Ejecta (15 page)

The questions were still unresolved as the Mustang entered Shelton. Once known for its lumber mills the city had long since been forced to seek additional employers like the nearby Washington State Corrections Center. But even with that, and the mall on the hill, nearly 20% of Shelton’s population was living below the poverty line.

Still, poor or not, Devlin could see that the community was trying to pull itself up by its boot straps. A concerted attempt had been made to freshen things up. An old locomotive had been installed next to the main drag. Attractive looking shops lined the street. And there was plenty of cheerful signage to read.

But what Devlin was really looking for was help finding the address that Harris had sent to her. So she turned into a mini-mall and entered the local coffee shop-bookstore. The plan being to find a ladies room, get directions to the Shangri La trailer court, and buy a mocha. In that order.

Fifteen minutes later Devlin was back in the car eyeing a scrap of paper as she left the rehabilitated part of Shelton for the slightly seedy territory beyond. The address she was looking for turned out to be in a trailer park that had a seldom used railroad track running right through the middle.

Some of the homes were neat as a pin, with well kept yards, and white picket fences. But most of the trailers were badly in need of repair. Tarps lay like blue band aids across leaky roofs, grass was growing up around rusty project cars, and skeletal looking swing sets stood guard over piles of wet trash.

It was a cold, blustery day. So the plastic chairs, old couches, and hammocks that harkened back to the last days of summer were empty except for drifts of desiccated leaves. But, as the parasitologist pulled up next to a sixties style white-over-red trailer, she could feel the weight of a dozen eyes on her when she got out of the car.

Curtains twitched in some of the surrounding units. And blinds opened a notch or two as a pit bull came over to sniff at Devlin’s right ankle before offering its plug-ugly head for a pat. The denizens of Shangri La had secrets to keep. Plenty of them. And every reason to keep an eye out for cops, skip tracers, and repo men.

But the pretty young woman in the classic Ford didn’t fit into any of those categories. So most of the watchers went back to whatever they had been doing before Devlin arrived which wasn’t much. A plastic elf guarded the walkway that led to the trailer. The wooden stairs were sway-backed as if they were exhausted by the accumulated weight they had been forced to support over the years. The screen door rattled as Devlin knocked on it and there was a loud bang as a car backfired somewhere nearby.

A minute passed. Followed by a second. And finally a third. Devlin knocked again, waited for awhile, and was half way down the steps when the inner door opened a crack. Devlin turned. “Ms. Harris? My name is Sara Devlin. Professor McCracken and I were close friends. I was the one who replied to your email.”

There was a moment of silence followed by a terse sentence. “You
were
close friends?”

“Yes,” Devlin acknowledged. “I’m sorry to inform you that Mac committed suicide a few weeks ago. But I know
why
he killed himself, just as you do, and I might be able to help.”

There was a another long silence, punctuated by the
squeak
of unoiled hinges. “Come in.”

The scientist pulled the door open and entered a darkened living room. The rectangular space smelled as if ten-thousand cigarettes had been smoked inside it over the years. There were windows. But because the blinds were nearly closed all Devlin could see were thin horizontal slices of the outside world.

The interior was furnished. But outside of the purse and laptop computer which sat on the kitchen table there were no personal items to be seen. Just some mismatched chairs, the cracked mirror that hung over the couch, and wall-to-wall shag carpeting.

The woman who waited to greet Devlin looked out of place. Catherine Harris was tall, willowy, and almost regal in her bearing. She had shoulder length brown hair, penetrating eyes, and a long straight nose. And judging from the quality of her clothes Harris had money. So why the message? And why was the otherwise upscale matron living in a run-down trailer park?

Harris manufactured a wan smile and extended her hand. It was thin but strong. Like the woman herself. “I’m sorry about the delay in letting you in,” she said apologetically. “But I don’t know who to trust! I used to be able to get some information from the
Le maudit
web site but they closed it down. So I sent a message to Professor McCracken. Of all the people who posted comments on the message board he came across as the most knowledgeable.”

“‘
They
closed it down?’” Devlin wanted to know. “Who are you referring to?”

Harris was pretty in a severe sort of way, but when she frowned, it made her look like a stern school marm. “No offense, but the answer to your question is glaringly obvious. The word ‘they,’ refers to the government, Ms. Devlin. The
government.
”

Devlin remembered the way Agent Cooper had let himself into her house and no doubt searched it without a warrant. Perhaps she was naïve, Harris was paranoid, or both. “I’m sorry,” Devlin replied. “Like Professor McCracken, I’m a parasitologist. So I was able to solve the scientific part of the puzzle fairly quickly.

“In fact, I was present at the autopsy where the mass located between the professor’s shoulder blades was revealed. But I’m not sure I follow you where the government is concerned. Don’t we need their help?”

The other woman’s face seemed to soften slightly as she gestured toward the kitchen table and lowered herself onto one of two white plastic chairs. “I’m sorry for snapping at you. I guess I might have said something similar. Back before Alita’s operation and everything that followed.”

Devlin took the chair across from Harris. “Alita? Is that your daughter’s name?”

Harris nodded and reached for her purse. Though no expert on such matters, Devlin could tell it was expensive, and therefore beyond her means. Or had been until very recently. “Here,” the other woman said, as she removed a photo wallet from the bag. “These pictures were taken
prior
to the surgery.”

There wasn’t much light on the surface of the Formica covered table. But what there was came from a copper colored disk-lamp that dangled from a long cord. Devlin held the photos below the fixture and examined each one. What she saw was a young girl of seven or eight with dark hair and bright smile.

There were various poses, in various settings, all of which showed the same thing: A little girl with a severe kyphosis. The question was why? Was the disfigurement the result of a hereditary degenerative bone disease? Or had an alien parasite taken up residence between her shoulder blades?

Harris told the story without being asked. “Alita is from Ecuador. She was living in an orphanage there. Once the hump appeared the church group that supports the orphanage set about trying to find a sponsor or sponsors who would pay Alita’s way to Texas. A group of Doctors had agreed to perform the necessary operation for free.

“My husband and I are childless, and when we saw those pictures, we fell in love. I went down to get Alita, and when we landed in Dallas, my husband Larry was there waiting for us. The surgery was scheduled to take place three weeks later.”

Harris paused at that point as if gathering her strength before launching into the next chapter of the tale. “Based on the knowledge you already have you can guess what happened next. Rather than the tumor that they expected to find, the surgeons stumbled across a living organism, the likes of which none of them had ever seen before! They were afraid to remove the mass, given the extent to which the parasite had already integrated itself with Alita’s nervous system, so they took biopsies, and stitched her up.

“A team of ten government agents and physicians arrived four days later, packed everything up, and were about to take Alita away when I arrived. They wanted me to butt out, to forget the whole incident, but Larry’s a state prosecutor! So once I got him on the phone—the tone began to change.

“Finally, after considerable negotiation, Alita and I were taken into something similar to the Federal Witness Protection Program, while government doctors continued to study Alita’s condition. They promised to operate. To remove the parasite. But after a couple of weeks passed I knew they were lying to me. I could leave—but without Alita.”

“Lying to you?” Devlin echoed sympathetically. “
Why?
”

“Because,” Harris replied, her anger clear to see. “They wanted to let the infection run its course. To learn more about the parasite and ultimately breed more of them!”

The scientist was dumbfounded. “You’ve got to be kidding! Breed more of them? Why on Earth would they want to do that?”

“They never told me,” Harris replied darkly. “But I can guess…. What if the parasites could be altered? Bioengineered to be more responsive? What if the government could arrange for a particular person, or a group of people, to be infected with the new strain? You can see the possibilities.”

“And who knows?” Harris continued bitterly. “Maybe I would approve, or at least acquiesce, if it wasn’t Alita…. But I’ll be
damned
if they will be allowed to experiment on my little girl! That’s why I took Alita and ran…. The government has been hunting for us ever since. But they can trace credit cards, I’m running out of cash, and Alita is getting steadily worse. She’s taking a nap right now—but that's rare. She’s been irritable lately, somewhat irrational, and increasingly hard to control. What she needs is an operation to remove that thing—but where would I get that? Which is why I took a chance and sent the email. But, given Professor McCracken’s death, I guess that possibility no longer exists.”

Devlin was in the process of reaching out to take one of the other woman’s cold hands in hers when a dog barked outside. Harris was on her feet in an instant. She crossed the room in three quick strides and bent over to peer out through the blinds. “Why you rotten bitch! You led them here! And stalled me so they could sneak up on us!”

Devlin was at the window by that time and taken aback by what she saw. What looked like a medic unit was parked behind the Mustang. Two black Crown Victorias had pulled in behind that. And a group of what Devlin assumed to be government agents were struggling to deal with the pit bull. The dog had its teeth locked onto a meaty calf and refused to let go.

“That’s not true,” Devlin said desperately as she looked up. “I didn’t know!” The back-handed blow caught her by surprise. She staggered, lost her balance, and fell. When Devlin heard three muffled gunshots it didn’t take a genius to figure out that the pit bull had been killed.

She was struggling to get up when she saw Harris remove something shiny from her handbag and knew it was a gun. Was the matron planning to shoot her?

No, the fugitive had already turned away by then. Her shoes made a hard rapping sound as she left the kitchen and disappeared into a hallway. Harris was already pulling the bedroom door open when Devlin shouted, “No!”

But it was too late by then. Seconds after Harris disappeared two additional shots were heard. Then, after a slight pause there was a third
pop,
closely followed by an audible thump. Before Devlin could react the door slammed open and Agent Cooper burst through the entryway followed by a group of combat-ready men.

The scientist was forced to lay face-down on the soiled carpet at that point. Then she heard a male voice say, “God damn it to hell!” and knew that both Alita and Catherine Harris had escaped. Not from the trailer. But from the physical world.

Devlin felt a hand grab hold of her collar as Cooper jerked her up onto her feet. Then, having spun her around, his face was so close to hers that the scientist could smell the cigarettes on his breath. “Goddamn it, Doctor…. I told you to keep the next one
alive.
” And that was the moment when Devlin knew everything Catherine Harris had told her was true.

***

Bremerton, Washington

The twin autopsies had been conducted at the naval hospital in Bremerton. Partly because it was relatively close to Shelton. And partly because the military complex could be secured in ways that civilian facilities couldn’t be. Previously scheduled operations had been canceled. All of the operating rooms had been sealed off in accordance with the provisions of the pre-established ERPT (extreme risk pathogens and toxins) plan. Navy SEALs were stationed throughout the area.

Meanwhile, in operating room two, the specially convened XT team was busy closing the incision on the little girl’s back. Though not a member of the medical team Dr. Wilson had primary responsibility for the investigation and stood a few feet away. Wilson had seen quite a few dead bodies over the years. And prided himself on his professionalism. But there was something moving about the two that were laid out on neighboring tables.

The little girl named Alita lay face down, so that a navy doctor could sew up the wound from which the alien parasite had so recently been removed. Meanwhile the woman who had given her life in an effort to protect the youngster lay only a few feet away. Her eyes stared sightlessly up into the bright lights, and her once shapely body had been disfigured by the long Y-shaped incision which extended all the way down to her pubic area. The deaths were a damned shame—and the question was why?

According to a quick check carried out by his staff both Harris and her husband were solid citizens. Neither of them had demonstrated the least bit of instability, until recently that is, when Alita Sanchez entered their lives.

So now in the wake of the murder-suicide, and the interview he had conducted with Dr. Sara Devlin, Wilson had grown increasingly suspicious. Because, according to Devlin, both Harris and the child had been in a witness protection program prior to the day they went AWOL. And that raised an important question. The Department of Biosecurity didn’t have a witness protection program. So, who had been protecting them? Or holding them? And, why?