“These freezers are a little scary,” Harlan said, tapping one of the stainless steel doors. “They contain just about every known potential biological agent, both bacterial and viral.” He then pointed toward another door with large bolts like a walk-in safe. “In there is a library of chemical agents. One of James Bond’s villians would have had a ball down here.”
“What’s through those doors?” Sheila asked, pointing to pressure-sealed hatches with round porthole windows.
“That goes into confinement rooms and a sick bay,” Harlan said. “My guess is that they considered such a facility necessary in case any of the people working in here succumbed to whatever they were trying to vanquish.”
“Look!” Jonathan said, pointing toward a row of black discs positioned beneath an exhaust hood.
“Don’t touch those!” Harlan said anxiously.
“Don’t worry,” Jonathan said. “We know about them.”
Everyone walked over and looked at the collection.
“They can do more than infect people,” Sheila said.
“Don’t I know,” Harlan said. “Come with me. Let me show you something.”
Harlan led everyone to a short corridor off of which were several X-ray rooms as well as an MRI scanner. He opened the door to the first X-ray room. Inside the machine had been twisted out of shape as if it had been melted and pulled inward.
“My God!” Sheila said. “This looks just like what happened in a room in the student overnight ward. Do you know how this happened?”
“I think so,” Harlan said. “I tried to X-ray one of those black discs, and it didn’t like it. This may sound crazy, but I think it created a miniature black hole. My guess is that’s how they get here and how they leave.”
“Cool,” Jonathan said. “How can they do that?”
“I wish I knew,” Harlan said. “But I’ll tell you how I explained it to myself. Somehow they have the ability to generate enough internal energy to create an instantaneous huge gravitational field so they subatomically implode.”
“So where do they go?” Jonathan asked.
“Now you have to go way out on a limb,” Harlan said. “And perhaps subscribe to the wormhole theory of the cosmos. In that scenario they’d be in another parallel universe.”
“Wow,” Jonathan said.
“That’s a bit too much for me,” Pitt said.
“Me too,” Sheila said. “Let’s get back to the lab.” As they returned she asked: “And there’s mice and myeloma cells available down here for monoclonal antibody production?”
“We’ve got more than mice,” Harlan said. “We’ve got rats, guinea pigs, rabbits, and even a few monkeys. In fact, half my time is taken up feeding the guys.”
“What about living quarters?” Sheila asked. As tired and dirty as she was, she couldn’t help but think about the pleasure of a shower and a nap.
“This way,” Harlan said. He lead them out into the main corridor and through a pair of double doors. The first room they came to was a gigantic living room, complete with a large screen TV and an entire wall filled with books. Next to the living room was a dining area adjacent to a modern kitchen. Beyond the dining room and leading off a central corridor were multiple guest rooms, each with its own bath.
“Hey, this is okay,” Jonathan said, seeing that each bedroom had its own computer terminal.
“This is good,” Pitt said, eyeing the bed. “This is very good.”
ONCE CASSY HAD GOTTEN AWAY FROM THE INSTITUTE, she’d been able to find a car with ease. There were hundreds of them simply abandoned as if many of the infected people weren’t interested in them any longer. The people seemed to prefer walking.
As soon as she got to a phone she’d tried calling the cabin. After letting the phone ring twenty times, she’d given up. Obviously no one was there which could only mean one thing: they’d been discovered. Such a realization had been heartbreaking for Cassy, and for over an hour she’d sat in her commandeered car feeling depressed to the point of paralysis. Her wish to at least speak once more with Pitt and the others had been thwarted.
What finally pulled Cassy from the depths of her torpor was a sudden stinging sensation in her nose followed by a series of violent sneezes. Instantly she knew what was happening; the symptoms of the alien flu were starting.
Cassy went back to the telephone, and despite knowing it was in vain, tried calling the cabin again. As she’d expected, there was still no answer. But as the phone rang she thought that there was at least a small possibility that even if the cabin had been discovered, one or more might have gotten away. That was when she thought about what Jonathan had been so patient to teach her: logging onto the Internet.
By the time Cassy got back to the car, the discomfort she felt in her nose had spread down to her throat, and she began to cough. At first it was only a clearing of her throat, but it quickly progressed to a cough.
Cassy drove into the town. There was still some traffic, but it was slight. In contrast there were thousands of people walking about and busily involved with all the necessities of life. A lot of people were gardening. Everyone was smiling, and there was little conversation.
Cassy parked the car and got out onto the sidewalk. Although many businesses were still functioning, others were deserted as if the employees had just stood up at some arbitrary time and walked out the door. Nothing was locked.
One of the empty businesses was a dry-cleaning store. Cassy went inside but didn’t find what she was looking for. Instead she found it next door in a copying concern. What she wanted was a computer connected to a modem.
Cassy sat down and activated the screen. When the employees had left they hadn’t even turned the equipment off. Remembering Jonathan’s Internet name, Jumpin Jack Flash, Cassy began typing.
“THIS IS ALL YOU HAVE?” SHEILA ASKED HARLAN. SHE WAS holding a small vial of clear fluid.
“That’s it for now,” Harlan said. “But I got a batch of mice with the hybridoma cells implanted in their peritoneal cavities as well as a bunch of cell cultures cooking in the incubator. We can certainly extract more of this monoclonal antibody. But it’s only weakly active. I’d much rather try to find a more avid antibody-producing cell.”
Sheila, Pitt, and Jonathan had taken showers and rested briefly, but were too wired to sleep. Sheila was especially anxious to get working and had urged Harlan to show her everything he’d done.
Jonathan and Pitt had tagged along. Pitt was having trouble following Harlan’s explanations, whereas Jonathan didn’t even try. Since he hadn’t had much biology, it all sounded like Greek to him. Instead Jonathan ignored the others, sat down at one of the many terminals available, and started typing.
“I’ll show you two the process used to select B lymphocytes from emulsified mouse spleen,” Harlan said. “Provided you show me the virions you and Jonathan’s mother isolated.”
“We’re not positive the virions are in the tissue culture,” Sheila said. “We just suspect they are. We were just about ready to isolate them.”
“Well, we can find out simply enough,” Harlan said.
“Oh my God!” Jonathan called out suddenly.
Shocked by this outburst, everyone looked across at Jonathan. His eyes were glued to the monitor.
“What’s the matter?” Pitt asked nervously.
“It’s a message from Cassy!” Jonathan cried.
Pitt practically vaulted over a lab bench to get to Jonathan’s side. He stared at the monitor with wide eyes.
“She’s typing into the mail drop this instant,” Jonathan said. “I mean this is a real-time phenomenon.”
“This is fantastic,” Pitt managed.
“What a cool girl,” Jonathan said. “She’s doing just like I taught her.”
“What’s she saying?” Sheila asked. “Is she saying where she is?”
“Oh no!” Jonathan said. “She says she’s been infected.”
“Damn!” Pitt agonized, gritting his teeth.
 
; “She says she’s already experiencing the first symptoms of the flu,” Jonathan continued. “She wants to wish us good luck.”
“Contact her!” Pitt shouted. “Now, live, before she signs off.”
“Pitt, it’s no use,” Sheila said. “It will just make it more difficult. She’s infected!”
“She might be infected, but obviously she’s still Cassy,” Pitt said. “Otherwise she wouldn’t be wishing us good luck.” He forcibly nudged Jonathan aside and started typing furiously.
Jonathan looked up at Sheila. Sheila shook her head. Although she knew it was wrong, she didn’t have the heart to stop him.
FOR CASSY THE IMAGE ON THE MONITOR WAS INTERMITTENTLY blurry. As she’d typed the tears had come. Closing her eyes for a moment and wiping them with the back of her hand, she tried to get herself under control. She wanted to leave one last message for Pitt. She wanted to tell him that she loved him.
Opening her eyes and returning her hands to the keyboard, Cassy was about to type her last sentence when a live message popped onto her screen. She gazed at it in astonishment. It said: “Cassy, it’s me, Pitt. Where are you?”
IT WAS THE LONGEST FEW SECONDS OF PITT’S LIFE. HE goggled at the monitor and willed it to respond. Then as if answering a prayer, the black characters began popping out of the luminous background.
“Yes!” Pitt shouted while punching the air with a fist. “I caught her. She knows I’m here.”
“What is she saying?” Sheila ventured. She was afraid to ask because she was sure this contact was going to lead to heartache and trouble.
“She’s saying she’s not too far from here,” Pitt said. “I’m going to tell her to meet me.”
“Pitt, no!” Sheila shouted. “Even if she’s not one of them now, she will be shortly. You can’t take the chance. You certainly can’t expose this lab.”
Pitt looked over at Sheila. His emotional pain was palpable. His breaths were coming in short gasps. “I can’t abandon her,” he said. “I just can’t.”
“You must,” Sheila said. “You saw what happened to Beau.”
Pitt’s fingers were poised above the keyboard. He’d never felt such heart-wrenching indecision.
“Wait,” Harlan said suddenly. “Ask her how long it has been since she was stung.”
“What difference does that make?” Sheila said angrily. She felt irritated that Harlan would interfere at such a moment.
“Just do it,” Harlan said. He walked over to stand behind Pitt.
Pitt typed the question. The answer came back instantly: about four hours. Harlan looked at his watch and bit the inside of his cheek while thinking.
“What is going on inside your head?” Sheila demanded, looking Harlan in the eye.
“I have a little confession to make,” Harlan said. “I wasn’t telling the whole truth about those black discs. One of them did sting me when I was out collecting the last batch.”
“Then you are one of them!” Sheila said with horror.
“No, at least I don’t think so,” Harlan said. “I tied my weak monoclonal antibody to the enabling protein, and I’ve been giving myself shots ever since. I’ve had the sniffles but no flu.”
“That’s fantastic,” Pitt said. “Let me tell Cassy.”
“Wait!” Sheila commanded. “How long after you were stung did you give yourself the antibody?”
“That’s my only concern,” Harlan said. “There was a three-hour interval. I was in Paswell at the time it happened. It took me three hours to get back here.”
“Cassy has already been four,” Sheila said. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s worth a try,” Harlan said. “We can put her in one of the containment rooms and see what happens. If it doesn’t work out, there’s no way she can get out of there. They’re like dungeons.”
Pitt didn’t need any more encouragement. Without another word he began telling Cassy they had an antibody to the protein and giving her directions to the deserted gas station.
“Why didn’t you tell us you’d been stung?” Sheila questioned. She didn’t know whether to be angry or encouraged by this new development.
“To be honest,” Harlan said, “I was afraid you wouldn’t trust me that I was okay. I was going to tell you sooner or later. Actually the fact that it has seemingly worked makes me feel a bit optimistic.”
“Well, I should say so!” Sheila said. “It’s the first positive piece of information so far.”
Pitt finished his communication with Cassy and came over to Sheila and Harlan.
“I hope you were as discreet as possible with the directions,” Harlan said. “We certainly don’t want a truckload of infected people to be there at the station waiting for you when you arrive.”
“I tried to be,” Pitt said. “But at the same time I wanted to make sure Cassy found the place. It is so isolated.”
“Actually the risk is probably pretty small,” Harlan said. “My feeling is that the infected people aren’t using the Net. They don’t seem to need it since they appear to know what each other are thinking.”
“Aren’t you coming with me?” Pitt asked Harlan.
“I don’t think I’d better,” Harlan said. “There’s only a partial dose of my antibody left. I’ll have to get busy extracting more so that it’s available when your friend gets here. That means you’ll have to find your own way. Think you can do it?”
“Sounds like I don’t have much choice,” Pitt said.
Harlan handed Pitt the vial of what antibody he had along with a syringe. “I hope you know how to give an injection,” he said.
Pitt commented that he thought he could do it because he’d been clerking in the hospital for three years.
“You’d better give it IV,” Harlan said. “But be prepared for some mouth to mouth if she has an anaphylatic reaction.”
Pitt visibly gulped, but he nodded.
“And you might as well take this,” Harlan said, unbuckling his holstered Colt .45. “My advice is to use it if you have to. Remember, the infected people feel very strongly about you being infected if they sense you aren’t.”
“What about me?” Jonathan asked. “I’ll go with Pitt. He might have trouble finding his way back here, and four eyes will be better than two.”
“I think you’d better stay here,” Sheila said. “We can find plenty for you to do.” She rolled up her sleeves. “And we are going to be very busy.”
ONCE CASSY HAD BEEN LOCATED, BROUGHT TO THE INSTITUTE, and subsequently infected, progress on the Gateway speeded up. Although the thousands of workers didn’t have to be individually told what to do, ultimately their instructions came from Beau. Consequently it was necessary for Beau to spend a good deal of time in the vicinity of the construction and for his mind to be clear of extraneous thoughts. With Cassy upstairs and soon to be one of the infected, Beau found it easy to fulfill his responsibilities.
Progress had even reached a point where it was possible to energize briefly a portion of the electrical grids. The test was a success although it did indicate that portions of the system needed further shielding. With those instructions communicated, Beau took a break.
He climbed the main stairs in a normal bipedal fashion, although he was conscious of the fact that it would probably be easier for him now to hop up, taking six or eight steps at a time. There had been considerable augmentation of his quadriceps.
Reaching the upper hall he sensed something was wrong. He hadn’t felt it downstairs because the level of unspoken communication about the Gateway was so intense. But now that he was alone, it was different. By this time he should have been getting stirrings of Cassy’s developing collective consciousness. Since there was none at all he feared she’d died.
Beau quickened his pace. His fear was that perhaps Cassy had been harboring some disastrous gene that had yet to express itself. In that case the virus would have self-destructed.
With a sense of panic that he didn’t understand, Beau struggled to open the locke
d door. Bracing himself to see her lifeless body draped across the mattress, he was even more surprised to find the room empty.
Beau gazed at the open window. He walked over to it and looked down at the ground outside. He saw the walkway and the balustrade. Then his eyes went up the tree, and he looked at the branch. Suddenly he knew. She’d fled.
Letting out a shriek that echoed through the huge mansion, he rushed from the room and charged down the stairs. He was overcome with anger, and anger wasn’t healthy for the collective good. The collective consciousness had rarely experienced anger, and it didn’t know how to handle it.
Beau entered the ballroom and instantly all work came to a halt. All eyes turned to Beau, feeling the same anger but having no idea why. Beau’s nostrils flared as his eyes searched for Alexander. He spotted him at the command control console.
Boldly Beau strode over to his lieutenant and clamped down on his arm with his snakelike fingers. “She is gone! I want her found! Now!”
19
12:45 A.M.
PITT KICKED A FEW OF THE PEBBLES IN THE DRIVEWAY OF the old gas station. He bent down and picked up others and threw them absently at the ancient pumps. The stones clanged against the rusting metal.
Shielding his eyes from the sun, which was now significantly more formidable in its heat and intensity than two hours earlier, Pitt scanned the two-lane road to its vanishing point on the horizon. He began to worry. He’d thought she would have been there already.
Just when he was about to retreat back to the shade of the porch, his eye caught the glint of sunlight off a windshield. A vehicle was coming.
Unconsciously Pitt’s hand slipped down to envelop the butt of the Colt. There was always the worry that it wasn’t Cassy.
As the vehicle got closer, Pitt could make out that it was a late-model recreational vehicle with large tires and a built-in luggage rack on the top. It was coming fast.