Warehouse 13: A Touch of Fever

by Greg Cox

  “What is it?” he asked. “What’s happening?”

  He was better off not knowing. “Go!” she ordered. He had done enough already. He didn’t need to risk getting infected by Worrall too. “Get out of here, while you still can!”

  The boy hesitated, until he saw the antique ray gun in Myka’s grip. That was enough to convince him that he was in way over his head. He wisely bolted from the scene, joining the fear-crazed exodus around them. Myka watched for a second, to make sure he got away safely, but quickly lost sight of him in the crowd. She hoped he’d be okay.

  Even though nobody was really safe as long as Clara Barton’s gloves were causing havoc.

  I need to do something about that.

  The commotion roused Pete from his delirium. He sagged against her, gripping his cane.

  “Hey,” he wheezed “Remember that time a job went easier than we expected?”

  “No,” Myka replied.

  “Yeah, me neither.”

  CHAPTER

  21

  EN ROUTE

  Ten thousand feet above the eastern half of the United States, the scarlet triplane flew toward New York at speeds unimaginable to the flying aces of the First World War. In theory, a Fokker DR-1 could achieve only 115 miles per hour tops, but the Red Baron’s fabled fighter wasn’t any ordinary triplane, at least not anymore. Fierce winds buffeted Claudia’s face and goggles, forcing her to bury her face against Artie’s back. Her scarf came loose and went flying off into the sky.

  She considered stealing Artie’s.

  The Fokker’s flimsy wood-and-canvas construction rattled alarmingly. Its whirring propeller spun too fast to be seen. Scorched and shredded wings still bore the scars of the plane’s heated dogfight with the predatory thunderbird. Artifacts tended to be supernaturally durable, Claudia reminded herself, but she couldn’t help wondering if they were pushing the old warbird too hard. What if the primitive aircraft came apart under the strain?

  “Maybe you should ease up on the throttle?”

  “Huh?” Artie’s hands clutched the stick, working it like a pro. Or, more likely, the stick was working him. “What did you say?”

  She shouted above the wind and engine. Her teeth chattered. “You think you should slow down?”

  “No time,” he barked. “The psychic fair has started, Pete’s sick, the gloves are in play, and Myka needs backup, ASAP. We may already be too late!”

  “Well, when you put it that way. . . .” She resigned herself to a bumpy ride. “Explain to me again: How exactly are we getting this old bird to go jet speed?”

  “I’ve souped up its engine over the years,” he divulged, “using parts salvaged from one of Robert Goddard’s experimental rockets.” Goddard, a pioneering inventor, had been the father of modern rocketry. Flames shot from the Fokker’s exhaust pipe. A sudden burst of acceleration pressed Claudia against the back of the cockpit. “I always thought it might come in handy someday!”

  “And that’s safe?”

  “In theory,” Artie said, less authoritatively than she would have liked. “This is the Red Baron’s triplane. It’s never crashed before!”

  There’s always a first time, Claudia mused, but kept the thought to herself. “Tell that to Snoopy.”

  The New York skyline appeared on the horizon. Claudia glimpsed the shamelessly phallic outline of the Empire State Building. No giant gorillas were in evidence, thank goodness. Triplane or not, she didn’t feel like re-enacting the last act of King Kong. That bloodthirsty totem pole had been enough for one day. Plus, they still had those darn gloves to deal with.

  “Look for someplace to land,” Artie shouted. “Preferably out of the way. . . .”

  She scanned the terrain below, searching for an empty field, a deserted parking lot, or the grounds of an abandoned factory. The view gave her vertigo. It was a long way down. “You do know how to land this thing, right?”

  “No,” he admitted. “But hopefully the plane does.”

  A sonic boom rattled New Jersey.

  CENTRAL PARK

  “Gather round, everyone. Sister Clara will be ready again in a moment.”

  Jim addressed the crowd while Nadia gathered her strength. Their “stage” consisted of a used Persian carpet they had rolled out atop the lawn. A red velvet sheet was draped over an aluminum lawn chair at the center of the rug, giving her someplace to rest between shows. Sessions, she corrected herself. A sturdy red box was set up in front of a microphone facing the audience. Twin poles, driven into the ground, supported a hand-painted white backdrop bearing a large red cross in honor of Clara Barton. Nadia had been reading up on the legendary nurse ever since those Secret Service agents had mentioned her back in Fairfield. She had felt an immediate kinship, a sense of connection, to Clara Barton, who had been everything Nadia wanted to become. She didn’t understand how it was possible, but she felt convinced now that her healing gifts came from Clara. Had the miraculous glove once belonged to the real Clara Barton? In her heart, Nadia knew it had to be so.

  I need to live up to her example, she thought. Even if it kills me.

  A starched white nurse’s uniform, several decades out of fashion, served as her latest costume. A blond wig helped to disguise her identity, or so she hoped. Jim had wanted her to lay low for a while, after that close call outside the gymnasium, but she had found her calling; she couldn’t turn away from it if she tried. There were too many sick and injured people in the world, waiting to be healed. The moment she’d heard about this fair, she’d known it was where she belonged, no matter what. Where else could so many needy souls be able to find her, especially now that she was afraid to advertise online? It hadn’t been easy, but grateful supporters and benefactors had worked their connections to get her booked into the fair at the last minute, albeit under an assumed name.

  She couldn’t disappoint them.

  Despite their rudimentary setup, which had been thrown together on the run, a growing crowd surrounded the carpet, waiting for her to begin again. Hushed voices murmured excitedly about the miracles they had already seen “Sister Clara” perform. Curious skeptics waited to be convinced. After initially drawing only a handful of spectators, the throng had grown until it stretched across a large portion of the busy meadow, cannibalizing the audiences outside neighboring booths and stages. There were hundreds of people, maybe even a thousand, waiting for her now. The most eager and hopeful jostled to get to the front of the crowd, but no fights had broken out, she was glad to see. Everybody seemed to be behaving so far, although, in the future, she would probably have to think seriously about arranging for crowd control. The sheer size of the mob was more than a little intimidating. Could she really heal so many people in one day? Was it even safe to try?

  Jim seemed to read her mind.

  “You’re already looking wasted,” he whispered. “Maybe you should call it a day?”

  She shook her head. “No way.”

  To be honest, she was seriously exhausted, but Jim didn’t need to know that. Clara Barton had risked her life to help wounded soldiers on the battlefield. She had spent her entire life doing good.

  How can I do less?

  She sipped an energy drink to keep going. Maybe it would help.

  “Don’t be crazy.” Jim kept his voice low, but there was no mistaking how worried he was. “You’ve done enough for today.”

  He was wasting his breath. She hated to put him through this, but it wasn’t his decision.

  “We’ve talked about this before. I have to do this. The glove chose me.” She scratched at her right palm, which was starting to itch again. “If you really love me, you’ll accept that.”

  “You know I love you. That’s why I don’t want to lose you.”

  She didn’t doubt it. “I love you too. But this is what I was born to do.” She finished off the energy drink and handed him the empty aluminum can. “I wish you could understand that.”

  “All right,” he grumbled. His fist crushed the can with more fo
rce than was necessary. Scowling, he scanned the hopeful horde awaiting her. “But if I catch even a glimpse of those Feds, or that creepy bald dude, we’re out of here, okay?”

  “We’ll see.”

  Nervous fingers checked to make sure her wig was still in place. She didn’t want to get ambushed again, either, but that had been hundreds of miles from here, in a whole other state. There was no way those Secret Service types could find them here, was there? Amidst all these thousands of people? I didn’t even know I was going to be here until a few days ago.

  “‘We’ll see’?” Jim echoed unhappily. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She searched the crowd herself, but didn’t spot either the agents or the sinister intruder who had accosted them. All she saw was a legion of pilgrims longing to be healed by her gift. Hundreds of expectant faces and fragile, fallible bodies called out to the glove, called out to her. She couldn’t keep them waiting any longer.

  “Shush,” she told Jim, raising a gloved finger to her lips. Before he could object once more, she rose to her feet. A wave of dizziness washed over her, and her legs threatened to give out, but she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and the moment passed. She still felt feverish and light-headed, yet she thought she could manage, at least for a little while longer. After that . . . well, maybe Jim had a point.

  Just one more healing session, she promised herself, then I’ll get some rest.

  Maybe.

  Stepping away from the chair, she walked slowly toward the audience. Jim helped her up onto the box so that the people in the back could see her. She took the mike from its stand and, with her left hand, held it to her lips. Her amplified voice rang out over the meadow.

  “Thank you for your patience,” she began, “and for joining us at this wonderful celebration of spirituality and the healing arts.” Her voice was a little shaky at first, but grew stronger as she felt a familiar compulsion grip her. “I look forward to sharing my gift with all who need it.”

  The susurrus of hundreds of individual conversations fell silent. The crowd surged forward in anticipation, and for a terrifying moment she feared that she might be swept away by a tidal wave of suffering humanity, but she held up her hand like a traffic cop and the tsunami receded. The crowd halted at the edge of the carpet, hanging on her every word. Anxious parents thrust their children forward. Senior citizens were supported by younger, more able-bodied relatives. A young woman in a wheelchair waved her arm, desperate to be heard. A chorus of voices competed for her attention.

  “Help me, please!”

  “Are you for real? This isn’t just an act?”

  “Me first! Me first!”

  She couldn’t begin to count them all. Healing each of them individually would take forever.

  Thankfully, that wasn’t necessary anymore.

  “Don’t worry,” she assured them. “There’s no need to push ahead. No one is going to miss out, not even those of you way in the back.” She perched on her tiptoes in hopes that all could see her. A sea of heads bobbed before her. “Just a word of warning before we begin. Some of you, those most in need of healing, with the most dire afflictions, may experience a momentary shock. You might even faint. So be prepared and look out for each other. I promise, it’s just a temporary side effect. You’ll all feel amazingly better afterwards.”

  She waited a moment or so to see if anyone wanted to change their mind about experiencing her gift, but nobody looked like they wanted to leave. If anything, the crowd seemed to be expanding by the minute. Nadia was deeply moved by their trust. She couldn’t wait to get started again.

  “All right,” she declared. “Brace yourselves.”

  Without any further preliminaries, she raised her right hand in benediction. The audience gasped as a phosphorescent blue glow emanated from the glove. Nadia’s stomach turned over queasily, but she couldn’t stop now if she wanted to. Her gift was growing stronger. She didn’t need to touch people one by one anymore. She just had to let the healing power of the glove flow out of her.

  “Fear not! Let the light bathe you—and banish all your afflictions!”

  Sparking azure beams radiated outward, spreading over the crowd like a laser light display. The audience oohed and aahed before succumbing to its restorative effect. People swooned throughout the crowd, often sagging into the arms of friends and loved ones. Not everyone collapsed, however. Others merely moaned or sighed as minor aches and pains were washed away by the unearthly effulgence. Mere spectators, drawn only by curiosity or ailing companions, gaped in wonder. There was a smattering of applause. A few overwhelmed people sobbed in joy.

  Don’t thank me, Nadia thought. Thank Clara’s glove!

  She basked in the moment. An overpowering sense of exhilaration allowed her to ignore the nausea churning in her belly. She swayed atop her makeshift podium, a dreamy expression on her face, as she held her right hand aloft. The azure light grew brighter and brighter, outshining the sun. All her doubts dissolved into the light. Forget the glove’s occasionally unpleasant side effects: this was the greatest moment in her life. She could die happy now . . . if she had to.

  Jim came up beside her, ready to catch her if she slipped.

  “New York City, babe,” he whispered proudly. She could tell he was making an effort to overcome his fears long enough to share this moment with her. “You’ve hit the big time.”

  Spoken like a born showman. She smiled indulgently. You can take the boy out of the sideshow, but you can’t take—

  A disturbance in the distance cut off her thought. There seemed to be something going on at the rear of the crowd, several yards away from the stage. Agitated shouts and exclamations reached her ears, contrasting sharply with the grateful sighs of the people nearer the front. People started racing madly away on the outskirts of the mob. They looked scared.

  I don’t understand, Nadia thought. What’s happening?

  She peered over the heads of the swooning pilgrims, but there were too many people in the way. She couldn’t make out what the problem was. Had somebody had a scary reaction to the light? People often collapsed after being healed, but they had always recovered quickly before, and without any lingering effects. Maybe someone was just panicking prematurely?

  “It will be all right,” she called out in a calming tone. “If anybody’s feeling faint, just give them air. There’s nothing to be afraid of, I promise.”

  But the cries grew louder and more frightened, like something was seriously wrong. The commotion was impossible to ignore. The rest of the audience started looking around anxiously. Jim tugged on her arm.

  “Screw it!” he blurted. “I knew this was a bad idea. We need to get out of here!”

  “I can’t!” Nadia resisted his pull. “These people trusted me. I can’t just leave them!”

  The glowing glove flickered, then flared up even more brightly than before. Her palm itched like crazy. She fought an urge to scratch it. Her heart was pounding and her legs felt like rubber. She wiped her brow with her free hand.

  Had this ever happened to Clara?

  The crowd parted before her, starting at the outer fringes but working its way toward the front. People started collapsing down the middle of the audience while the folks at the sides ran away in fear, forming a wedge-shaped gap pointed at the stage. Terrified men and women trampled over each other in their haste to escape. A wheelchair was knocked over, spilling a young paraplegic woman onto the grass. Newly healed, she sprang to her feet and joined the frantic exodus. A desperate father clutched a crying toddler to his chest as he shoved and shouted his way past the panicked people blocking his path. Right behind him, a family of four dropped to the ground in unison. They hadn’t gotten away quickly enough.