Outbreak

by Davis Bunn

  The Rainbow Gathering was a loose-knit community. They congregated annually in remote forests around the world. The gathering lasted anywhere from a week to a month and a half. Supposedly they all shared an ideology of peace, harmony, freedom, and respect. But Cruz had visited several of them, and he knew different. The core group might feel that way, but a growing number of those who found their way to such places came for another reason entirely.

  They wanted to be someone else.

  For some time now, Cruz had been observing five such gatherings. He liked the anonymity of these places. Renaissance festivals were a hoot, with visitors paying fifty to a hundred dollars per day to play a medieval version of make-believe. In the end, though, Cruz had discounted them. Renaissance festivals didn’t offer overnight accommodations. And for his plan to work, he needed to be seen as staying. There for the duration, but able to slip out and do his job and be back in time for the communal breakfast. Safe.

  By far the weirdest and most freewheeling of all such assemblies was Burning Man. The disadvantage as far as Cruz was concerned was its location. Each year, around twenty thousand anti-capitalists built a fake city called Black Rock, named after the desert where it was located. Black Rock was in Pershing County, Nevada, about one hundred miles northeast of Reno. Cruz was looking forward to doing a job in the casino industry, then rewarding himself with a few days of total freak-o-rama.

  By comparison, the Appalachia Rainbow Gathering was tame.

  The sun was finally high enough to filter through the trees to his left. Cruz stretched and yawned and rose to a seated position. Just another drifter out for a few days of relative safety and near-free food. Down the trail to his right was posted the camp’s main map. Above it was a handwritten sign that read Information and Rumor Control. Beyond that, the trail branched off. One path ran back around a ridge nearby and eventually joined a secondary road where Cruz had hidden his rental car. Another path snaked through what was known as the Trading Circle. Cruz had trouble not laughing every time one of the followers tried to explain what they were after: love, peace, nonviolence, environmentalism, non-consumerism, non-commercialism, volunteerism, mutual respect, consensus building, diversity. On and on the labels went. It reminded him of reading the contents off the back of a cereal box. Everything a growing body needed. Like that.

  Cruz rolled up his hammock, stuffed it in his pack, and went in search of a shower and food. Using money to buy or sell anything at Rainbow Gatherings was taboo. There were also no paid organizers. Volunteers were called “focalizers.” Participants were expected to contribute money, labor, material, whatever. When he emerged from the showers, Cruz dropped a bill into one of the collection boxes—“magic hats” in festival parlance—and joined the line snaking up to a smiling trio of young lovelies dishing out food. He ate in a communal huddle beneath a clump of wild dogwoods. Cruz pretended to listen and smile as the talk circulated. But his mind stayed busy going back over the previous night’s events. He had never worked with a tandem crew before and he didn’t like the feeling. Safety meant total control. Having a second pair of hunters involved meant added risk. Cruz hated risk of any kind. It was how he stayed alive.

  He finished his meal and stretched out under the trees, using his pack as a pillow. He wore woven leather bands on one wrist, colored Brazilian wish bracelets on the other. Hiking boots, jeans, a T-shirt so faded that the band it advertised could not be identified. Cruz ran one hand down the length of his fake beard. He counted the strokes. When it reached a hundred, he figured he had wasted enough time. He rose and sketched an easy farewell to the others.

  He shouldered his pack and hiked around the ridge and down the secondary road. A mile south, two farm tracks opened up to either side. Cruz scouted the empty asphalt, then slipped into the bushes. The trail ran through the forest for a hundred yards, then opened into a pasture holding two horses and his car. He loaded up and eased back down the trail. Ten yards from the road, he got out and scoped the road. He returned to the car and drove forward, all windows open for any sound. He heard nothing but birdsong and the wind whispering through the pines. He tore off his beard and stowed it in his pack, then turned onto the road and headed toward town. Searching for a place with Wi-Fi so he could get the good news.

  thirty-one

  A dawn mist clung tightly to Asheville when Theo set out the next morning. He avoided the interstate. This time of year it was filled with tourists impatient to reach the Appalachian trailheads, and wealthy summer residents who drove like they were bulletproof. Theo threaded his way through sleepy city streets and made good time.

  The fog began to burn off just as Theo approached the airport. The private entrance was separated from the main terminal by parking lots and the administration building. Asheville had recently become a trendy new summer scene. The high season saw as many as one hundred private jets take off and land each weekend. But early midweek the terminal was empty save for airport personnel and two dark-suited security guards. A square-faced woman with big shoulders and large hands approached him. “Good morning, Dr. Bishop. This way, please.”

  She led him through the building and over to where a bored NSA officer checked his ID and cleared him through security. They exited the building and walked past two needle-shaped jets, over to where another trio of security surrounded a Gulfstream. Theo was heading for the stairs when he heard a familiar voice and stopped. The security agent started to say something, but Theo showed her a flat upraised hand and shifted over to where he stood beside the stairs, up close to the jet’s body. He could hear what was being said inside the plane. So could the security. The two voices were that loud.

  Amelia shouted, “I want this to stop. I want you to come home.”

  “I want that too,” Kenny said. “Very much so.”

  “Then do what they say.”

  “Honey, you know I can’t.”

  “I know I hate this.”

  “So do I. But it’s necessary.”

  “You don’t have to be the . . . whatever you called it.”

  “Alarm beacon,” Kenny said.

  “I hate that concept most of all.”

  “Somebody needs to stand on the hilltop and shout the warning. This time it happens to be me.”

  “But why?”

  “You know the answer to that.” Kenny sounded both resigned and exhausted. But he was also very certain. “You were the one who brought me—”

  “Don’t you dare throw that in my face.”

  “I’m not doing anything of the sort, and you know it.”

  Amelia was quiet for a long moment. Theo suspected she was weeping. Then, “This hurts me. So much.”

  “There is nothing I want less than to hurt you.”

  “But you are, Kenny. Me and the kids. You’re hurting us a lot.”

  The security agent who had escorted Theo stepped quietly over beside him. No doubt getting out of sight from anyone who might pass in front of the jet’s entryway. Theo heard his brother say, “How long did you pray for me to wake up?”

  Amelia did not respond.

  “Years. Decades. Then it happened. And all the walls I built came crashing down.”

  Amelia’s sobs were audible now. “I never wanted anything like this to happen.”

  “What did you keep telling me in those awful first weeks? The Lord will restore to me the years the locusts have eaten.”

  “I hate that verse. And you didn’t say it right.”

  “Close enough. And it’s happened, Amelia. You know it has. The work I’m doing brings it all together. Even if I didn’t feel so . . . convicted is the only word I can think of. Even if that hadn’t happened, the utter logic of where I am, who I am, makes this—”

  “Wrong. So wrong.”

  “Darling, I want more than anything—”

  “I’m leaving now. I want you to come with me. The children need their father. I need my husband. That’s what I know. That’s the only logic that matters.”

  “
You know I can’t.” Footsteps thumped down the passageway above Theo’s head. “Amelia, please don’t . . .”

  She almost stumbled as she started down the stairway. But she kept herself erect with a two-handed grip on the railing. Two agents followed her as she stormed across the tarmac and into the terminal.

  Theo remained where he was, pondering everything he had just heard. Then the agent lifted her hand so that her watch was directly in front of Theo’s eyes. She tapped the watch face and murmured, “You’re on.”

  Theo entered the jet to find his brother lowering two seats by the rear galley so as to form a pallet. The cabin smelled of old perfume and stale clothes. Kenny did not give any sign he noticed his brother’s arrival. Instead, he rolled his suit jacket into a ball, lay down on the seats, and stuffed the jacket behind his head. His shirt was one big wrinkle. He raised one arm to cover his eyes, exposing an old sweat stain. So much for the luxury of private jets.

  Theo asked, “Are you okay?”

  “Migraine.” Kenny kept his eyes covered. “I always get one when Amelia and I argue.”

  Theo glanced behind him and saw that the door leading to the cockpit was shut. “Anything I can do?”

  “Absolutely.” Kenny waved his free arm at the opposite table. “You need to see a video message from Lanica. Came in late last night. She said she’d be sending a second one this morning, but it hasn’t arrived.”

  Theo settled into the leather seat. The laptop and a Bible were the only personal items he saw in the entire plane. Theo opened the Book. Page after page was heavily annotated, with underlined verses and tight, handwritten notes covering the top and bottom and both margins.

  Theo shut the Bible and opened the computer. “I need your password.”

  “AmeliaClintJosh, without spaces.”

  He typed, then hit pause when Lanica’s face appeared. “Can I get you something? A cold compress, aspirin, something?”

  “I took a pill. It needs a while to start working.” The free arm waved once more. “There’s fresh coffee in the galley.”

  “I’m good.” Theo hit play and listened as a worried Dr. Lanica came to life.

  “Kenneth, there’s been a new outbreak. The info just came through the system two hours ago. It appears to be very real.”

  Theo hit pause again. “I thought she said contact like this wasn’t safe.”

  “I had my techies work this out. We set up a video conference feed to piggyback on their existing system. It’s sort of dark web.” The hand rose and fell limply. “Complicated.”

  “Can you give me access? I want Avery and Della to see this.”

  “Call Preston. Tell him I said to arrange it.”

  Theo still did not move. “I think what Amelia said makes a lot of sense.”

  “So do I. That’s the problem.”

  “I like the idea of you taking yourself out of danger.”

  “Tough. We’re not dealing with likes and dislikes this morning.”

  Theo had to smile. “This is the closest we’ve ever come to a normal conversation.”

  His words caused Kenny’s features below the elbow to constrict. Or perhaps it was just a pain spasm from the migraine. His voice sounded raw when he said, “Play the message, Theo.”

  He hit play and heard Lanica explain, “The doctor who reported the new Lupa outbreak is someone I trust. He was visiting the region just south of the bay when he heard reports that the bloom had started. He immediately drove up. He says breathing has become extremely difficult. This is a new symptom. Of course, it’s also the first time we’ve heard from someone who is actually living through the beginning of a potential outbreak.”

  Theo watched as Lanica shifted her computer and held up a map showing the African coast. “This is the border region between southern Guinea-Bissau and Guinea. This green triangle is the Castanhez National Forest. Below that is the Gadamael River basin. My contact is based here, at Gadamael Port. His name is Dominique Lorecq, a GP with Doctors Without Borders. The outbreak was here, eighty miles closer to the coast, in the village of Cacine. The local chief is Dominique’s friend. He called yesterday when the bloom, the Lupa, was first sighted. Within three hours, the bloom covered the entire delta—a stretch of water that’s twelve miles wide here by the village. I’ve been in contact with my allies in the military. They’re trying to find me a chopper. I will contact you as soon as I return. Which I’m told should be around nine in the morning your time.”

  She cut the connection without a farewell. The screen froze on her tense, worried, exhausted image. Theo stared at it a moment, then glanced at his brother. The lower half of Kenny’s face looked exactly like Lanica’s.

  Kenny said, “The first time I went to Africa, I hated everything about it. I was part of a WHO junket, western pharma companies sending senior execs on a seventy-two-hour introduction to life on the front line. Lanica served as my escort. I flew over in Nestlé’s Gulfstream, came back with Bayer. Guess what happened in between?”

  Theo stared at the blank computer screen. A dark rendering of his own weary face stared back at him. “Your world got knocked off its axis.”

  Kenny was slow to respond. “I went out one guy. I came back another.”

  Theo nodded to his reflection. “I understand.”

  “Every night for weeks after I got back, I woke up Amelia with these nightmares. The experience I kept reliving didn’t actually last more than a minute. We were in this air-conditioned convoy of Land Rovers, driving into the bush to visit a new clinic. Abbott Labs was co-financing it with someone, I forget who. We passed through a village where they held a regional market. We stopped at a crossroads. There was this kid sitting on a concrete block between two booths selling spices. He had pus in the corner of one eye, and the iris was going white. The guy next to me was a senior technician from Abbott. He said it was glaucoma, a common illness among the young in that region. The scientist might as well have been examining a lab rat, for all the concern he showed.” Kenny was quiet a long moment. “I don’t need to tell you what my nightmare was.”

  Theo shut the laptop and turned to face his brother. “You saw your own sons sitting there in the dirt.”

  Kenny nodded. When he spoke, it was in a voice so dull it sounded metallic. “So long as I owned the pharmaceutical group involved in opioids, I never broke the law. That was the mantra I told myself every time I looked in the mirror. I hired lawyers who specialized in walking the knife’s edge of legality. I kept telling myself the money I was making excused almost anything. And then one day . . .”

  Theo could have supplied any number of ways to finish that sentence. But his gaze remained held by the Book on the table before him.

  “Three months after my first trip, I returned to West Africa with Amelia. We spent a week with Lanica. Three months after that, she called about another Lupa outbreak, the first she could personally confirm. Now it seems like . . .” Kenny struggled to a seated position. His features tightened from the pain of moving. “At first Amelia kept saying how I had been remade so I would be ready to do this. Now . . .”

  Kenny stopped because the pilot’s door opened and the uniformed officer said, “Sorry to interrupt, sir. You wanted to know when it was time to take off.”

  “Two minutes.” Kenny got to his feet. He embraced Theo, a fierce grip that lasted a few seconds at most. When he released his brother, he slumped back down, closed his eyes, and said, “You need to call Preston and arrange for your security.”

  “Sorry. No.”

  “The danger is very real.” He looked at Theo through bloodshot eyes. “I could have Preston put guards in place without your okay.”

  “Please don’t.” Theo was tempted to explain what he had in mind but decided it was not something his brother needed to know. Plus, he was determined not to inform Preston. In case the Washington attorney’s intel flowed both ways. He changed the subject with, “I am probably going to need some cash.”

  “Tell Preston.”


  “I’m talking to you. It’s your money. It could be a lot, Kenny. Half a million dollars. Maybe more before we’re done.”

  Kenny waved a casual hand. “And I’m telling you that Preston will take care of it.”

  “Thank you.” When his brother did not respond, Theo asked, “Just this once, tell me what the rumors suggest.”

  The jet’s engines started revving, causing Kenny to wince. “I’ve been searching ever since the second Lupa outbreak was reported, and nothing made it out to the global community. It obviously has to be something bigger than a national government. The Organization of African States is my first guess. They’re a brutish, crafty lot.”

  Theo recalled the man who had confronted him in the airport’s windowless chamber. “But why?”

  “That’s the question.” Kenny had to raise his voice to be heard over the jet noise coming from the open portal. “Lanica told you about Ebola’s hit to the Ghanaian economy?”

  “A quarter of their GDP. Gone. She told me.”

  “Six or seven countries facing a hit that severe is a lot of impetus.”

  Theo was not satisfied. Something about that entire track of reasoning left his gut unsettled.

  He had become involved in a number of economic studies where established principles made sense on the surface. But Theo’s focus had remained on the unseen, the deeper issue hidden beneath what everyone else accepted at face value. Uncovering these elements was why his articles and books were regularly endorsed, why he had been offered several opportunities to leave his beloved hills and step into the academic stratosphere.

  But none of that was important now. So Theo remained silent as Kenny’s security detail climbed the stairs and filed into the jet. As Theo left, Kenny called out, “Do us both a favor. Stay alive.”

  thirty-two

  Cruz sat in a downtown café at one of the tables lining the big front windows. He was confused. Confusion made him angry. He had been hunting answers for almost two hours. He had found none. Such uncertainty in the middle of a job meant risk that was beyond his control. Absence of control meant death stalked him in the shadows.