Alien Infection

by Darrell Bain

  It was morning. Mona was sitting in the little den, reading a Dallas paper. She looked up when she heard my footsteps.

  "Hi. Welcome back to the world."

  "Thanks,” I said. “Is that coffee I smell?"

  "Just made it. Sit down and I'll get you some. How do you take it?"

  "Just coffee, but you can put it in a big cup if you like."

  "I can manage that."

  I seated myself on the couch. She brought my coffee and a cup for herself, then sat down on the other end of it. For several moments neither of us said a word. Frankly, I wasn't sure what either of us should say. Should I apologize to her for giving her a disease that damn near killed her? Should she thank me for saving her life during the illness? I was still pondering when she broke the silence.

  "I guess I owe you a bit of an explanation, huh?"

  I was itching to know more about her but didn't intend to push. Her past was her own business. “Whatever you feel like telling. I should be asking your forgiveness for getting you into this mess though. I'll leave if you like."

  "No."

  I was pleased that she didn't hesitate.

  "I let the past take care of itself,” she said. “There's never any sense in wishing for what could have been. I know you're probably thinking I'm some nefarious character on the run from the law, though. Right?"

  "Well, an alias—and dealing in identity forgery. Yeah, it gives the impression.” I tempered my words with a grin. “I'm not complaining, though. You provided what I was after, and at a reasonable charge."

  Mona shrugged. She was wearing jeans and a pullover. The shrug practically begged me to notice that she hadn't bothered with a bra. I looked back down at my coffee cup, not wanting to stare.

  "So now what?” She asked.

  I returned the shrug. “I'm fresh out of ideas, other than getting a long way away from Dallas."

  "From what you told me, I don't blame you. Look Mike, I know what you must think, but I'm not a bad person, not really."

  "You don't have to explain."

  "I know, but I want to since it appears that we're both in the same fix. You see, it's not really the law I'm running from. It's some very bad people in New York that my husband got mixed up with. He was in finance and talked them into investing a lot of money in a fund to keep his own thefts from showing. He was a compulsive gambler and got in way, way over his head. He sweet-talked me into putting my name on a bunch of documents that showed I was CEO of companies that I found out later didn't exist. Hell, I didn't know any better; I was in love with the jerk and he fooled me for years.” Tears began trickling down her cheeks.

  "You don't have to go on,” I told her.

  "Let me finish.” She brushed at her face and continued. “The upshot was, his sleazy lawyer got him a quickie divorce and then he turned state evidence-on me. I got five years in prison. He went into the witness protection program, I think. That should have been the end of it, but it wasn't. Those gangsters in New York were waiting on me when I got out. The ones who served time because of his testimony were very angry. They also wanted their money back and they thought I might know where my ex was. Of course I had no idea where the bastard went and certainly didn't care. As for the money, I think I finally convinced them that I didn't have any of it."

  "So what was the problem?"

  Her lips pressed together in a grim line. “They expected me to pay them back. I was still very pretty back then, and for six months, I was raped and beaten and forced to serve them and their customers as a—a sex toy. Then one day they got careless. I was around one of the bosses when he had just gotten in a load of money to launder. I got him drunk, took the money and ran. I didn't really give a damn If they caught me or not; I just wanted an end to that life."

  I nodded sympathetically. “I don't blame you. And I suppose that's where the cash came from to buy this place?"

  "Yes. There's still a bit of it left, but not much. Right about then, I was diagnosed with Lupus. The treatment had to be paid for, but I couldn't use my own name for fear Tormanza-that's the big boss in New York—would track me down. But I had to have some identification to get treated; you know how hospitals and such are; you've worked in them. You have to have all kinds of ID and Social Security numbers and so forth. I had learned about the false identity business in prison. I made some contacts and got all the documentation I needed for treatment. This disease is expensive though, and it just goes on and on, especially with a really bad case like I have. I had to go to work, but again I couldn't use my name for fear of being traced.” She shrugged. “I already knew the ID business. One thing led to another and I wound up trolling for customers in Dallas five days a week."

  "That sure seems like a hard way to make it,” I said.

  "What would you have done, Mister Brandon?"

  I didn't answer for a moment, running her story through my mind. Finally I met her gaze. “Probably the same thing you did. Damn, you read about stories like yours but—"

  "But you've never crossed paths with someone who's actually lived it, huh?"

  "No. Other than the army, my life has been pretty tame. The most exciting thing that ever happened to me was an argument with my wife over how many books I would read instead of entertaining her."

  That got a chuckle from her. “I can relate to that.” She pointed to her bookcases but then she grew serious again. “So we're back to the original question. What now?"

  I rubbed my chin and ran both hands through my thinning hair then stared at them from force of habit. Usually there would be a few strands of gray or brown stuck to my palms but for a change they were clean. “This complicates things for both of us. You've got the mob after you and I've got Homeland Security after me and both of them want our hides for doormats. I think we had better move on, though I'll be damned if I know where, or what we would or should do somewhere else."

  "You don't think we'd be safe here? I was careful with my new name."

  I sighed. “If it was just the Mob or Mafia or whoever those people you were involved with are, I'd say we probably were, or at least you probably would be. But Homeland Security has all the resources of the government to call on and they've already shown me they will stop at nothing to find me. And I don't want to even think what will happen if they do."

  Mona got up to refill our coffee cups. Now that I could look at her in daylight, standing, without other immediate worries distracting my attention, I could see that she was smaller than I had thought, probably not much more than a couple of inches over five feet. I had already seen her breasts; they were more than ample. Her backside left nothing to complain about either. Suddenly I remembered the disparity in our ages. I was at least twenty five years older than her, maybe more. I shook my head to get my thoughts back where they belonged. Hell, old as I was, she wouldn't give me a second thought so far as sex was concerned.

  Mona brought our coffee back and sat down again. She crossed her legs and leaned back. She tilted her head back, as if reflecting on our conversation. She spoke toward the ceiling. “You don't seem overly disgusted at my past. Why not?"

  I had to think about that one, but not for long. “Seems to me you've managed better than most people would have under the circumstances. Most women who went through what you have would have either turned hard and completely amoral, or just given up and gone with the flow. Or committed suicide. But even with the Lupus to put the icing on the cake, so to speak, you've kept trying. That speaks volumes for you."

  She nodded. “Thanks. I did get into dealing with stolen identities for a little while, but I couldn't live with it, thinking of all the misery it must be causing innocent people. Forged identities, on the other hand, are usually bought by people who want to work and can't, or in some cases, by those who want to stay here in the country with their families. You can say all you want to about illegal immigrants, but damn all, at least they're not scared to work."

  She was right on that score. For all the shouting by Homeland
Security, most illegal aliens were here because they wanted to better their status and care for their families. It was a subject that interested me ever since running into those types at hospitals where I've worked. Most of them won't come to an emergency room unless they're damn near dead for fear of being found out and sent back to Mexico, or wherever they came from.

  "Well, be as may, I think we'll be safe here for a few days anyway. And the Homeland Security guys have no idea you're infected. From the way they've acted so far, I think they believe the infection can only be passed through transfer of blood. As it stands, you might be better off without me.” I hated to say that; no one likes to be totally alone with dire problems, not even types like me who don't socialize much, but I felt obligated to point that out to her.

  Mona didn't hesitate. “I think we had better stick together. Suppose one or the other of us has another episode of sickness where we're helpless?"

  "Good thought, though I have to tell you I feel fine. In fact, I feel better than I did before catching this bug."

  "You look fine too. Maybe older people endure it better?"

  "That's not the way diseases generally work. The older you are, the harder your body has to work to combat them."

  "Yes I know that, but didn't you say this is like nothing you're ever seen?"

  I laughed. “What I saw under the microscope shouldn't even be possible. Forty five years in the business and nothing I've seen or even read about even remotely compares."

  "Did you say forty five?” She acted surprised.

  "Huh? Yeah, about that. I joined the army when I was eighteen, spent twenty years as a medic and lab tech and stayed with it after I retired."

  She mused. “That would put you in the sixties. You sure as hell don't look it."

  "Thanks.” I stretched. “I have to admit, I don't feel like it now either, though I sure as hell felt my age before I caught whatever the heck the bug is."

  "Something's funny. If it makes you feel better, why should Homeland Security get so agitated about it?"

  "I don't have a clue. All I can figure is that sooner or later there must be something else it does to you, something so bad they are willing to murder innocent citizens to keep it from spreading."

  "Is it like something that's been genetically engineered?"

  "Mona, I simply don't know. Whatever it is, it invades our blood cells. No, take that back. I suspect that's what it does, but it's possible it may be localized and just be producing some substance that's taken into the blood cells. There's also a possibility that the bug infects all the cells of the body but I'll have to have a microscope before I can say for sure, and may not be able to tell even then. It may infect some cells and not others.” I spread my hands. “All I can say for sure is that some government security agents are awfully damned upset about it."

  "Hmm. Know something? I feel better than I have for years myself; maybe it's working on my Lupus. Now why should they be so damned scared of this thing?"

  I got up and paced, the way I usually do when I'm running something through my mind that doesn't fit. “I've got another question, one I haven't really thought about since this whole thing began. Where did that first patient come from? He was obviously running from Homeland Security-or whoever those guys were, but from where? It's not like Lufkin is a big city."

  Mona didn't seem worried about that. “I think it's much more important to find out why he was running rather than from where. And I would certainly love to know what the final effects of this bug is going to be. Is it going to eventually kill us or turn us into a Hobbit or what?"

  I laughed. “A Hobbit! I like that. Well, I did have some of that patient's blood at my apartment, but I guess it was confiscated when I got away. On the other hand, all I need is some vacutainers and I could draw some from us, then find a lab to analyze it better than I can."

  Mona looked pensive for a moment, then brightened. “If we can stay here for a few more days, that shouldn't be a problem. I've got some contacts."

  "I have too, but none I could trust with something like this. No, wait-I do know one person. He may or may not be able to help. It depends on how he's feeling."

  "What's wrong with him?"

  "He has cancer. He's been fighting it for years.” I hesitated, then said “You'll have to be the one to contact him though. I'm afraid they might be watching anyone I've ever known well."

  "I don't mind. And while I'm thinking about it, your other clothes are all clean. I washed them while you were asleep."

  Suddenly I thought about my little Glock that I had left in my jacket. “Did you find—"

  "The Glock? Uh huh. Nice piece. Its twin lives in my bedside drawer."

  I was liking her more and more. “Why not your purse?"

  She sighed. “My record, remember? I can't carry a weapon any more. Suppose I were in an accident? It's bad enough having a record to begin with, but the penalties for an ex-felon carrying a weapon are just too much to risk."

  "If you know how to use it, I think I'd start carrying it now,” I said. “We're worrying about more than just you going back to jail."

  Mona mused for a moment, then nodded.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  James Shell was a very old friend from my time in the army, a retired pathologist I had worked with during one of the wars. Given the divide between officer and enlisted men, we had never socialized much while in the service, but we each respected the other's abilities and I had probably saved his life once during a suicide attack on our unit. At least he thought so, and maybe I had. At any rate, I had killed two of the attackers who were heading for his hooch. We had kept in contact and visited with each other on occasion. We still corresponded by email and phone calls. I thought back and decided he must be pushing eighty by now. I hoped he hadn't died since the last time we exchanged notes.

  Mona made the call, pretending to be a home health nurse after I coached her a bit. Sure enough, he was still alive and kicking, though from where I was listening on the other extension, he sounded very weak.

  We headed back to Dallas that evening. Mona checked us into a second rate motel near the same section of the city where we had met. It had an underground parking lot where we could leave the car. She also left me to sit and wait while she rounded up the phlebotomy supplies and a jacket and bag similar to what home health nurses were equipped with, as well as a disposable cell phone. It took her much less time than I had thought it would. While she was gone I used up several sheets of paper writing out all the details of the situation as I knew it so far, and urging Colonel Shell to practice the utmost secrecy; and to have whoever he farmed the work out to do the same. I also implored him to have the work done as quickly as possible, citing the murderous way Homeland Security was acting. And finally, I asked him to have the specimens destroyed when he was finished with them. When Mona got back, I wrote down the number of the cell phone and times for him to call, times I intended for us to be well away from Mona's place so that it couldn't be traced to there.

  After that I drew blood from Mona, then had her handle the tourniquet while I took my own blood. I tilted the tubes that had anticoagulant in them to be sure they were mixed and labeled them each with the fictitious names I had told the colonel we would be using. I also took a couple of cotton balls she had brought to thoroughly swab the inside of each of our cheeks until they were raw, then dropped the saturated cotton balls into one of the plastic glasses furnished by the hotel and rubberbanded the seal back over the top to keep them from drying out. It was the closest thing I could come to a cheek swab short of having a slide and applicator stick. I still couldn't remember how long it took the basal cells to work to the surface but I had been vigorous while obtaining the specimens. I figured I had gotten a ways below the surface cells that were in the process of sloughing off, so maybe it would show for certain whether the organism was invading all the cells of our bodies, as I strongly suspected it was.

  "I guess that's everything,” I said, munching on s
ome snack food Mona had brought along with the other supplies. “By the way, you make a nice looking nurse."

  She stuck her tongue out at me. “You may as well go on to bed if you're tired. It's a ways out to Shell's place and I may be a while. I want to convince him of exactly what he's getting into-and what we're already into. By the way, is he married?"

  "His wife died a few years ago. He lives alone."

  "Okay. See you later. Don't wait up.” She surprised me by kissing me before leaving. I watched from the front window as her car pulled away, wondering what it meant, if anything. Finally I decided it was just a friendly gesture and quit rubbing my lips. I hoped I could keep it at that. She certainly couldn't have any romantic notions about someone as old as me. On the other hand, she had taken a room with only one bed, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. We might not stay if she got back soon enough, or we might decide to stay in Dallas until we heard something. We really hadn't gotten that far yet. The room was just in case, and to give me a place to park while she ran the errands.

  * * * *

  I was sound asleep when Mona returned, laying on top of the bed covers with my boots off. Her touch woke me. I sat up and looked at my watch. It was past midnight.

  "How did it go?"

  "He's a nice old man, even if he is sick. He asked a lot of questions I couldn't answer, but even the way he feels, he was intrigued. He said to give him three days for some preliminary results and a week for anything that needs to be followed up."

  He would need the week, for sure, according to what I had seen. “He agreed to the secrecy, I hope?"

  She yawned. “Oh sure. He had some bad things to say about Homeland Security, but mostly he seemed to just be fascinated with the disease we have. If it is a disease. He said it might be a benign parasite of some sort, given that we're both feeling fine right now. Anyway, I'm tired. Let's stay here, okay?"