Lost for Words
T
he elevator beeped
as it passed the third floor of Evergreens Hospital, and Nicole glanced across at her best friend. Amy was being unusually quiet, and Nicole half wondered whether the stress of the previous few days had gotten to her more than she’d let on.
Nicole’s mom had been against their visiting Elise so soon after the wildfire, but the girls had insisted, and after they’d stopped to pick up a bag of fresh grapes and a handful of colorful balloons from the store, Nicole’s mom had reluctantly dropped them off before her shift.
Amy sensed her friend’s eyes on her, and she looked up and smiled. She popped a grape into her mouth and offered the bunch to Nicole. A
ding
announced the elevator’s arrival at the children’s ward.
The girls stepped out into the bright and cheery reception area.
Elise Allerton was there to greet them, a large smile plastered across her face. Her hair was in pigtails, her face was scrubbed clean, and she wore jeans and a T-shirt as if she’d just strolled in off the street. She looked well-rested and healthy — and about as far removed from the injured girl Nicole had carried as could be possible.
“Wow! Look at you!” Amy gasped, barely putting into words the disbelief Nicole was feeling.
Nicole gave a smile, too, and croaked her greeting.
“Hey.”
Elise grinned, and from behind her back she pulled out two daisies, which she offered to Nicole and Amy. “Thank you for saving me.”
Amy knelt down before the girl and gave her a hug — in part to check that she wasn’t some kind of apparition.
As Nicole watched Elise hug Amy tightly, doubts raged through her mind. How could this be so? The little girl — who only a day earlier had been crushed under a heavy tree branch and was so badly hurt that she was barely conscious throughout the entire flight through the forest — was healthy and well.
Soon they were joined by Mr. and Mrs. Allerton, who explained that, although they were still suffering from smoke inhalation, Elise had been given a clean bill of health. Together, the family had been checked out and was all set to go home.
Nicole felt truly dazed, and she knew from the look on Amy’s face that her friend shared her confusion.
Elise’s parents had a different reaction. They could not have been more thrilled, and they held on to their daughter as if they had inwardly vowed never to let her go again.
“The doctors are calling her a miracle child, and you can see why.”
“It’s just amazing!” Amy exclaimed.
“We were expecting to come sit by your bedside, Elise.” Nicole handed across the colorful balloons.
Mr. Allerton gave his daughter a big bear hug. It made Nicole suddenly think wistfully of her own dad.
“We think you’re the miracle girls. Both of you,” Mrs. Allerton said, tears of gratitude twinkling up her eyes.
Nicole nodded, her throat dry from the shock of seeing Elise in perfect health. This on top of Charlie’s dramatic improvement — it was almost too much.
*
It was Nicole’s turn to be quiet on the drive back to her house. Nicole knew about patient confidentiality, but she wondered why her mom hadn’t mentioned Elise’s rapid recovery. Perhaps, given that her mom had called ahead to let the Allertons know the girls were coming, she had wanted it to be a surprise for Nicole?
Well, a surprise she’d gotten! This only added to the mystery. During the journey home, she could think of little else.
After they had reached home and parked, Nicole got out and sat down heavily on the curb.
Amy followed, planting herself on the lawn beside her.
“No way!” Amy began. “No
way
!” She ripped up a handful of glossy green lawn.
Nicole nodded, grateful for the space to process what had just happened. It was truly extraordinary news — amazing, scary and completely mind-boggling all at once.
“There is no way that Elise was OK.”
“I know, Ames.”
Amy turned and stared at her, and Nicole detected a glint of fear in her eyes.
“That branch was so heavy. And she was cut all over. I was sure she’d have one or more broken ribs. But I didn’t see any cuts on her. Did you?”
Nicole shook her head, numbed by the sudden revelation.
“What happened out there?”
Nicole let out a big sigh. “I thought we rescued a badly injured girl and her burnt dog. Now … Now, I don’t know.”
Amy nodded, trying to take it in.
What on earth could it all mean? Before Nicole could say more, someone cleared her throat noisily behind them.
Nicole turned to see her neighbor, Mrs. Truman, standing with one hand on her hip, the other brandishing a set of gardening shears.
“You girls planning on loitering there all day?”
“We might,” Nicole responded. She never had time for her grumpy neighbor, having had a long history of kicking balls and throwing Frisbees into her prized azaleas and then sheepishly having to call the Truman house to retrieve them. This routine was always followed by a sharp lecture from Mrs. Truman. Nicole once had to spend hours weeding the Trumans’ garden for accidentally knocking over the lemonade stand she had set up one summer and crushing some of Mrs. Truman’s prized roses, which especially sucked because the roses delivered their own punishment by sticking Nicole with their painful thorns.
What Mrs. Truman lacked in kindness and humor she made up for with her overzealous gardening talent. She could often be found outside her house, caring for her roses, pruning plants and tending her lawn. Truth be told, her flowers were truly a sight to behold. Nicole’s mom once joked that gardening gave Mrs. Truman an excuse to keep her eye on the neighborhood, and then muttered under her breath that it might’ve been better if she applied that same attitude to her wayward husband.
“We’re just sitting here minding our own business,” Amy protested.
“It’s like I always say,” Mrs. Truman began, glaring at the girls above her glasses. “It’s not what you’re doing now; it’s what you’re likely to be up to in the next five minutes that concerns me.” The sizeable, gray-haired lady lifted up her shears and shuffled off to work her ire on the large hedge outside her home.
Amy gave a dramatic sigh and rolled her eyes. It was no use arguing.
“I could really use a soda anyway,” Nicole said, getting to her feet and holding out a hand to help Amy up. “You coming in?”
Amy pulled on Nicole’s hand and stood up. “I kinda promised mom I’d spend some time with her and Troy …”
“Oh, sure.” Nicole offered a smile.
As the friends parted company, Nicole told herself that it was probably better for her to be alone with her thoughts for now anyway. Over the next few hours, she absent-mindedly tidied her room, burnt her grilled cheese sandwich and failed to read the novel on her bed. She did succeed in lying on her bed, staring at the wall and replaying memories of the mysterious events of the wildfire.
Something weird was happening around her. But what did it all mean?
Smells Fishy
Standing in front
of the WBN camera, reporter Lynn Meyers removed a handkerchief from under her nose and offered a firm, serious smile to the camera. “We’re here at the Flour Mill Run River in Fairfax County, Virginia, the site of a new case of mysterious animal deaths that are thought to be linked to the wildfire over the weekend. I’m joined by local fisherman Rob Ackerman. Mr. Ackerman, thanks for agreeing to talk. Can you tell us what you found this morning?”
A hefty, hairy man stepped in front of the camera, clearing his throat. “Well, I got out in my boat, just at the usual time. Set up my rod. Then I happened to notice one or two fish floatin’. I thought to myself, ‘This ain’t right.’ So I went ahead and motored up a bit, and that’s when I saw ’em.”
“Saw what?”
“About a hundred fish. Some belly-up, some washed out on the shore. Read ’bout things like that, but it’s not something we see around here.”
“Thank you, Mr. Ackerman.” Lynn looked straight back into the camera. “This is another strange scene that greets us today.”
The cameraman panned past Lynn and across to the shoreline, showing all of the dead fish lying in a neat pattern along the bank. The morning sunshine glinted off of their silvery blue bodies, and for a moment, all the little fish looked like they were a pattern of scales on a much bigger fish. It was an eerie sight.
In the background, away from the camera’s gaze and Lynn’s attention, an engine roared. Although distant at first, gradually it became louder, and as the camera returned to Lynn, a large, black Suburban with blacked-out windows was speeding up behind her and moving much too fast for the dirt road it was on.
“Is he supposed to be doing that?” Rob asked, panic edging his voice.
Lynn turned to see the approaching vehicle, her immaculate features clouding over with anger.
“Not again,” she murmured.
The SUV came rushing toward them as if it were planning to knock them over. Lynn and her interviewee had to jump out of the way to avoid being hit. The cameraman lowered his camera, frustrated with his spoiled shot.
“Hey!” Lynn exclaimed furiously at the driver. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
The engine growled low and the car stopped. After a moment, the doors opened, and two men in suits stepped out of either side. Agent Bishop ignored Lynn and, barely acknowledging the people his car had almost hit, stepped across to the shoreline. From his pocket, he produced a pair of latex gloves, snapped them on, and then crouched down to get a closer look at the fish.
His partner, Agent Carter, approached Lynn, holding up his ID.
“Ma’am, I’m Special Agent Carter, and that’s my partner, Special Agent Bishop. We’re from the FBI, and we’re investigating the area. We’ll need to confiscate your footage.”
“No way!” Lynn recoiled and went to stand next to her cameraman, as if he could afford her protection. “I’m not giving you our video again. This is an exclusive! The people have a right to know!”
Carter seemed to consider it for a few seconds. His warm brown eyes sparkled with something resembling amusement. “Rest assured, we can make sure you get the exclusive, Ms. Meyers. We’re looking into a possible bioterrorist threat to D.C.”
Lynn drew in a breath, her hunch confirmed.
“As I’m sure you’re aware, this stretch of river feeds directly into the Potomac River, which runs right next to Washington, D.C., and so we’re going to need someone to let the …
people
know about drinking the water, personal safety, so on. Someone people trust …”
“No other network?”
“If you cooperate.”
Lynn blinked and then gestured at her cameraman. “Give him the clips.” The cameraman flicked the memory card out of his camera and handed it across. Carter accepted it graciously.
“We’ll also need all footage you have on the Lake Fairfax wildfire, which includes media from your smartphone devices. I understand WBN found the animal carcass pattern?”
“Sure. But we already copied what we had for the FBI, and Homeland Security. Which group did you say you were from?”
“We’re from a special branch.”
“Are you a fisherman?” The distinctive low growl of Bishop’s voice interrupted proceedings. Standing up and returning from the water’s edge, the agent now addressed Rob, who was quite obviously a fisherman, dressed in waders, a checkered shirt and a sun hat.
“I sure am. Rob Ackerman.” He held out his hand. Bishop paused for a second, and then — seeming to overcome some kind of inner demon — he tore off his latex glove and shook Rob’s hand.
“What kinds of fish d’you get out here?”
“A mix. Mainly catfish. Some bass. Those over there are bluegill.”
“What’s your hunch?”
“As I said to the lady here, I couldn’t tell you. I ain’t seen nothing like it my whole life.”
“Thanks,” Bishop said lightly.
He stepped past the reporter and eased Carter away. Just then, a series of marked and unmarked backup vehicles pulled into the area. Lynn began to film the hive of activity on her smartphone. A mix of at least twenty FBI agents, police officers and scientists from the Environmental Protection Agency spurred into action, taping off the area. They then proceeded to take pictures of anything resembling evidence. These guys meant business.
About ten yards away, Carter and Bishop stood side by side, surveying the fish kill. Bishop crouched down again, lifting up a specimen to his nose and inhaling. He turned back and looked at Carter with a smirk.
“Don’t say it.”
Bishop dropped the fish and got to his feet. “Smells fishy to me,” he said, evidently not able to resist. He waved up a pH test paper, and it showed a healthy green color. “The water pH is OK, and in terms of fish, there were no marks around the gills, no frothing, so no immediate signs of cyanide or poisons. There’s a funny smell about them. I would think they would smell more.”
“Exactly. Until we know what we’re dealing with here, let’s caution the public about the water quality, have people stay away from the river and lakes until further notice,” Carter said.
“The reservoirs are covered, and a response-team is already monitoring the Potomac in D.C.”
Silence fell between the two agents as they both grasped the enormity of the situation. The famous river running by the nation’s capital might be poisoned. It was almost too terrifying to contemplate.
“What did the CIA pull up?” Carter asked.
“No established terror cells based around here. No unusual net activity. Nothing to point at terrorism.”
“… Apart from a potentially poisoned river running by D.C., a senator from the Committee for Foreign Affairs caught up in a freak wildfire, and some seriously weird stuff happening to animals in the space of a few days,” Carter said.
“Point taken. You think the animals are some kind of message here, too?”
Carter shrugged. “What do your friends at the U.S. Geological Survey make of it?”
“They’ll be running tests for water pathogens today, but the fish are mixed.” His partner looked at him for clarification. “The fish biologist said a disease would kill one species. Here we have about three or four,” Bishop continued.
“So you’re saying it’s a toxin?”
“Not necessarily.” Bishop snapped off his other latex glove.
“We need every one of those wildfire carcasses examined again, too. They must have missed something. The fish and those animals — they’re connected somehow,” Carter added as the agents headed back. “Any new theories how the fire started?”
“Kids, they think.”
Carter scoffed. “Kids. Right. I want to know everything about those animal carcasses’ positioning, their pathology — everything.” Pausing for a moment and surveying the landscape, Carter exhaled slowly in frustration. “Nature doesn’t lay out animals in straight lines like that. We’re dealing with some sick, twisted bastard.”
Within the FBI’s often hidden P.R.E.S.S. Division, Carter and Bishop were known to deliver results. Carter was determined to rule out act of nature, and Bishop was set on refuting human causes such as bioterrorism. It was usually one of the two.
Carter rejoined Lynn and guided her by her upper arm away from the lake. “We’ll need you to report on this, but it’s important you don’t cause a total panic. The toxicology reports will come back in the next couple of hours. Our office will issue a statement once we have more facts.”
“Sure.” Lynn made a note of the detail. “Can I talk about bioterrorism?”
“Didn’t stop you before,” Bishop said dryly as he walked past them, back to the car.
“Minimize the panic, please, Ms. Meyers. Oh, and let your viewers know that we are instituting a precautionary water recreation advisory. No swimming or fishing in the surrounding rivers, lakes or streams until further notice. We’ll have an official public advisory within the hour, but you can break the news first.”
Lynn nodded, barely able to conceal her delight.
Carter turned to a nearby officer who was cordoning off the side area. “Once Ms. Meyers leaves, nobody else from the public gets access, understand? I want this under wraps, with police surveillance 24/7.”
“Yessir.”
Lynn watched the taller of the two agents join his partner in the car. She turned to the camera.
“Ready to roll in three, two, one …”