The Ninth Day

by Jamie Freveletti

  “We don’t have any time,” Vanderlock said. “Let’s just dump the car. It’s our quickest option.”

  “How are your legs?” Emma said to Oz.

  “I get weak pretty quickly. The sores don’t hurt, they’re just numb.”

  “How’s Serena?”

  Oz shook his head. “Serena’s dead. She died last night. La Valle went crazy.” A stream of blood came out of Oz’s nose. He pulled up his tee shirt and held it to his face to staunch the flow. “My nose just won’t stop bleeding.”

  “Who’s Serena?” Vanderlock said. Emma sat back in the seat and faced forward. Serena being dead was a very, very bad development for all of them.

  “La Valle’s girlfriend. She had the disease first. Now that she’s dead there’s no further reason to keep me—or you—alive.”

  Vanderlock snorted. “I told you, unless I deliver the shipment I’ll be doomed anyway.”

  “Let’s just get rid of this car and find a phone.”

  Emma glanced back at Oz. He leaned against the side door, his legs stretched out on the seat. She found it was difficult to look at him, his face was so disfigured. His eyes, still lovely, gazed out from the mass. She smiled at him. He watched her for a moment, then a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Maybe it was the best he could do, but Emma felt her throat constrict with tears at the small gesture. She turned away again.

  Vanderlock switched on the radio and fiddled with the dials until finding an all-news show. The car hummed along.

  “How are we on gas?” Emma said.

  “Quarter of a tank. We need to find some.”

  The radio announcer switched from discussing the price of cattle futures to reporting the news. He said, “Miami chemist Emma Caldridge and two other accomplices are suspected of yet another attack in the last twenty-four hours.” The reporter announced that she was implicated in the shooting of a local farmer and was armed and dangerous. They asked anyone having any information to contact the FBI and rattled off a phone number.

  Vanderlock shot her a grim look. “They think you shot the farmer?”

  Emma felt her stomach tighten. “This is going to take a long time to unravel.”

  Vanderlock nodded. “You bet it is.”

  “We need to get Oz to a hospital.”

  “Forget about me. We need to stop the shipment. La Valle has two more stops: Chicago and D.C.,” Oz said. “And it gets worse. They’re assembling a meeting of the major gangs in the Midwest who usually distribute the drugs.”

  “Is he crazy? He’ll infect them all,” Emma said.

  “Good,” Vanderlock said. “I hope they die a painful death. Where’s the meeting?”

  “Somewhere along their usual route. Kansas, maybe. And I think he wants to infect them all. I think he wants to eliminate the competition.”

  “Then who’s going to distribute for him?” Emma said.

  “He’s got a gang in Chicago ready to take over.”

  Half an hour later they drove into a small town. Oz kept his head low, so as not to be spotted. Vanderlock pulled into a local gas station. The sign said DIXIE GAS, and the entire establishment consisted of one gas and one diesel pump next to a clapboard structure with dirty windows and an ancient Coca-Cola poster in the window. Vanderlock jerked his chin at the sign.

  “Bet that’s worth something.”

  Emma scanned the area for a pay phone. She saw a box attached to the side wall.

  “Yes! A phone.” She jumped out and headed to the side. She got to the kiosk and was immediately disappointed to find that whatever was once there was long gone. The shell contained only a few severed telephone lines and scrawled graffiti in black marker. She came back around to find Vanderlock filling the tank.

  “I’m going to ask to use the phone,” she said.

  “Who we calling?” Vanderlock said.

  “Sumner.”

  Vanderlock snorted. “Flyboy?”

  “Don’t call him that.”

  Vanderlock gave her a considering look. “So what should I call him? Loverboy?”

  Emma didn’t bother to respond, but instead opened the aging screen on the door to the building. It banged closed behind her with a snap.

  Faded fluorescent lights bathed the inside of the store with a half light. Beige-colored steel shelving about shoulder height contained the usual travel-size convenience-store items. The largest thing in the shop was a long glass refrigerator unit containing one shelf of water; one of sports drinks, iced tea, and sodas; and three of beer. Emma grabbed a bottle of ibuprofen and a canister of bandages. At a right angle and behind a counter sat a young man sporting a shaved head and a camouflage-green tee shirt. She put the purchases on the counter and placed a five dollar bill next to them.

  “May I use your phone? My cell ran out of juice.”

  The man got an annoyed look on his face. “It’s not the battery, you’re in a dead zone. Cell phones don’t work here.”

  “What a drag.” Emma hoped that she sounded sufficiently sympathetic.

  “You’re telling me,” he said.

  “Well, can I use the gas station’s?”

  The man reached behind him to pick up the phone console.

  “Get in the car now! They’re coming.” Emma heard Vanderlock yell through the screen, his tone urgent. Emma grabbed a pen out of a cup next to the cash register and a newspaper on the shelf below the counter. She wrote a number in the paper’s margin.

  “Listen, I’ve got to go. Call this number, will you? And tell the man who answers Emma was here. I’ll call again when I can.” She shoved the paper at the man, grabbed her purchases, leaving the five behind, and bolted out the door. Vanderlock was already in the car. He revved the engine. Oz sat up and craned his neck to look out the back window. When she reached the passenger-side door she saw the black BMW less than a half mile away and coming on fast.

  The Caliber’s wheels spun on the concrete with a squealing sound. Vanderlock put the pedal all the way down. Emma tossed the pills on the floor of the car and grabbed the gun that rested in the console between them.

  “You have any more bullets? Or is this it?”

  “That’s all. What do you have? Thirteen?”

  “Just about.”

  “Not enough,” Vanderlock said.

  Emma lowered her window. The side-view mirror showed the BMW gaining. Vanderlock kept his eyes on the road. Far in the distance, they heard the sound of a siren.

  “Cops,” Oz said. He kept a watch out the rear window.

  Behind the BMW came the flashing lights of a patrol car. Emma thought she’d never seen anything so beautiful.

  “That police car’s booking,” Oz said.

  “Think they’ll stop?” Vanderlock said.

  “Not a chance,” Oz said. No sooner had he spoken, than Emma saw Mono lean out of the passenger-side window and take aim at the patrol car. She heard the reports of two shots. One bullet shattered the windshield’s center. The patrol car kept coming on. Mono retreated into his vehicle, screeched into a turn and disappeared down a side road. The patrol car turned to follow.

  “Do you think he hit the cop?” Emma said to Oz.

  He shook his head. “Don’t think so. The guy’s probably calling for backup now.”

  “Lucky break for us,” Vanderlock said. Emma doubted that luck had anything to do with it. Sumner must have called the police. She kept the thought to herself, though, while she plotted to obtain access to another phone.

  Chapter 37

  Hours later they drove into an industrial park and killed the engine. Oz’s condition was deteriorating fast. He lay in the back, his eyes closed. A line of blood ran out of his nose. The latest lab consisted of one small building, with green-tinted glass windows and an efficient, sterile look to it.

  “What does this one specialize in?” Vanderlock said.

  “Orphan drug research,” Emma said.

  “Orphan drugs? What’re those?”

  “They’re drugs tha
t cure obscure, rarely occurring diseases. They’re called orphan drugs because most makers don’t invest any time or research money in them. The disease they cure doesn’t occur often enough to support large sales. Without the payback, they’re not worth producing in quantity. Or, in some cases, at all.”

  Vanderlock kept his eye on the lab. “So why does this lab bother?”

  “They get significant tax incentives for researching rare diseases, and they get a seven-year free pass to market them without competition. If they hit the jackpot on a drug, the sky’s the limit on the pricing.” Emma picked up the ibuprofen from the wheel well at her feet and handed them back to Oz.

  “You in any pain?” she said.

  Oz nodded. “Starting to be. Mostly a headache.” She gave him the pills. “It’s the best I can find for you right now.”

  Oz took the bottle without comment.

  “How are we getting into this one?” Oz said.

  Emma checked the weapon. “We’re going to persuade the security guard that it’s necessary.”

  Vanderlock watched her with a look of approval on his face. “I do believe that a life of crime suits you. Who knew?”

  “Don’t get your hopes up. I’m not joining you.”

  Vanderlock leaned closer. “I’m not a criminal, I’m a victim of circumstance. But if you choose to stay a criminal, I might just decide that it would be worth my while to be one, too.”

  Emma eyed him, but decided not to comment further. “Let’s go,” she said.

  They hit their first obstacle at the front door. It was locked. No guard in sight. Vanderlock put his face against the glass, cupping his hands around his eyes to see inside.

  “Nothing. Guess orphan drug research doesn’t pay enough to hire a full-time guard.” He stepped back and looked up at the building face. “No cameras, either.”

  “You know how to jimmy a door?”

  “Only with a crowbar. Want me to check the Caliber? But I doubt there’s one in it.”

  “Can we shoot the lock?” Oz said.

  Vanderlock got a dubious look on his face. “I hate to waste a bullet.”

  “Break a window?”

  “I guess we’ll have to,” Emma said.

  “Once the alarm triggers we won’t have a lot of time.”

  “How about I stay out here?” Vanderlock said. “When the cops come, I’ll tear off in the Caliber. Maybe they’ll follow. Buy you some more time. I’ll honk when they show up. You hear it, you wrap up whatever it is you’re doing.” Vanderlock gave Oz an assessing look. “Think you’re strong enough to run to that Walmart we passed on the way?”

  Oz took a deep breath. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Then you two meet me in the back. Once I lose the cops I’ll return there for you both.”

  “And if Mono shows up again?” Emma said.

  Vanderlock shrugged. “I’ll deal with Mono.” He put his hand out for the gun. Emma engaged the safety and handed it to him. He shoved it into his waistband and dropped his shirt over the butt.

  They walked around the building, looking for a weak point of entry. They found it at the freight dock. The area smelled of old garbage and grease. A large black plastic trash can sat in a corner along with a small folding table and chair that may have been a station for a guard during the day. Tacked on the wall to the right of the table was a poster from the Department of Labor that said KNOW YOUR RIGHTS. A clipboard with a sign-in sheet hung from a hook within easy reach of the table. Next to that, a wood panel door had a single-pane rectangular glass window at the top.

  “Let me go find a rock,” Vanderlock said. He jogged toward the end of the parking lot.

  Oz heaved a sigh. “I’m going to take a seat under a tree. I’m exhausted. Call me when you need me.” He walked to the edge of the lot and disappeared into the darkness. Vanderlock returned, holding a large, gray granite-looking piece the size of a small football.

  “This oughta do it,” he said.

  A minivan turned the corner into the loading bay, its headlights blinding Emma with their white light. Emma froze. Vanderlock moved next to her, holding the rock behind him. He held the other hand up near his eyes while he squinted at the car. The van maneuvered into the loading area and the door slid open. Several women emerged, one after another. The first, a short woman with big arms and hair fashioned into a bun shot with gray, nodded to Emma and gave Vanderlock a quick assessing look. She wore a shapeless gray dress with solid black comfort shoes and a white apron over it all. She shuffled over to the sign-in sheet, pulled it off the wall, scrawled her name and pulled a key card attached to a lanyard around her neck out from underneath the front of the apron.

  “The cleaning crew,” Emma said under her breath to Vanderlock, who replied with a quiet “um hmm.” He still held his hand to his eyes. Emma smiled the friendliest smile that she could manage and addressed the heavy woman with the key card.

  “I’m so glad to see you. I forgot my key card.” Emma held her hands out in a helpless gesture. The woman moved past Emma to the door and swiped the card through the reader. She opened the door for Emma and nodded her inside. When Vanderlock made a move to follow, the woman shook her head.

  He put his hands in the air. “I’ll just wait out here.” He smiled at the cleaning lady, who frowned back at him and muttered a word under her breath.

  Emma held the door to allow the other cleaning women, all of varying ages, to file into the facility in front of her. They nodded and chattered in a foreign language, which sounded vaguely Eastern European. A couple of the younger women bestowed large smiles on Vanderlock, who smiled back.

  “I’ll get Oz,” Vanderlock said. “Be ready to let him in.”

  Ten minutes later, Oz and Emma made their way down the first-floor hallway, which was lined with a series of numbered doors. Emma picked number four and tried the handle. The door opened into a small, pristine office space. A computer sat on a desk, along with a picture of a smiling woman and two small children. Emma stepped back out and waved Oz forward again. The hall ended at another, wider, corridor.

  “Look left,” Oz whispered. To their left was a set of double doors marked CLEAN ROOM LAB, AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.

  “Won’t work. That’s a sterile room. It has to be locked,” Emma said. She looked right. Another set of double doors lettered with the simple word LAB. She headed that way, Oz behind her. She pushed through the doors to a large, dark area. She searched around on a nearby wall and found a bank of switches and turned them on. Fluorescent lights sprung on to reveal a clean, large, impersonal lab room of the kind that Emma had worked in her entire life. She felt like she’d come home.

  “Perfect,” she said. She hurried to the side counter. “Sit down. Let’s move. I want to take another look at the bacteria on the sores now that they’re so much more severe. Maybe something else will be revealed.”

  Oz sat on a nearby stool while Emma fished around in the cabinets. She found some gloves and spare slides, along with a small tool to use to scrape at the sores and several different agents to use to treat the resulting tissue. She scraped some more cells from Oz’s hand, noting that they were chewing down into the meat of his palm.

  “Still numb?” she said.

  Oz nodded.

  Once she prepared the slide, she grabbed a staining solution and began to run through the steps to complete the process.

  “What’s that?” Oz asked.

  “Something that will help me identify any acid-fast bacteria.”

  “What are you looking for?”

  Emma shrugged. “Tuberculosis.”

  “But it doesn’t create sores.”

  “Not usually, no.”

  Emma finished up and popped one slide into a nearby oven. She turned to the next slide, which she intended to view bare, under a microscope.

  “Damn these nosebleeds!” Oz said.

  Emma looked up and watched Oz wipe at his nose once again with his filthy, bloodstained tee shirt. She stared at him. He
stopped dabbing at his nose and glanced up, catching her look. “What?” he said.

  Emma returned to the cabinet and brought out another stain. She took the second slide, added the solution, and waited five minutes. She slid the slide under a nearby microscope and peered through the lens. Millions of red-colored bacteria swam around against a blue background. Emma stared at the stain, stunned. That she, Vanderlock, Oz, Serena, and all the others who had touched the shipment could have what she now suspected, at the virulent level that it appeared to be, was devastating.

  “Let’s go,” Emma said.

  Oz stood. “You’re done? What about the slide in the oven?”

  Emma reached up and turned it off. “I don’t care about it now. We need to see their stash of medicines. Look around, tell me what you find.”

  Oz stood up, a puzzled look in his eyes. “What kind of medications?”

  “Antibiotics. Anything that will kill bacteria.”

  The room, though, contained only laboratory equipment.

  “What do you think I have?”

  Emma shook her head. If she told him she was afraid he’d shut down, refuse to fight any further. What she suspected was horrifying, but she kept hope that the disease could be reversed. “Not now. Let’s get out of here first. I’ll tell you then.”

  She heard, far in the distance, the sound of a honking horn.

  “That’s Lock,” Oz said. “Let’s go.”

  Emma was already moving across the room, heading to the hall. “I’m not leaving without finding their stash of medication. We’re in an orphan-drug lab. I may need what they have.” Especially now that I know what afflicts us all, she thought. “We’re going to have to check every door in that wing.”

  “We don’t have the time,” Oz said. “Let it go. I’ve accepted that I’m dying. Let’s just get the hell out of here and stop that shipment.”

  “You forget that Lock and I have it too,” Emma said.

  “You have a lot of days left. We’ll stop the shipment and you can still get to a hospital.”

  Oz made a move to grab her, then stopped. “Sorry.”

  “I don’t care if you touch me. Just go. Get to the meeting place and hook up with Lock. Give me fifteen minutes, then leave without me.”