[Anthology] Killer Thrillers

by Nick Thacker

  She started to check her email, but stopped herself. “Okay, well what did he say?”

  “It was a forward of my mother’s email draft. She must have tried to send it, but it never went out.”

  Julie’s eyes widened.

  “It has information in it, Julie, about the virus. The night… the night she died, she must have been writing it. It’s got everything she was working on, and everything she and her assistant discovered.”

  “Go on.”

  “For one, it’s not a virus.”

  She turned her head slightly, her eyes narrowing.

  Malcolm continued the explanation for Ben. “Ben’s mother’s research seems to prove that the virus is actually a mutated bacteria —”

  “No, that’s not possible. The contagious spread, the outbreak pattern, the —”

  “It’s a mutated bacterial infection inside of a virus.”

  Julie’s head snapped up. “Come again?”

  “That’s right, Julie,” Malcolm explained. “While I still believe the virus is made up of some synthetic alteration of the powder substance my students and I found in Canada, Dr. Torres is postulating that the reason this strain has been so difficult to model is due to its uncharacteristic qualities. Map it as a virion, and it fails many of the chemical application tests. Map it as a bacteria, and it doesn’t appear to be living — immediately disqualifying it from the ranks of bacteriophages.”

  “Okay,” Julie said. “So she was able to determine that we’re dealing with a highly infectious viral-bacterial disease. I’ll admit that’s unbelievably fascinating, but did she find a cure?”

  Malcolm and Ben shared a knowing glance.

  “No,” Ben said.

  “But she found that the infection would naturally die out, after running its course. It reaches a certain point, she said, and just vanishes. But not until after it kills its host.”

  “We’re not dead yet,” Julie said. “And you’re not dead, either, Dr. Fischer.”

  Malcolm stepped forward and nodded. “Julie,” he said, his voice calm and steady, “We need to get to a research lab. If there’s any way you can find out exactly why none of us in this room are dead, you must.”

  She started pacing. “Okay, right. Yes, you’re right. Let’s, uh, let’s go back to —”

  “Julie, we’re not going back to the CDC. Livingston and Stephens might be there, and besides, we can’t forget about the bomb back at the park.”

  “But can’t you call someone there? Someone who might —”

  “Julie.” Ben’s voice was firm, but he looked her right in the eyes until she understood. “There’s no one else.”

  She hesitated, thinking through it. “You’re right. There’s no one there who can help anymore. The government agencies involved are going to wait until they know it’s not dangerous to their staff. It’s what I’m supposed to do — wait until someone presents some compelling research as to why it’s safe for us to go in, then send a bomb squad in hazmat suits to find anything unusual.”

  “But that will take much too long,” Malcolm said.

  “It will,” Ben answered. “But there’s a lab at the park — it’s not much, but it’ll have to do. I’m going back there, to figure this out.”

  As if remembering the dire situation they were all in, Ben looked down at his hands and arms.

  “Does it hurt?” Julie asked.

  “No. It hasn’t really done much at all, and it’s not itching at the moment.”

  “Neither is mine,” Julie said, examining her own arms.

  “So,” Malcolm said, calling them to attention. “I guess it’s just us, then?”

  “Dr. Fischer, you don’t need to come along,” Julie said. “If what we’re saying is true, we’re going into an infected quarantine, looking for a massive bomb hidden below the surface somewhere. It’s not exactly a risk-free mission.”

  Malcolm lifted his chin slightly. “Julie, I understand that you are concerned. And you are right to assume that this is an extremely dangerous mission. But I will not sit idly by and do nothing to right the wrongs done to me, or my students.”

  His monologue over, he tensed his jaw and waited for the others’ response.

  Ben looked over and shrugged. “I feel you, Doc. I wouldn’t make you sit on the sidelines.”

  Julie smiled.

  “Let’s get to Yellowstone.”

  They sat down at the table in the small hotel room, ready to plan their trip back to Yellowstone, when Julie’s phone rang again. She grabbed it before it rang a second time.

  “Hold on a sec,” she said, holding up a finger. “It’s Randy again.” She held the phone up to her ear. “Randy — what’s up?”

  As she listened, the muscles in her face tightened and her back became rigid. She swallowed a few times, her mouth suddenly feeling dry. She nodded, unaware that Randy couldn’t see her, and she hung up the phone.

  Ben and Malcolm were perched in their chairs, watching the one-way conversation.

  “Julie, what was that about?” Ben asked.

  She blinked a few times, suddenly embarrassed that she might cry.

  “Liv — Livingston,” she choked out. “He’s dead.”

  41

  “Monsieur Valère, the conference is now available,” the voice said. It sounded metallic, hollow, and distant, and yet it was the most lifelike computerized voice system Francis Valère had ever heard.

  “Merci beaucoup,” Valère responded. He waited for the computer system to check the ethernet connection, test internet speed, and finally ping the waiting room of the online web conferencing service. Within seconds, the voice emanated from the walls of Valère’s office again.

  “Connection speeds are exceptional, Monsieur.” The voice had an eerily attractive component to it, Valère realized, as he waited for the two other participants’ faces to appear in front of him. She had also been upgraded to a human-like level of what they were calling “AI hyperbole,” which was, as far as Valère could tell, just a library of phrases that replaced the usual metric and clinically precise statements that plagued most artificial voice systems.

  SARA — Simulated Artificial Response Array — was the Company’s latest alpha release they were testing in their offices. At this point, it was nothing more than a computerized artificial intelligence, more advanced than anything on the market, but far from deployment-ready.

  The plan was, Valère had been told, to get SARA to beta and then release the code and sound sample library, alone more than ten terabytes of information, to a few universities for further development and testing. Eventually, they would either use the application for internal purposes or sell the final design schematics to the highest black market bidder. As SARA’s development was about as removed from Valère’s professional expertise as possible, he wasn’t entirely sure what she would finally become. But if the previous applications their affiliates had released were any measure, SARA would be nothing short of miraculous.

  Valère was involved in a number of startup tech and pharmaceutical businesses. He was independently wealthy, thanks to the benefit of a long line of rich relatives who’d left a startlingly large inheritance, as well as his own knack for choosing investment opportunities. A few had bombed, but he had invested far and wide, amassing a fortune of interests in just about every sector related to computer intelligence and medical advancement.

  “Francis, are you with us?” a man’s voice spoke from inside his computer screen.

  Valère cleared his throat. “Yes, oui, I am here. I apologize for my tardiness — I have been following the latest developments in the United States.”

  “As have I,” the second voice answered. The man’s face in front of Valère was enlarged on the gigantic screen. The sound emanated from the walls themselves. Audio-Enhanced Surfacing, if Valère remembered correctly. The walls of his Quebec office space were essentially made of thousands of speakers, each implanted with a computer chip that made them “intelligent” — allo
wing them to emulate a natural sound environment. He could play music that followed him throughout the room, providing a sonically perfect artificial surround-sound in an acoustically exceptional environment.

  For now, the man’s voice, in crisp and clear stereo, was all Valère cared about. The man inside the window continued. “It appears as though our initial plan has been delayed. After your dismissal of Mr. Jefferson —”

  “Nonsense,” Valère said. “Our placements were sound. Each of the departments is operating smoothly, according to their protocols, and taking no unnecessary risks or making any rash decisions.”

  “Francis,” the first man, Emilio Vasquez, said, “while I admit our infiltrated agencies are doing exactly as we’ve hoped, you cannot deny the existence of a few rogue operatives. The CDC’s department head has been removed, but it still seems as though a few members of its lower ranks are curious.”

  Valère thought about this a moment. “Do you honestly believe they have become a threat?”

  “Hardly,” Emilio responded. “It is merely in our best interests to ensure these possible threats stay just that.”

  “And how exactly do we ensure that?” Valère asked.

  The other man paused for a moment. “Well, I believe it’s time for the contingency plan.”

  “I — we — don’t need a contingency plan,” Valère responded. “This plan is sound — it always has been.”

  “I’m not saying it hasn’t been, Valère. But there’s always room for improvement.”

  “But these rogue operatives have been working outside of our target organizations. They are no more a threat to us than the local police.”

  “But you’re wrong, Valère. They are far more of a threat to us, especially now. They are mobile, and we are still unsure of their capabilities. Borders mean nothing to them, nor do their organization’s standards. We’ve worked far too long on this project to lose the investment entirely.”

  Emilio’s face was growing slightly red, though his voice betrayed no raise of emotions. Valère knew the man was moments away from growing indignant, but the man stopped himself just short.

  Valère sighed. “These deaths are unnecessary,” he said. “They are inevitable, but must they come from our hands?”

  “Valère,” Emilio said. “As you know, these deaths are nothing when measured against what we will accomplish.”

  “I agree, but—”

  “And their deaths will not be ‘by our hand,’ as you say. Far from it.”

  Valère nodded.

  “Let us see this through to the end, Valère. Let us complete our mission.”

  He nodded again.

  No one spoke at first. Finally, SARA’s voice boomed through the walls. “We will need your verbal commitment, Monsieur Valère. Please provide verbal confirmation of your agreement to the chosen contingency.”

  Good Lord, she was remarkable. SARA had parsed, compiled, and transcribed the conversation, as she had been instructed, but she had also extrapolated from the silence that the other man was waiting for Valère’s confirmation, as per the contract, as well as the fact that he didn’t want to specifically ask for it.

  Technology. Incroyable.

  “Yes,” he stammered. “Yes, I confirm. We shall commence with a contingency that merely supports our overall direction, as discussed in previous communications. SARA, please transcribe, encrypt, and archive this discussion into your database, and remove all references therein.”

  “Oui, Monsieur Valère,” SARA said. As Valère stood from his computer desk, the woman’s computerized voice followed the location of his head with pinpoint accuracy, causing Valère to feel as though she were inside his head, not just talking to it. “I will alert you of any updates.”

  He nodded, knowing SARA could see that, too.

  42

  “How far are we from the lab?” Julie asked. She had her feet up on the dashboard. One of Ben’s pet peeves, but he didn’t say anything. He was driving, again, but rather than responding with one of the myriad of retorts he’d been constructing, he found himself grinning instead.

  “We’re almost at the park border, and then there’s another half hour or so to the lab.”

  She nodded once, then focused again on her laptop. Malcolm sat in the back seat, reading through a stack of papers Julie had printed at the hotel’s business center, all on infectious diseases, viral outbreaks, and bacterial infections. It was internal CDC documentation, mixed with reference material and some medical applications, but most of it was the type of information that existed publicly online, through sites like WebMD and Wikipedia.

  Malcolm was specifically looking for research into anthrax-type infections, where the originating material was powdery, dry, or airborne. A fast reader, he had almost made it through the entire stack when they finally reached the gates of Yellowstone’s northeast entrance, with nothing intriguing to show for his efforts.

  Julie looked out the window to see a welcome sign with the “Yellowstone National Park” title and the National Parks Service arrowhead logo. The wooden sign had been placed atop a log display, surrounded by a freshly manicured garden of flowers, shrubs, and small trees. Behind it, the sprawling landscape lay in invitation, beckoning the three-million-plus visitors each year into miles of protected forests and open terrain.

  The road narrowed slightly and pointed them toward an entrance area with a service building standing sentry nearby. In front of the building, Julie saw two police officers and a few rangers and park personnel milling about. Two police cruisers were parked facing each other on the road, blocking the entrance. Outside the service building, a white tent had been constructed, and Julie could see that it was meant for hazmat teams from her own organization for the mobile treatment of any infected individuals found inside the park.

  “Are they going to let us in?” Julie asked.

  “The north and northeast entrances are open year-round, so we should be able to get in. I’ve got my access badge, but I’m not sure about you.”

  One of the police officers had seen their truck coming toward them and walked into the road, standing in front of the police vehicle. He held up his arms and began waving them down.

  “Well, maybe I was wrong,” Ben muttered under his breath as he slowed the truck to a stop and rolled down the window.

  The police officer almost had to stand on his toes to see into the truck’s high window, but he removed his sunglasses and spoke loudly over the rumble of the engine. “Park’s closed,” he said. “No access in or out.”

  “I understand,” Ben answered, removing the ID badge from his wallet. “I work here though, and she’s —”

  “Doesn’t matter.” The police officer cut him off, curtly. “No one in or out. You can turn around right here, then head back on this road…” His voice trailed off as he pointed in the direction from which they’d come.

  “Officer, I’m going to need to get into the park. We’ve got information on this virus, and —”

  “Son, I’m not going to ask you again. Park access is prohibited. Get home, stay inside, and keep watching the news.”

  Ben gritted his teeth and revved the engine. As the officer stepped backward, Ben spun the truck around him and accelerated onto the north-bound side of the road.

  “That was helpful,” Julie said.

  Malcolm called up from the back of the truck. “Now what?”

  Ben didn’t answer. He drove another mile and turned left onto a dirt road leading back to the southwest, and sped up again. They bounced over the uneven, rocky road and swerved between trees that jutted out over their heads. “This is a private access road. There are four other public entrances to the park, just like the one back there. But there are a thousand little roads like this one that crisscross the entire area. I doubt they’ll be monitoring these smaller ones, at least not at the park borders.”

  “Won’t they still find us? There are probably hazmat and outbreak teams from every branch of government and local police f
orces inside the park.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Malcolm answered. “They’ll know soon enough that we’re here, but if we don’t get to that lab and figure out what makes this thing stop, it will be too late anyway.”

  As a confirmation, Ben poked at the radio until he found a news station. It didn’t take long — one station was playing a prerecorded commercial, but the second he tried was broadcasting a nationwide message. He turned the volume up as an anchor’s voice solemnly dictated the latest update.

  “…Reports are in that the viral outbreak has extended as far south as Albuquerque, New Mexico, and as far east as Wichita, Kansas. Experts from the CDC and other sources suggest that if the outbreak can be contained, the death toll will rise to around 10,000 people, but if not, that number could skyrocket to more than a million. Estimates predict that number to be far too conservative, especially if the trajectory of the disease places it anywhere near the western seaboard.

  “As a reminder, please stay inside, try not to interact with anyone outside of your immediate family, and stay tuned to news and radio updates.”

  The anchor signed off, promising another update in an hour, and went to a commercial break. Ben punched the power button.

  “Well that’s dire,” Julie said. Her voice was hoarse, weak.

  “It is, but we can change it. They don’t know how large-scale this could be, and they don’t understand the virus like we do. They’re doing what they’ve been trained to do — throw resources at this problem until it goes away, trying to limit the fatalities as much as possible. We don’t need more people studying it, just the right ones, with the right information.”

  “That’s why we need to get to the lab,” Ben said. He smashed the gas pedal, sending the already fast-moving truck hurtling over potholes and bumps as if they were no more than pebbles on the road.

  Minutes later, they reached the lab facility. It was a brownish-tinged building, painted to blend into the surrounding forest and not stick out to any vacationers camped nearby. Ben pulled the truck onto the long driveway, relieved to find that it was paved, flat, and straight. He parked outside the main entrance. The building was dark and appeared unoccupied — not a surprise, considering the park’s staff had been released shortly after the explosion.