Containment (27 page)

"
I'm sorry," said Gordon. He wanted to say more but he couldn't find the words. The tears running down Cecily's face astonished him; he didn't think he'd ever see her cry. He wanted to reach out, touch her cheeks, wipe away the tears, say something comforting, like the hero in a movie. But he couldn't think of anything to say.

"
It's too much," said Cecily.

"
I'm sorry," said Gordon, torturing himself for not thinking of anything else to say.

"
I'm sorry too." Cecily wiped her face and looked around. "We should be getting back to the gym as soon as possible."

"
Is there anywhere closer? I seem to remember a church or something near here...or somewhere. It was guarded too."

"
Where? Do you remember how to get there?"

Gordon gave a frustrated shake of his head. He hadn
't paid enough attention to the GPS. And he didn't have it with him now—he'd left it in a locker at the gym.

"
Then maybe we ought to stick with what we can find," said Cecily. "I know the way to the gym from here. It's farther away than I'd like, but we don't want to be wandering around all night."

"
Agreed."

Dusk had arrived and darkness approached rapidly. Clouds blocked the fading light in the west. The temperature turned chilly, even as Gordon and Cecily continued to perspire from their recent exercise.

Cecily led the way down the street. They made a turn at the intersection where the porcupine had turned, but they went in the opposite direction, back toward the gym.

"
I'd feel better if we were going the same way as that armored patrol car," said Gordon.

"
So would I, but that'd take us out of the way."

"
We could go for the scenic route."

Cecily glanced at him.
"Are you serious? You really want to try and follow the porcupine?"

"
No, I guess not," said Gordon. "By now those guys are probably already out of the zone and enjoying their earnest conversation over a nice dinner at the chow hall." He nervously scanned the area. Darkness limited his range of vision. "But I'd sure feel better if there were more people out and about."

Cecily looked around too. The street was full of duplexes carved from the same basic model
—one design had been cloned to produce the whole block of houses. The houses were, or had been, occupied, as attested by the presence of automobiles on the curb. But all were dark as Cecily and Gordon shot fearful looks around the block.

"
No one is stirring," said Gordon, "not even a...." He looked at Cecily.

"
All the mice are dead, Gordon."

They arrived at an intersection. The blocks in all directions could have been clones of the one they
'd just walked down. Cecily hesitated.

"
Don't tell me we're lost," said Gordon.

"
No, wait—I know which way to go." Cecily took a step toward the right, then stopped.

Gordon saw them at the same time. Three of the young men who had chased them earlier were standing about 100 feet down the street.

Cecily and Gordon wheeled around. Behind them were the two others.

Although the gathering darkness obscured most of the faces of the gang, their toothy smiles could be seen.

Gordon ran up to the nearest house, the one at the corner. He beat on one of the doors. "Hey! Hey, you in there! Open up!"

The young men laughed.
"Louder," one said. "They got hearing problems."

Cecily had joined Gor
don at the door. She saw someone peer out of an upstairs window, but then the face quickly disappeared behind a curtain. He didn't seem to be interested in the current events on and around his doorstep.

The five men gathered behind Cecily and Gordon. Their clothes were dirty, torn, and in a few cases, bloody. The youngest, a brown-haired boy, smiled with a blood-stained mouth missing several of its front teeth. The oldest, and the one in the best shape, couldn
't have been more than twenty. All of them arrayed themselves around the walkway.

"
I don't suppose," Cecily whispered to Gordon, "you know jujitsu, karate, or any of the martial arts, do you?"

"
I never learned anything useful in school," answered Gordon. "Just how to dissect a frog and conjugate a verb."

"
Yeah, me too."

"
Hey, speak up," said the young man in the center. He seemed to be the leader. "Share it with the rest of the class."

That got loud laughs. Hideous, exaggerated laughs.

"What do you want?" asked Gordon.

The men looked at each other.
"Well," said the leader, "it sure ain't you, dude."

More odious laughter.

Cecily said, "Then how about letting this guy go?"

Gordon turned to her.
"Are you crazy? I'm not going anywhere."

"
Beat it, bud." The leader jerked his head toward the street. "Scram. We don't have time for you." He eyed Cecily hungrily.

One of the men said,
"Skinny bitch. She's too skinny. She won't last."

Gordon stared at Cecily. He couldn
't believe how calm she seemed. He whispered, "Don't you
ever
get freaked out?"

"
What happens, happens." She glanced at him. "Get out of here, Gordon. Now, while you still can. I'll survive this. Trust me."

Gordon
's stare seemed to cut straight through the darkness—he could see Cecily's face clearly, almost as if it were lit from some inner glow. She was serious—calm and serious.

"
No," said Gordon firmly.

"
You'll just get beaten up," said Cecily.

"
Okay. Better that than...."

"
I can think of worse things." Cecily sighed. "Give me a straight answer on something before you go."

"
I'm not going."

"
Then before we get the slobber beaten out of us. Tell me, because I'm curious. Did you really come in here looking for me?"

"
Yes."

"
Why?"

"
Hey, dude," said the leader. "I don't mean to be rude, but, you know, are you cutting out of here or what?"

"
That's his girl," said another. "He don't want us messing with his girl. We're going to have to whack his balls."

"
Man oh man," said the leader. "To get your balls whacked over a scrawny chick like that. Fugly, too. Why, if the world wasn't comin' to an end, I wouldn't give this bag of bones a second look."

Gordon ignored them. He stood and stared into Cecily
's eyes. "You want the honest answer, or the one that sounds good?"

"
J. P. Morgan said something like that," observed Cecily. "Didn't he?"

Gordon couldn
't help but smile. "What does
he
have to do anything?"

"
Nothing. Just tell me the honest one."

Gordon didn
't hesitate. "The honest answer is that I don't know."

"
Okay. Now how about the one that sounds good?"

The leader took a step f
orward. "Enough."

Angry bees suddenly buzzed through the air.
Glass windows shattered. Gordon looked around, then heard the sound of firecrackers going off.

Cecily yanked on his hand.
"Get down!"

Ten feet away the leader had dropped to his knees. A large dark blotch covered the front of his shirt. With a look of shock he fell on his face.

Gordon listened, hearing only the ragged sounds of his own breathing and the fading footsteps of men running away.

Cecily jumped up.
"This way!"

"
What?" Gordon felt himself dragged forward. "Cecily, they might not go far!"

Gordon wrangled out of Cecily
's grip as they passed the fallen man. Leaning over, Gordon saw the pool of blood seeping through the grass and into the yard; a dark red reservoir formed behind the raised edge of the concrete walkway. But the bleeding had stopped—the man was dead.

When Gordon looked up he caught a glimpse of Cecily racing around the corner. He ran after her as fast as he could go.

A block later he caught up to her. Cecily was panting heavily and scanning up and down the street.

"
Is this the way to the gym?" asked Gordon.

"
I don't see him."

In the failing light Gordon stared at Cecily
's face; a few dim rays from the last remaining bright spot in the western sky made her sweaty skin glisten. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"
Damn it, where did he go?"

"
Who? Are you talking about one of those guys—"

"
You didn't see him? The shooter?"

Suddenly it occurred to Gordon that someone had to have shot the gang leader
—the angry bees had been the bullets, and the popping noise had been gunfire. He'd been so scared he hadn't even thought about it.

"
Who was it?" he asked.

"
I don't know, but I've seen him before. I've lost him, but we have to find him."

"
What? You mean to thank him for...." Then Gordon understood. "He had a machine gun, didn't he?" That explained the rapid shots.

"
I don't know much about weapons but it looked like an Uzi to me, or something like that."

"
And he wasn't wearing a uniform, was he?"

"
He's a kid. A teenager. I didn't get a good look at him, but I saw his face by the flashes coming from the gun barrel. I don't know his name, but I've talked to him before. Seemed like a bright boy, the type who stays out of trouble." Cecily gave a long look at Gordon.

He nodded.
"Anybody around here with a machine gun has got to have one thing on his mind."

"
And it's not saving damsels in distress," said Cecily.

22 April, Thursday

Bethesda, Maryland
/ 1:10 a.m.

Finally the thin face of Roderick Halkin appeared on Kraig's screen.

"
Where are you?" asked Kraig. "The video communication software has been trying every link in the whole building."

Roderick frowned.
"At work in the lab. Kraig, I'm busy—"

"
I have news. From the pathologists."

With raised eyebrows Roderick waited for Kraig to go on.

A fluttering thought captured Kraig's attention: he wondered if Roderick considered himself and the lab scientists in competition with the physicians who were trying to understand the disease. Surely not! This was a team effort. Kraig glanced at the ticker. 1269.

"
Kraig?"

The assistant director shook his head.
"Sorry. I'm drifting again. The...uh...."

"
Call me back when you've had some rest." Roderick started to give the voice command to cut the video link.

"
Hold it!" Kraig took a deep breath and forced himself to concentrate. "You need to hear this. Sleep exacerbates the problem."

Instantly Roderick
's fingertips came together and his eyes closed.

"
I thought that might get you," muttered Kraig.

In a few seconds Roderick
's eyes came open. "There are a number of different possible interpretations. I'm not sure this datum helps."

"
Rhythms, Sherlock! Sleep causes specific rhythms in the brain."

"
I'm well aware of sleep physiology, thank you."

"
The brainstem nuclei are very much involved in sleep rhythms. Surely this is a clue."

Roderick paused.
"There are numerous electrical and biochemical activities involved in the neural rhythms of sleep. Have you notified the people in the zone? This information would be quite valuable to them, I should think."

Kraig sputtered.
"You think I'm a total moron? Of course I've passed it on. I'm not sure if they'll believe us—and frankly I don't blame them—but the information is going out over WKH, all the television networks, and blaring out over loudspeakers attached to the patrol vehicles. I may be tired, Rod, but I'm not criminally negligent."

"
Kraig...may I speak to you in a capacity of...."

"
A friend?"

Roderick flashed a smile.
"Yes."

"
Well," said Kraig cautiously, "I like the musician fellow better than you, but yes, go ahead."

"
You must have sleep. The rhythms, you know, are restorative and essential for proper neural functioning, and there's no reason for
you
not to go to sleep."

"
What about you?"

"
I don't need it so much. I'm an odd fellow." Another flashed smile. "A fact to which you continually allude."

Kraig
's gaze lit upon the ticker. "Twelve hundred seventy-one."

"
Kraig. There's nothing you can—"

"
Twelve hundred seventy-two. Seventy-three, seventy-four. Christ, the night patrol must have just brought in a whole mess of bodies. It jumped up to twelve hundred ninety as I was staring at it."

"
Kraig, you're psychologically unstable."

"
You know where Chet is right now, Sherlock? Do you know what he's doing? Want me to tell you?"

There was a moment of silence. Roderick disappeared from Kraig
's monitor; Kraig repeated his name several times without effect. He was getting up to shake the screen when Roderick's image returned.

Without preamble Roderick said,
"I've ordered a sedative for you. A nurse is en route to your office. As your employee, I cannot force you to accept it. However, should you refuse you leave me no alternative: I shall be compelled to share my opinion of your psychological state to Chet Vernolt, and possibly other officials both inside and outside the Micro Unit. Do you understand me, Kraig?"

A nurse walked in Kraig
's office carrying a cup in one hand; a large blue pill sat in the other palm.

"
How long?" asked Kraig.

"
You'll be out for six to eight hours," answered Roderick.

"
You're treating me like a child. Me, your boss. Is that any way to treat your boss?"

"
Please take it, Kraig. I'm asking you as a fellow scientist and rationalist...and as a friend."

Kraig reached out and picked up the pill. He hesitated.
"I like the musician better...."

"
We're making progress," coaxed Roderick. "When you wake up I'll make a report. We're closing in, Kraig. I promise. We still have some work to do but we're getting there. Pradeep and I and the rest of the team. Give us a day, perhaps two, and we'll have this beastie in the bag. And then we can all get some rest."

"
Six to eight hours," said Kraig. "You sure about that? No longer?"

Roderick nodded. So did the nurse.

Kraig popped the pill in his mouth and drank the water. He wiped his mouth with a hand. "Do I get a lollypop with that?"

* * *

The nurse's image appeared on Roderick's screen. In the background, Kraig was already nodding off.

"
Nice work," said Roderick to the nurse. Then he switched off his video channel.

That takes care of one problem. Would that all problems could be solved by a pill.

Roderick left his office and went straight to the labs. The first thing he saw was Pradeep Rumanshan performing a set of bizarre gymnastic exercises; balancing on one foot, the combinatorial chemist closed his eyes and brought a finger to his nose. This successfully accomplished, he switched legs and hands and repeated the procedure. Immediately afterward he grabbed a multi-barreled micropipettor and returned to work, dishing out milliliter samples into a plate with hundreds of tiny wells.

Roderick waited until Pradeep had finished mixing the samples before he walked over. Pradeep was busy documenting the experiment, but he looked up when he heard Roderick
's soft footsteps.

"
Another batch done," Pradeep said.

"
Have they finished testing the last batch?"

Pradeep nodded solemnly.

Seeing Pradeep's expression, Roderick realized there was no need to ask whether any protobiont activity had been found. The answer was no.

A technician interrupted, seeking instructions from
Pradeep for yet another batch headed for combinatorial synthesis. Micro's labs as well as labs all over the world busied themselves following the formulas Pradeep had been using in his research for the past few months. After finishing a short, technical conversation, Pradeep glanced at Roderick with a wry grin. "I thought Nobel Prize winners were the only ones who got their work so quickly replicated."

"
You've joined the elite," said Roderick. He took in Pradeep's documentation in a glance. "I noticed that you've carried out a remarkable quantity of reactions thus far."

Pradeep
's only answer was a quick nod, accompanied by a measure of irritation. His expression clearly indicated that Roderick and his queries drained precious seconds from the clock.

"
Your diligence is admirable," said Roderick, placing a hand on the chemist's shoulder, "and nothing short of heroic. But if you exhaust yourself you will be doing no one any good, least of all yourself. Not five minutes ago I had to put one man to sleep, and I don't relish the prospect of another."

Pradeep
's eyebrows shot up, and Roderick realized his statement had been badly worded. Am I, he wondered, finally getting tired too?

"
What I meant," said Roderick, "is that one important member of our team needed sedation recently. We, each of us, should not let our situation degrade too far. Everyone needs rest, including you, my friend."

"
Indeed. Which is why I take frequent measurements."

"
That explains the gymnastics, I assume."

"
While my body and mind are still coordinated, I can keep working."

"
You're a clever fellow, Pradeep."

The compliment failed to lighten the chemist
's mood. Perhaps, thought Roderick, Pradeep continued to feel that his cleverness had been responsible for the catastrophe. It was untrue, of course, but you can have a devil of a time convincing a man of his innocence when that man was absolutely determined to hang himself.

The door to the lab banged loudly and both men whirled.

"You'll not run in here!" shouted Roderick to a young female technician. She'd blundered through the double doors, slamming them against the stops.

She breathed deeply, staring at Pradeep.

Concerned, Pradeep stepped forward, followed by Roderick. "Is something wrong?"

"
Batch...three four...." She could barely speak.

"
Relax," said Pradeep. "Do this." He took a few exaggerated breaths.

The technician repeated the performance, bringing some color back to her cheeks.
"Batch number three four nine zero."

"
3490," said Pradeep. "Yes, I remember. The lab at Fort Detrick is supposed to...." His eyes brightened. He spun around on his heel and reached the documentation in two giant steps.

Roderick stared at the technician.
"Protobiont?"

"
Yes, sir. Detrick reports protobiont activity in one of the samples."

"
I'm looking up the chemical components," called out Pradeep. "We'll know in a minute what it's made of."

Roderick smiled.
"Gotcha, you little hell spawn."

Medburg, Pennsylvania / 7:20 a.m.

Cecily Sunday threw a rock at a house window and watched as it bounced off. The pane, now dirty and cracked, held firm.

Clothes filthy, hair damp from the drizzle swept along by the low, foggy clouds, Cecily shook her head and frowned. The armored porcupine that had carried them up and down the streets of the containment zone squatted against the curb, with soldiers milling about in their hazard suits.

Gordon walked up to Cecily. "Need some help, old lady?"

"
They make glass a lot stronger these days than when I was a kid," observed Cecily.

Gordon picked up the rock.
"Shall I?"

"
Excuse me," said one of the soldiers. Though his young, boyish face peered out from the transparent head shield, the suit's speaker gave his voice a deep, authoritative ring. "Sir, ma'am. May I ask what you're trying to do?"

"
We're trying to break into this house," said Gordon. He glanced at Cecily. "But we seem to be out of practice."

Earlier Cecily had established her credentials to the satisfaction of the National Guard troops patrolling the zone. After a quick check with headquarters
—who in turn had contacted the Micro-Investigation Unit along with several other federal agencies—the soldiers offered their full services and cooperation.

The soldier walked up to the door.
"This house?"

Cecily nodded.

The soldier used the butt of his rifle to smash the glass, then reached through the broken window and popped the latch. The door creakily slid open, and the soldier stuck his head inside. "Hello? Anybody home?"

Gordon looked at Cecily.
"Of course," he whispered. "Lots of practice, I bet. Looking for..."

"
Bodies," said the soldier, finishing Gordon's sentence. The microphones on the hazard suits had the sensitivity of the finest instruments—they picked up almost everything. "There might be one or two in here. That what you're looking for?"

"
No," said Cecily. She stepped inside. Gordon followed, then the soldier, who continually called out a greeting. Nobody answered.

"
If you'll take the first floor," said Cecily to Gordon, "I'll go upstairs."

Gordon nodded and started rifling through cabinets. Cecily climbed the stairs, calling out a greeting that everyone now suspected was unnecessary.

The soldier watched Gordon. "What are you looking for, sir?"

Gordon shoveled some old sweaters aside and examined some albums and books at the bottom of a drawer.
"A high school yearbook," he said.

* * *

Private First Class Redford Zunan's shift would be over soon. He stood in his armored booth and kicked the plating, trying to maintain some feeling in his sore, swollen feet.