Even worse: Spanish influenza was airborne, and could kill within a day of symptom onset. With a 10 to 20 percent death rate, if one of them had caught the highly contagious disease and passed it to someone in this hotel, it could decimate the world population within weeks.
Furious, Lily punched the remote control’s off button.
Even Rollie, secluded in his lab while running tests on their samples, might have been infected; he’d removed his suit to save her. Her heart hadn’t been beating on its own for a solid minute before he’d managed to bring her back. Ever since he’d finished drawing her blood on the shore of North Brother Island, as Finn secured her to a raft, she hadn’t spoken to him. Until she knew whether she’d contracted a lethal cocktail of diseases, she had no interest in his outlandish scientific theories.
Feeling a tickle in her throat, she coughed. Typhus? Breathing slowly, she listened to her lungs but detected no congestion. Yet. Rollie’s effort to revive her may have only prolonged her life by a few weeks. If so, he’d also inadvertently caused her death to be far more protracted and miserable.
Her bad gut feeling about the Gettlers hadn’t even scratched the surface.
On the walk to this seedy hotel, she’d been too agitated to speak to Finn. The Gettlers’ wild claims about Cora had been swirling through her head, as aggressively as the tornado that had cut a nine-mile path from Staten Island to Brooklyn. Finn must have been just as overwhelmed, for he’d also remained silent.
Only after she’d taken a long, hot shower and slipped on pajamas, from a package of necessities left by a delivery boy outside her door, had she called him.
“I get why you didn’t want to tell me,” she’d said quietly, wishing she could hug him. “Whatever your family’s done to her doesn’t make me love you any less.”
In response, he’d cried. Although his sobs had been practically inaudible, Lily could feel them reverberating in her chest. Only once before had he lost it in front of her, while still within view of the restaurant they’d left mid meal because his mom’s pain had been unbearable.
For a good half an hour, she’d stayed on the line with him, neither of them speaking. Simply being together had been enough.
The following morning, he’d told her about his mother’s note and the bats, and she’d admitted she’d seen the cage while spying on him. “If we live through this week, we’ll find the truth together,” they’d promised each other.
With nothing else to do, she rapped on Finn’s wall.
No response. He must be napping. The night before, they’d talked until three a.m.
She moved to the window and craned to see the sky, obscured by a building five feet away. After settling into this temporary prison, she’d secured a leave of absence at work due to “a death in the family.” More than anything, she wished she were outside right now, in the fresh air at the Conservatory Garden, pruning the Japanese holly.
Her cell phone rang.
Rollie must have their test results, she realized.
Unable to break the quick-spinning sensation that suddenly gripped her, she dropped to the sketchy bedspread.
Her phone continued to ring.
Pushing through vertigo, she flipped it open to check the caller I.D.
Kristian.
What does he want? The brothers were furious at each other, and she had no desire to get caught in the middle. So far, she’d followed Finn’s request not to answer Kristian’s calls.
The ringing ceased.
Pushing through the dizziness, she concentrated on the red digits on the alarm clock.
The way Kristian had treated Cora, as described by Finn, appalled Lily. She didn’t know what to think of him anymore, or her ability to judge character.
The phone rang again.
This time she answered it.
“Lily, I’ve got news.”
“Okay,” she said, gasping.
“You’re free. The tests were all negative.”
“Oh my God,” she choked out. “Are you sure?”
“Rollie ran them all twice.”
Shaking, Lily lowered her head to her knees. You’re cancer-free! Suddenly she was in a hospital bed, wearing a royal blue gown, a port in her chest.
“You still there?”
Kristian’s faint voice pulled her back, and she returned the phone to her ear. “What about Finn? And you and Rollie?”
“He ran your tests first.”
Finn had traipsed all over that germ-ridden island, and had been near Cora . . .
“Lily?”
“Yes.”
“He might be fine. She’s always been hyper diligent about containing her microbes.”
“Okay.”
“But Lily . . .”
“Yes?”
“I have to tell you . . .”
She blinked rapidly. “What?”
“The way Finn looked at her . . . and defended her . . . a woman who’s already killed one Gettler and won’t be happy till we’re all dead.”
“She did what?”
“Never mind.”
“What do you mean, the way he looked at her?”
“Listen, I don’t want to cause any trouble between you two.”
Bastard. She’d been so wrong about him. That fact that he would imply that Finn felt anything but concern for Cora . . . The insinuation had to be Kristian’s way of getting back at Finn for freeing the woman. Finn was devoted to her; Lily knew that. Yet she herself had done a double take at the ruggedly beautiful woman—exactly Finn’s type.
“Anyway, you’re free to leave. Tomorrow you can go back to work. I’m sure being cooped up here has been especially miserable for you.”
Vicious bastard.
September
s the seal on the door marked “Patient Files” wheezed open, the sharp smell of antiseptic hit Lily, knocking her back to her junior year of high school.
Eyeing her nervously, Rollie flicked a switch; a halogen light illuminated a wash station, bins of PPE, and a neon-red biohazard waste container.
Lily’s oncology nurses had worn purple hazmat suits when dispensing her chemo. The memory triggered the fiery sensation of a blood-orange chemical coursing through her veins. She shook her head. Right now, she couldn’t afford to be burdened by the past. Beyond the plastic sheath at the end of this air lock lay the Gettlers’ secret laboratory. And her boyfriend.
“We’ll take it slow.” Rollie smiled at her, briefly revealing his coffee-stained teeth, and shut the outer door.
Before all this, the way his grin stretched from his loose jowl up to his eyes had always melted away the discomfort she’d felt after one of his offhand remarks about the influence of family structure on child development. Although he’d never said it, she knew her upbringing as an only child, raised by a single mom, concerned him. Now that she had some understanding of their secrets, it made sense why he’d always seemed to be evaluating her fit for inclusion in his family.
To be fair, however, Rollie had always been supportive. Through his praise and questions that showed his genuine interest, she knew he was proud of her for finishing in the top 10 percent of her college class, as well as for her work with the Central Park Conservancy. “Oh. You’re a gardener.” That had been Leonard’s reaction after asking how she planned to use the degree paid for by the trust he’d established shortly after her birth.
Now Rollie’s disarming smile made her skin crawl. A part of her longed to tell him that she’d had her own reservations about joining their fucked-up family cult. But she loved Finn, and right now he needed her.
“Let’s get going, please. I want to see him.”
“You will, but we need to follow protocol, starting with your jewelry.” He pointed to a tray next to the sink. “It could puncture the suit. And Lils, you—”
“Don�
�t call me that.”
Rollie rubbed his jaw. “I understand I’ve lost your trust for now. But that’s why I brought you here.” He reached for her but quickly withdrew. “You’re like a daughter to me. And always will be, even if you and Finn—”
“Don’t,” she said with a scowl.
He rubbed his heavily lined forehead. “I invited you here so you can see the full magnitude of what’s at stake. This isn’t just for Sylvia; it’s for you, too.”
“Is it also for Finn? Because you don’t seem to care what happens to him.”
His hand drifted to a scar at the corner of his jaw, his “Zugzwang Tell,” as Finn called it. Whenever the two played chess, Rollie’s fingers rested there when he’d run out of moves that wouldn’t put him at a disadvantage. The only other time Lily had seen him do it was while discussing Sylvia’s therapies.
“He’s the world to me,” Rollie said in a stern tone, his voice stretched thin by age and exhaustion. “My—and Sylvia’s—greatest accomplishment.”
Lily picked at a nail. Finn had once told her that Ulrich had pressured Rollie into marrying his first wife, a woman of pure German descent. Although Rollie had loved Sylvia more than Petra, it had been Kristian—not Finn—who’d received preferential status.
“Let’s see how he’s doing,” she said curtly as she tied back her hair.
She let Rollie help her into a Teflon suit and rubber boots. Following his lead, she raised her hood and put on a respirator and face shield, then elbow-high rubber gloves.
He unzipped the plastic tarp and held it open for her.
At the sight of medical equipment, she suddenly felt like her boots were bolted to the floor.
Reminding herself that Finn needed her, Lily envisioned a plant—this time, a bougainvillea. Slowly, the tension in her muscles dissipated and she stepped into the lab.
Searching for Finn, she took in the long row of metal cabinets, computer desk, industrial freezer, incubator, centrifuge, and five microscopes arranged across three lab stations.
From a cot at the far end of the room, Finn grinned at her through his face shield. “Hey, gorgeous.”
She beamed back at him, and a kaleidoscope of butterflies agitated the queasiness in her stomach.
Distantly, behind her, she heard Rollie sealing the air lock.
Finn began to rise, then wavered. He grabbed the rim of the folding bed for support.
Lily rushed toward him, but he motioned for her to stay back. “I got it.”
“Take it easy.” Rollie helped Finn up.
“You said he wasn’t sick,” Lily said accusingly.
“He’s not. He’s had some minor, common reactions to the vaccines, but nothing serious.”
Just three weeks after Rollie had declared all three Gettler men disease-free, he’d asked Finn to return to the island to convince Cora to help Sylvia. “You now have a rapport with her,” he’d said. As if that were reason enough for Finn to reengage with the deadly woman.
Lily had considered begging him to say no, but she would do anything for her mother, even this. So she’d given him a deep kiss good-bye before he’d left to receive far too many inoculations at one time. They’d had no choice: the heron nesting season would be over soon.
“So,” Finn said, crossing the room to Lily’s side, “now you have us both here.” He squeezed her hand through the rubber, and she immediately felt safer. “How about that tour?”
Rollie made a sweeping gesture.
Lily surveyed the long, narrow room for a second time. There were no animal cages. So where had the bats gone?
“It’s not much,” Rollie said, “but it’s everything to our family, and will be to humankind. I pray to God that our breakthrough comes before the next pandemic.”
“You’re right,” Finn said. “It’s not much. If I decide to talk to Cora, I’ll be sure to bring her a stack of books. She’s got a long wait ahead of her.”
Rollie cleared his throat. “Without the resources that Ulrich had at Lab Two Fifty-Seven, our progress has, admittedly, been slower than we’d like.”
“Then why don’t you call the CDC? I hear they’re pretty good at this sort of thing.”
“They’d never believe that her immunities are influenced by a local factor. Those out-of-touch wonks would have her on a plane to Atlanta within an hour. She’d be dead before they landed.”
It was obvious to Lily that Rollie had constructed this scenario decades ago as justification for his family’s actions. Even though the CDC might respond precisely the way he’d outlined, it didn’t give him the right to decide Cora’s fate.
Finn snorted. “As opposed to your humane tactics?”
“I told you: that was Ulrich,” Rollie said, nonchalantly leaning against the desk, one side cluttered with loose sheets of graph paper, the other side—presumably Kristian’s—perfectly organized.
“So you’ve said.” Finn looked at Lily, and she sensed his confidence wavering.
To signal her support, she moved closer to his side.
“How could you not tell me that the cure you’re searching for is already inside a human being?”
Rollie’s face darkened, and he straightened to his full height. “Are you questioning my judgment?”
“To think, during all those days you missed with us, I’d been picturing you sifting through hospital remains. Those baggies of dirt and plant samples you’d bring home were just a ruse, weren’t they?”
“Not at all. There’s got to be a chemical compound there, that she’s ingested, that’s triggered her immune response.”
Unwilling to let his father reroute the conversation, Finn continued, “Throughout all those sermons about loyalty, you were lying to me. And when Mom asked you to stop—I found a note she wrote in 2001, demanding you leave Cora alone—instead of listening to her, you lied again.”
“For good reason. Your mother’s in constant, excruciating pain!”
“How does that explain the cages of bats I found in your shed? They’re infected with a coronavirus, aren’t they?”
“What are you talking about?” Rollie reached to remove his face shield but stopped himself. “I didn’t . . .” His eyes clouded over.
“You know something,” Finn said, shaking his head, “I can tell.”
Rollie raised his hands, palms out. “I’m as baffled as you. Wait—we do use a pest control service. The exterminator probably put a trap there.”
Lily sensed that his ignorance might be genuine. She turned to Finn.
“Then they must belong to Kristian,” he stated, folding his arms. “The label on the syringe you handed me by the morgue included the letters SCV—I’m guessing that’s short for SARS coronavirus. You had that case in your hand. You knew he was planning to infect her with more than Lyme.”
“Not until that moment,” Rollie said, shaking his head, “when it was too late.”
“It wasn’t too late,” Lily stated coldly. “It wasn’t in her veins yet.”
Rollie glared at her. “‘Too late’ will be an apt summary the next time a coronavirus emerges from a jungle in China. If I don’t allow Kristian to think bigger than Lyme. A global pandemic is not just science fiction fodder; it’s an inevitable outcome for our global society.”
A rush of claustrophobia pressed against Lily from all sides, and her shoulder began to spasm. Suddenly the inside of her mask smelled like a hot glue gun.
Darkness invaded her vision, and she reached to rip off her hood.
Finn stopped her by clasping her hands in his own. “You okay?” he asked, studying her face.
She nodded with too much vigor.
He turned to Rollie. “We need to get her out of here.”
“No, I’m fine.” She edged away from him.
Ever since her blackout on North Brother, Finn had been treating her l
ike the last of an endangered species. Eventually, she would tell him to chill out, but that crazy morning, and the tense days of waiting that had followed, had scared her, too.
The pungent scent dissipated.
“I’m good.” She rotated, bringing more of the room into view, and the claustrophobia subsided.
“We should still go,” Finn said.
If they did, Rollie would be spared from Finn’s interrogation. To keep the pressure on, she said, “‘Too late’ will also be a fitting description if one of those bats, wherever they are, does manage to escape.”
Rollie aligned a microscope with its neighbor on the table, and Lily could tell he was attempting to hide his frustration.
“If those bats did belong to Kristian, you can rest assured that he’s been following all the proper containment protocols.” He looked up. “Frankly, I’m having trouble understanding why you would object to Kristian studying coronaviruses. Obviously, Sylvia’s health is my number one priority. But if another novel virus does leap from bats to cats to humans, and we have an effective technique for producing a safe therapy from Cora’s antibodies, it would cut years from the vaccine development process.” He looked straight at her. “With most viruses, the fatality rate is significantly higher for those with preexisting health conditions. A vaccine would protect you and my beautiful wife.”
Lily glanced at Finn, who blinked hard before meeting her gaze. Neither spoke.
“I truly care about Cora,” Rollie continued. “All we need is a few units of her blood—once she’s injected herself with Borrelia burgdorferi and developed an immunity to it. If our current theory works, we should be able to reproduce her unique antibodies in the lab. We can use it to develop vaccines, but also to cure her. And cancer,” he said, glancing at Lily, then back to Finn. “If you can convince Cora to cooperate, we can have her back in Manhattan within a couple of years.”
“How am I supposed to believe that the work that happens here”—Finn made a sweeping gesture—“will ever be for her benefit? She certainly doesn’t. By the way, where are your logs for all those trips after you supposedly called it quits?”
The Vines Page 21