“Be straight with me, Doc. How long do we have?” I interrupted.
“Well, the first symptoms are manifested four or five hours after the initial contact with the virus. The coma results about an hour later. Roughly thirty minutes later, the individual comes out of the coma and the damage is done. I’m sorry, but you don’t have long.”
I’m sure he was genuine in his condolence, but somehow it seemed trite. My life was six hours from ending and he was “sorry.” I understood. I had been in his shoes many times when I had been required to make death notifications. I genuinely felt badly for the person receiving news that destroyed her life. Then I went to lunch. You can’t fully empathize with people when it comes to their personal tragedies. I didn’t fault Doc Baker for his callous condolence. I understood that he couldn’t possibly feel the same emotions I was feeling right now.
“What are the chances of survival once infected?” I asked, still digesting the fatal diagnosis I had just received.
“According to Dr. Chen, there have been no cases of an infected person recovering,” he said. “The Chinese developed a vaccine and have begun administering it to their citizens, but it is a preventative. It keeps a person from being infected with the original virus. If you don’t catch the virus, your body won’t produce the prions. Once prion production has begun, there is no treatment. Some might be able to survive the virus alone, but the human immune system cannot combat the prion part of the disease.”
“Well,” I said, already hardening myself to the fact that I would be dead in four or five hours. “I guess I have a lot to do in the mean time. And Doc, thanks for shooting straight with me.”
“I know that’s what you would do if the roles were reversed. I am truly sorry, Connor.” And I knew he meant it
.
Chapter
7
I looked across the street at the Knick Knack Shack and saw that Matt’s patrol car was not there yet. I dialed Matt’s number on my cell phone, the same instrument Doc Baker had just used to deliver a wheelbarrow full of bad news. I didn’t want what I was about to tell Matt to go out over the radio. There isn’t a lot of excitement in our town so scanners are popular. If something happens, people want to know about it right away. I didn’t wanted to start a panic.
Matt answered on the third ring. “Are you okay?” he asked with genuine concern in his voice.
We had worked together for four years. He came to the department a year after I did and we immediately hit it off. His wife and my wife were inseparable. Our sons were two months apart and were best friends. We had been through a lot together and I knew how he was feeling after hearing my radio call of shots fired.
Two years ago, I had been on the other end of the radio when Matt put out an emergency shots fired call on a traffic stop gone bad. He was pinned down and had been hit. I remember the helpless feeling of not being close enough to do anything. At my car’s top speed of one hundred-thirty miles per hour, I knew it would take close to ten minutes to reach him. Good or bad, I knew the outcome would be decided long before I got there. Those were probably the worst ten minutes of my life. I knew exactly what was going through Matt’s mind. I knew the most important thing I could do for Matt was to assure him I was okay.
“I’m fine, but the situation here is bad.” I quickly filled him in on what had transpired, leaving out what Doc Baker had said about my exposure. That information would only hinder him at this point.
There was a pause while Matt digested what I had said. “I’m passing Black Rock now. I will be there in fifteen minutes,” he answered. Black Rock was a twenty foot tall mound of lava rock twenty-nine miles out of town. The road was straight and lightly traveled. Traversing twenty-nine miles in fifteen minutes wasn’t a big deal. The area we patrolled was huge, over six thousand square miles. We regularly responded to emergency calls at over one hundred twenty miles per hour. It was the only way to get anywhere in time to be of any use.
Now it was my turn to pause as I considered the best deployment for Matt. “I think the best place for you is outside the Knick Knack Shack. Set up there and make sure no one goes in, or more importantly, no one leaves. Stay outside and don’t get exposed. When you come into town, stop by the station and get me another couple boxes of .40 bullets out of the armory. I’m going to need them.”
“Copy that. I’ll be there soon.” And then we were disconnected as Matt ended the call.
Steve hadn’t been what I would consider a friend, but he was someone I had contact with on a regular basis and he was a good person. He had died a senseless death. I wasn’t going to let it happen to anyone else if I could prevent it. My goal was to contain this Chinese act of aggression for however long I had left.
I was back to the decision I had been avoiding before: what to do about the tourists. After talking with Doc Baker, the answer was obvious. They needed to be put down before one of them escaped and spread the disease. Like leaves in the wind, there would be no stopping it at that point. I was still having trouble with the idea of shooting people even though they appeared dead. Before I talked with Doc Baker and found out they were hibernating, there was no problem. Now that I knew more about their condition, I was facing a moral dilemma.
Before I dealt with that issue, I needed to get some answers if I could. I turned toward the four who were still conscious. Three looked bad, and one looked normal. I had heard the others call her Kimiko. She and Yuto must have been the five percent who were immune. Like the rest of them, she appeared to be in her sixties. Salt and pepper hair hung limply to her shoulders with bangs just above her eyebrows. Twenty-five years ago she would have been attractive. Now, she was elegant and poised. She was dressed very well. My eyes moved back and forth, making sure nobody was going to surprise me from behind or from the sides as I approached her.
“Ma’am, would you walk over there with me?” I gestured to the far side of the diner where I had been eating. She seemed reluctant, I placed my hand around her elbow and exerted a slight upward pull and she stood. At five-six, she was tall for a Japanese woman. She followed me across the remnants of what had been a neat and tidy dining room. I sat down first, my back to the wall. She sat across from me. Normally I would have pulled her chair out for her. Today, chivalry seemed a little out of place.
“I need you to answer a few questions, if you don’t mind. I’m helping the doctor figure out where this sickness came from.”
“I will answer your questions,” she said in nearly perfect English, starring down at the table.
“How do you feel?”
“I feel fine,” she replied, continuing to stare at the table. She may have felt fine physically, but emotionally she was a wreck and understandably so. Her body was trembling slightly and her hands were fidgety.
“How long have you been with the rest of the people in the group?”
“We all met at Haneda airport in Tokyo yesterday evening. Yuto Yakamoro was our classmate in school. He is the founder of Yakamoro Electronics.” I was familiar with the company. They made the TV in my living room. “He put together and paid for a trip for our classmates and their spouses. It was to be a reunion for us. The reunion began yesterday when we boarded a plane he chartered.” She move her hands from the table and rested them in her lap.
“We believe you were exposed to this disease within the last six hours. Can you think of an incident in that timeframe where all of you could have been exposed to the virus? You could have come in contact with it by something you touched or you could have inhaled it. Was there someone the group had contact with who had the symptoms your classmates have?”
Still looking down at the table, she moved her hands back to the table top and folded them in front of her. “It was just us on the plane,” she said. “Yuto chartered a large jet for our group. We never saw the pilots. When we boarded the plane, the cockpit door was closed. The only other people on the plane were the three flight attendants. They were all involved in the distribution of the food we ate. None of them acted sick, though. Certainly not like everyone here.”
“What time did your plane land?”
“The plane landed at 7:00 this morning. We got off the plane and went straight through customs. The bus was waiting for us as soon as we cleared customs.” She refused to look me in the eyes as she spoke.
“If you landed at 7:00, you had to be exposed on the plane, probably sometime between 5:00 and 6:00 this morning. Did they serve breakfast during that time?” I asked hopefully.
“No, most of us were sleeping. We didn’t have breakfast until we were in the airport. Yuto had been telling us about a place that served cinnamon rolls that he liked very much. Most of us ate there; a few ate at other places. We all ate in the airport. It was probably about 8:00 when we ate.” Suddenly her hands stopped fidgeting. Her head lifted up and she looked into my face with wide eyes. In a soft voice, she nearly whispered, “I know when it was.”
After pausing for a moment, she continued. “As I said, most everyone was sleeping. I had my head down with my eyes closed, trying to sleep. I heard the flight attendants passing by and looked up. Two of them were carrying silver cylinder’s about this big,” she said, holding her hands a foot apart. “A mist was coming out of the cylinders. One of them saw me watching her walk by and she stopped. She explained that the last flight had taken refugees from Africa to Japan. Most of the refugees had lice. They fumigated the plane as soon as the refugees got off, but unless they sprayed it twelve hours later to make sure all the bugs were dead, we may get held up in customs. She said the spray was harmless. They weren’t wearing masks, so I believed her.”
The time frame fit. It seemed that spraying an aerosol would be the best way to assure everyone was thoroughly exposed. This had to be the infection and it was intentional. “I have one last question,” I said. “Were the flight attendants Japanese?”
“No,” she said with a puzzled look on her face. “They were a crew from China. Why do you ask?”
Chapter
8
I took my phone out again. I needed to make three calls. I looked through my call log and found Doc Baker’s number and touched the green box at the bottom of the screen to dial the number.
“What did you find?” he asked without a greeting.
“It was an intentional act.” I quickly described what Kimiko had related to me. “That isn’t why I called, though. You said that five percent of those exposed would be immune to the disease. Kimiko is not showing any signs. I think it would be best to get her away from the diner. Is there a problem with that?”
After what Kimiko had already been through, it didn’t seem right to keep her locked up to watch her classmates succumb to the illness. I didn’t want her here if I had to put them down, either.
“I don’t see that as a problem. I will contact Dr. Clark to make sure. I would like to have her quarantined for a few hours to make sure that any hitchhiking viruses she may be carrying have time to become inactive. I will get back to you in a few minutes.”
The second call I needed to make was to Special Agent Shannon O’Niel in the Los Angeles FBI field office. I had worked a case with him three years ago and we had developed a good relationship. We kept in touch and he constantly told me to call if I needed anything. After the fourth ring, “Some of us have work to do, what do you want?” and then he started laughing. He was third generation American, but he normally spoke with a slight Irish accent. He had never even been to Ireland. He said the ladies liked it. When he told me that, I started laughing and told him that with all the curly red hair he had, he had better try to make it a little more pronounced because he obviously needed all the help he could get with the ladies. The truth was, his accent had nothing to do with the “ladies”. He was the guy from high school who was always making jokes and never grew out of being the class clown. He was actually married and completely devoted to his wife.
“Shannon, I need some help. Have you heard what is going on up here?” I asked quickly.
“Yeah, I heard. A doctor from there talked with a Dr. Clark at the CDC. As soon as they got off the phone, we got a call from the CDC. Within a couple minutes of that phone call, a team of Homeland Security contractors that works out of our office was out the door and on their way. We were briefed two weeks ago on the chance that this might be released, but it didn’t seem very probable that they would release it once we knew about it. Before we knew, it was likely the country would be wiped out before we figured out what was happening, Once we knew it was a Chinese weapon, releasing it would be like dropping a nuke on New York City. It would demand retaliation. What is the damage up there?”
I gave him the ninety second abbreviated version of what had happened. There was no response for at least ten seconds. “Are you still there?” I asked.
“Yeah, I’m still here,” he said with his blustery bravado and Irish accent gone. “I didn’t realize you had been exposed. How long has it been?”
I looked down at my watch, “A little over an hour and 10 minutes, I guess.”
“Do any of you have any symptoms?” I could tell from the way he asked that it was an uncomfortable subject for him to broach. It was like asking a friend just diagnosed with terminal cancer when he was supposed die.
“So far we’re all fine.” As I said it, I realized that Mary and Lawrence were coughing and had been while I was talking to Kimiko, too. I hadn’t noticed until he mentioned it. “Actually, I am fine, but two of the people in the diner with me are starting to show symptoms.”
“Have you told Katie yet?” he asked, referring to my wife. While he had been working the case with me three years ago, he had eaten dinner with us every night for two weeks. He had gotten to know Katie and Toby during that time. The following summer, he and his wife had come and visited us for a couple days.
“No, I haven’t had a chance. That’s going to be my next phone call. Business has been first today, but it’s time to call her.” I had been putting the call off since I spoke with Doc Baker. Katie hated the risk that came with my job and I didn’t know how to break it to her that her worst fears were about to be confirmed: my job was going to kill me.
“I need to pass this up the chain. We will follow up on the information you provided and I suspect rockets will be flying before the day is over. I don’t really have the words right now so I’m not going to say anything. I want you to know that Sally and I will do everything we can to help Katie and Toby.”
Shannon was the kind of man who wouldn’t make promises he didn’t intend to keep. It gave me some comfort to know he would look out for my family when this was over.
“Don’t take any wooden nickels,” he piped with the return of his Irish accent and hung up the phone. To most it would have seemed boorish, but it was what I expected and needed. We both knew I had hours left to live and I appreciated him not dwelling on it. I didn’t want my last minutes ruined by a lot of crying and lamenting from friends. My life had been good so far and I was going to live it until the end.
Before I could dial Katie, my phone rang again with a call from Doc Baker. “Dr. Clark said there was no problem with taking Kimiko and placing her in isolation for a couple hours and letting her go. If she isn’t showing symptoms by now, she isn’t going to.”
“Connor!” Lawrence blurted out. “More trouble! There’s an Asian woman covered in blood running from the Knick Knack Shack.”
I knew she needed to be dealt with after I got off the phone with Doc Baker the first time. I thought Matt would be here in time to deal with her before she regained consciousness. I was wrong.
“I have to go Doc. We have a big problem.” And I hung up the phone.
“Lawrence, you’re in charge here!” I shouted as I ran toward my car. “Take the shotgun and get Mary and Bertha out front.” I slipped the purple slinky bracelet from around my wrist and unlocked the door. I tossed it to Lawrence and yelled, “Lock the doors before you leave. If anything gets out of the diner, it’s up to you to stop it. Aim for the head, body shots don’t work. And don’t let anyone from outside near you!” I shouted as I slid into the front seat of the patrol car. I hadn’t gotten the keys back from Lawrence, so I used the second set I carried on my belt keeper.
I yanked the gear shift lever down one slot and pushed the gas pedal to the floor while twisting the steering wheel to the left. The tires chirped as the car plowed backwards across the freshly sealed asphalt parking lot. As soon as the nose of the car pointed toward the road, I slammed on the brakes, stopping the backwards motion. I pulled the gear lever down two more notches and buried the gas pedal into the short carpet on the floor. In the ten seconds it took me to get into the car, the infected woman had already moved a long way down Main Street. Her awkward gait looked like it would slow her down. The distance she had covered spoke otherwise. She was as fast as an Olympic sprinter. I was afraid she would leave the street and run between buildings, forcing me to abandon my car and pursue her on foot.
From what I was seeing, there was no way to catch her on foot. Not only was her speed faster than mine, her stamina was much greater than mine, too. It appeared that luck was on my side, though. She continued running down the middle of the lane. As the car closed the distance, the red needle on the speedometer passed through sixty. She was less than 100 feet ahead. In less than a second I was going to crush her with the car. Like a rodeo clown fleeing a charging bull, she made a last second jink to the right and started down Lincoln Street. I moved my foot from the gas pedal and crushed the brake pedal as my boot tried to push it through the floor. The front of the car dropped instantly as the whole car fought against the restraining force of the brakes.
I resisted the urge to rack the wheel hard to the left in a u-turn. The Crown Victoria has a bad tendency to under steer. When the wheel is turned sharply before the car has slowed enough, the car will continue forward, skidding on the turned wheels. Once the speed drops enough, the front wheels will hold to the road and the car will track in the direction the wheels lead. Prior to that speed, sharp turns are ineffective.
When enough speed had been scrubbed off, I cranked the wheel to the steering stop. The tires howled in complaint, but they maintained their tenuous grip on the road and the car sliced to the left. As the car passed through one hundred eighty degrees, my foot began to edge back into the gas. The car accelerated through the next ninety degrees and ended with the nose pointing down Lincoln Street toward the elementary school.
I wasn’t going to catch her before she made it through the pedestrian gate in the fence that ran the perimeter of the playground. The playground was full of kids enjoying their lunch break.
I slammed on the brake as she burst through the open gate twenty feet ahead of me. I racked the gear shift into park before the car had completely stopped. The transmission ticked as the gears attempted to mesh. Suddenly they locked together and the wheels instantly froze. The car ground to a halt six inches from the elevated curb. My right hand was clawing my Glock out of the holster as I slid from the seat. She was forty feet ahead and moving fast when my feet hit the ground. I raised the pistol level with my eyes. She was in the midst of a playground full kids. Suddenly a lane opened up. I squeezed a round off and she bucked forward with a red emulsion spewing out the front of her chest.
The explosion of the gun sent the kids into a frenzy. Unsure what to do, they began running aimlessly. Their random movement closed the open lane and I couldn’t get off another shot without unacceptable risk. The force of the bullet drove the infected woman to her knees. I charged her, seeking an opening. As I closed the distance between us, she rose to her feet and headed to an open door seventy feet ahead with blinding speed.
I was trying to keep up when she breached the open cafeteria doorway. I entered the cavernous room four seconds behind her. My heart dropped when I realized it was full of kids from the second lunch who were still eating.
They had all heard the gunshot outside. They recognized it for what it was and all knew it was a sound they shouldn’t be hearing at school. It put them on the edge of panic. When the blood soaked, crazed woman burst through the door, they were pushed over the edge and started running without direction. They bounced off each other like pin balls in an arcade machine. Many crawled off the benches they were sitting on and lay beneath the tables.
She pushed through the crowd, biting randomly at kids. Her insatiable appetite was battling with her survival instinct, which kept her from staying in one place long enough to make a kill, but wasn’t strong enough to force her to completely bypass easy food. Each bite she took tore flesh from a terrified child.
As she moved to the corner of the room, the worst fear I could imagine materialized out of the mist of my mind. I saw Toby just ahead of her, trapped in the corner. It was as if she could read my thoughts and had sought him out, one kid in a room packed with kids. She made for him as if he was the sole object of her focus.
Her gaping mouth sought his throat like a lioness after a wildebeest and I realized I had no shot. She was directly between Toby and me.
She was offset just enough to the right that I could see Toby mouth the words, “Help me, Dad!” With all the tumult in the room, I couldn’t hear his tiny voice. I was too far to reach her before she was on top of him.
If I didn’t do anything she would kill him. The only hope I had was a desperation shot. The chance of the bullet not striking Toby, as it passed through her, was almost nonexistent. I had no other option and I squeezed the trigger. The bullet entered the back of her skull, exited her forehead, and smashed a hole in the wall within an inch of Toby’s head. As the bullet ripped through the back of her skull and tore a crater out the front, it created a vacuum in its wake, sucking half of the pulverized contents of her cranium out with it.
In what could only be described as miraculous, the bullet had missed my son. However, in an instant of bone jarring agony, I realized the cruel turn fate had played on me. The contents of her head more or less followed the path of the bullet, but in a widening pattern. The heavier bone chips from her forehead led the mass of debris with the lighter mixture of blood and brains trailing immediately behind. Tiny chips of bone at the lead of the mixture imbedded in Toby’s cheek which was then painted with the viscid amalgam that followed.
The bone shards had punctured the thin layer of skin God had placed over his body to keep out the malice of the world. Those tiny voids in his skin allowed the virus saturated blood and prion-permeated brain matter entrance into his body. He had been spared the impact of my bullet, but it had indirectly dealt my son a fatal blow none the less.