“Absolutely,” Harlan said with great excitment. He reached over and put his hand on the latch to the freezer door. “I’ll get a sample of the virus for us to grow out. Then we’ll test it on those mice that I had infected. Boy, am I glad I did that.” Harlan opened the freezer and disappeared inside.
Pitt looked at Sheila. “Do you think it will work?” he asked.
Sheila shrugged. “He seems pretty optimistic,” she said.
“If it does work, will it kill the person?” Pitt asked. He was thinking about Cassy and even Beau.
“There’s no way to know,” Sheila said. “For as much as we know, at this point we’re stumbling around in the dark.”
“HOLD UP!” VINCE SAID. HE HAD THE BINOCULARS pressed against his eyes. “I think I see some tracks leading off toward the south.”
“Where?” Beau asked.
Vince pointed.
Beau nodded. “Take us down to the ground,” he told the pilot.
The pilot set the helicopter down on the tarmac. Still, a tremendous amount of sand and dust swirled up into the air.
“I hope all this dirt doesn’t cover the tracks,” Vince said.
“We’re far enough away,” the pilot said. He turned off the engine and the rotors came to a halt. Vince and the policeman sitting next to him, named Robert Sherman, immediately got out and jogged up the road to where the tracks were. Beau and the pilot climbed out of the cab as well, but they stayed next to the copter.
Beau was breathing heavily through his mouth with his tongue hanging out like a panting dog. The alien skin was not equipped with sweat glands, and he was beginning to overheat. He looked around for shade, but there was no escape from the merciless sun.
“I want to get back into the chopper,” Beau said.
“It’ll be too hot in there,” the pilot said.
“I want you to start the engine,” Beau said.
“But that will make it difficult for the others to return,” the pilot said.
“The engine will be started!” Beau growled.
The pilot nodded and did as he was told. The air conditioning came on and quickly lowered the temperature.
Outside the slowly rotating blades kicked up a miniature sandstorm. They could barely see the two men a hundred yards ahead as they bent over to examine the ground.
The radio activated and the pilot slipped on his headset. Beau glanced off at the featureless horizon to the south. Along with his anger he was feeling progressively anxious. He hated these human emotions.
“It’s a message from the institute,” the pilot told Beau. “There’s a problem. They cannot go to full power on the electrical grids. The system trips the circuit breakers.”
Beau’s long snakelike fingers intertwined to form tight, knotlike fists. His pulse quickened. His head pounded.
“What should I tell them?” the pilot asked.
“Tell them I’ll be back soon,” Beau said.
After signing off, the pilot removed his headphones. He was experiencing a trace of Beau’s mental state via the collective consciousness, and he fidgeted in his seat. He was relieved when he saw the others returning.
Vince and Robert had to cover their faces against the stinging sand as they ducked under the rotating blades to climb into the copter. They didn’t try to talk until the door was closed.
“It’s the same tracks that were at the old gas station,” he said. “They head south. What do you want to do?”
“Follow them!” Beau said.
WITH GREAT DIFFICULTY HARLAN, SHEILA, PITT, AND Jonathan had managed to get six of the infected mice into a type III biological safety cabinet.
“It’s a good thing they weren’t rats,” Pitt said. “If they had been any larger than mice, I don’t think we could have handled them.”
Harlan was letting Sheila put disinfectant and bandages on several of the bites he’d gotten. “I knew they were going to be trouble,” he said.
“What are we going to do now?” Jonathan asked. He’d become intrigued by the experiment.
“We’re going to introduce the virus,” Harlan said. “It’s in that tissue culture flask that’s already inside the hood.”
“Where does this cabinet vent?” Sheila asked. “We don’t want this virus getting out if it’s not going to work.”
“The exhaust is irradiated,” Harlan said. “No worry there.”
Harlan stuck his bandaged hands into the thick rubber gloves that penetrated the front of the cabinet. He grasped the tissue culture flask, pulled out the stopper, and poured the medium out in a flat dish. “There,” he said. “That will vaporize rapidly, and then our little furry friends will be breathing in the artificial virus.”
“What are the black dots on the back of each mouse?” Jonathan asked.
“Each dot represents how many days ago the mouse was infected,” Harlan said. “I was infecting them sequentially so that I could follow the infestation process physiologically. Now I’m glad I did it. There might be a different reaction depending on how much the enabled virus had expressed itself.”
For a few minutes all four people stood in front of the cabinet and watched the mice race around the cage.
“Nothing is happening,” Jonathan complained.
“Nothing on the level of the entire organism,” Harlan said. “But my intuition tells me a lot is happening on a molecular/cellular level.”
A few minutes later Jonathan yawned. “Wow,” he said. “This is like watching paint dry. I’m going back to the computer.”
A few minutes later Pitt broke the silence. “What is interesting is how they are seemingly working together. Look how they are forming a pyramid to explore up the glass.”
Sheila grunted. She’d seen the phenomenon but wasn’t interested. She wanted to see something physical happen to the mice. Since their level of activity hadn’t changed, she was beginning to feel progressively nervous. If this experiment didn’t work, they’d be back to square one.
As if reading Sheila’s thoughts, Harlan said: “We shouldn’t have long to wait. My guess is that it will only take the induction of one cell to initiate a cascade. My only worry is that we didn’t test the viability of the virus. Maybe we should do that.”
Harlan turned away to do what he’d suggested when Sheila grabbed his arm. “Wait!” she cried. “Look at that mouse with the three dots.”
Harlan followed Sheila’s pointing finger. Pitt crowded in behind, looking over Harlan’s shoulder. The mouse in question had suddenly stopped its incessant rapid wandering around the cage to sit back on its haunches and repeatedly wipe its eyes with its front paws. Then it jerked a few times.
The three observers exchanged glances.
“Are those mouse sneezes?” Sheila asked.
“Damned if I know,” Harlan said.
The mouse then swayed and toppled over.
“Is it dead?” Pitt asked.
“No,” Sheila said. “It’s still plainly breathing, but it doesn’t look so good. Look at that foamlike stuff coming out of its eyes.”
“And mouth,” Harlan said. “And there’s another mouse starting to have symptoms. I think it is working!”
“They are all having symptoms,” Pitt said. “Look at that one with the most dots. It looks like it is having a seizure.”
Hearing the commotion Jonathan returned and managed to squeeze his head between the others. He caught a quick glance at the ailing mice. “Ugh,” he said. “The foam has a greenish tinge.”
Harlan put his hands back into the gloves and picked up the first mouse. In contrast to its earlier belligerent behavior, it did not resist. It lay calmly in the palm of his hand breathing shallowly. Harlan put the animal down and reached for the one that had had the seizure.
“This one is dead,” Harlan said. “Since it had been infected for the longest time, I guess that’s telling us something.”
“It’s probably telling us how the dinosaurs died,” Sheila said. “It was certainly rapid.”
&n
bsp; Harlan put the dead animal down and withdrew his hands. He rubbed them together enthusiastically. “Well, the first part of this experiment has gone very nicely, I’d say. Now that the animal trials are over, I think it’s time for the human trials to begin.”
“You mean release the virus?” Sheila said. “Like open the door and throw it out.”
“No, we’re not yet ready for clinical fieldwork,” Harlan said with a twinkle in his eye. “I was thinking about the next stage being more close to home. I was thinking about me being the experimental subject.”
“Now wait…” Sheila protested.
Harlan held up his hand. “There’s a long history of famous medical people using themselves as the proverbial guinea pigs,” he said. “This is a perfect opportunity to follow suit. I’ve been infected, and even though it has been a number of days, I’ve kept the infestation to a minimum by the monoclonal antibody. It’s now time for me to rid myself of the virus altogether. So rather than thinking of myself as a sacrificial lamb, I think of myself as a beneficiary of our collective wit.”
“How do you propose to do this?” Sheila asked. It was one thing to experiment with mice, quite another with a fellow human being.
“Come on,” Harlan said. He grabbed one of the tissue cultures inoculated with the artificial rhinovirus and headed for the sick bay. “We’ll do this the same way we did it with the mice. The difference is that you’ll lock me into one of the containment rooms.”
“Maybe we should use another animal first,” Sheila said.
“Nonsense,” Harlan said. “It’s not as if we have the luxury of a lot of time. Remember that Gateway situation.”
Everyone trooped after Harlan, who was obviously intent on using himself as an experimental subject. Sheila tried to talk him out of it all the way to the containment room. Harlan was not to be deterred.
“Just promise me you’ll lock the door,” Harlan said. “If something really weird were to happen, I don’t want to jeopardize all of you.”
“What if you need medical attention?” Sheila said. “Like, God forbid, CPR.”
“That’s a chance I have to take,” Harlan said fatalistically. “Now get, so I can catch my cold in peace.”
Sheila hesitated for a moment while trying to think of some other way to talk Harlan out of what she thought was a premature folly. Finally she stepped back through the air lock hatch and dogged it closed. She looked through the glass as Harlan gave her a thumbs-up sign.
Admiring Harlan’s courage Sheila returned the gesture.
“What’s he doing?” Pitt asked from the hallway. The air lock was only big enough for one person.
“He’s taking the stopper out of the tissue culture flask,” Sheila said.
“I’m going back to the computer,” Jonathan said. The tension was making him feel uncomfortable.
Pitt stepped into the neighboring air lock and looked through the porthole at Cassy. She was still sleeping peacefully.
Pitt returned to the air lock occupied by Sheila. “Anything happening?”
“Not yet,” Sheila said. “He’s just lying down making faces at me. He’s acting like he’s twelve years old.”
Pitt wondered how he’d behave if the situation were reversed, and he was the one in the room. He thought he’d be terrified and unable to joke around like Harlan.
“WAIT A SECOND!” VINCE SAID EXCITEDLY. “TURN AROUND so I can see where we just passed over.”
The pilot banked the copter to the left in a wide circle.
Vince snapped the binoculars to his eyes. The terrain below looked as featureless as it had looked for the previous hour. It had turned out to be extraordinarily difficult to follow the tire tracks from the air, and they’d taken many wrong turns.
“There’s something down there,” Vince said.
“What is it?” Beau growled. His mood had darkened. What he’d thought was going to be a simple matter of plucking Cassy out of the desert, was turning into a fiasco.
“I can’t tell,” Vince said. “But it is worth taking a look at. I’d recommend we go down.”
“Land!” Beau snarled.
The helicopter settled down in the middle of its own sandstorm. It was worse than earlier, without the tarmac. As the air cleared everyone immediately saw what had attracted Vince’s attention. It was a van with a camouflage cover partially blown off by the wind generated by the rotor blades.
“Finally something positive,” Beau snapped as he alighted from the helicopter. He strode over to the van. Grasping the tarp he ripped it off. He opened the front passenger-side door.
“She was in here,” he said. He looked in the back of the van, then turned to survey the area.
“Beau, there’s another communication from the institute,” the pilot called out. He’d remained next to the helicopter. “They want you to know that they’d received word that the Arrival is expected in five Earth hours from now. And they want to remind you that the Gateway is not ready. What should I tell them?”
Beau gripped his head with his long fingers and pressed his temples in an attempt to relieve his tension. He breathed out slowly. Ignoring the pilot he yelled to Vince that Cassy was nearby. “I can sense it,” Beau added. “But it is strangely weak.”
Vince and Robert had wandered away from the van in ever widening circles. Suddenly Vince had stopped and bent down. Straightening up he called for Beau to come over.
Beau joined the two men.
Vince pointed to the ground. “It’s a camouflaged hatch,” he said. “It’s locked from within.”
Beau’s fingers snaked under the edge. Progressively he applied an upward force until the hatch snapped up into the air. Vince and Beau leaned over and peered down at the lighted corridor below. Then their eyes met.
“She’s down there,” Beau said.
“I know,” Vince said.
“HOLY SHIT!” JONATHAN CRIED. HIS EYES BULGED FROM their sockets. Then he screamed at the top of his lungs: “Pitt, Sheila, somebody, get over here!”
Pitt slammed down a syringe of antibody he’d been preparing for Cassy and dashed out of the sick bay into the hall en route to the lab where Jonathan was. Pitt had no idea what had happened but there’d been desperation in Jonathan’s voice. Pitt heard Sheila running behind him.
They found Jonathan sitting at the computer. His eyes were glued to the monitor, and his face was pale as an ivory cue ball.
“What’s the matter?” Pitt demanded as he rushed up to Jonathan.
Jonathan was momentarily tongue-tied. All he could do was motion toward the computer screen. Pitt looked at it and his hand reflexly slapped across his open mouth.
“What is it?” Sheila urged as she arrived at Pitt’s side.
“It’s a freak!” Jonathan managed.
Sheila sucked in a breath of air when she caught sight of what was on the screen.
“It’s Beau!” Pitt said with horror. “Cassy said he’d been mutating, but I had no idea…”
“Where is he?” Sheila asked, forcing herself to be practical despite Beau’s grotesque appearance.
“It was an alarm that drew my attention,” Jonathan said. “Then the computer automatically activated the appropriate minicam.”
“I want to know where he is,” Sheila repeated frantically.
Jonathan fumbled with the keyboard and managed to bring up a schematic of the facility. A red arrow was blinking at one of the emergency/exhaust vents.
“I think that’s the one where we entered,” Pitt said.
“I think you’re right,” Sheila said. “What does the alarm mean, Jonathan?”
“It says ‘hatch cover unsealed,’” Jonathan said. “I guess that means they’ve got the hatch open.”
“Good God!” Sheila said. “They’ll be coming in.”
“What should we do?” Pitt asked.
Sheila ran an anxious hand through her unfettered blond hair; her green eyes darted erratically around the room. She felt like a cornered deer.
“Pitt, go see if you can lock the door to the air lock,” she sputtered. “That might delay them for a time.”
Pitt dashed from the room.
“Where’s Harlan’s pistol?” Jonathan asked.
“I don’t know,” Sheila snapped. “Look for it, Jonathan.”
Sheila started for the sick bay.
“Where are you going?” Jonathan called out to Sheila.
“I’ve got to get Harlan and Cassy out of those containment rooms,” Sheila said.
“WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO, BEAU?” VINCE ASKED, breaking what had seemed to be a long silence.
“What do you think this place is?” Beau asked, pointing down the hatch at the gleaming, white, high-tech interior.
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” Vince said.
Beau glanced back at the helicopter. The pilot was dutifully standing by. Beau returned his gaze down the hatch. His mind was in a turmoil and his emotions frayed.
“I want you and your co-worker to go down in this strange hole and find Cassy,” Beau said. He spoke slowly and deliberately as if he were making great effort to restrain himself from flying into a rage. “When you find her, I want you to bring her to me. I must go back to the institute, but I will send the copter back for you.”
“As you wish,” Vince said warily. He was afraid of saying the wrong thing. The fragility of Beau’s emotions was obvious.
Beau reached into his pocket and drew out a black disc. He handed it to Vince. “Use it as you see fit,” he said. “But do not harm Cassy!” Then he turned and strode back to the waiting aircraft.
20
7:10 P.M.
WITH FUMBLING HANDS SHEILA UNLOCKED THE HATCH into Harlan’s containment room. By the time she had it open, Harlan was standing next to it. He was surprised and irritated.
“What the hell are you doing?” he questioned. “You’ve contaminated yourself and the entire facility.”
“It can’t be helped,” Sheila sputtered. “They’re here!”
“Who is here?” Harlan asked. His expression rapidly changed to concern.