Death and The Divide (4 page)

“You finished the gorilla bug?”

“Yes. Dr. Manson wants to look into some kind of tapeworm a colleague sent him from India.”

“Yuck.” Lola grinned. “I don’t know how you can work with disgusting creatures like that. Tapeworms. Ugh!”

Annaria laughed, relieved the tense issue of employment had passed without a blow up. “Seriously. I hate the worm parasites the most. The idea of them curling around in somebody makes me want to throw up.”

The door chime sounded, and Lola beamed. “That must be Min.”

Ria shook her head as her sister raced to the door to let him in. She had a view of their extended hug and kiss when he entered. Then Lola took his hand and led him to the kitchen.

“Hey, Ria,” he said, his Asian features set in happy lines as his gaze followed Lola. He slid his lanky form into the seat opposite her. “What are you working on lately?”

“I had a parasite yesterday that makes gorillas’ skin peel off, and tomorrow looks like an internal worm of some sort.”

He faked a gagging sound as Lola handed him a glass of wine. “That’s mondo disgusting.”

“Sometimes it is,” she agreed, wishing Manson would deal with the worm project himself.

“We’re going out.” He took Lola’s hand and kissed it. “There’s this tight band over at Bumpus tonight. Want to go along?”

“No. I have some work to do.” It was her usual answer when invited for outside entertainment. Besides, someone had to stay home with Conner.

Lola kissed her cheek. “You should go out and have some fun occasionally, Sis. Life isn’t all about bugs and worms.”

“Maybe next time.” She smiled and kissed her sister back. She did love Lola. They’d been so close as children, before her sister discovered art and closed off to reality. Living in a world filled with beautiful creations was probably her way of dealing with the sometimes-ugly patches of life.

“Okay, see you in the morning,” Lola called as she and Min headed out.

The remainder of the evening passed without further mention of Conner’s history report. He remained in his room, diligently working until time for bed. That was okay by her. She had to admit, their earlier discussion had dredged up unpleasant memories of the past. Maybe Lola was right and they shouldn’t focus on it so much. Of course she couldn’t let her sister know she agreed with her. She chuckled. To distract her thoughts, she spent a couple of hours looking into other reports similar to the seagull and whale stories.

She startled when her tech-pad alarm went off. She’d set it earlier to alert her to any new reports of mass killings within a species. She swiped the alarm notice, which took her to a news site search page. This time, the occurrence happened in New Orleans. As words scrolled down the screen, she gasped at the headlines.
Five Violently Killed on Shrimp Boat, Grisly Scene of Attacks on Local Boat, Crazed Fishermen Kill Each Other
…

Finding a likely accurate source, she pulled up the story. A privately owned boat used for catching shrimp had been found adrift last night by the Republic Coast Guard. Four men on board had been brutally murdered. Apparently, a fifth man had gone overboard and drowned. His battered body washed ashore early this morning. All bodies showed evidence of bite marks with flesh ripped out. Gouged eyes and contusions from blunt objects added to the injuries, and most had died from loss of blood.

A cold chill swept her skin, and she shivered. This story had not made the normal Southern media outlets. No doubt they didn’t want this news to spread. Fortunately, enough foreign news companies covered the ROA that such incidents couldn’t be completely hidden from the rest of the world.

But dear God, if this connected to the other killings, this was the worst possible scenario. Whatever had caused the murders had crossed over to humans.

Chapter Four

Ria’s hands shook as she fastened her tunic the next morning. She’d barely slept trying to find more information on the shrimp boat disaster, and her troubled mind affected her body. Little more was known now than when the original story popped up last night. She couldn’t wait to reach the office and hear Manson’s take on this development.

True to her word, Lola rose early. Dressed and ready, she accompanied Annaria when she left for work. Ria avoided saying anything about the job, given this auspicious beginning.

They left Conner at the building’s childcare center so he could catch the tram to his school, then headed for the monorail stop.

“What a nice day,” Lola said, scanning the blue sky as they boarded the sleek silver pod. A smile curved her lips and she half-closed her eyes as a breeze ruffled her hair. “I might go to the Town Plaza after my interview.”

“That’s a great idea,” Annaria murmured, half-listening. What would Dr. Manson have to say about the human deaths and possible relation to the whales and seagulls? She gave her sister a quick peck on the cheek and wished her luck when they reached the university stop, eager to reach her office.

Dr. Manson had already arrived and engaged in a loud discussion with five other people. She recognized two women as biology professors and one man from the Infectious Disease Department of the medical center. The other two she didn’t know, but they wore the gray tunic and pants of government officials.

A quiver of cold fear shot up her spine at the tone of their voices, the agitated movement of their hands, and their worried expressions.

“I’m telling you, this is not going to stay in the South. We need to be prepared,” Dr. Borman from Biology said. She pointed a finger at one of the gray-suited men. “Good God, man, it’s now affecting humans.”

“There’s little evidence that the problem might penetrate the North, but we should know what could have caused it. That’s all,” gray number one said.

“Might?” Dr. Lee, the other woman, asked. “There is no
might
. Hopping species, three incidents in the last forty-eight hours, with this beginning it’s going to spread like nothing you’ve ever seen. Tell them, Louis.”

Dr. Manson stroked his short beard, which had somewhat retreated into his double chin. “There’s enough to cause concern, I agree. We also don’t know if more attacks haven’t thus far been reported.”

Annaria quietly made her way to her desk and connected her pad to the university’s wireless system. Had they learned of the shrimpers, or did they refer to an incident involving humans she hadn’t yet discovered? She peered through the tangle of equipment that separated her from the group. Dr. Manson continued to stroke his beard and stare at the floor, a frown wrinkling his features.

“No one knows what’s happening,” gray two said. “There may be no more attacks.”

Dr. Borman snorted.

Gray one held up his hands. “Just stay current with the reports, that’s all we’re suggesting. It could be anything at this point - a virus, a bacteria, a parasite or just an anomaly.”

Dr. Patel from ID nodded. “We’ll certainly look into it. That’s for sure.”

Annaria’s pad’s topic alarm went off, and everyone turned to stare in her direction. She felt like a mouse in the kitchen at night when a light is suddenly turned on. Her gaze fell to the flashing words on her screen, and her breath whooshed out of her lungs.

“Miss Moralez, turn that damn thing off,” Manson barked.

She rose on shaky legs and gulped air. “S,s,sir, you’ll want to see this.”

When she reached his side, he took the pad. His nearly black skin actually turned gray.

“What is it?” Borman asked, her thin lips quivering.

He raised his gaze. Stark fear showed in the depths of his eyes. “Another seagull massacre…on the coast of South Carolina.”

Dr. Lee slapped a hand over her gaping mouth, Dr. Borman cursed, and Dr. Patel put a steadying hand on the top of Manson’s desk.

Gray number one reached for the pad. “Whatever it is, it’s now in the Atlantic. I must admit, that means containment in the South is unlikely.”

“No shit,” Borman snapped. “That’s what we’ve been telling you. If it’s in the ocean, it’s everywhere.”

Gray one and two nodded to each other and headed for the door. Two said, “We’ll be in touch.”

Manson went to his computer.

“What are you doing?” Patel asked.

“I’m sending a request to the Triumvirate. We need a North-South Coalition to investigate this ASAP.”

The two biologists exchanged worried glances, and Lee asked, “Do you think that can actually happen?”

“It
has
to happen.”

Annaria left the group deep in discussion regarding potential causes and returned to her desk. It seemed unlikely the North and South would put aside their bitter differences quickly enough to head off this disaster. Still, until the North took possession of some infected tissue samples, they could do nothing but speculate.

She checked her comm. No messages. She drummed her fingers on the plas-glass surface of her desk. Carol had not called. Given the emergency of this matter, she decided to take a chance and contact her. That connection might help in starting a dialogue if Carol had enough clout. In any event, she also worried about her friend and why she hadn’t returned her call as she’d promised.

“Just do it,” she muttered to herself and donned her earpiece, concern overcoming caution. The connection clicked several times, and when Annaria almost gave up, it started ringing. She breathed fast and tried to slow down. When a male voice answered, she jumped.

“Hello?” he asked.

“Uh, yes, hello. I’m trying to reach Carol Gates,” she managed.

“Carol Gates no longer works here. Who is this?” he demanded in an angry tone.

She quickly disconnected and pushed from her desk, breathing hard. Her mind raced with the implications of what had just happened. Carol’s call two days ago must have been discovered. But where had she gone? Had they fired her for contacting someone from the North, or worse, would they put her in jail for that?

“Miss Moralez!”

She jerked and pressed a hand to her chest where her heart thudded. “Yes, sir?”

Manson strode toward the door with the group trailing behind his hulking figure. “I’m going to the capital complex.”

“Should I start analysis on the, uh, worm?” She didn’t even know what to call the mystery specimen from India.

“Forget the worm. Keep looking for more stories related to these deaths.”

The door slid shut with a
whoosh
as the last of the group passed through.

Annaria plopped into her chair, her thoughts scattered in a thousand directions. She flipped through news sites but found no more details about the incidents. She stood and paced the lab, poking at equipment she’d already cleaned yesterday, and adjusting calibration on the scanner’s density modules. Not that they needed it. She kept the lab in perfect running order. Dr. Manson would tolerate nothing less.

He constantly reminded her that he was a direct descendant of Sir Patrick Manson, the British parasitologist who founded tropical medicine with the discovery that a parasite could live in a mosquito and cause illness in humans. A man from such distinguished lineage, not to mention his own brilliant career, could have any research assistant he wanted. So she should feel privileged to work with him and keep everything ship shape.

Occasionally he let his mask of greatness slip and showed he actually appreciated her. She grinned. Maybe he even liked her a little. Of course, he’d never admit it.

A beep announcing important news sounded on her computer vid-screen, closely followed by a louder alarm that indicated a local emergency. These were becoming too common recently. The screen went active, and an announcer from the university appeared.

A rumble of dread echoed inside her. She returned to her desk for a better view, half expecting a report of a pigeon massacre in the Town Center. But it was worse.

Much worse.

A lone suicide bomber had detonated a device in the shopping area of the Town Plaza. Hundreds had been killed or injured.

The scene behind the announcer showed med-evacs hovering over the area in droves, and capital security forces in gas masks surged into the area, moving survivors from the epicenter of the violence. In their all-black uniforms, they looked like army ants swarming the walkways and bridges of the normally picturesque Town Center area. Normally green with artfully placed trees and shrubs, accented with streams of clear blue water, the place now resembled a black and gray war zone with billowing smoke and structures scorched by the explosives. People streamed from the circle of surrounding shops and cafes, screaming and waving their hands. Splotches of red marred every surface.

Annaria gripped the edge of the desk in horror as the announcer recounted the known details of the attack. The Triumvirate and members of the ruling panel remained safe. The blast field had activated around the capital buildings, and the city of Omaha had been sealed and declared a disaster zone. No one could leave or enter the city. They advised citizens to stay in their current location until they cleared the lockdown.

Dear God, Dr. Manson might have been caught in the violence on his way to the capital. She pressed his link on the comm.

“I’m fine, Miss Moralez,” his deep voice came through at once. “We were in the capital complex before the bomb went off. I’ll have to stay until they lower the blast field, so let me know if you hear more about the incidents in the South.”

“I will. So far there’s been nothing new in that quarter,” she replied, shaking in relief. “Do they know who set off the bomb?”

“Nothing official.” He lowered his voice. “I’m hearing comments suggesting a radical conservative group from the South bombed us in protest of the triumvirate member’s position. The member who was attacked yesterday. Apparently they want us to know they don’t like the idea of normalizing relations.”

“What a bunch of assholes,” she exclaimed. “How did they get in the country?”

“It’s all speculation at this point,” he said. “Despite this tragic event, I have to convince the Triumvirate that the threat of mass deaths from another source is even greater. We can’t wait to take action despite the message of this idiot bomber and whatever backward group supports him.”

She bit her bottom lip. She had difficulty looking past the carnage in her own town, but he was right. “Okay, I’ll call you if I hear anything. Let me know when they allow you to leave.”

The link ended, and she sat staring at the screen as more scenes of destruction scrolled past: blackened holes in buildings, hazy smoke swirling through running figures, and bodies carried on stretchers. She froze, dread rippling in her veins. Dear God, she’d forgotten that Lola said she might go there after her interview. A sick nausea flooded her gut.

“Call Lola,” she yelled into her wrist comm.

The voice mail immediately came on, “Hey, it’s Lola, you bitches. Leave me a message.”

“No, please, no,” she whispered, shutting down the link, then said in a shaky voice, “Call Mom.”

“Ria? Is that you?” asked her mother, with an alarm blaring in the background.

“Mom? Where are you?”

“At your building. I came to meet Conner after school. Lola called and said she’d be late. What’s going on? I hear sirens.”

“Mom.” She tried to make her voice calm. Maybe Lola hadn’t gone to the Plaza after all. “Did Lola say where she was going?”

“Yes, she said her interview went well and she got the job so she was going shopping at the Plaza for new clothes.”

A male voice in the background said, “Ma’am, please go inside. The city is in lockdown.”

“What? What’s happening?”

“Go inside, Ma’am.”

“Mom,” she called, barely keeping her voice under control in her terror. “Stay at my building, and find Conner at the after school care center, then take him to my apartment. Call me when you get there.”

She ended the contact and wrapped her arms around her chest, trying to stop her shaking. No, no! Not Lola! The woman who hated violence and conflict. Please, not her.

The timer on her vid-screen said three-thirty. Maybe Lola had left before the attack took place. Yes. She had to believe that. She hadn’t even said a proper goodbye to her sister this morning, too intent on the problem with the animal deaths. Sick guilt consumed her. Damn these stupid radicals! Did they think killing innocent people served any purpose? She gripped her hands into fists, wishing she could have one of them to beat the pulp out of right now.

Damn it, she couldn’t stay here. She needed to go home. Frustration burned hot, making it impossible to relax.

“Comm power off,” she called to her desk unit, then went through the sliding door. She ran down the hall and to the moving sidewalk. When she reached the portal to the monorail station, a crowd of anxious like-minded individuals waited, pacing and talking into comm-units.

She found a tan-uniformed University security guard beside the closed portal doorway. She recognized a familiar face who worked around campus most days. “Julio, any idea when they’ll open the portal?”