“I think that will work for us,” Dr. Marchand said. He looked at his department heads, and they all nodded.
Eugene crossed his legs. He’d not seen the unspoken communication between his wife and Sheila. “Maybe I’ll stay here,” he said.
“You are coming with us,” Nancy said to Eugene, yanking him to his feet. Then she smiled at her hosts. They smiled back.
Sheila led the way out of Dr. Marchand’s office. They passed through the secretarial area and down the pale, institutional green corridor.
At the elevators Eugene started to complain, but Nancy told him to stay quiet.
“At least until we get into the rental car,” Sheila whispered.
They boarded the elevator and smiled at the occupants. They all smiled back and commented on how nice the weather was.
By the time they got to the car and climbed in, Eugene was mildly irritated.
“What’s wrong with you women?” he said as he put the key in the ignition. “It took us an hour to get them interested and then poof, we have to go rest. This is crazy.”
“They are all infected,” Sheila said. “Every last one of them.”
“Are you sure?” Eugene asked. He was aghast.
“Absolutely,” Sheila said. “Not a doubt in my mind.”
“I assume we’re not going to the Sheraton,” Nancy said.
“Hell no!” Sheila said. “Let’s get to the airport. We’re back to square one.”
THE REPORTERS HAD GATHERED AT THE GATE OF THE INSTITUTE. Although they had not been invited, Beau had anticipated their coming, he just didn’t know which day. When the young men at the gate had informed Beau they were there, Beau told the gatekeepers to hold them back for fifteen minutes to give Beau a chance to walk out to where the driveway entered the trees. Beau did not want any reporters in the ballroom, at least not yet.
When Beau confronted the group he was mildly surprised by the number. He’d expected ten or fifteen people. Instead there were around fifty. They were equally divided between newspaper, magazine, and TV. There were about ten TV cameras. Everyone had microphones.
“So here you see the new Institute for a New Beginning,” Beau said, gesturing toward the château with a sweep of his hand.
“We understand that you are doing a lot of renovation in the building,” a journalist said.
“I wouldn’t say a lot,” Beau said. “But yes, we are making a few changes to suit our needs.”
“Can we see the interior?” a journalist asked.
“Not today,” Beau said. “It would be too disruptive for the work that is being done.”
“So we’ve come all the way out here for nothing,” a journalist commented.
“I hardly think that is the case,” Beau said. “You certainly can see that the institute is a reality and not a mere figment of imagination.”
“Is it true that all the assets of Cipher Software are now controlled by the Institute for a New Beginning?”
“Most,” Beau said vaguely. “Perhaps you should direct that question to Mr. Randy Nite.”
“We’d like to,” a journalist said. “But he’s not been available. I’ve been trying around the clock to get an appointment to interview him.”
“I know he’s busy,” Beau said. “He has committed himself wholeheartedly to the goals of the institute. But I think I could convince him to talk to you people in the near future.”
“What is this ‘new beginning’?” a particularly skeptical journalist demanded.
“Exactly that,” Beau said. “It is born out of the need to take seriously the stewardship of this planet. Human beings have been doing a terrible job up until now as witnessed by pollution, destruction of ecosystems, constant strife, and warfare. The situation necessitates a change, or, if you will, a new beginning, and the institute will be the agent for that change.”
The skeptical reporter smiled wryly. “Such practiced rhetoric,” he commented. “It certainly sounds highfalutin, maybe even true, at least the part about the mess humans have made of the world. But the idea of an institute accomplishing this out here in an isolated mansion is ludicrous. This whole operation with all these brainwashed people strikes me more as a cult than anything else.”
Beau fixed the skeptical reporter with his eyes and his pupils dilated maximally. He walked toward the man, oblivious to the people who were blocking his path. Most stepped aside, a few Beau pushed. He didn’t shove them hard but rather eased them out of the way.
Beau reached the reporter who defiantly returned Beau’s stare. The whole group of journalists went silent as they watched the confrontation. Beau resisted the temptation to reach out, grab the individual, and demand he show proper respect. Instead Beau decided he would bring this contumacious individual back to the institute and infect him.
But then Beau thought it might be easier to infect them all. He’d just give them each a parting gift of a black disc.
“Excuse me, Beau!” an attractive young woman called who’d just arrived. Her name was Veronica Paterson. She’d run down from the chateau and was out of breath. She was clothed in an alluring one-piece spandex outfit that appeared as if it had been sprayed on her lithe and shapely body. The male reporters in particular were intrigued.
She pulled Beau away from the group so she could tell him in private that there was an important telephone call for him up at the institute.
“Do you think you can handle these reporters?” Beau asked her.
“Most certainly,” Veronica said.
“They are not to go inside,” Beau said.
“Of course not,” Veronica said.
“And they’re to leave with gifts,” Beau said. “Give them all black discs. Tell them that it is our emblem.”
Veronica smiled. “I like that,” she said.
“Excuse me, everybody!” Beau called out to the crowd of reporters. “I must leave unexpectedly, but I’m sure I will be seeing each of you again. Miss Paterson will be available for your remaining questions. She will also be handing out small parting gifts for you to take as souvenirs from your day at the institute.”
A babble of questions bubbled forth in response to Beau’s announcement. Beau merely smiled and moved off. He clapped his hands, and King came bounding to his side. While Beau had been speaking with the reporters he’d had King keep his distance.
A sharp whistle from Beau brought a number of the other dogs from around the grounds. Beau snapped his fingers and pointed toward the group of journalists. The newly summoned dogs quickly moved to positions ringing the reporters and patiently sat on their haunches.
Upon reaching the house, Beau went directly up to the library. He dialed Dr. Marchand’s direct number and the line was immediately answered.
“They have left,” Dr. Marchand said. “But it was an unexpected ruse. They informed us they were going to the Sheraton, but they did not.”
“Do you have their report?” Beau asked.
“Of course,” Dr. Marchand said.
“Destroy it,” Beau said.
“What do you want us to do about them?” Dr. Marchand asked. “Should we stop them?”
“By all means,” Beau said. “You shouldn’t ask a question to which you already know the answer.”
Marchand laughed. “You are right,” he said. “It’s just this weird human trait about trying to be diplomatic.”
MID-MORNING ATLANTA TRAFFIC WASN’T BAD COMPARED with rush hour, but it was a lot more than Eugene was accustomed to.
“Everybody seems so aggressive here,” Eugene complained.
“You’re doing fine, dear,” Nancy said, although she hadn’t appreciated how close Eugene had come to another car at the previous intersection.
Sheila was busy looking out the back window.
“Anybody following us?” Eugene asked, glancing at Sheila in the rearview mirror.
“I don’t think so,” Sheila said. “I guess they bought the story about getting some rest. After all, it was reasonable. But what wor
ries me is that now they know that we know! Maybe I should say ‘it’ knows.”
“You make it sound like a single entity,” Eugene said.
“All the infected people have a way of working together,” Sheila said. “It’s spooky. It’s like viruses themselves, all working for the collective good. Or like an ant colony where each individual seems to know what everyone else is doing and what they should be doing as a consequence.”
“That suggests there is networking among the infected people,” Eugene said. “Maybe the alien form is a composite of a number of different organisms. If that were the case, it would be a different dimension of organization than we’re accustomed to. Hey, maybe it needs a finite number of infected organisms to reach a critical mass.”
“The physicist is getting far too theoretical for me,” Sheila said. “And keep your eye on the road! We just came too close to that red car next to us.”
“But one thing is for sure,” Nancy said. “Whatever the level of organization, we have to remember that we are dealing with a life form. That means that self-preservation will be high on its list.”
“And self-preservation depends on recognizing and destroying enemies,” Sheila said. “Like us!”
“That’s a comforting thought,” Nancy said with a shiver.
“Where should we go when we get to the airport?” Eugene asked.
“I’m open to suggestions,” Sheila said. “We still have to get to someone or some organization who can do something.”
Sheila did a double take when she glanced at the face of the driver in the red car that had been cruising alongside them. It was now pulling ahead.
“My God!” Sheila said.
Nancy’s head snapped around. “What’s the matter?”
“The driver of the red car,” Sheila yelled. “It’s the bearded guy: the epidemiologist from the CDC. What’s his name?”
“Hamar Eggans,” Nancy said. She spun back around and looked. “You’re right. It is him. Do you think he’s seen us?”
At that moment the red car swerved directly in front of Eugene. He cursed. The bumpers had missed by millimeters.
“There’s a black car on our left,” Nancy cried. “I think it is Delbanco.”
“Oh no! They are on the right too,” Sheila shouted. “Dr. Black is in a white car. They have us penned in.”
“What should I do?” Eugene yelled in panic. “Is there anybody behind us?”
“There are cars,” Sheila said, twisting around in her seat. “But I don’t see anyone I recognize.”
The moment the words left Sheila’s lips, Eugene jammed on the brakes. The tiny four-cylinder rental car shuddered and jackknifed from side to side. Its tires screeched in protest against the pavement, as did the tires of the cars behind.
Eugene did not stop completely, but still the car behind thumped into them. But he had accomplished what he’d wanted to do. The three CDC cars had sped ahead before belatedly putting on their brakes. That gave Eugene the opportunity to turn left across traffic. Nancy screamed as she saw oncoming cars bearing down on her side of the vehicle.
Eugene stomped on the accelerator to avoid a collision and shot into the mouth of a narrow alley. It was filled with trash and several trash barrels. Its width was just adequate for the small car so that all the garbage, cardboard boxes, and barrels were met head on in a flurry of flying debris.
Nancy and Sheila hung on for dear life.
“My God, Eugene!” Nancy shouted as they hit a particularly large barrel that flipped up to bounce off the roof of the car. In the process it shattered the sun roof.
Eugene fought the steering wheel to keep the car going straight despite the rubbish and the containers. Still the car caromed repeatedly off the cement walls with an agonizing scraping sound akin to fingernails on a giant blackboard.
Toward the rear of the alley the way was clear, and Eugene hazarded a glance in the rearview mirror. To his horror he could see the front of the red car just entering the narrow byway.
“Eugene, look out!” Nancy cried, pointing ahead.
Eugene took his gaze away from the rearview mirror in time to see a cyclone fence rushing toward them. Deciding there was little choice, he yelled for the women to hold on and pushed the accelerator to the floor.
The tiny car gained speed. Both Eugene and Nancy were roughly thrown against their seat belts while Sheila bounced off the back of the front seat.
Despite trailing segments of the fence the tiny car sped out into a field churning up plumes of dust. It jackknifed several more times, but on each occasion Eugene was able to steer into the skid to keep the car from rolling over.
The vacant lot was about a hundred yards square and treeless. Ahead Eugene could see a rise stubbled with scraggly vegetation. Beyond the rise was a busy part of the city. Over the crest of the hill the tops of vehicles caught in stop-and-go traffic were visible.
With his mouth dry and forearms aching, Eugene cast another look behind. The red car was attempting to maneuver through the hole in the chain-link fence. The white car was immediately behind it.
Eugene’s hastily conceived plan was to rocket over the hill and melt into the traffic. But the terrain had other ideas. The earth was particularly soft, and as the small car’s front wheels hit the base of the hill, they dug in. The car spun to the left and lurched to a halt in a cloud of dust. All three of the occupants were severely jolted.
Eugene was the first to recover. He reached out to touch his wife. She responded as if waking from a bad dream. He turned to look at Sheila. She was dazed but okay.
Eugene undid his seat belt and got out on shaky legs and looked toward the chain-link fence. The red car was apparently hung up in the ragged opening: the sound of its tires spinning could be heard across the field.
“Come on!” Eugene called to the women. “We have a chance. Let’s get over this hill and melt into the city.”
The women emerged on the passenger side of the car. As they did so Eugene nervously glanced back at the red car in time to see the bearded man get out.
“Come on, hurry!” Eugene urged the women. Expecting the bearded man to come running in their direction, Eugene was surprised to see him retrieve something from the car. When he held it aloft, Eugene thought it suspiciously like the Tupperware container they’d brought with them to Atlanta.
Confused by this gesture, Eugene continued to watch while Nancy and Sheila helped each other up the hill. A few seconds later Eugene found himself staring at one of the black discs. To his utter shock it was hovering in midair right in front of his face.
“Come on, Eugene!” Nancy called from near the summit of the rise. “What are you waiting for?”
“It’s a black disc,” Eugene yelled back.
Eugene noticed that the disc was rotating rapidly. The individual bumps that lined the edge now appeared like a tiny ridge.
The black disc moved closer to Eugene. His skin tingled.
“Eugene!” Nancy called urgently.
Eugene took a step back but did not take his eyes off the disc in front of him, which was now turning red and radiating heat. Slipping off his jacket and rolling it, Eugene swatted at the disc in an attempt to knock it from the air. But it didn’t happen. Instead the disc burned a hole through the jacket so quickly, Eugene felt no resistance whatsoever. It had been like a knife through room-temperature butter.
“Eugene!” Nancy shouted. “Come on!”
As a physicist, Eugene was mystified, especially when a corona began to form around the disc and the color began to turn from red to white. The tingling sensation he felt on his skin increased.
The corona rapidly expanded into a glaring ball of light so bright that the image of the disc contained in it was no longer visible.
Nancy could now see what was occupying Eugene’s attention. She was about to call out to him again when she saw the bright ball of light suddenly expand to engulf her husband. Eugene’s instant scream was immediately choked off and replaced by a whoo
shing sound. This noise grew deafening, but only for an instant; then it was cut off with such suddenness that Nancy and Sheila felt a concussive force like a silent explosion.
Eugene was gone. The rental car was left as a curiously twisted hulk as if it had been melted and pulled toward the point where Eugene had been standing.
Nancy started to run back down the hill, but Sheila grabbed her.
“No!” Sheila yelled. “We can’t.” There was now another ball of light forming next to the wreck of the car.
“Eugene!” Nancy cried desperately. Tears had burst forth.
“He’s gone,” Sheila said. “We have to get out of here.”
The second ball of light was now expanding to envelop the car.
Sheila grabbed Nancy’s arm and pulled her off the top of the hill toward the busy city. Ahead of them was heavy traffic and, even better, thousands of pedestrians. Behind them they heard the strange whooshing sound again and another concussion.
“What on earth was that?” Nancy asked through tears.
“I believe they thought we were in the car,” Sheila said. “And if I had to guess, I’d say we just witnessed the creation of a couple of miniature black holes.”
“WHY HAVEN’T WE HEARD FROM THEM?” JONATHAN asked. He’d become progressively more worried as the day drew to a close. Now that it was dark, his concerns magnified. “I mean, it’s even later in Atlanta.”
Jonathan, Jesse, Cassy, and Pitt were in Jesse’s car cruising along Jonathan’s street. They’d passed his house several times already. Jesse was nervous about making this visit, but he’d relented when Jonathan insisted he needed some more clothes and his laptop. He also wanted to make sure his parents hadn’t called and left some kind of message on his computer.
“Your parents and Dr. Miller are probably terribly busy,” Cassy said. But her heart wasn’t in the explanation. She herself was worried.
“What do you think, Jesse?” Pitt asked as they came to Jonathan’s house for the third time. “Do you think it’s safe?”
“It looks clear to me,” Jesse said. “I don’t see anything that looks like a stakeout. All right, let’s do it, but we’ll make it fast.”