The Source: A Wildfire Prequel

by Marcus Richardson

  Chad fell back on the bed and closed his eyes. "You've got to be kidding me. You mean I got another year of this," he said, waving an arm to encompass the room, "and I have to go to school?"

  "Not necessarily," Dr. Taylor blurted. "If you came with me back to the CDC’s main campus in Atlanta, you could continue your education in about as normal an environment as possible. It's not like being locked down on a military base, that's for sure."

  "Okay, so then what?" asked Chad.

  "Well, as a field retrieval specialist, we would send you into certain areas of the country prone to endemic diseases—to collect samples for research."

  "What does that mean?" Chad said, exasperated.

  "It means she'll send you out into the wilderness to hunt down sick animals and bring back samples," blurted Boatner. “After you shoot them.”

  "That's not fair, Maurice," sighed Dr. Taylor. "At least he doesn't have to join the army to come with me."

  Dr. Boatner raised both hands to put a stop to the verbal sparring. "Let's leave the paperwork and let him make up his own mind."

  Chad accepted several glossy folders from the doctors. Join the Army or join the CDC. Either way, I have to finish high school first. He sighed. This sucks, but I guess I'm grateful to have chance to choose…

  "Think carefully, Chad. This decision is going to have a lasting impact on the rest of your life." Dr. Taylor smiled again and touched Boatner's arm before she left.

  Boatner turned back to Chad. "I know this is sudden, but these are likely the best options you’ll get. Better to get this over with and get on with things, right?"

  Chad stared at folders in his lap. One emblazoned with the army seal, the other with the CDC's logo.

  "You're really getting close to a cure?"

  Boatner took his glasses off and polished them again. "I think so, yes."

  Chad noticed the dark circles under the man's eyes. He looked older than the last time Chad had seen him.

  "Are you okay, Dr. Boatner?"

  Boatner sighed and put his glasses back on. "Honestly, no. But…"

  "What's wrong? I mean other than the Pandemic."

  "It's my family…"

  "Are they sick?"

  Boatner opened his mouth to speak, then closed it and rubbed his face. He nodded and cleared his throat. "Yes…well, maybe. I don't know, I can't get to them and…" He sighed.

  "There's nothing I can do until we find a cure. But we’re getting close." He forced a smile that looked more like a grimace.

  "How long do you think it'll take, then?" asked Chad.

  "We're working up plans for mass production of the vaccine, if that gives you any indication." He tapped the folders and cleared his throat again.

  "You need to think about your own future now, Chad. The only other option besides these two is to be locked away in a place like this," he said with a tired gesture at the white-walled room, "for who knows how long."

  Chad swallowed. "You'll be at the army base?" Chad asked as he stared at the folders.

  "For now, yes. But I'm not in the military and I don't know where I'll ultimately end up. Fort Detrick is where Albert has most of the samples at the moment, so that's where I need to be. Next week…?" He shrugged.

  Chad shifted his gaze to the CDC folder. "And if I go with her?"

  Boatner folded his arms across his chest. "Let's just say if it was me, I know which way I'd go," he said as he stared at the folder from Dr. Taylor.

  "Freedom to walk around outside is not something any of us can take for granted anymore."

  CHAPTER 34

  Departure

  CHAD GRIPPED JESS' PURPLE-strapped satchel across his chest as he stepped through the final door into the hangar. He stopped and stared at the sleek, white jet parked in the middle of the huge structure. Dr. Taylor stood near the open door to the aircraft, talking on a phone. A cordon of grim-faced, heavily armed soldiers surrounded the aircraft.

  Dr. Boatner nudged him gently forward. "It's time."

  Chad watched impassively as two soldiers walked by with his meager personal effects to the plane—just a few changes of clothes provided by the base PX to supplement the personal items he'd brought from home almost 8 months ago.

  He watched as the soldiers carried the bags up the airplane’s fold-down steps and disappeared inside. Chad reached inside his pocket and pulled out the now faded but freshly laminated photograph of his mom.

  "Is that her? Your mother?" asked Dr. Boatner. He reached out a hand. "May I?"

  Reluctantly, Chad handed over the picture.

  Boatner removed his glasses to get a better look. "She's lovely," he said and offered the photograph back.

  "I'm sorry about your family, Dr. Boatner,” Chad said as he accepted the picture back.

  "Thank you," Boatner said, his voice thick with emotion as he removed his glasses.

  "Cherish that photo, Chad. Cherish it—I have no photos of my family."

  "Why not? You guys have the cure now. Are they worried that your house is infected?"

  Boatner shook his head. "No. Fires broke out in the city. The local fire department was decimated by the virus and no one could get it under control. I’ve seen the pictures…there's nothing left—my house is gone. All I have left are the memories. My family…" his voice trailed off, and they stood there in silence for a long moment.

  "I'm so sorry…"

  Dr. Boatner sniffed and clapped Chad on the shoulder. "Don't be sorry, Chad. The work you've done to help us will save millions of lives.” He pulled his glasses off again.

  “Possibly billions. That's something we can all feel proud of, right? We just have to focus on the positive, even if we couldn't save our own families."

  "Good, I was worried you'd take off before I had time to say goodbye," Major Daniels called out from behind them.

  Chad and Boatner turned to face the military virologist. He extended a hand for Chad to shake. "I won't say I’m not disappointed you didn't accept the army's offer," Daniels said as he shook hands, "but I respect the decision. Call me anytime on that sat phone if you change your mind about the CDC, Chad…"

  "Oh, give it a rest, Albert. We lost," Boatner said.

  Daniels smiled but it didn't reach his eyes. "Well…good luck in Atlanta, kid."

  The plane's engines powered up with a high-pitched whine. Chad turned and saw Dr. Taylor motion for him to join her at the plane across the hangar.

  "Won't you guys still need to take samples of my blood or something?" asked Chad, now suddenly nervous to leave the relative normalcy he’d found in his isolation on the base.

  Daniels put his fists on his waist and rocked back on his heels. "Well, the process is still fairly destructive, but we’re getting the hang of it."

  "Besides," added Boatner, "we've recently discovered you might not be the only one out there with such unique genetic properties."

  Chad noticed the sharp glance Daniels gave Boatner. The older man shrugged. "What? It's possible."

  “What are you talking about?” asked Chad. “I might not be the only one like—”

  “It’s just a theory,” Daniels said as he urged Chad forward. "Dr. Taylor is waiting."

  “He was just a theory before we ran the tests,” muttered Boatner.

  Daniels shook his hand again before Chad could ask any more questions. "Good luck Chad. Like I said, keep in touch. I’ll leave you to it." He turned and walked away.

  Boatner and Chad looked back toward the white jet. "I don't know what I'm doing," Chad muttered.

  Boatner sighed. "None of us do, Chad. The world doesn't make sense anymore."

  Chad adjusted Jess’ satchel over his shoulder. "Then why are we doing this?"

  Boatner put his hands in his pockets. "I know it seems hard—"

  "Hard?" asked Chad, squinting at Boatner. "This…this life is the only thing I've known for the last 8 months. Everything was taken from me when this bug killed my family, my friends…my whole life ended. That was hard
. And now I get my life back—sort of…I don't know if it's normal or not, but it's something—"

  Boatner put a hand on Chad's shoulder. “Take my advice for what it’s worth: focus on your work and the world will fall into place around you. Remember your parents, your family, and your friends. As long as you’re alive, they’ll never really be dead."

  Chad shook hands with Dr. Boatner. "Am I ever going to see you again?"

  Boatner shrugged. "I hope so, but who knows? We don't have the cure nailed down just yet, so I'm sure I'll have to sneak down to Atlanta once or twice. And don't forget once we figure this thing out and put a stop to it—and we will—you'll be famous."

  Chad blinked. "Famous?"

  Boatner smiled. "Albert thinks we’ll win the Nobel Prize for this. The whole team, maybe—there's seven of us spread all over the world now, working on this thing." He stared at the jet and waved as Dr. Taylor went up the ladder.

  "You better get going now, she'll be waiting. You have my number—call me if you need to talk."

  Chad nodded. "I will. Thank you, Dr. Boatner—for everything."

  Once safely ensconced on the plane and at cruising altitude, Dr. Taylor approached Chad and sat down in the next seat. She placed her briefcase on her lap, smiled at him, and opened the twin golden locks. Chad peered over her shoulder and looked at the contents.

  "What's all that stuff?"

  "This," she said, “is everything you'll need for life in Atlanta. Official identification cards, security passes, and all the requisite paperwork." She winked at him. “In triplicate.”

  Chad frowned. "Paperwork? Name badges? What do I need all that for? I thought I was supposed to be going back to high school…"

  Taylor nodded and brushed red strands of silky hair from her forehead. "School—yes, you'll definitely be going back. But not in Atlanta. The military has cordoned off the immediate area around the CDC main campus, but it's much too dangerous for you to stay there."

  Chad shook his head. “I don’t understand,” he said, examining the lacquered name badge attached to a red and yellow striped lanyard.

  "You said that I’d be going to Atlanta to finish school…"

  Dr. Taylor smiled again. "I know what I said—that was for Major Daniels’ and Dr. Boatner's benefit."

  Chad stared at her. You guys are lying to each other now?

  "Look…I know everyone tells you how important you are to the world, to our country, maybe even to our species…but I don't think you quite understand just how true that is. I told everyone you were going to Atlanta as a cover. You're not going anywhere near Atlanta—I'm taking you to Montana."

  "Montana? Why?" A hollow feeling fluttered in Chad’s stomach and he was sure it wasn’t turbulence.

  "To finish your education. That part was true—you will finish high school. But we need a remote environment to continue your training. We’ve had far too many security breaches lately and we’re too close to the cure to risk losing you now." She raised her hands defensively before he could start asking questions.

  "Trust me, this wasn't my decision—I didn’t want to lie to everybody either. Especially Maurice,” she mumbled, tracing the CDC logo on the folder in her lap with a red-tipped finger.

  “This decision comes from the president."

  "Oh."

  She laughed suddenly, a light, gentle sound that brought a slight smile to Chad’s lips. She closed her briefcase and grimaced.

  "You know what? Don't worry about all this—you'll get the full rundown when we land. Trust me, you'll like the next couple of years. We’ve found you the perfect teacher. It'll be no different than transferring to a new school," she said. "Only this one will be…I don't know, out in the woods. Now—is there anything you need for the flight?"

  "Well, I have my books…"

  "Good. I'll let the steward know to bring you something to eat and drink soon. If you need anything else, don't be afraid to—" her phone warbled. She looked at the number and frowned as she stood.

  "I’m sorry, I have to take this. Anyway, if you need anything, just let someone know. I'll make sure you get whatever you want. Welcome to the CDC.”

  She leaned over to shake his hand again, then moved down the aisle, phone already at her ear.

  CHAPTER 35

  Call me Jayne

  VANESSA STAGGERED BACK FROM the instructor's punch. The pain from her now bruised cheekbone radiated to her still-healing broken nose in waves. She spat blood into the dirt and flipped her golden ponytail back over her shoulder.

  Gingerly, she reached up and touched her throbbing face. The doctors hadn't taken out the surgical stitches more than two weeks ago and here she was, getting her face pounded in the sand.

  Anger flared inside her stomach as she narrowed her eyes. The swarthy little man before her smirked. Her rudimentary self-defense training—which she’d thought more than adequate to protect herself when surrounded by Father’s security detail—had just been proven horribly insufficient. Again.

  “More,” the middle-aged man said as his eyes roamed over her body.

  “Like what you see?” she asked with a sneer. After he'd broken her nose the first time, she'd had several facial reconstruction operations. Her face was still raw and puffy—she looked nothing like her old self. The doctors promised she'd be even more beautiful than before, as long as she let herself heal properly. Her instructor didn't seem to care about the doctor's orders though.

  Yossef grunted. “Your form is terrible—like clumsy Palestinian boy. Have you not listened to what I tell you?” the Israeli asked.

  Vanessa shrieked and flew at her trainer. Yossef laughed—he actually laughed!—as he side-stepped her attack and firmly planted his open palm between her shoulder blades.

  On the ground once more, she wiped the dirt off her face and barely held back the tears that threatened to spill over her burning cheeks. It wasn’t fair—she’d been in this Godforsaken desert camp for months now and was beyond sick and tired of the heat, dust, and especially the arrogant trainers.

  She clenched her fingers, raking the hard-baked ground as the heat of the day rolled off her prostrate body. They'd faked her death, played slice and dice with her face, and then beaten her to a bloody pulp at least twice a week for months.

  “Up. Again.”

  Around the training yard, the other recruits practiced with their own trainers. Shouts echoed, punches and kicks flew, and bodies hit the hard-packed desert mesa all around her. Everyone else jumped back to their feet and continued to fight despite the oppressive, relentless desert sun.

  Vanessa’s eyes fell on a stranger in a dark suit and glasses. He was impeccably dressed and stared right at her as the Kenyan guard who brought her here whispered in his ear. The stranger's face looked chiseled from stone. He was maybe a little older than her, but not by much. Tall, wide shouldered, and slim, the man exuded strength and confidence. He didn’t seem fazed in the slightest by the heat, though she guessed it to be at least 120 degrees in the shade.

  “Up,” growled the Israeli close combat instructor again.

  She glanced over her shoulder. The visitor wore reflective, aviator-style sunglasses but she could tell by the crook of his mouth that he was staring at her ass. She smiled as a fluttering of confidence returned to her bruised body as she returned to her fighting stance. She threw a few punches that Yossef easily blocked before he shoved her in the chest and knocked her back onto the ground.

  “Again,” Yossef said with an irritating smirk.

  Vanessa slowly got to her feet again but kept her fists clenched. Her eyes found the man in the suit. He smiled at her over the rims of his mirrored glasses. She boldly stared at him—that smile of his held her as tight as any rope. She was paralyzed with sudden attraction.

  His lips, full but narrow, created the perfect crease under his solid cheekbones. His chiseled jaw and symmetrical face were framed by short but stylish black hair. Her heart raced as she turned to face her trainer yet again. She hoped t
he man in the suit continued to watch.

  “Come,” said Yossef. He jerked a meaty hand at her. “Again.”

  Vanessa put on her best smile though inside she quivered with anxiety and excitement. She could almost feel the stranger's eyes roam over her body. She hadn't felt this way since before Father died.

  Before I killed him.

  "Are you listening?" mocked Yossef. "Again, come at me."

  She narrowed her eyes. Focus.

  “I lose patience for your delaying.” He wagged a finger at her. "Do not make me punish you again."

  Vanessa pouted. “I can’t beat you in a fight. You know that.”

  The instructor shook his head. “No matter—attack. You will not always be the better fighter. You must learn to adapt." He gestured at the twelve other students who all struggled to land blows against their trainers. Most of the other recruits were in the dirt at the moment. Many coughed in the dust and the heat, but they all struggled to rise once more.

  "Now, attack—any way you can,” Yossef barked. "Last chance."

  Any way I can…

  Vanessa slowly smiled, then walked forward with a confidence she hadn’t felt since before The Pandemic. Her hips swayed and even in the ridiculously pedestrian cargo pants and t-shirt she’d been forced to wear all summer, she saw Yossef's demeanor soften ever so slightly as he watched her.

  “Attack,” he said again, half-heartedly.

  "I've got a better idea," she purred. She casually stripped off her sweaty, dusty t-shirt in one smooth motion and dropped it on the ground as she walked forward. Smiling as the sun warmed her pale skin, she pulled back her shoulders to make the utilitarian sports bra look a little more revealing as she approached him. Vanessa stopped within arms’ reach and leveled her best sultry gaze on suddenly squirmy Yossef.

  “No attack,” she breathed.

  “What?” the instructor muttered, shifting his head to peer over her shoulder. His expression said are you seeing this? to the man in the suit.

  “I’m not going to attack,” Vanessa said. Her confidence blossomed as she slowly reached up a dusty hand to remove Yossef's sunglasses. She took another step and closed the distance between their bodies to mere inches. She could smell the stink of onions and lamb on his breath—he’d had one of his impressively boring gyros again for lunch.