by Mike Arsuaga
Ed seemed relieved at the idea. Lorna wondered if she’d witnessed a rare occasion when his quick mind was at a loss. “Go on, son.”
“Well, we might be a little crowded. Everyone would have to double up in most of the apartment units. Once you’re in, you’re in. The bio filters are protection against the virus. It won’t be too bad. Think of the shorter commute. I’m sure my father’s already calculating the additional man-hours the company stands to gain.” Pausing to let the laughter circulate around the room, he continued. “I think we can get everything done by tomorrow evening. Who’s with me on this?”
A roll of applause throughout the room answered him. With the issue settled, the meeting began to break up. Later, Karla asked if she and Cynthia could share the condominium. “Of course,” Lorna answered. “The place belongs to you more than to me.”
“Oh, don’t say such things,” Karla said, patting Lorna’s hand. “You’re a part of the family now.”
She glanced up at Ed, standing beside Bobby, talking to a group of relatives.
Maybe you should tell your younger brother.
* * * *
Soon, she found herself facing Ed. “We still need to talk,” he said.
“We have too much to do right now. Conversation can wait. I’m not going anywhere.”
The three sons, Lorna, and Ed remained after the crowd cleared out. A man in a white smock loaded another CD into the projector, launching into a presentation. “Quarantine must be complete, including hybrids. They’re more likely to carry the disease after contact.”
“Why not The Others?” Lorna asked.
“Because of the virulence, they die within thirty-six hours, affording minimum opportunity to spread the contagion.”
“How do you know this?”
“My conclusions are based on Armed Forces studies done on the so called Muslim Bomb. The government designed the weapon to have maximum effect on the most common genetic model of Muslim. Death occurred in twenty to thirty-six hours, with ninety-percent mortality. Variations from the ideal genome experienced lower mortality rates, but they spread the disease for up to a week before showing symptoms. The technology exists to alter the target genetic model to other than Arabic, along with how the virus works within the genetic variations.”
“So what you’re saying is the virus kills lycans and vampires quickly, but hybrids less so,” Ed summarized.
“Or not at all. Turning hybrids to pure carriers spreads the pathogen more efficiently. There’s more. Because The Others genetic make-up is more specific than Arabic, we expect infected victims to approach one hundred percent mortality.”
When the threat broke on the news, OPD must have assumed Lorna wouldn’t be coming in because no one inquired after her absence. For two days, lines of The Others and hybrids, accompanied by a few human intimates, formed in the street at the doorstep of corporate headquarters. The children, able to salvage fun from anything, treated the event like an adventure or camping trip. Swarms of them populated the hallways and break areas, keeping a step ahead of parents and security guards.
When Bobby the professional bachelor complained, his father laughed. “You’ve been away from little ones too long. I forgot how much I miss having them around.”
Bobby’s human girlfriend hung around him like a cloak. Indifferently, she observed Lorna’s entry. With a whiney half-whisper she announced a desire to return to their room, punctuating the request with a sweet-breathed ear lick, making everyone uncomfortable.
Cynthia voiced the room’s consensus. “Get a room, guys.”
Ed ignored the scene by striding ahead. Lorna’s gaze paused on the swift movement of lean hips propelling the large, square frame and carrot-haired head away from her.
The girlfriend made a reproachful sigh in Cynthia’s general direction before peeling off, with Bobby on her arm.
“I don’t like her,” Cynthia said after they left. She, Lorna, and Karla now stood alone. Lorna nodded in agreement.
“Oh,” Cynthia continued, pausing in front of a mirror to smile as if verifying the two rows of flawless teeth were still there. “Uncle Ed’s got a meeting in Rocket City tomorrow. I’m going stir crazy in here. He said I could tag along. Why don’t you come with us?”
Unlike Cynthia, Karla knew about the trouble between Lorna and Ed. About the time Karla jabbed Cynthia’s ribs to signal she’d said something wrong, Lorna answered, “No, thanks. I have some follow-up to do on the case. I’ll be web surfing at least four hours.” Lorna walked away.
* * * *
The next morning, while Lorna chipped away at the daily work assignment, a large shadow fell across her. Ed towered above.
“I wanted to see you before leaving,” he said, almost gravely.
“You sound like you’re never coming back.” Lorna glanced up from the computer monitor.
His hand reached down, covering hers like a tan blanket. “The minute this is over, we’re going to iron out whatever has come between us.”
Before she had a chance to answer, he left, treading with heavy footfall down the hall to the elevator.
Iron out what’s come between us? Dump the bitch and apologize—that might be a start.
Then she thought about his tone of voice. The contrite, sincere Shadow Ed had spoken. For the first time, she wondered if she might’ve missed something about this business with Valeria, and she made up her mind to check it out after finishing the computer work.
An hour after Ed’s departure, Ethan broke in on her monitor. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said. “You must see this.”
“See what?’
“I’m at the infirmary. Come quickly.” For the first time since they met, his voice sounded tense.
Arriving to a scene of quickened activity, staff with their faces bundled in gauze masks rushed wheel beds, accompanied by all sorts of complicated equipment, toward a sealed-off ward. Someone had taped plastic sheeting across the entrance, along with the inside of the windows. Two rows of twenty or so beds were already in the room, arranged in precise lines like crack troops awaiting battle orders. The first victims languished in four of them.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“The facility is locked down,” Ethan said to his father, whose face filled the monitor in the Board meeting room. The eldest son’s characteristic calm returned, now tinged with measured gravity.
“Good,” the image of Ed answered. “It’s imperative no one get out.”
The meter-high face on the monitor reminded Lorna of the first time she’d seen him, back in his grandparents’ old room.
Was that only two months ago?
“What’s wrong with quarantining everyone who’s stricken while those who’re uninfected go free?” Lorna asked. “The problem here would be simplified.”
Ed frowned. “We’ve learned humans and hybrids carry the disease. If one of either type gets out infected, he or she will continue to inoculate a percentage of carriers they contact in addition to any lycan or vampire. Humans, since they’re more numerous, are the primary worry. Within a week, the disease could be out of control.”
“Edward, how bad could it become?” Karla asked.
The head of internal security, a human, answered. “Ma’am, our study shows if one human carrier escaped, he could, without making any special effort, come in contact with ten-percent of the population in a ten mile radius. Assuming a conservative ten-percent inoculation rate while the inoculated continues with normal routines... Well, here. Let me show you on the screen.”
A map of North and South America, white against the blue ocean, flashed on a screen. A pinprick red dot located in Orlando, Florida, winked at a level beyond human/hybrid range. The security director zoomed in, settling on an area encompassing Central Florida. The dot emerged, clear to everyone.
“This is where we stand today, assuming no more outbreaks occur elsewhere,” he expounded with the detachment of a lecturing professor, rather than someone delivering news of a potential extinction level ev
ent. Then Lorna remembered he was human, with no threat to him or any loved ones. “The red vector represents one escapee.” He moved a red dot outside of the containment. “After a week, the picture is this.” Dots covered about thirty-percent of the map area. “After another week, the situation grows into this.” The Central Florida map colored to a uniform red, and after zooming the map out, the state showed a vector in every part.
As the litany of infection unfolded, the relentless red covered the region, continent, and the world. The growing red color from the screen reflected in the horrified eyes of everyone present. In contrast, Clarisse, Bobby’s girlfriend, sat in a chair against the wall, wearing an idle pout while admiring her nails. “As you can see,” the security director concluded in an unwavering matter-of-fact tone, “Within six months, the world would be saturated with human carriers capable of passing the disease vector, infecting any of your community they contact. Without a cure, every lycan and vampire on the planet will be dead.”
“How certain is this projection?” Ed asked.
The security director averted his eyes. “The Earth’s atmosphere turning to cyanide gas couldn’t be more.”
“Oh, sweet God.” Karla exploded in hysteria and began crying.
Ed, along with the other family members, watched her for a moment. Then Ed spoke. His clear voice filled the room as usual, but underneath, it conveyed care and a desire to put a beloved sibling at ease. “Karla, my dear sister, if there’s an answer, we’ll find it. Thomas and I promise.”
“That’s right,” Thomas’s voice affirmed from off screen. “But foremost, we have to keep our heads.”
With red, irritated eyes, Karla looked at the screen. The projection screen now displaying a scarlet world map reflected on the anguish in her eyes.
“If what the security director says is true, does it mean no one who’s here can ever leave?” Bobby asked Ed.
“Until we find a cure or get the rest of us to Mars, that is correct, son.”
“You’re asking a lot of everyone here,” Bobby said.
Ed set his jaw. “There’s no discussion. I’ll make the inconvenience worth their while.” His expression softened. “We’re fortunate in some respects. Key members of the board were about equally divided between where you are and here at Rocket City, giving us leadership in both places. We have good communications. Also, the laboratories are out of harm’s way.”
“Well,” interjected Ethan. “I think we’ve covered about all, for now. We need to get to work.”
“Dismiss the others, Ethan. I want to speak with you and Lorna.”
At first, Bobby seemed a little miffed by being excluded, but Clarisse’s sultry proffer of compensations—which she previewed in front of everyone by sucking on an earlobe—soon made him forget the slight. Holding his hand, she led him away, broadcasting arousal scents with each step. Ethan glanced at Lorna, rolling his eyes knowingly.
When the two of them were alone with Ed’s monitor image in the room, Ed spoke first. “I won’t lie to you. This is the worst crisis ever faced by The Others. The two of you are the strongest leaders there. Ethan, I need your calm logic. Lorna’s intuitive grasp of situations compliments you to a tee. Together, your skills represent our best chance at finding a way out of this dilemma.” He paused. “There’s something else. Unless we find a cure, you’re both under a death sentence. You need to know…”
“Ed,” Lorna interrupted. “Put yourself at ease. There’s no other choice.”
“I know, but condemning the two of you, who are most precious, doesn’t become any easier.” A congestion of emotion seemed to overwhelm him. “Remember, I love you both,” he managed to squeeze out before terminating the conversation.
* * * *
A day later, the first death occurred—a pre-emergent female vampire. She lay under a plastic tent with her parents gathered around, able to touch and comfort her through gloves that reached inside. By the time of the initial death, six more cases had broken out. The medical staff readied the remaining beds.
Lorna spent her time reading everything available on the Muslim Bomb, X-10, and the translated prophesies Toby had brought from Mars. Somewhere in all the material arrayed on desk and computer hid an answer. As the trained investigator, she vowed not to rest until finding a solution.
“Do you ever take a break?” Bobby’s soft, sometimes mesmerizing voice touched her ears. Striking a casual, insouciant pose, he leaned on the doorframe of the office door.
Lorna regarded him. “Where’s your friend?”
“Sleeping,” he answered. Lorna smelled lingering aromas of cocaine and sex radiating from him. Within seconds, stronger odors of his arousal for her began to supplant them.
Three weeks had passed since last being with Ed. Bobby was a likeable, attractive male. Despite herself, his presence aroused her. Wearing a short skirt without hose, the cotton panel of her panties alone contained the essences of her discomfort. Thank goodness, being a hybrid, he couldn’t perceive that.
“Well,” she said, “I guess it’s just the two of us.”
Directing attention to the monitor, he asked, “What are you working on?”
“As your dad said, there are only two ways out of here. Feet–first, or after we find a cure. I’m more attracted to the second option. I was reviewing some information we have on the Muslim Bomb.”
“Really? Did you find anything?” he asked with an interest Lorna didn’t expect from someone who seemed to be such a gadfly.
“Nothing yet, except to confirm hybrids are immune just like humans, and both are carriers.”
Bobby reacted curiously. Rather than showing excitement at the news that put his kind out of danger, he reacted neutrally. Lorna wondered if he already knew. “Well,” he said expansively, changing the subject. “How about you take a break and we catch some lunch?”
The mischievous half-smile tempted her. Ethan and Toby had a refreshing boyish side too, but theirs was the well behaved, good student who never gave parents a minute of trouble. Bobby’s brand promised adventure and fun with a hint of mischief. “No,” she responded. “I have too much work here.”
“Tell you what. I’ll bring us something from the cafeteria. We can have a working lunch.”
Baring bright teeth in a smooth-cheeked round face, she smiled. “That would be nice.”
Returning in fifteen minutes, he carried two plates—for her, a dish of skewered meat. “Put them on the side table,” she said without looking up from the keyboard. Her fingers banged away at a furious pace.
“What’s up?” he asked, peering over her shoulder.
“Just answering some mail from my office at OPD. Apparently, the Regional Government took over the investigation of X-10.”
Bobby picked a piece of meat off the skewer on Lorna’s plate, holding it within reach of her mouth in dark, slim fingers. “Here. You have to eat.”
She enveloped the tidbit in the curl of a red, protruding lower lip. Assiduously, he swiped away a small dribble at the corner of her mouth with the soft, dry touch of a fingertip.
After he fed her three or four pieces this way, she said, “You need to eat, too.”
His butt cheek perched on the edge of the work table, the material of his trousers drew up against his legs and crotch, capturing her surreptitious, admiring gaze. Her raised eyes met his direct stare. Scent told everything. Putting two fingers under her chin, he tilted her face upward, pressing a pair of warm, wet lips on hers. A tongue darted about inside his mouth, itching to invade hers.
Somewhere inside, Lorna knew she should’ve put a stop to Bobby’s advances, but the troubles with Ed, in addition to living with the possibility any one of them might be dead in another twenty-four hours, made what happened next seem like a good idea.
They stood face-to-face, locked in a hard embrace. Somehow, Bobby managed to close the door with his foot. Their tongues invaded each other’s mouths. With the sweep of an arm, he cleared a pile of rolled-up plans from a table an
d with surprising strength lifted her onto the now empty top.
He means to do me right here.
On some primal level, the idea appealed to her lycan psyche, and she began to get wet. Placing hips between her thighs, he worked his lips from her face down to her breasts, which ached a lot lately, threatening to outgrow the containment of their usual cup size. At the touch of hot breath, her nipples hardened, causing them to press almost painfully against the restricting bra. His tongue burrowed into the cleavage. A warm hand dragged cool fingertips up the outside of a bare thigh.
“I want you now,” he panted in her ear, reaching to undo his pants.
His voice broke the spell. With an abrupt snatching movement, Lorna sat erect. “Please stop.”
Pulling his face away, he looked at her, confused. “Aren’t you and Father…?”
Slipping off the table, she pushed her skirt back in place. “I’m not sure what we are right now, but he wants to talk. Until I hear what he has to say, I don’t think it would be right to…well, you know.”
Bobby’s mood darkened. “No, I don’t know!” he shouted. “My father used you, then threw you away like trash. You may have only a couple of days to live, and you want to save your pussy for him when he’s safe outside?”
Lorna remained calm. “No, nothing like that at all, Bobby. You’re an attractive man, but I owe your father at least a chance to explain himself.”
“Sure. Wait for him. You both have two hundred years left, while the hybrid here has fifty if he’s lucky.” Enraged, Bobby stormed toward the door and turned the knob to leave. At the threshold he turned. His face had transformed into an expression of triumph. “Oh, yeah, I forgot. Now you’re the ones who’ll soon all be dead, while the hybrid lives on. Tell me, how does that grab you?”