by Nick Thacker
Julie nodded, taking it all in.
“His parents are devastated, obviously. Terrible thing. And that bomb… You guys know anything about that rash?”
Ben shook his head. “Not yet. Killed a lot of people already who were around the blast, so we think it’s related.”
“I sure hope not, son. Seems like this country’s already gone to hell in a handbasket. Kid hadn’t been home in something like five years, too. All focused on his work in the city. Mr. and Mrs. Furmann are beside themselves.”
Ben thanked the man and turned to leave, Julie following behind. They walked in silence to the parking lot and the truck, and Ben slid into the driver’s seat.
Julie waited until the truck was on the main road through town before she spoke. “Twin Falls is outside the blast radius by hundreds of miles, Ben. And the virus is not technically an outbreak yet — it’s not contained, but it hasn’t been spreading outside of Wyoming.”
“I know,” Ben said. “My mom wasn’t anywhere near it either. Whoever got to her also must have paid Charlie a visit…”
They both let that information sink in. What it meant, what it might mean, was even more terrifying.
33
AFTER THEIR ENCOUNTER WITH THE shopkeeper in Mud Lake, Julie decided it would be best to check in with her office and see if they had anything new. As they drove in silence, she checked her phone again to see if she had service.
“Anything?” Ben asked.
“Not yet,” she answered, “but I remember there being a few bars outside of Twin Falls. Once we get back to the major highway, I’m sure it’ll work.”
“We’re only a few miles out. Keep checking.”
In a few minutes Julie saw her cellphone light up with a single bar of service, and a minute later, a quick vibration told her she had a waiting voicemail from Randall Brown. She played it over the phone’s speaker so Ben could listen in.
“Hey Julie, it’s Randy again. I checked SecuNet for anything strange. Everything’s working properly, but I did find something odd. Livingston put a mail forward on Stephens’ email account — anything he’s sent in the past forty-eight hours went straight to him. That’s probably why you haven’t heard anything.”
Julie looked up at Ben, shocked.
“Anyway, I didn’t delete the forward. Livingston would know that I was in there right away if he stopped getting Stephens’ updates. Still, if he decides to log in to SecuNet again, he’ll see my timestamp there. I’m kinda between a rock and a hard place on this one, Julie, so let me know what you want me to do.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Julie said.
“Do you think Livingston’s paranoid about something?” Ben asked.
“Think? I know he is. Livingston is the epitome of paranoia, but still — interfering with a government investigation like this? This is crossing the line.”
“He is your boss, though, right?”
“Yeah, he obviously has the power and oversight to be able to ‘listen in’ on field communication, but he can’t totally prevent the flow of information like this.” Julie shook her head, staring down at the phone.
“Well, what do you think he’s up to?” Ben asked.
“Nothing. I mean, I don’t think it’s like that,” Julie answered. “I think he’s just trying to reign me in. Seems like he’s always had a problem with me. I’m, uh, not really one to check in every ten minutes, you know?”
Ben smiled. “Yeah, I picked up on that. So, you think he’s just playing it safe? Trying to make sure he’s got all the cards?”
“I guess, but it still makes it a little pointless to be driving around out here, trying to figure stuff out, if he’s just going to block us at every step of the way.”
“No doubt, but it sounds like he’s not thinking in terms of what’s best for the investigation,” Ben said.
Julie nodded, looking out the window. A sign for Twin Falls alerted her to their distance from the metropolitan city. 135 miles.
“How far are we from Idaho Falls?”
“I’d guess about an hour, maybe less. We’re coming up to Highway 26, which goes back that direction. Why?”
“There’s a regional airport there. I can hitch a ride on one of the smaller jets if there are any going out today.” Julie started. She caught Ben’s eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ll fly back to Billings and get things straightened out at the office, and you can drive the truck back.”
Ben kept one eye on her as he continued driving down the highway.
“What?” she said, smiling. “You like driving, right?”
“Only if you ask me nicely.”
She rolled her eyes. “Would you please drive the truck back for me?”
He sighed. “Sure. What’s another five hours of driving, anyway?”
“Actually, six. You’ll want to go around Yellowstone.”
Just then, her phone rang. Stephens. She answered it, again placing the phone on speaker.
“Stephens?”
“Yeah, hey Julie, how is everything going?” The muffled voice asked.
“Good, I guess. Have you been getting my emails?”
“I have. Are you getting mine?” he asked.
She hesitated. “Uh, no, I actually haven’t had time to check.” It was a poor lie, but it would buy her time. Stephens paused on the other end.
“Okay, right. Hey, how did that last contact work out? Any information?”
Julie had emailed her itinerary to Stephens before they visited Mud Lake, and in it she’d included the information Randy Brown sent along.
“It was… not fruitful.” She changed the subject. “We’re still working on where to go next, but I think I’m heading back to the office later today.”
He paused. “Okay, sounds good. Uh, listen, we’ve got some news. I wanted to call about it, just to be sure you got the information. Livingston and some higher-ups at the CDC and the Department of Homeland Security called in a team of excavators to check out the area beneath Yellowstone Lake and the West Thumb areas, at the park.”
“Where the bomb went off?”
“Right. They know there are a few caves that run around that area, though none of them are very long or deep. But they checked them all out just in case.”
Ben listened to the conversation as he drove, scratching at an itch on his arm.
“What did they find?”
“They found a tunnel cut into a wall of one of the caves.”
“A tunnel?”
Ben scratched his arm again.
“Yeah, manmade. Cut recently, too,” Stephens said.
“Wow. Are they thinking that’s how the bomb got there? Where it was planted?” Julie asked.
“No, it would have destroyed the tunnel, or at least collapsed most of it. They haven’t followed it all the way down, yet, but it seems to be perfectly intact.”
Ben was beginning to get annoyed at the itch in his arm. What is that? He finally looked down at his forearm. A red rash was beginning to spread up and over his hands. His eyes widened. “Julie,” he whispered.
Julie didn’t hear him.
“What do they think is going on, then? Do they know?”
“They don’t,” Stephens answered. “But they have an idea. They’re thinking the first bomb was a warning, to get our attention.”
Julie shook her head quickly. “Wait, what? What do you mean by first bomb?”
“Julie.” Ben said her name louder, hoping she’d look over at him. Instead, she held up her pointer finger. Wait.
“They think there’s a second bomb, Julie. A bigger one. It may or may not have a viral payload like the first one, but regardless, if it detonates…”
“Julie!” Finally Ben yelled. His voice easily filled the truck’s cab, and she jumped. She looked over at him as Stephens continued.
“…Wait — Julie, was that Ben? That guy from Yellowstone?”
Her eyes widened as she saw what Ben had grown so frantic about. The rash covered his hands and
forearms, but he wasn’t looking at his own arms. Instead, he was pointing at hers.
She dropped the phone on her lap and stuck her arms out in front of her.
A blossoming rash was slowly making its way up her own forearms, already covering her hands.
34
THE F450 WAS PERFORMING ADMIRABLY. Ben gunned it, pointing the large gray truck down the small highway that twisted through Billings, Montana. He was certainly pushing it to the limit, but it was handling well. He passed yet another car full of gawkers, amazed at both his speed and seeming carelessness for other travelers on the road.
But he didn’t care what they thought of him. The rash had spread to just below his shoulders, though it was still only on his hands and arms. It was moving much more slowly than he’d seen back at Yellowstone, but it was definitely moving. He could only hope that Julie’s own rash was moving even slower.
He sped ahead of another eighteen-wheeler, this one carrying a load of brand new vehicles to some dealership. The driver flipped him off, but Ben didn’t care. He had to get to the hospital. To Julie.
They’d reached the regional airport in Idaho Falls, but by that time she’d nearly convinced Ben to continue driving, to deliver them to Billings together. She was terrified of flying with the rash, convinced that it would spread and only worsen the viral outbreak. Ben knew she was right — it had so far proven to be an extremely contagious disease, but he’d argued that there was simply no other way to get her to Montana as quickly. She fought back, reminding him that this was still a commercial airport — even if there was a flight out to Billings today, it may not even leave in the next few hours. What was the point of flying if she couldn’t beat him back to the office?
Thankfully the argument was settled when her phone rang. It was her boss, David Livingston, and he was surprised to hear their news. “I’ll have a plane waiting for you,” he’d said. It turned out to be a private jet, owned by a business tycoon who golfed with Livingston often. It was ready to leave whenever they arrived — they could even drive directly onto the tarmac to save time. Julie was overjoyed, thanking Livingston profusely and promising she’d pay him back someday. Ben still refused to fly, even considering the luxurious comfort of a private plane with full amenities, so he dropped her off at the airport, filled up the truck’s gas tank, and got on the highway toward Montana.
His phone had buzzed an hour ago with an unknown caller. When he’d answered it and heard Benjamin Stephens’ voice on the other end, he knew it could only mean bad news.
“Julie’s here,” Stephens reported.
“Good to hear,” Ben said. “Is she at the office now?”
“Well, that’s what I’m calling about, actually. She’s not at the office. We’ve got her quarantined at a local hospital that’s converted a wing for the virus outbreak. She’s sedated now, and being fully monitored.”
“What?” Ben couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Is she okay?”
“She is, for now,” Stephens said. “The rash spread up to her neck and is beginning to cover her torso. It’s still in its early stages, from what the doctors can tell, but it’s not stopping.”
Ben swallowed hard. Shit.
“Okay, I’m coming there. Where is the —”
“You can’t, Ben. The hospital wing is completely off-limits, and—”
“Where is the hospital?” he yelled into the phone.
Stephens paused, and Ben could hear him sigh on the other end. “Listen, I’m only doing this because she told me to call you.” He gave Ben the address of the hospital, then added one more thought. “If the staff catches you in there, Ben, hell’s going to break loose. This is a completely unknown force we’re dealing with, and you’d better believe there are going to be suits from every branch there, trying to figure out what the deal is. It isn’t just the CDC anymore.”
Ben understood his meaning. If you aren’t careful, you might get thrown in jail. Or worse.
“I hear you. Stephens — thanks.”
“No problem. Good luck, Ben. Keep me posted.”
Ben hung up the phone and focused on gaining more speed.
An hour later, he pulled up to the parking lot in front of the hospital. It was small, and obviously old. The building was beautiful, no doubt built sometime in the early 1900’s, and it matched the stereotype of an old hospital. Green manicured lawns stretched for an acre in front of the building, surrounded by a tall iron fence with brick towers at the corners. Picnic tables were sprinkled here and there, each shaded by massive, centuries-old oak trees. The hospital itself featured a grand entrance and lobby, adjoined on each side by two five-story hospital wings.
He parked in a visitor parking spot and looked at the clock. It was getting late, but he knew there would still be a night staff. The problem was, he didn’t know what time the switch would happen; when most of the day staff would go home for the night. He took a few deep breaths to relax himself and surveyed the surrounding area.
He saw a few unmarked vehicles parked together in a clump behind his truck. Each had deeply tinted windows and seemed to be brand new. He assumed they were government, but he had no idea what department. He couldn’t tell if they were unoccupied.
He watched the pedestrian traffic in front of the old hospital. An elderly couple walked through the grounds, the woman holding onto and supporting her husband as he shakily moved down the sidewalk. Another couple, younger, sat beneath one of the oak trees, laughing.
A few people wearing scrubs walked into the building using a side entrance. He watched them swipe a card and enter, the door slamming shut behind them. That’s it. If he could gain access to one of their cards, he could get in without drawing too much attention to himself.
It would never work. What was he supposed to do, beat up some poor old doctor and steal their ID card? He almost laughed out loud. This is ridiculous. I’m trying to break in to a hospital.
He knew he couldn’t pull that off — he was a park ranger.
Instead, he opened the car door and walked purposefully toward the entrance. If the government suits were, in fact, watching him from their recon vehicles, he needed to look like a visitor. He walked up to the front entrance and opened one of the doors.
“Good evening, sir,” a young man at the front desk called out. “How may I help you?”
He panicked. What do I do? His thoughts became mush. “Uh, hi, yes. I’m here to see someone I, uh, know.”
The man’s smile faded a little. “Okay, sure. Visiting hours are actually over, but —”
“That’s okay, thanks anyway.” Ben was starting to sweat. He turned quickly and walked back toward the front door. You fool.
As he neared the exit, he stole a quick glance over his shoulder. The receptionist was on the phone, hunched over his workstation. A few other nurses and doctors walked across the expansive lobby, but none seemed to notice him. He saw a skinny door against the wall, wallpapered to look like the lobby’s striped two-tone wall, and he reached for the knob.
It twisted fully, and he pushed it open. He closed the door behind him and looked around. A small orange bulb hanging from the ceiling illuminated the room enough to give him what he needed: it was a small janitorial closet, filled with mop buckets, brooms, and cleaning chemicals. He found an upside down five-gallon bucket against the wall. Sitting down on it, he recapped his plan.
There wasn’t much to recap: enter lobby, find a place to hide.
Wait.
Wait for what?
He had no idea. He knew he needed to see Julie, to make sure she was okay, but he was in over his head. He was a large, lumbering park ranger, not a spry little covert operative.
He waited for a few minutes, trying to gauge the activity outside his little closet. He couldn’t hear much. Footsteps here and there, telling him nothing other than the general location of the person on the other side of the door.
Another five minutes passed, and he heard footsteps again making their way past his closet.
No, they’re not moving past.
They were moving toward him.
Ben waited, praying the footsteps would recede into the distance.
The footsteps stopped. Someone was directly outside the door now.
Please go away.
The handle turned, and he reached for something — anything — to use as a weapon. There was nothing but a bucket of mops sitting within arm’s reach. He grabbed one and untwisted the handle from its base.
A second later, the door slid open. Light pierced the dim room.
Ben raised the mop handle, wincing.
A man’s frame was silhouetted in the doorway, but he didn’t step into the room.
“You must be Harvey Bennett. Ben, I believe?”
35
“WHO ARE YOU?” BEN ASKED. “How do you know my name?”
The man took a step forward, and Ben raised the mop handle higher.
The man raised a hand. “Woah, there, son. I’m not going to hurt you.” He paused, taking another step into the closet. He looked at the mop handle. “Works better than you might think, too.”
Ben frowned but didn’t release his grip on the weapon.
The man was now fully in the room, and the light from the lobby was enough to give Ben some idea of who had entered.
A janitor.
Dressed in crisp blue overalls and a matching blue cap, the man was older than Ben, but about as tall and built similarly. Wisps of whitish hair fell from around the cap, and Ben could see he was smiling.
An ironed-on name badge stared back at Ben from the man’s chest pocket.
Roger.
“You— you’re a janitor?” Ben asked.
The man nodded. “We prefer ‘sanitation engineer,’ but yeah, janitor works too.”
“How do you know who I am?” he asked again.
“I saw you run in here after your harrowing encounter with Junior.”
Junior must be the kid from the front desk.
“That still doesn’t explain how you know who I am.”
