"Excuse me, sir," said a voice.
Hyde's hood shifted. The others turned to see Wizard; her eyes were locked on the Biter, but she contained her shock. Borland took a second to admire the dark-skinned beauty's trim figure in the squad jumper. Her long raven black hair was tied back in a ponytail. She wore a headset that trailed wires to a portable communications tablet that hung under her breasts from a shoulder strap. Lights flickered on the touch-screen.
"Wizard?" Aggie asked, her face grim.
"Another 911 call, ma'am." She flipped the tablet up to read the LCD: "Cal Lincoln of 284 Falcon Ave. says his wife, Georgia, did not come home from an eBook club meeting last night at a Margaret Carr's residence. He slept through and a call to Carr's house this morning said Mrs. Lincoln left at 10 p.m. with another member, Bonnie Abbot, who dropped her off. Abbot said Mrs. Lincoln got out of her car at the end of the block by the Parkerville Collegiate High School. Mrs. Lincoln has not been seen since. Mr. Lincoln has asked neighbors along the block. No sign of her." Wizard paused. "I told him to stay put, an investigator was on the way."
"I know Cal Lincoln. Falcon Ave is just off the old main street. The Lincolns live at the end of the block opposite the high school," Marley said, stroking his chin; his eyes straying to the Biter."
Hyde was already moving, rolling his chair over to a set of long tables that had been arranged beside T-1. Big flat-screens and interfaced handheld devices were set out.
Borland started after him, and a glance from Aggie said she almost dismissed the squad that was following them. She had instinctively belayed the order.
They needed to know what they were getting into.
Borland reached out, tapped Zombie on the chest and gestured to T-2. "Go wake up your sisters." Zombie paused a second before understanding the inference. He hurried to get Mofo and Beachboy.
By the time the squad formed behind Hyde, he'd already pulled up a map of Parkerville on a big flat-screen. His hood hung out over the table as his scarred fingers tapped a touch-screen keyboard. He scrolled around on the map until it showed the grid of streets in yellow and graduated red lines marking topographic features.
"This is Falcon Avenue, Sheriff?" He pointed a finger at the screen. Borland noticed everyone's attention snap to exposed scars and pulsing veins on Hyde's skinless forearm.
Marley leaned in and nodded his assent.
"And this contourÖ" Hyde ran a finger along a narrow channel where red topographic lines converged on the landscape. "That's a ravine."
"Yeah," Marley said, leaning in and swinging his finger left and right. "It runs east and west through town just north of Main Street. The old homes on these four blocks back onto it." He watched as Hyde zoomed out of the image with a swipe of his fingers.
Borland and Aggie groaned. Spiko's breath caught in his throat.
The ravine meandered from the highway on the northwest edge of town, all the way through to a broad expanse of property labeled 'Ridgeway Memorial Park.' A circle of homes butted up against the parkland. Marley's finger followed the ravine. "Goes all the way to Ridgeway Heights-a Gater community. There's a little stream that runs through it in the spring. Otherwise, there's just a series of culverts that dumps rainwater from the streets into it. When the Gaters came the old downtown's sewers were redirected."
"Ridgeway HeightsÖ" Hyde repeated the name, his hood dipped; he picked at a scarred palm.
"Captain Borland, it's your lucky day," Aggie said, glancing up as Beachboy and Mofo approached. They were gray-skinned but looked determined to redeem themselves. "You and your team get a second chance." She addressed the gathered squad. "I want Lazlo and Spiko to each select a pair of baggies to form their own teams. All of you in civvies-but bring your bag-suits with you. Take a van and follow Borland. I want you to scour the area around Falcon Avenue. Check that ravine-probably the hotlink." She cleared her throat. "I want digital snaps and real-time video uploaded to Wizard." Aggie's face tightened. "Cutter will take a van to pick up Dancer and Chopper. The rest of us will prep the transports."
"What am I supposed to do?" Marley started. "This is my town."
"You've got calls to make." Then Aggie pointed at the map on the flat-screen, and the red contour lines looping all over its surface. "And I want you to tell these baggies everything you know about this town and that ravine."
CHAPTER 47
"Why aren't we being punished?" Beachboy was behind the wheel of the sedan as they pulled to a stop in front of 284 Falcon Avenue. "I think I'm still drunk."
"You'll get used to it." Borland laughed beside him.
"Crankenstein?" Mofo drawled from the backseat. He was coming around quickly. They'd all taken amphetamines offered 'this one time' by the baggie med-tech Mao and were working on a large thermos of coffee. It gave them enough energy to work through their hangovers. Borland was still seeking a truce with the booze, and had topped up his flask from the bottle under the seat.
He hadn't tasted it yet.
"You heard that?" Borland chuckled.
"None of you were whispering," Mofo said.
"Crankenstein," Borland snarled, felt an anxious twinge in his chest, "from back in the day. We were all cranked one time after flushing out an orphanage that had a Biter nest under it, and we were about eight hours in doing crack, meth and whiskey. It was a bad one. Most of the Biters were kids." His guts twisted. He could still smell vomit. God they screamed. "So, I upended a 40 of whiskey and dropped about 20 ounces on top of everything else. Something happened and I blacked out, staggered around, thenÖI died." He laughed, rolling down his window as Lazlo slowed the van beside them.
"My heart stopped," he said, Beachboy's eyes were disbelieving. Mofo chuckled. "They tried CPR, and nothingÖthen the baggies carried me to a car to drive me to the hospital and they dropped me," Borland looked out the window at Lazlo and smiled before turning back to Beachboy. "I bounced off a chair; I figure the impact restarted my heart."
Mofo whistled.
"Lazlo," Borland growled out the window. "Drop Spiko's team at the end of the block near the high school. The ravine goes along the edge of the grounds." He zipped his jacket. "Take your team to the highway. The ravine goes under it through a culvert. You work back toward us. Spiko goes toward you, and we'll follow the ravine after we talk to Mr. Lincoln."
Lazlo grunted.
"You know what to look for," Borland said and rolled up his window. The van drove off.
"I still don't know why we're on duty." Beachboy shook his head.
"Two thingsÖ" Borland opened the door, got out and then lectured Beachboy and Mofo over the roof of the car. "Aggie knows the best soldier is one who's trying to redeem himself. He's desperate to please."
Mofo nodded. Beachboy seemed to get it too.
"And you send a desperate soldier like that to probe the enemy. If he can't redeem himself, he'll never be any good to you anyway. So he's expendable." Borland growled and then couldn't resist a laugh. "You've seen one Biter on the hunt." He pulled out his .38 and held it up dramatically. "Wait til you see 20 of the bastards coming at you. You better redeem yourselves then."
"Jesus," Mofo and Beachboy said in unison. They checked their weapons before slipping them away.
"I'll talk to Mr. Lincoln," Borland climbed up the concrete steps to a sidewalk that crossed a dark green lawn. "You two go around the house and start sending video of that gully to Wizard."
Mofo and Beachboy nodded and checked the vid-coms clipped to their ears before slipping up either side of the house, the younger man on the right.
Borland stumped across the sidewalk, his breath coming in short gasps. It was one thing to talk big in front of young men; it was another to actually live up to the bravado. He needed rest. The pep pills helped, but they upset his stomach and that aggravated his hernias. Still, he amazed himself sometimes. A short week ago he was a retired squad captain one bad night away from a heart attack. His life had turned into a long gray line of loss and contempt.
The front door opened in a white enameled frame. That sat in a red brick home that must have been pushing 80. The whole place looked nice. The gardens were groomed, the lawn manicured-a factory worker's fairy tale.
A worried-looking man stepped out of the shadow. He was about 50, in pretty good shape even if his gut was a tad paunchy. The set of his shoulders suggested he worked out.
"Mr. Lincoln," Borland said, studying the man's stubbled cheeks. "I'm Captain Borland."
"You're the investigator?" Lincoln's voice was gravelly, deep but worn. "Where's Sheriff Marley?"
"He's busy." Borland braced his bulk on heavy legs. "I'm here with a couple other officers. They're out back looking around."
"Why would they look out back? Georgia wouldn't be out backÖ" The man's dark eyes glittered with desperation. "She's a creature of habit."
"I hear you," Borland said and sighed. "Look, have you got a picture of her?"
"Sure," Lincoln turned in the doorway and opened an album laid out on the table in the hall. He fished one out and returned to the door. He was expecting the request. "Aren't you going to ask me if I think she's having an affair? If we're getting along or if we had a fight?"
"Oh, yeah." Borland nodded and took the picture. She was a nice enough looking broad, though the wrinkles in her face said her dark brown hair came out of a bottle. "Were you getting along?"
"Yes," Lincoln said, his eyes studying Borland intensely. "Are you all right?"
"What do you mean?" Borland glanced over as he slipped the photo into a jacket pocket.
"You're perspiring heavily and you seem to be gasping for breathÖ" Lincoln's eyebrows dropped. "Can I see some identification?"
"SureÖ" Borland dug into his back pocket and took out his fake military ID. While Lincoln studied it, Borland caught something out of the corner of his left eye. It was Mofo, down the block about five houses in the direction opposite to where he was supposed to be going. He was talking to a short man dressed in green and brown-had a military look to him. Borland could only see the little guy's back. He wore a hunting cap and he had a tiny dog on a leash-a puny monkey dog that people bought when they didn't want any more kids but wanted something.
They were talking, and Mofo's body language suggested he was excited.
"Captain!" Lincoln said.
Borland snapped out of it. Too much booze, not enough rest. He was sleepwalking.
"I guess that looks official." Lincoln handed him the identity card. "If you're from the base, maybe you can tell me why the main roads are blocked."
"Classified." Borland slipped his ID away then looked up at Lincoln. "Just stay in your home and wait for your wife. We'll call the second we learn anything."
"Well, something's wrong. I can feel it." Lincoln shook his head and shut the door.
Borland looked down the block, but there was no sign of Mofo, the guy in green or the little dog. He shrugged and crossed the damp grass to the right corner of the house. As he turned it, he immediately noticed the tall line of trees that bordered the rear of the property at the far side of a deep broad lawn.
Beachboy was there at the edge of the ravine, kneeling and looking at something. The gully was a big dark question behind him.
Borland stomped across the grass, pausing halfway to upend his flask for a drink. His guts jumped, but solidified around the taste and he took another bracer before slipping it away.
Beachboy stood up when Borland came to a halt beside him.
"There are tracks of some kind in the loose dirt." Beachboy pointed to where the lawn stopped along a broken edge of dark earth. "Like something came up or went down."
Borland was just about to growl that the overnight rain had fouled up the marks when a gunshot echoed up from the ravine.
CHAPTER 48
Hyde was entering his notes through the keypad on a laptop. His brain interpreted the dull pressure sensed by the scarred fingertips as touch. His traumatized body did what it could with what was left and he welcomed any neural input that was not pain. So, he reveled in registered pressure and welcomed numbness otherwise. Pleasurable sensations came to him when he slept, but the dreams were phantoms of a life that was, of a man who had died.
The information Hyde typed, the notes, would be sent wirelessly to his equipment in the Horton, and he imagined, copied by Wizard and sent on to Brass for evaluation and archiving. It didn't matter. He had been completely exposed to Brass since day one as information went. At least now he knew about it, and could protect himself by slanting recorded data to suit. Brass could not access what he kept inside his skull. That bony helmet was the only piece of natural covering left Hyde that provided any privacy.
And he utilized the shelter to its fullest.
Hyde had talked to Mrs. Morrison about her husband's behavior before his disappearance, but there was nothing suspicious. Scott was an investment planner who ran a satellite office in their home for a company out of Metro. One evening he said he was going for milk and a newspaper and she never saw him again.
That was five days before he turned up as a Biter in Metro. Marley had issued a query to the Metro police, but those wheels had barely started turning. When adult males past the age of 30 go missing, it takes a long time for foul play to be suspected.
If he had been having an affair, his sudden absence might have suggested an elopement but there were no signs indicating any exit strategy. Leaving with only the clothes on his back did not fit, especially considering his apparently positive relationship to his wife. He had no need to run away without preparation.
So where was he for five days before turning up in Metro?
The fire crew had already ziplocked the Morrison house and was awaiting the go-ahead for the burn. Things were happening too fast for the Sneak to properly investigate the property, and everyone was waiting for Brass to start issuing burn orders. Hyde wanted to look through Morrison's possessions for clues, but now that they had found 'Biters' the nuances of the investigation were starting to look irrelevant, regardless of how crucial they might be.
This is how it got away from us before. The squads were a reaction back in the day. No excuse this time. We know what it is and must be patient.
Mrs. Morrison was terrified, but her behaviors fit the normal range for a human under pressure. Hyde was fairly certain she had not been affected. He checked himself. She wasn't a Biter. There was a myriad of other ways Variant could still present.
Cavalle was waiting by the communications equipment laid out on the table beside T-1 exchanging views with Aggie. Wizard told them that HQ was conferring with federal officials and would be in touch within the hour. Aggie had sent the baggies off on duties around the makeshift stationhouse, some necessary and some make-work. Hyde knew she didn't want the recruits to have too much time to think.
They'd all seen the elephant at its worst, and to dwell on it was to waste fear better employed in fighting it.
After sending out the warning message to all Parkerville resident homes and palm-coms, the Sheriff had tried the direct line to his office answering machine again.
Steven Meyers reported his father, Hans, had not come home from a few drinks at the Olympus tavern the night before. Steven went down to look for him and was told that Hans left at 3 a.m.
Marley explained Hans Meyers was a habitual drunk and those calls were a weekly affair. The Sheriff said the Meyers lived on Cayuga Street. The houses there also butted up against the ravine.
The Sheriff then relayed a recorded message from the Dean of Metro College. A Social History class had toured the Parkerville military base and town the previous Saturday. Parkerville had played a significant role during the day as a safe-haven. Often forgotten in the 3-D histories was the fact that Parkerville opened its doors to people from Metro when the Variant Effect was at its worst. The dean had called that afternoon wondering if any of their
students had stayed behind. Five of them failed to return to classes Monday and their dorm mates hadn't seen them since the trip. Nobody remembered them being on the train home.
But you know college age kids.
"Complacent foolsÖ" Hyde grumbled to himself as he steadied the laptop against his leg braces and wheeled over to the operating theatre set up behind privacy screens some 20 feet to the left of Mrs. Morrison's enclosure. This third 'cell' was sealed but did not require more than biohazard protections. Hyde watched Mao through the clear vinyl wall. The baggie's features were further obscured by the bag that covered him from head to toe.
"Mao, you must recover as much brain tissue as possible," Hyde rasped. He knew that Borland and his team had destroyed the dead Biter's skull with gunfire.
"Yes, Captain," Mao said without looking up. "I'm working from the Variant Pathologies Protocol manual."
They needed brain tissue to test for the Variant type. How the Varion molecules worked on the amygdaloid region of the brain would tell them if something wasÖ
"Brass is on the line, Captain Hyde," Aggie called.
He turned to see Brass' broad face on the flat-screen peering out between Aggie and Cavalle.
Hyde nodded, turned his chair and wheeled himself over.
As he came to a halt he kept his head low, peeking out past his hood. He could see that Brass shifted left and right, hoping to catch his eye on the 3-D uplink. Hyde knew that great communicators and conmen needed to see the eye to work their magic. In Hyde's case, his self-confidence came from his isolation. Exposed, he was, he wasÖ
"Captain Hyde," Brass' eyes shifted right to left. "Captain Dambe. Dr. Cavalle. We appreciate the fine work you're doing."
Cavalle said something positive and team-oriented. She was still young enough to believe in the cause.
"We've gone over the preliminary reports and we're looking forward to seeing the test results, but we're in agreement here that in all likelihood this is the Variant Effect in Parkerville." Brass' voice trembled slightly over that last part. Hyde felt his own shoulders droop in a little.
So that's all there is to it. One day it's over, the next day it isn't.
The Variant Effect Page 15
