Origins (The Becoming Book 6)

by Jessica Meigs

  “So what’s your day job then?” Brandt asked, swirling the remains of his rum and Coke around in his glass.

  “I work as a research scientist at the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention,” Derek answered. “It is, to say the least, a very interesting job. It’s related to why I wanted to meet with you today. There have been some recent discoveries in what I like to call military medicine, things that have the potential to benefit enlisted men and women and improve their chances of survival on the battlefield. I don’t suppose I have to insult your intelligence by asking if you know what DARPA is, do I?”

  Brandt was well aware of what DARPA was. He didn’t know a member of the military who didn’t know what DARPA was. The Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency was the secretive branch of the government that liked to play around with all of the scary shit that, ninety percent of the time, was too dangerous to ever see the light of day. He’d always been convinced that DARPA was where the military sent people who failed their psychological tests, because only crazy people could come up with half the rumored projects that leaked out of those buildings. He wondered what the CDC was doing playing around with DARPA.

  “There’s a medical study going on at the moment, and the CDC needs military guys for it,” Derek continued. “It’s, obviously, a study involving DARPA, and they want thirty people. We’re short one, and considering Olivia’s financial situation, I was hoping you’d be willing to be number thirty.”

  “What is it going to involve, exactly?” Brandt asked. “And what’s this got to do with Olivia running out of money?”

  “I can’t tell you what it will involve,” Derek replied. “I don’t know all the details yet myself, and even if I did, I’m pretty sure they’re beyond classified. As for the finances, there’s a payday for signing up and another one for making it all the way through testing.”

  “What sort of payday?”

  “A hundred and fifty thousand.”

  Brandt could have sworn his heart stopped. His eyebrows shot up, and he tried his best to keep his mouth from dropping open. “That’s…a lot of money,” he said stupidly. “Is that how much I’d get overall, or…?”

  “No, that’s the sign-up amount, but only if you qualify for the test,” Derek said.

  “And if I don’t qualify?”

  “Then you never see a cent,” Derek replied, confirming what Brandt suspected.

  “What are the qualifications?”

  “Outside of being military and in good health, I don’t know.”

  Brandt blew out a breath and stared into the tumbler that sat untouched between his hands. “That sounds like a crapshoot,” he remarked. “I’m not sure I’m willing to risk my sister’s future on some maybes.”

  “Trying to get loans through a bank is just as much of a crapshoot as what I’m proposing,” Derek pointed out. “You have a fifty-fifty shot of qualifying for either one, so what harm will it do?” He shrugged. “Besides, what bank is going to give you that much money? None, because the banks aren’t lending out that kind of money right now.”

  “I’m aware,” Brandt grumbled. He picked up his tumbler and tossed back the last of his drink, then set the glass down and fished his wallet out of his jacket pocket. “If this is all you’ve got to talk to me about, I’d like to go now.” He rose from his chair, pulling some cash from his wallet and setting it on the table between them to cover the cost of his drink, deciding at the last moment that he wasn’t going to take the doctor’s charity, even in the form of a free drink.

  “Michael?”

  Brandt looked down at the doctor, who was still seated in his chair, peering up at him with concern in his eyes. “Just think about it, okay? Keep it in mind as an option. But don’t think too long. I don’t know if I’ll be able to hold the slot open very long if my superiors decide it’s time to fill it.”

  “Yeah. Okay,” Brandt said, his voice hoarse. “It was good meeting you, Dr. Rivers. I’m glad to hear that Olivia is doing well in her classes.” He stepped away from the table and headed for the door, taking the piece of paper the blonde hostess slipped him as he passed and stuffing it into his pocket without looking at it.

  Though the temperature outside had turned bitingly cold in the short time he’d been inside the bar, he didn’t return to his truck to get out of the cold like any sane person would have done. He zipped up his leather jacket, buried his hands deep into his pockets, and started walking. He didn’t have any particular destination in mind. He chose his direction randomly, breathing the cold air in deeply, even though it hurt his sinuses. What it also did was serve to clear his head, to bring his thoughts into sharp focus.

  Brandt wasn’t sure what had his brain so muddled, though he suspected it had to do with the odd sensation of feeling like he had too many choices in front of him. Which was patently ridiculous, as he had exactly two options open to him. He now had another option to serve as a backup plan should his attempts to get personal loans not pay off.

  Brandt skirted around a panhandler sitting on the sidewalk. Maybe that was the problem, he thought. Maybe he didn’t really want a second option. Maybe he was just a shitty enough person to want to be able to shrug his shoulders and say, “Hey, sorry, I tried.”

  “Shit, I’m a terrible brother,” Brandt muttered, shaking his head. He hunched his shoulders and took his hands out of his pockets long enough to flip his jacket collar up to warm his neck. He couldn’t deny the pang of guilt and jealousy in his gut at the realization that he didn’t want his sister to succeed, because then she wouldn’t be reliant on him anymore and he wouldn’t have anyone to take care of. And because, if she were to become successful, get her degree, and go off to do great things, he would just feel like an inadequate, thirty-seven-year-old loser with nothing to show for his life.

  “Get over yourself, you stupid son of a bitch,” he grumbled. “You should be helping Olivia, not trying to sabotage her.” He kicked at a bit of trash on the sidewalk and hunched his shoulders further. He felt like crap. He needed a distraction from his feelings, from all the awfulness stirring around in his head. He needed a stiff drink, something harder than a rum and Coke, something with a real kick to it, and maybe some company for the night. He felt the scrap of paper the hostess had given him in his pocket, and a shadow of a smile flitted across his face.

  Tonight, he was going to go out and have his fun.

  In the morning, once he was done being an irresponsible asshole, he was going to actually go out and do something that qualified as taking care of the only member of his family that he had left.

  Chapter 4

  Brandt dragged himself out of bed and into the shower at eight o’clock the next morning, leaving the hostess—it turned out her name was Savannah—asleep in his bed, tangled up in his sheets. He wasn’t as hung over as he usually was when he woke up since he’d made it a point the night before to keep his drinking to a minimum. He found himself surprisingly clearheaded as he worked the shampoo in his hair into a lather.

  Digging his fingers into his scalp, Brandt took a few minutes to think over what Derek had talked to him about at the bar the night before. The whole conversation, and his realizations about himself in the aftermath, had left him feeling off-kilter for most of the night and all of the little bit of morning he’d seen. He still hadn’t wrapped his mind around what the good doctor had proposed. Was he willing to participate in a medical study for a little bit of cash to put his sister through school?

  Okay, not just “a little bit,” he corrected mentally.

  This wasn’t like the sixty bucks he used to get for donating plasma to help pay for his son’s special infant formula when things got desperate and his paycheck wasn’t enough to cover it. This money was enough for Olivia to finish school, to move on and do amazing things with her life that could maybe benefit mankind.

  This might not be something as simple as donating plasma, his mind cautioned.

  This could be something more extreme, more dangerous. It c
ould be something that would put his health, and maybe even his life, on the line.

  Was he willing to go that far just to help his sister?

  He couldn’t say that the answer wasn’t no.

  After rinsing the shampoo from his hair, he turned the water off and reached for a towel, thinking over Dr. Rivers’ proposal. The mere thought of putting his health at risk made him nervous and uncertain about accepting the offer, and it was probably ninety percent of the reason he’d decided to continue on with his plans to visit some banks and try for a personal loan instead. He might have lived his life in a manner that would be considered reckless to some, but that didn’t mean he was willing to risk losing it in a medical experiment gone bad.

  He dressed, pulling on a pair of khaki pants and a button-down shirt that made him at least pass for responsible. There was a soft knock on the door, startling Brandt. In all of his musings in the shower and while he’d dried and dressed, he’d completely forgotten about Savannah in the other room. He swore at his thoughtlessness, opening the bathroom door and mustering up a smile for the pretty blonde that stood beyond it, wearing his bathrobe, which swallowed her whole.

  “Hey,” Brandt said, swinging the door open wider and stepping away so he could resume trying to shove his hair into something presentable. “I didn’t want to wake you up. Did you need anything?”

  “I was just wondering where you’d gone to,” Savannah said. She looked him up and down. “You have somewhere you need to be?”

  “Yeah, I’m just going to see a guy about a loan,” Brandt said. “My sister needs financial help so she can finish school.”

  “That’s noble of you,” Savannah said. Something about the way she said it set his teeth on edge. He gritted them together and focused on his hair again. “You want me to make you breakfast?” she asked.

  That was the last straw for Brandt. Tossing the comb into the sink basin, he snapped, “No, I want you to get dressed and get the fuck out.” It was overly harsh, and he knew it. He even felt a little bad about it, but he wasn’t going to apologize for his harshness. He’d told her up front the night before that it was one night only. He had no intention of looking for anything that resembled a steady relationship, not after his divorce from his wife when he was twenty-five, one half of the events that had driven him into the waiting arms of the United States Marine Corps. Savannah cooking him breakfast crossed an invisible line in the sand that he’d drawn the moment his divorce had been finalized. Breakfast was too nice, too normal, too domestic. That was the last thing he was willing to allow into his home.

  Savannah looked like she was ready to slap him, and if looks could have killed, he’d have probably been dead on the bathroom floor. She spun on her heel and stormed into the bedroom, and he heard her railing against his assholish comment as she stomped around and got dressed.

  He didn’t care what she was saying, but her muttered ravings had put him in a foul mood, and that was how he was still feeling now, sitting across the desk from a loan officer who was explaining the reasons why he couldn’t take out an education loan for his sister.

  “There’s got to be something you can do for me,” Brandt said, his irritation giving way to a quiet sense of desperation. “She’s going to Emory. She has good grades. She’s supposed to be a virologist.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Evans. With this credit score, we can’t extend you a line of credit or a loan at this time,” the woman said. She sounded robotic, like she was reading from a script long-since memorized.

  “The income is there!” Brandt protested. “I can pay back the loan. I make enough money to do that and then some.”

  “I understand, Mr. Evans, but your income is only one factor in deciding whether or not to issue you a loan. Your credit score is weighted more heavily in the decision, and with a score of 582, it’s simply impossible for us to approve your application at this time.”

  Brandt had an itching desire to pick up the paperweight on the loan officer’s desk and throw it across her overly decorated office. He clenched his fingers around the arms of the chair and gritted his teeth, taking several deep breaths to clear his mind and try to erase the desperation clouding his judgment. “If I go to another bank, they’re going to tell me the exact same thing, aren’t they?”

  “I can’t speak for other banks, Mr. Evans,” the loan officer said. “At least, not officially. But yes, you will most likely run into the same problem at other banks. If it were the economy from 2007, then you might have stood a chance. Unfortunately…”

  “Yeah, I know, this isn’t 2007,” Brandt finished for her. He blew out a breath and squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head. “I suppose I need to get moving then. Thank you for trying to help me.”

  “You’re welcome. Don’t forget your driver’s license,” she said, holding it out to him. He stuffed it into his pocket, nodded curtly, and left the office, his heart feeling like it was on level with his knees.

  When he reached the parking lot, he didn’t get into his truck right away. He stood at the driver’s door, keys digging into his fingers, staring aimlessly into the cab. He felt like a failure, a total failure. Despite his realization the night before that he’d secretly hoped he would fail, once he’d found himself actually in the position of having failed, he was highly disappointed in himself. He sighed and leaned against his truck, closing his eyes, contemplating his next move.

  Brandt knew that going to another bank and applying for a loan there wouldn’t make a difference. They were all working off the same credit history, which was, frankly, abysmal. So really, there was only one option left available to him.

  He dug out his wallet, thumbing through it until he found a scrap of paper he’d tucked inside the day before. He stared at the number on it for a long moment before digging his cell phone out of his pocket and dialing. He hesitated, his thumb hovering over the “send” button, and looked across the busy highway nearby.

  Was he willing to sacrifice his health to give his sister the future she dreamed of?

  There was only one answer to that question.

  He drew in a deep breath and pressed the button.

  Part Two: During:

  The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention

  Atlanta, Georgia

  Chapter 5

  Brandt drummed his fingers against the steering wheel of his truck, waiting in the long line of cars trying to get into the CDC’s facilities. Most of them had parking tags and passes hanging from their rearview mirrors, and they seemed to be the ones getting through the military checkpoints the fastest. The few cars in line that didn’t have passes were being directed to a separate line, where they were getting a much more thorough search than the ones with passes.

  As he’d expected, when he reached the second spot in line, he was directed to the shorter line for the more thorough search. He pulled his truck to a stop behind a white Ford sedan and shifted it to park. Knuckles rapped on his window.

  “Please step out of your vehicle,” the private on the other side of the window said. The glass separating him from Brandt muffled his voice. Brandt opened the door and swung a leg out to the pavement. “Bring any I.D. with you.”

  Brandt scooped his wallet off the dash. The private led him away from his truck to a building nearby, letting him enter it ahead of him.

  Brandt found himself in a small antechamber with three soldiers and a blonde woman in civilian clothes. She must have been the owner of the white Ford; she was standing, legs shoulder-width apart, arms extended to the sides while a male soldier swept a handheld metal detector over every inch of her body. He stepped aside, and a female soldier took his place, beginning a hands-on pat down on the woman.

  “Please spread your arms and legs,” the private who had brought Brandt in instructed. Brandt obeyed, and the man with the metal detector went to work. “Please review the list of contraband items on the wall across from you,” the private instructed. “Are you currently in possession of any knives, guns, or ammuniti
on?”

  “No,” Brandt replied.

  “Any cell phones or recording devices? Any cameras?”

  “I have my cell phone,” Brandt answered. “I left it in my truck.”

  “Any liquids or fluids?”

  “No.” The pat down began, one of the male soldiers this time.

  “Anything else on the list in front of you that I haven’t covered?”

  “No.”

  The man nodded, and the soldier giving Brandt the pat down straightened. “Clear.”

  “Come with me,” the private said. He led Brandt to the door on the other side of the room and through it. There were several desks in the larger room, and he was taken to one with a sergeant sitting behind it.

  The sergeant beckoned with a hand. “I.D.?”

  Brandt passed him his military I.D., and he looked it over, glanced at Brandt, and handed the I.D. back, rising from his chair and snapping off a crisp salute. Surprised, Brandt returned it without thinking, and the sergeant beckoned to the visitor chair beside Brandt.

  “Welcome to the CDC, Lieutenant Evans. Please, have a seat.” Brandt sank into the chair while the sergeant shoved some papers around before pulling one free. “I hope you understand that all of this is regulations and rules that we have to follow,” the sergeant said.

  “Yes, I understand,” Brandt said, tucking his I.D. back into his wallet and returning it to his pocket.

  “May I ask what your business is here at the CDC?” the sergeant asked.

  “Dr. Derek Rivers requested I come here,” Brandt said. “Something about some testing, but I’m under an NDA and can’t tell you anything beyond that.”

  The sergeant jotted something down on the paper he’d pulled out. “Do you have a copy of the NDA?”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t,” Brandt said. “Dr. Rivers has it. I’m sure if you called him, he would be happy to confirm.”