Zoo 2 (4 page)

This must be what
heaven looks like.

A pristine coastline, dotted with swaying palm trees, stretching as far as the eye can see. White sand, finer than baby powder. Blue water, clear as glass. The sun warm, the breeze cool.

But best of all?

We've been standing out in the open for nearly fifteen minutes now, less than half a mile from thousands of acres of lush tropical forest, brimming with wildlife…

And there hasn't been a single animal attack yet.

I have to admit, it's more than a little eerie. But it's also an incredible relief, a feeling I can barely describe. A definite cause for hope.

“Careful with that,” Freitas says to one of the porters. They're unloading our crates of scientific gear off the hotel shuttle from Ngurah Rai International Airport. Along with Freitas, Sarah, and I, sorting the equipment to be brought to our rooms, are Dr. Ti-Hua Chang, an epidemiologist from the Chinese Ministry of Health; Dr. Woodruff, an immunologist from the University of Illinois; and a few other scientists I've exchanged only a handshake with.

Actually, “rooms” is an understatement. They're more like personal luxury villas, designed in the style of traditional Balinese wooden huts. Built on stilts, they're perched directly above the sparkling water. Absolutely gorgeous.

Which could describe the entire hotel. Definitely not the kind of lodging that stingy old Uncle Sam would normally spring for. But thanks to the worldwide economic slump and the island's drastic drop in tourism, Freitas was able to score these stunning accommodations for his team for pennies on the dollar.

They're also in a prime location, on the beach and also near the jungles where we'll be doing the bulk of our testing. Our goal is simple: figure out why animals are running amok around the rest of the world but here in Bali are living with humans in harmony.

I take a quick break and shake out the front of my t-shirt. It's already damp with sweat and clinging to my chest. Not that I'm complaining or anything, but after all those months in the frigid Arctic, I can't remember the last time I was this hot and sticky.

Feeling thirsty, I look around for something to drink. There's a tiki bar on the other end of the open-air hotel lobby, but it looks empty and closed. Maybe there's a water fountain nearby. Or, heck—the sea looks so clear, maybe I'll just drink that.

“Indonesian iced tea, sir?”

A trim young Balinese man in a crisp white uniform is suddenly by my side. He's holding a silver platter on which sits a tall glass of amber liquid with a twist of lemon.

I don't think I've ever seen a more tempting beverage in all my life.

“Wow, yes, thank you. You guys are mind readers!”

I gulp down the sweet, refreshing tea so fast, rivulets of it trickle down my chin.

“Not mind readers, sir. We are simply very good at treating our guests well. And so is our wildlife, as you can see.”

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, my top lip cold against my warm skin.

“I sure can,” I say, intrigued by the hotel attendant's words. Perhaps he knows something that will point us in the right direction. “Any idea why that might be?”

The man thinks for a moment, furrowing his brow.

“Well, most Balinese are Hindu. And most Hindus are vegetarian. We believe in practicing nonviolence against all life forms. Perhaps our animals feel the same way.”

I stifle a laugh—at least I try to—which I hope doesn't offend this friendly hotel employee bearing the divine iced tea. He can't be serious, can he? I'm no world religion scholar, but I'm pretty sure there are plenty of Hindus and vegetarians alike in places like India, Pakistan, Nepal, Malaysia. And those countries are reeling from some of the worst animal attacks on the planet.

“Interesting theory” is all I say, placing the empty glass back on the tray and extending my other hand to shake. “I'm Oz, by the way. Thanks again.”

“My name is Putu. Welcome to Bali. I hope you find what you are looking for.”

That makes two of us.

The porters are wheeling the last of our gear to our villas. I know Freitas will want us to head out as soon as possible to begin running tests. So first, I take out my new international satellite phone, issued to all team members so we can stay in constant touch no matter where in the world we go. Thrilled to see I have a few bars of reception, I scroll down my very short list of contacts until I find the one I so desperately want to call: “
Chloe ~ Paris
.”

“Did he tell you what time the bar opens?”

I look up. Sarah has walked over to me. She's carrying an industrial metal laptop case and wheeling a crate of empty test tubes and plastic specimen bags.

She's also stripped down to cargo shorts and a tight gray tank top. Like me, her skin is glistening with sweat. But unlike me, on her it actually looks pretty sexy.

“Sorry. I didn't ask. And with so few guests, I bet they don't even open it at all.”

“Too bad,” Sarah replies. “I was thinking, after we spend the day trekking around the island, we could…have a drink. Compare notes.”

Huh? I don't believe it. Is star CDC biologist Dr. Sarah Lipchitz…hitting on me?

I can't tell if that glint in her eye is professional curiosity or something more. Sure, it's a scary time to be single and alone in the world. But Sarah knows I'm happily married. This is a path I definitely don't want to go down—especially with a woman as smart and dangerously cute as she is. Maybe I'm reading too much into it.

“Maybe, uh…another time.” Then I hold up my satellite phone. “Excuse me.”

I step into a quiet corner of the lobby and dial. It rings. And rings.

Finally, I hear a click. The sound of rustling. Then a familiar voice.

“Allô?”

“Chloe? It's Oz! Can you hear me? How are you and Eli doing?”

The connection is awful, full of crackling static. I can barely make out what my wife replies.

“We're fine but…and food is low…and animals keep trying to…please hurry…”

“Chloe, honey,” I interrupt, “I can't understand what you're saying. I'm going to hang up. Give Eli a hug for me. I love you both. And…I will hurry. I promise.”

I wait for her to answer, but all I hear is more white noise. Then the line goes dead. Which gives me a sudden sinking feeling deep in the pit of my stomach.

My wife and child are under siege in Paris and I'm here in paradise.

I'd better get to work.

Most mornings, I like
to start the day with a shower. Today I feel like taking a dip in the sea, right outside my front door.

I'm standing by the entrance of my wooden villa, gazing out at the crystal water all around me. The sun is just starting to rise, casting vibrant streaks of pink and orange along the horizon.

It's a precious moment of peace before what I know will be another grueling day.

After arriving in Bali yesterday afternoon, our team wasted no time getting down to business. Freitas, Sarah, the other scientists, and I spread out to cover as much ground as we could. We took samples of the water, soil, pollen, and air. We tested the island for unusual patterns of radiation and electromagnetic activity. We dug through mud as thick as tar to collect insects and worms. We waded into a rushing river to net fish and plankton. We even trekked through the punishing jungle in Padangtegal to trap a feisty twenty-two-inch-long macaque. Before we left, Sarah told me to bag a stinking pile of the monkey's dung. I thought she was kidding—or maybe stung by my rejection earlier—but Freitas insisted I obey.

By the time we all made it back to the hotel, well after midnight, I could barely keep my eyes open. I knew the next day would be even more exhausting: the plan was to head further inland into the mountains to capture additional animals to study, including a Komodo dragon and a six-foot Burmese python. I flopped onto the bed the moment I walked in, still wearing my filthy clothes, and fell fast asleep.

But now, thanks to a mix of jet lag and nerves, I'm wide awake at dawn. It's almost 11:00 p.m. in Paris, too late to call Chloe. To clear my head, I decide to take a dip.

I strip down to my boxers and cannonball into the calm sea, as if I were a little kid again at the local pool. I'm surprised by how warm the water feels, like a soothing bath.

I flick my wet hair from my eyes and float on my back at first, letting the gentle current carry me. Then I flip over and use a slow breaststroke to swim farther out.

I glance over my shoulder at the coastline. The swaying palm trees, the quaint villas, the stunning beach—it's like something you'd see on a postcard. I make a mental note to bring Chloe and Eli back here someday, when all this HAC craziness is finally over, for a family vacation. Lord knows they deserve it.

I know I should probably start heading back to my hut, but something beckons me to swim a little farther out.

Big mistake.

Just up ahead, maybe twenty yards in front of me, I spot a rippling, pinkish-purple mass of something underwater heading my way—fast. Thanks to the way the light is being refracted, I can't quite make out what it is. But I have a very bad feeling.

My first instinct says it's a school of angry jellyfish. Toxic ones.

As the giant blob keeps coming toward me, I realize yes, it
is
a school of jellyfish…with some venomous sea snakes mixed in and a few tiger sharks behind it.

Oh, shit!

“Help, help!” I shout as I twist around and start swimming frantically back toward the shore. “Sarah! Dr. Freitas!”

I'm flapping my arms and kicking my legs wildly, as fast as I can move them. I think I might be getting away, but when I steal a glance behind me, the jellyfish, sea snakes, and tiger sharks are even closer.

I thought Bali was supposed to be safe! What the hell is going on?

I keep swimming and screaming, but it's no use. I can feel the water churning behind me as the mad sea creatures close in. And I can see out of the corner of my eye that they've even started to spread out in a semicircle, flanking me on both sides.

My heart is pounding. My mind is racing.

Is this really how I'm going to die?

Then, in the distance, I hear a glorious sound: the low rumble of a ship engine speeding in my direction. As it gets closer, I hear voices, too, calling to me in Balinese.

Thank God,
I think—I hope they're not too late.

I feel a stinger pierce my right ankle and a set of fangs chomp down on my left calf. I howl in pain and try desperately to shake the creatures off…as another jellyfish latches onto my shoulder and a second sea snake latches onto my hip.

I writhe and splash, pain coursing through my body, praying the boat gets here fast. The tiger sharks must be mere yards away, circling, preparing to finish me off.

Finally I spot the noisy vessel. It's a local fishing trawler manned by a group of shirtless Balinese men. Three of them dive into the water and paddle over to me…

And as if by magic, the jellyfish, sea snakes, and tiger sharks all swim away.

I'm too stunned and light-headed to make sense of this. But, Jesus, am I thankful.

The fishermen pull me over to their boat and gently lift me aboard. I'm shocked by all the blood I see. Not mine—the
gallons
of it staining the deck.

While I start to triage my throbbing wounds, I can't help but notice the awful conditions of the sea life on board. Filthy tanks full of bloody fish, crammed together like sardines. Blue crabs stuffed into rusty cages, their shells crushed and mutilated. Even an adorable baby dolphin, tangled in a net, struggling to take its last breaths.

I'm beyond grateful to be alive, but appalled by the horror I'm seeing.

And confused by it, too.

Putu, the hotel attendant I met yesterday—he said most Balinese were Hindu vegetarians who revered all animal life. Clearly that isn't exactly true. Judging by the scene on this boat, fish have plenty to fear from Bali's fishermen. That army of sea creatures fled when the fishermen showed up, but they sure as hell had no problem trying to kill
me
. Why?

My head spins. Maybe animals can distinguish among the human race by scent—whether Hindu vegetarians or dangerous predators—and react accordingly.

For now, as I try to catch my breath and tend to my painful snakebites and jellyfish stings, there's only one thing I know for sure.

Bali isn't the HAC-free paradise we thought it was.

“It was not another
of the dreams in which he had often come back; he was really here. And yet his wife trembled, and a vague but heavy fear was upon her.”

Chloe stops reading aloud from
A Tale of Two Cities
and places the well-worn paperback down on her lap, suddenly overcome by emotion.

Charles Dickens wrote those words—about one of the novel's main characters, worried about her husband's safety—in 1859. Yet tonight, for Chloe, they hit painfully close to home. Her mind drifts to Oz, halfway around the world. A “vague but heavy fear” is definitely what she's feeling.

“Mommy, keep reading,” says Eli. He's nestled in bed beside her under the covers. It's one of the novels that she and Oz have been reading to Eli, a few pages a night, ever since they were in the Arctic. “Why did you stop?”

“Just lie there, honey. Something tells me you'll fall asleep pretty soon.”

Chloe sets down the book, walks to the door, and is about to turn off the light…

When she hears a loud scratching noise coming from outside.

She's used to the occasional sounds of wild animals trying to find their way in, but tonight it's alarmingly loud.

She nervously peels back the bedroom window curtains—and gasps.

Through a crack in the boards between the glass and wrought iron grate she glimpses at least five or six furry, reddish-brown creatures scurrying up the side of the building, tongues dangling out of their mouths, fangs glistening in the moonlight.

She tries to stay calm. She reminds herself how safe she and her family are—relatively speaking—inside this modest Paris apartment, the one in which she grew up. Every door and window has been heavily reinforced and is kept locked practically around the clock. Beyond the fact that all possible entry points had been sealed up,  just a few nights ago, after stomping to death a dazed rabid mouse that had managed to crawl in through the shower drain, Chloe even plugged up much of the apartment's plumbing, too.

Still, the sight of this pack of feral animals—dogs? wolves?—scrabbling up the side of her building fills her with quiet dread.

For good measure, Chloe checks the screws securing the iron grate over the window, making sure they're nice and tight. Satisfied, she smooths out the curtain.

“
Bonne nuit,
Eli,” she says to her son. “Good night, my love.”

He responds with a gentle snore. The boy is fast asleep.

Chloe tiptoes back to the bedroom door, which is suddenly pushed open from the other side. Marielle, her stepmother, is standing at the threshold.

“
Maman?
What is it?”

At first Marielle doesn't speak. She simply blinks, clearly confused.

“I…I'm sorry. I was looking for the bathroom.”

Chloe sighs. Looking for the bathroom? She's lived in this apartment for forty years. Clearly her forgetfulness is getting worse. Chloe has suggested they see a doctor, but Marielle has refused. Not that they could get an appointment even if they wanted to. Practically every hospital in the city is strained to capacity treating victims of animal attacks. An old lady with early-stage dementia isn't exactly a top priority.

“It's all right,” Chloe says soothingly. “This is Eli's room. My old room, when I was a little girl. Remember? The bathroom is that way. Second door on the left.”

“Of course it is,” Marielle says, waving her stepdaughter off with a mixture of frustration and embarrassment. But then she adds, with a bashful smile, “And I only had to open every
other
door to find it.”

Marielle pads back down the hall. Chloe gives Eli, dozing soundly, a final look.
He deserves a better world than this,
she thinks, turning off the light.

Headed to the kitchen, Chloe suddenly hears vicious growls and violent scratching coming from the other end of the apartment—along with her mother's bloodcurdling screams.

“No, no!” Marielle is shouting. “Chloe, Jean-Luc, help!”

“Maman!”
Chloe yells back, rushing to find her.

On her way down the hall, she notices that the guest room door is wide open…the pantry door is wide open…and to her horror,
the front door is wide open, too.

Chloe understands immediately what's happened. In her stepmother's absentminded search for the bathroom, she has done the unthinkable.

She's just let in the animals.