Repercussions (Wearing the Cape Book 8)

by Marion G. Harmon

  Now, with a light touch, Hope traced her husband’s features. She loved his more “mature” Yoshi face, with the thin mustache and fringe of dark beard with red tints that framed his strong jaw. She loved his deep, rumbly voice that went with it. She loved the warmth of his body.

  A glance at the clock on the nightstand told her it was early yet, and she pulled the sheets higher, enjoying the slide of smooth cotton over bare skin as well.

  I’ve become such a hedonist. And it had to end. She’d decided that last night in the chapel, and now her breath caught in her chest.

  “Roses, red and glowing . . .” she whispered, stroking his beautiful, silky hair, “among the thorns are growing. All the thorns I keep for me, all the roses are for thee. Roses, red and glowing . . .”

  Rich brown orbs slowly opened. “That’s a wonderful way to wake up. What is it?”

  She blinked wet eyes. “A Danish lullaby. Mom stole it.”

  “And why,” he reached up and captured her hand, “is my wife crying?”

  She hid her face in his shoulder.

  “Because I’m not your wife.”

  He went very still beneath her. “I distinctly remember the ceremony, Amai-chan. You were there.”

  Amai-chan. Sweet. A cute little delicious candy, his recent fond pet name for her. A tear ran along her nose to drop onto his smooth skin. She wiped it away and recited. “For a marriage to be valid, it must be a free and mutual contract between both parties.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I know. And I’ve tried to forget that.” She truly had. He loved her now, and she loved being loved, so she’d been weak and he’d almost died. For real, this time. Her throat closed and she forced herself to speak around the hard knot. “You didn’t have a choice. Not really. You told me. You’d guessed the rules to Kabukicho’s game, and you needed to propose an ‘honorable oath’ that I wouldn’t make.” She rolled her eyes. “Because I’m a western woman and arranged marriages are so unthinkably medieval. Practically slavery.” Sitting up she didn’t bother gathering the sheets about her. If she was going to be emotionally naked, her physical state was exactly appropriate.

  “And me! I had to win. And I thought you swearing service to someone—like some old-time knight or samurai—was the last thing a wild kitsune would do!” That stupid contest. Each of them trying to outdo the other with what stupid promise they could ask for. “You said yes! How could you do that?”

  He ran fingers up her arm but didn’t try to pull her back down against him. “Because of my duty. Because I thought I needed for my own side to win.”

  Hope wiped her eyes. “I know. And you’re a kami, a spirit, you told me yourself when you make a promise, you change. Like Veritas let them realign him for loyalty. You don’t have free will about this, any more than he does now. Not about this.”

  “You remember too well.” Yoshi’s gaze shadowed. “I love you, Amai-chan.”

  That provoked a laugh. Not a happy laugh and aimed at her own willful stupidity. “You have to, it was in the marriage vows. Just like you have to want to serve my family. That’s what it was about. Right? You watching over Mom when I’m not here, and John Wayning it out there on the street like some kind of action hero to keep the heat away from her while she ran for it. You’re a fox. Foxes don’t fight unless they have to. They run, and sneak, and make clever plans, but you almost died! And you didn’t choose love and service because you wanted to. You chose, you changed, because you had to. You couldn’t have wanted to. Could you?”

  Yoshi’s defeated sigh made her chest hurt and when his hand dropped to stroke her leg she laced her fingers through his. He tightened their clasp. “I . . . admired you greatly, even then. You never failed to impress me with each meeting. But no. I wouldn’t have done it without necessity.”

  She sniffed, wiped her cheeks. “And I have to honor the wishes of that Kitsune. The pre-oath one, the wild fox who would never willingly bind himself to anyone’s service like you did. I have to give you your choices back. How?”

  He pulled her back down and she didn’t resist when he tucked her under his chin. “Since the oaths are linked, if you end our marriage you end my service. I will be free. All you need to do is say ‘I divorce you.’”

  “I divorce you,” She lifted her head and choked it out without giving herself a moment to reconsider or lose her courage, and covered her mouth as his eyes changed, irises flattening into the almond shape of a fox’s night-eyes before becoming Yoshi’s warm brown eyes again.

  “It’s done,” he said softly as she sank back down. “Go back to sleep, Amai-chan.”

  She nodded against his chest and then burst into tears. Her fox held her and stroked her until she drifted off again.

  Hacking the diagnostic machine, Shell knew the instant the test she’d ordered was completed. Bloodwork was useless for what she’d wanted except to rule out other causes, but the virus isolation and reverse transcription tests on Rush’s saliva registered a positive and Shell lit up CDC hotlines across the country before the testing technician read the screen and picked up her phone to loose the hounds of medicine. A spinal tap for a fluid analysis would confirm it, but neither Shell nor the tech were waiting for that.

  Rush had rabies, or something close enough to it to ping the test.

  He hadn’t been bitten, but was presenting symptoms.

  Crash wasn’t acting crazy yet, but he had early symptoms too.

  And the only environments they’d both been exposed to recently were the attack zones, along with nearly every other cape and first responder in Chicago and thousands of civilians.

  Shell was glad she didn’t have pants to crap.

  Hope opened gritty eyes to the chime of the wakeup alarm. The bed was empty; only Kitsune’s scent remained, and Hope didn’t feel like she was there at all. Closing her eyes again she curled up, wrapping the sheets around her.

  “Hope?” Shell called over the com. “Are you awake? Are you decent?”

  She sighed. “You know I am.”

  “Well, duh. But privacy-protocols—the aware part of me can’t ‘look’ until you confirm.” Her BF appeared beside the bed. This morning her tank-top read Property of The Chicago Sentinels. She looked Hope over and grinned. “Got naked last night? Positive sign of recovery. Where’s Kitsune?”

  Hope rubbed the grit from her eyes. “Gone.”

  “No way.” Shell’s gaze unfocused for a second. “Crap! How did he do that? Not a sign in the security record, at all! I’m going to skin him. As soon as I can get him to tell me how he does it.”

  “He’s gone, Shell.” She didn’t have the heart to remind her that Kitsune could turn into non-human forms—a talent he liked to keep in reserve. He’d probably left as a flea or something just to mess with Shell’s head. She sat up and put feet on the floor, distantly pleased when there was no returned dizziness. “He’s not coming back. Let Dr. Beth know I’m on my way? I’m going to shower and get him to clear me at least for Dome duty.”

  “We may need to get you ready for more than that. And wait, what? What do you mean he’s gone? Gone, gone?”

  “That’s what ‘not coming back’ means, Shell.” She grabbed one of her skirted uniforms. “Tell Dr. Beth ten minutes?”

  “Already did. He says if you’re sooner than thirty he’s not letting you in.”

  “Dammit.” Slowing down meant thinking. She had no appetite but . . . “Breakfast. Eat.”

  “Good idea. Also, Vulcan wants you down in the Pit after you see Beth. He has something for your head. But first, ‘dammit’? That’s mighty salty talk from you, sister. Second, again what? Not coming back?”

  Hope sighed. “I ended our marriage. He said all it would take was a declaration. I declared, he’s free, he’s gone, and now I’ve got stuff to do.” She heard her apartment door shish open and then Shell was in her bedroom in the syntheskin flesh and hugging her and Hope was fighting really hard not to break, and darn it why had Shell had to go and mak
e herself taller? The top of her head barely hit her BF’s collarbone, now.

  “Should I call the Bee’s?” Shell asked after a long moment. Hope’s eyes widened.

  “The Bees! What— Have they heard anything?”

  “They know about the attack, duh. They were all going to bug out of Littleton and get on a plane from Guantanamo yesterday, but I canceled their tickets.”

  “Why?”

  “The threat of plague, of course.”

  “Plague?” Hope’s head came up so fast she hit Shell’s steel hard carbon-alloy chin. “Ow . . .”

  “That’s why I called. Meeting in less than an hour, all hands on deck.” Shell turned her towards her bathroom. “This is so the time for wallowing in bed with ice cream—after I shake you until you tell me why you were so stupid—but we need to go save the city first. Again.”

  “What— How— Who— Aaagh!” Hope ran for the shower as Shell filled her in.

  Chapter Eight

  Omega Watch Alert/Update: confirmed outbreak of previously known viral condition under unique circumstance, by a new means of propagation. Tentatively classed an Omega Event. Point responder is Asset Power Chick, with full authorization to requisition such resources as she deems necessary without higher approval. Full DSA and CDC assets are active, the authorized asset has required a “Gathering of the Bobs,” on the grounds that they will corporately know if one or more of themselves or anyone around themselves are presenting symptoms. Inter-agency available Platoon assets are moving into position.

  DSA Alert 215-87560

  Shell hadn’t been kidding about “all hands on deck.” Hope entered the Assembly Room to find not only every regular fit enough for the Duty Roster waiting—Blackstone, Lei Zi, The Harlequin, Riptide, Artemis, Grendel, Ozma, Crash, and Kindrake—but also Watchman, chest tightly wrapped and right arm secured across his waist to hold it immobile. Even her dad was there as Iron Jack—the first time she’d seen him since the wedding and they only had time for a quick hug. As soon as she sat the main screen lit and divided into five boxes so that Rush, Chakra with him, Variforce, and Megaton could all participate from their hospital rooms. The fourth box showed an exhausted looking lab-coated woman Hope didn’t recognize. “Dr. Maddison Clemens, CDC director,” her virtual BF whispered in her ear. Shell took the final box.

  “Thank you for your presence, everyone,” Blackstone opened once Hope sat down. “Especially you, Dr. Clemens. I understand you’re at the field station?”

  “Flew in last night, and boy are my arms tired.” She grimaced. “Jokes aside, I spent the flight organizing the transport of every drop of rabies vaccine and human rabies immunoglobulin we have. Which isn’t a fraction of enough for what we might be facing—if the stuff works. Shell, how many have tested positive?”

  “Of the capes, cops, EMTs, and other first responders tested so far, close to thirty percent. None’ve presented symptoms yet, but based on Rush and Crash, we’re less than twenty-four hours away from the first hits.”

  “And how is Crash doing?”

  Crash held up his arm, showing a wide band around his bicep. “Monitored. And Chakra already hit me with her mojo.” His dark complexion couldn’t completely hide the shadows under his eyes, but his cheeky grin was undimmed. “Rush had me slow down yesterday so I wasn’t as far along. Everyone’s watching me like hawks and Shell’s promised if I start to speed or do anything crazy she’s going to pump enough propofol into me to drop me into a medical coma.”

  Kindrake spun in her chair. “But you’re on the immuno-whatsit stuff now, right? Isn’t it helping?”

  On the screen the director shook her head. “We haven’t given Crash or Rush the vaccination and HRI. Both are useless once first symptoms appear, so we’re saving our doses for everyone who isn’t more than a day ahead of us.” She grimaced again. “Absolute first priority is infected breakthroughs, and there’ll be political hell to pay for that but either treating or containing infected superhumans has got to come first. But the truth is we don’t know if the treatments will work at all.”

  “Why is that?” Blackstone asked for everyone.

  “Because we don’t really know what this is, yet. Look, normal rabies is wildly variable itself. It’s neurotropic—on infection it travels in the host along the afferent nerves of the central nervous system. It can take days, months, or in cases of a victim only barely infected in an extremity, years to get to the brain. It looks like this new rabies virus was aerosolized, hidden in the smoke of the fires and explosions to infect the victims through the mucous membranes. The eyelids and mouth. That’s not far to travel at all, and explains why Rush and Crash started to present symptoms so quickly. With me so far?”

  Heads nodded around the table.

  “Okay, so now we’re dealing with a modified form of the virus here. But how modified? Is it still fatal? We’re assuming it was carefully crafted by an evil-as-hell bio-Verne. How much fine tuning was the Verne able to do? It looks like the Rabies Lyssavirus A was combined with norovirus DNA. That stuff is capable of surviving outside a living host for weeks, lying in wait on hospitable surfaces. That means the attack zones and everything in them are biologically contaminated.”

  “How do we decontaminate the zones?” Blackstone asked.

  “Bleach. Lots of it. We’re bringing in tanks of bleach-base solution to spray the zones down with. Also tons of NAV-CO2—that’s Non-Flammable Alcohol Vapor Carbon Dioxide—the stuff used to disinfect hospitals and ambulances. But that’s a job that’s going to take thousands of man-hours. We’re talking about whole blocks of business and residential buildings contaminated here.”

  The doctor stopped and took a drink from the water bottle in her hand. “And we still don’t know what else they did to the virus. We don’t yet know if our current treatment protocol will even work. Or they might have weakened the virus. Rabies symptoms are, among other shit, anxiety, insomnia, fever, confusion, agitation, abnormal behaviors, paranoia, terror, and hallucination. It progresses to delirium, coma, eventually near-certain death, all the result of encephalitis, brain-inflammation. What if the inflammation is less severe or more gradual? The Verne might have wanted to stave off the seizure-coma-death phases as long as possible to maintain the victim’s active threat status. Even if the modified virus is still lethal the body is fighting back all the time, creating antibodies. So enough extra time might mean more survivors. Or no survivors.”

  None of that sat well with anybody at the table. Hope was glad Blackstone, at least, stayed cool and calm about it. He stroked his goatee thoughtfully. “What’s our best scenario?”

  Dr. Clemens grimaced. “Best case? So maybe, maybe, all we need to do is disinfect the zones and diagnose and then restrain infected victims until the new virus runs its course. But we won’t know until the first victims either die or get better. And all we can do with the stuff we have is treat as many of the infected as we can before they present symptoms, cross our fingers, and wait to see if it works.”

  Hope raised her hand. “What about our own bio-Vernes? Why haven’t they come up with a super-cure before? Are they working on one now?”

  “Of course they are. In the end vaccinating the crap out of this may be the only way to really kill it. But rabies was never given a high priority. It’s rare, and absolutely one of the last viruses you’d think would be weaponized like this. Even now it’s not an easily spreadable virus—the first thing our Vernes checked was to see if it had become transmissible by, say, coughing or sneezing on someone. The answer, thank God, is no. We’ll develop an effective vaccine and cure, now that we’re on it. The only question is how much time.”

  Her stomach sank. “And we don’t know how much time everyone has. Rush and Crash—”

  “Aren’t on the wait-and-see list,” Chakra broke in from her corner of the screen. “Ozma supplied Blackstone and me with one of her own speed potions to give us enough time to recharge my kundalini energy. I’ll be able to give the boys enough help to boos
t their immune systems and keep the brain inflammation down until their bodies can fight it off. But I can’t help that many victims. I just can’t.”

  And the fact that Chakra would have to choose who to hold onto and who to let go was obviously killing her, Hope could see it in her eyes. She could also see Chakra was fudging on her certainty there’d be a good outcome for anybody. “Couldn’t Ozma just make more speed potion for you?”

  “Not quickly enough.” Ozma shook her head. “Even using every pair of shoes Crash, Rush, and Sifu have for ingredients, working day and night I can’t make enough doses fast enough to keep up.”

  Hope slumped in her chair. This couldn’t be happening. They didn’t have enough time to make time. They didn’t even have time to find out how bad it was going to get before it got bad and— “Wait.” Her head came up. “I know how we can maybe at least find out how lethal the virus is. Fast, and without killing somebody. Not permanently, anyway.” If the situation wasn’t so horrible, she would have laughed at all the boggled looks pointed her way. “Just, let me make a call.”

  Blackstone looked ready to grill her and Hope held her breath until he nodded. “Do that. And while she does, lets discuss immediate actions everyone. I’m activating the Bugout List—all capes’ families will be evacuated so that we can give the situation our undivided attention. Regarding pickup and transportation . . .” The door closed behind Hope, cutting off the rest. Leaning against the hallway wall, breathing through her nose, she looked up at the ceiling.

  “Shell? Get me Fisher, please?”

  Max loved the “Star Trek doors” of the Dome’s headquarters levels.

  Astra had once explained, rolling her eyes, that the designers had gone crazy with visions of what a real superhero team’s headquarters should look like and the original design for the building had been a tall, art-deco structure right in the middle of Michigan Avenue. Then Blackstone, an ex-marine, had had words with the design committee and it turned into a bunker in the middle of a park away from more fragile buildings.