Zoo II (9 page)

“What the hell do
you mean, her brain is
shrinking?
”

Freitas says it, but all of us are thinking it.

We’re on our transport plane heading home to Idaho, in the midst of a heated video conference with Sarah, Dr. Carvalho, and the rest of our team back at the lab. Displayed on the other half of the monitor is the latest batch of MRI scans recently conducted on Helen’s brain. And from the looks of it, her outer cerebral cortex isn’t just inactive. Some of the tissue has actually started dying.

In feral
animals,
nothing like this has ever been seen before. Unless it’s some kind of anomaly, it’s a troubling development for all kinds of reasons—one giant one in particular.

It might mean whatever’s happening to feral humans
can’t be reversed
.

We know what’s causing
animals
to go wild. And at least in theory, we know how to stop it. But Helen’s been in electromagnetic isolation for a week and a half now, and her behavior has only gotten worse. And now her actual
brain
is wasting away? With more reports of rabid human attacks trickling in by the hour, from every corner of the globe, the number of possible permanent cases out there is staggering.

“That’s why I think we need to change course,” says Sarah, “and start working to find some kind of antidote. Or vaccine. Right away.”

“Agreed,” says Freitas. “This thing is spreading faster than any of us could have imagined. Before long, we could be talking about hundreds of thousands or maybe millions of infected humans—all lacking anatomically correct human brains.”

“Don’t be absurd,” says Dr. Tanaka, who’s flying with us to the United States to help handle the rabid Japanese man I captured in the jungle. “There is still so much about this affliction we do not know. To attempt to formulate a cure so prematurely is a reckless waste of time!”

Clearly Tanaka feels very passionately about this. I notice his brow is glistening, his cheeks are ruddy, and he’s digging his nails deep into the faux-leather armrest.

But as the discussion continues, I can’t help but zone out. For one thing, I’m exhausted. Trekking miles up the foothills of Mount Fuji and fighting off a pack of prehistoric humans can really take it out of you.

But I’m also a little light-headed with anticipation, a welcome change from dread. Because in less than twelve hours, I’ll be seeing Eli and Chloe.

I got the call on my sat phone just as we were boarding in Tokyo. It came from a 202 number—a Washington, DC, area code—that I didn’t recognize: the personal cellphone of President Hardinson’s chief of staff.

“Mr. Oz, I wanted to tell you myself as soon as I heard. We found your family.”

I nearly broke down and wept right there on the tarmac.

Diplomatic security agents, working with local French police, had tracked Chloe and Eli to an abandoned warehouse about forty miles outside of Paris, where they were hostages of the bizarre animal cult. My wife and son were rescued amid a shootout and put on the next plane out of there. Knowing that they’re finally safe—it’s indescribable. They’ll be arriving at the Idaho National Laboratory just a few hours after we do.

Our video conference with the lab ends, but the debate over next steps rages on. Freitas and Tanaka are really starting to get into it. As for myself, I stifle a yawn. It’s pitch-black over the Pacific and my eyelids are getting heavy.

“You’ll all have to carry on without me,” I tell them. “I’m gonna head down below for a little shut-eye.”

I walk to the rear of our plane, toward the hatch that leads to the lower level, stuffed with our gear and equipment. I pass our captured Japanese feral human, Reiji. Tanaka had picked that name for him, explaining with a chuckle that it means “a well-mannered baby.” The man is strapped to a gurney under a hard plastic shell like a newborn in an incubator, thrashing against his restraints like crazy. Watching him, I can appreciate the irony.

I’m about to head downstairs when I notice something about Reiji from this close up.

His brow is dripping with sweat. His cheeks are splotchy red. And he’s shredding the thin mattress with his sharp-tipped fingers.

The sweat, the complexion, the nails—it’s a more extreme version of everything I just saw Tanaka doing.

No…my God…does that mean…?

“Aaaaargh!”

A vicious roar comes
not from Reiji but from behind me. I spin around to the front of the cabin just in time to see Tanaka leap up from his seat and lunge at Freitas. Before Freitas can react, Tanaka’s got his hands around his neck, nails digging deep into the flesh.

The other scientists, caught completely by surprise, scramble to yank the madman off, but he easily knocks them away with one hand, the other clutching Freitas’s windpipe, blood gushing like a sprinkler. His sudden strength is incredible.

“Dr. Freitas!” I yell, dashing back up the aisle to help.

Tanaka turns around and sees me charging. He drops Freitas’s limp body and rushes into the open cockpit—where our two pilots are just as stunned and even more helpless.

Tanaka grabs one of them from behind. In an instant he places her in a brutal chokehold and violently snaps her neck.

I’m just stepping over Freitas’s writhing body, racing toward Tanaka, as he attacks the second pilot. While they tussle, Tanaka intentionally presses down the yoke with his knee—and the plane tilts into a steep nosedive.

I’m hurled forward and tumble around wildly. Everyone does—along with an avalanche of loose papers and cellphones and laptops, each of the latter two now a deadly projectile.

Somehow I manage to get onto my hands and knees. Hanging on with all my might, I painstakingly crawl the rest of the way toward the cockpit, where Tanaka and the pilot are still fighting—and of course the feral human is winning.

Dizzy from the rapid altitude drop and throbbing with pain, I spot a fire extinguisher hanging by the cockpit door.
A weapon
.

I stagger to my feet, grab the heavy metal canister, and with every ounce of strength I can muster, swing it directly at Tanaka’s skull.

Thunk.
I can feel his cranium splinter. Tanaka cries out in pain, stumbles, but remains standing. “You bastard!” he shouts—as he turns to attack
me
.

I swing again. This time…I miss.

Tanaka springs toward me, but I crouch low and slip out of his grasp. Just as he spins back around, I take one more shot and nail him right in the middle of his face. His nose shatters, and three of his front teeth fall out of his mouth to the ground. Then he drops.

But my relief is brief. We’re still plummeting toward the Pacific.

I yank on the yoke with trembling hands and desperately try to pull up. The plane levels off a bit, but I can feel we’re still dropping fast. The instrument panel is blinking like a Christmas tree. Warning alarms are beeping wildly.

And both pilots are dead.

I have absolutely no idea what to do, except buckle in and pray.

I unbelt one of the pilots, shove him aside, take his bloody seat, and strap in.

I use all the strength I have left to keep tugging up on the yoke—especially when I see the dark, choppy water getting closer and closer. In my mind, I get glimpses of Chloe and Eli.

I can’t die,
I tell myself.
Not like this.
Not without saying good-bye.

And then, impact.

The noise is thunderous as the airplane smashes into the water. The cabin shudders and groans.

The plane finally comes to a stop. Almost immediately, I feel it start sinking.

Shaking off the stunned euphoria I’m feeling at having survived, I unbuckle my seat belt and stagger back into the cabin, which has been severed nearly in half and is quickly filling up with both water and smoke.

“Can anyone hear me?” I shout, coughing, wading through a flood of human carnage. “Is anyone okay?”

Silence. I can see that most of our team is dead, their bodies mangled and bloody.

But then, incredibly, I hear quiet mumbling.
Someone’s still alive.

Freitas!

“Hang in there, doc!” I say, splashing over to him. I sling the barely conscious man onto my shoulder. “We gotta get off this plane!”

I unlatch an emergency exit and a giant yellow slide-raft automatically inflates and extends into the water.
Thank God
. I put Freitas onto it, then give the sinking cabin a final look.

I see Tanaka floating facedown. Reiji, too, is long gone. His gurney is on its side, the plastic covering is shattered, and a giant shard has decapitated him.

Damnit—after all that. So much for bringing either of
them
back to the lab.

But there’s no time for wallowing. I climb into the raft myself, disconnect it from the plane, and we immediately start to drift away in the choppy current.

I’ve barely gotten Freitas rolled onto his back so I can examine his wounds when, with a final, awful groan, our burning aircraft splits in two and disappears underwater.

Quick: how long can
the average person last without water? A week? Five days? Three?

It’s one of those scary stats you’ve heard a hundred times but never thought you’d need—until you find yourself floating on a raft in the middle of the Pacific.

I couldn’t tell you how many hours it’s been since the crash. If I had to guess, only about eighteen or so. But they’ve been long. And hellish.

Throughout the cold, pitch-black night, I tried to stabilize Freitas and stop his bleeding, ripping strips of fabric from our clothes to make crude bandages and tourniquets.

As the sun came up, I got a clearer view of his injuries. Mine, too. But when morning turned to afternoon, the sun’s rays turned hot and punishing. With nothing at all to use for shade, our skin quickly started to burn.

I still had my satellite phone in my pocket, but it had been smashed to pieces. I thought about trying to paddle—with just my hands; why didn’t they put oars on this thing?—but had no idea which direction to go. I figured it was better to save my strength anyway.
And
stay close to the crash site. I mean, a military transport plane on a critical government mission just crashed into the sea. Surely
somebody
saw that on the radar and sent help.

Right?

Now it’s night again. The temperature is dropping. Salt is crusted around my eyes. My mouth feels like sandpaper, my skin like it’s on fire. Freitas is slipping in and out of consciousness again. He’s still breathing, but barely.

Having hardly slept in three days now, I feel the gentle bobbing of the raft start to lull me to sleep. I know I should keep my eyes open, to monitor Freitas, to keep watch for a passing ship to flag down. But I feel so weak. Bone-tired.

I think again of Chloe and Eli, who I pray have made it safely to the Idaho lab by now. And I know I have to keep going, keep fighting. They need me. The
world
needs me, I think, feeling myself start to drift off.
To survive dozens of animal and feral human attacks on land, only to die on the open water…

The blare of a foghorn startles me awake.

It’s just before dawn; the sky is an incandescent blue. I don’t see anything in front of me. Painfully, I turn around—and behold a glorious sight.

A gray navy destroyer, off in the distance, steaming our way.

“Dr. Freitas!” I exclaim, gently shaking him awake. “They’re coming! We’re saved!”

He groans in acknowledgment. And I think I detect the tiniest smile on his bruised, bloody face.

A black Zodiac raft is soon lowered from the destroyer into the water. It speeds toward us, carrying about eight men in dark-blue camouflage uniforms. A few of them are wearing white armbands bearing a red cross: medics.

The highest-ranking sailor calls to me as they get near: “Are you Jackson Oz?”

“Yes!” I croak. “And I’m all right. But Dr. Freitas is in serious condition. The rest of our team…and our specimen…
both
of them…they’re dead.”

Their boat comes to a stop near our yellow raft. Medics quickly rush aboard, carrying a stretcher over to Freitas. “You’re safe now,” the officer tells me.

Am I?
I wonder, as I’m wrapped in a silver thermal blanket and guided onto their craft. Twenty-four hours ago, I witnessed a seemingly normal human being turn into an unrecognizable beast. Without explanation. Without warning.

We speed back toward the looming destroyer, bouncing up and down in the waves, the cool ocean mist spraying my face.

As I glance around at all these young sailors, I can’t help but wonder: Could any of them be next? Could their commanding officer? Could Freitas?

Could I?

Joint Base Pearl Harbor-Hickam.
In 1941, it was the site of one of the most devastating surprises in American history.

Across all the main islands of Hawaii, wild animal attacks are as bad as anywhere. But there have been exactly zero feral
human
ones. Ever.

At least that’s the word from Captain Paul Fileri, the stern, buzz-cut commander of the vessel that rescued me. My de facto escort since we arrived on base, he’s standing next to my bed in the infirmary as a nurse drains my wounds and changes the dressings.

“That’s good news,” I say, adding, “or I suppose it is. But what I
really
want to know—”

“You
suppose?
” Fileri asks, almost offended. “Oz, a third of the president’s Animal Crisis Task Force—from what I understand, the leading international experts in this matter—was just killed. The team leader is down the hall in a medically induced coma. Maybe you don’t quite grasp the severity of the situation, but—”

“With all due respect, Captain,” I say, clearly irking this career military officer who isn’t used to being interrupted, “I’ve devoted
years
of my life to this ‘situation.’ I’ve traveled to every corner of the globe looking for answers. Shit, I just captured one feral human in the wild, then killed a second with my bare hands! So I think I grasp its ‘severity’ very well, thank you. But right now, all I care about is my family. Are they all right? Please. Tell me. Did they arrive safely in Idaho?”

Fileri frowns. “I don’t know anything about that. My orders came directly from the Pentagon, as soon as they learned your plane had gone down. Full-steam to its last known position, rescue any survivors, bring them back to base—”

“I understand that. And I’m very grateful. But what I’d be even
more
grateful for right now is an encrypted satellite phone.”

Fileri’s eyes narrow. So I explain.

“To speak to the White House. They’re expecting my call. To tell me, now that Freitas is out of commission, how the
commander in chief
would like us to proceed.”

As I’d hoped, those were the magic words.

Even if they were a big fat lie.

Of course I’ll try to get ahold of somebody close to the president, maybe her chief of staff again, to find out how I’m supposed to get back to the rest of the team running the show now, and what the hell we’re supposed to do next.

But obviously my first call is going to be to the Idaho National Laboratory.

Captain Fileri exits the room. He reappears a few minutes later with a bulky black wireless phone, promising to check in on me again shortly.

As soon as he’s gone, I tap the arm of the friendly nurse still tending to me. “Sorry, I know you’re busy, but you must have a smartphone on you, right?”

Thankfully, she does. Even more thankfully, cell service on the island is still working. Within seconds she’s done me a huge favor: she’s googled the Idaho lab’s main number. I can’t dial it fast enough.

It rings.

“Come on, pick up,” I whisper under my breath.

The line rings again. Then again.

I’m bursting with anticipation now. I can’t stand it.

Another ring. Then another.

By the eighth ring, my cautious excitement has been replaced by a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I’m calling the main switchboard, in the middle of a workday, at a major federal scientific facility. There should be someone there to answer the damn phone!