brightened.

  With her oversized glasses, the woman looked like a retired librarian. He was the only man in the emerging group wearing a tie and jacket. His clothes and his well-groomed silver hair and mustache made him look as if he could run Bruxton Pharmaceuticals. If Richard aged as well as his father, he’d have no complaints.

  Katie was a beauty: long reddish-brown hair and perfect features. She was wearing a ribbed black turtleneck under a red-and-black plaid jacket and skirt, and red lace-up boots on her little feet.

  “Daddy . . .” She ran to Richard and he snatched her into his arms. “I’ve been to . . .” Katie looked at her grandmother.

  “London,” her grandmother said.

  “London,” Katie repeated. “That’s in England. I had a good time, but I missed you so much.”

  Jessie and Richard hugged and greeted their parents, then Richard introduced Holly.

  She was surprised when his parents both hugged her too.

  “I’m so sorry you had to go through what you did,” Richard’s mother said.

  “But you handled it damn well,” his father added. “I’m proud of you.”

  “Don’t swear, dear,” his wife cautioned sweetly.

  “And this is Katie,” Richard said.

  “Hello, Katie. I’ve been wanting to meet you for a long time.”

  “You’re pretty,” Katie said. Then her little brow furrowed with concern. “Why do you have a cane?”

  “I hurt my leg.”

  “Will it get better soon?”

  “I think so.”

  The most genuine expression of relief swept Katie’s concerned look aside. “I’m so glad,” she said.

  Impu
lsively, Holly kissed Katie on the cheek and the child put her arms around Holly’s neck. Holly returned Katie’s hug, then disengaged herself. “It’s been lovely meeting you all, but my plane is about to board.”

  “You all go on,” Richard said to the others. “I’ll catch up.”

  Jessie wiggled her fingers at Holly. “Goodbye kid. Take care of yourself.”

  “Katie likes you,” Richard said as the others moved off.

  “She’s a sweetheart.”

  “And so do I. Wish you didn’t live so far away. We could use a good hematologist around here.”

  “It’s worth thinking about.”

  “Really?”

  “Meanwhile, there’s always the phone and airplanes.”

  “Poor substitutes,” Richard said. He leaned close and Holly tilted her face upward. Their lips met in a soft kiss that neither wanted to end. But it was a public place and a plane waited.

  “I’ll call you,” Holly said, easing away.

  Richard watched her until she reached the security checkpoint.

  Holly arrived at the gate for her flight just as the firstclass passengers were boarding. Since she and Susan would be sitting in the middle of the plane, Susan had not yet joined those in line. Taking the seat beside her, Holly said, “Remember that story you told me about the women who kept the children they brought home from the hospital, even though it was later discovered each had the other’s baby? When we get settled on the plane, I’d like to talk about that some more.”

  Epilogue

  A WEEK AFTER the FDA had disapproved Vasostasin because of its source, two independent studies reported that patients who had received Vasostasin therapy were showing delayed onset of extensive and irreversible kidney damage. Thus Congress was spared the difficult task of deciding whether the vast benefits of Vasostasin outweighed the moral imperative against its production.

  Following considerable debate, the pregnancies of all the dairy’s animals were terminated. Across the country, church services were held for those fetuses and all the others Bruxton had created. Bruxton was so vilified by the pro-life movement that those who supported the use of fetal tissue or tissue products for the treatment of catastrophic diseases largely found it best to keep their views to themselves. After closing for a month, Bruxton Pharmaceuticals reopened under a new name.