The Ninth Day

by Jamie Freveletti

  “So we need to attenuate the signal,” Oz said. Emma raised an eyebrow in a question at him. “Attenuate means to block it. The quick answer is that radio signals hit a certain frequency and travel at the speed of light. Certain materials are ‘dielectric,’ or excellent at blocking waves. Wood isn’t, that’s why you can play a radio in your house made of it. Metal has a high attenuation coefficient.”

  Vanderlock looked at Oz in the rearview mirror. “What did you do before signing on as a mule for La Valle?”

  “I was a student at MIT, but dropped out.”

  “Not the brightest move for an obviously bright guy,” Vanderlock said. “Why’d you quit?”

  “I followed a woman,” Oz said.

  Vanderlock nodded. “Now that I understand.”

  “Back to the radio waves,” Emma said.

  “Without knowing what frequency the tracker’s using, I think we’ll need to cover the entire car with metal.” Emma watched as they drove past a field with a barn in the distance. A thought came to her.

  “We’re in farm country. Would a chicken coop do it? Surround the car with chicken wire? That’s metal, right?”

  Oz looked dubious. “It’s metal, that’s true, but depending on the frequency, the waves could get through the openings in the wire. Better to drive the car into one of those metal sheds you see people use to store their lawn equipment.”

  “Would be a bit tough to pull up to any old house and ask to park the car in their shiny new shed from Sears,” Vanderlock said.

  “Following up on your chicken-coop idea, metal-screening material would work. The holes are smaller, dense,” Oz said.

  “They have rolls of the stuff at every home-improvement store I’ve ever been to,” Emma said.

  Vanderlock turned onto a main road. “We’ll buy some at the next one we see. Then let’s ask around for an out-of-the-way motel. These small towns have tons of them.”

  Oz kept low in the car as they approached a larger town. His face appeared almost grotesque. The last thing Emma needed was to attract more notice than they would already.

  “Did you know there’s blood on your hip? That yours?” Vanderlock said. Emma looked at her pants in surprise. A blood stain, half dried, covered her hip. She touched the skin through the material and felt a wound. She probed it with her fingers. It hurt to the touch, but remained soft. She couldn’t feel any metal bullet or piece of shrapnel.

  “Mono must have nicked me.”

  Vanderlock pulled up to yet another Walmart. “Did Sam Walton own the Midwest? These stores are everywhere.”

  “Maybe not the Midwest, but definitely the South,” Emma said.

  Emma and Vanderlock entered the store and immediately split up. Vanderlock was in charge of purchasing the screening, Emma food, water, and bandages. She passed a display of faded Levi’s and picked up a pair of 501s in her size, doing her best to hold them at her side to cover her own shredded, bloodstained pants. She bought a new shirt, underwear, socks, snatched a baseball cap from a display and also picked up two prepaid cell phones. She hooked up with Vanderlock at the cash register. He put a black tee shirt on the conveyor belt.

  “It’s for Oz. His is covered in blood.” Oz didn’t move while they loaded their purchases in the car. He lay in the back, taking short, shallow breaths. “He’s falling apart,” Vanderlock said in low tones.

  “Did you find a motel?”

  Vanderlock nodded. “Creek’s View. Three miles west, by a local creek. Family owned.”

  Creek’s View consisted of a series of log cabins that stretched into a wooded area lined by a creek. Emma and Vanderlock stepped inside to check in, leaving Oz in the car. The motel office was the smallest cabin and first in the row. A tired-looking woman with faded red hair and rheumy blue eyes smoked a cigarette and watched a soap opera on a small television placed on the counter behind which she sat. Next to the television sat an open register book and a pen. The rest of the single room contained an empty stone fireplace with cobwebs spanning the corner and a wooden trunk used as a cocktail table was placed in front of two armchairs covered in a worn paisley print. A cat was curled up in one chair. It opened an eye to check on them.

  “My wife and I would like two rooms,” Vanderlock said.

  The woman gave Vanderlock a disinterested look. “Why two?”

  “She won’t let me smoke in hers.”

  The woman emitted a sharp cackle. “Why not just smoke outside?”

  Vanderlock jerked his chin at the woman’s cigarette. “I like to smoke in comfort.”

  The woman rose and pulled the register in front of Vanderlock. “Sign in.” She handed him a pen. He reached for a separate one lying on the counter. Emma watched him write, “Mr. and Mrs. Wilson Vanderlock” on the line. He tapped it and gave Emma a grin.

  “Newlyweds,” he said to the woman, who just snorted.

  “What’s the creek’s name?” Emma asked.

  “Creek,” the woman said.

  “Inventive,” Emma replied. The woman didn’t respond. She reached behind her and pulled two keys that hung from hooks on a peg board.

  “Do they have telephones?”

  The woman shook her head. “No phones, but your cell should get a signal. No Internet. Take the two cabins on the end. Last one’s a smoking cabin.”

  “I appreciate that,” Vanderlock said. The woman returned to watching her soap opera, ignoring them.

  “How’s it feel to be married?” Vanderlock said once they were back outside.

  “I was surprised you didn’t draw a little heart over the i in Wilson.”

  “Smart aleck,” Vanderlock said, humor in his voice. He shook a cigarette out of a pack and flicked on his lighter. He lit it, taking a deep drag. They climbed back into the car. Oz still hadn’t moved. His eyes remained closed.

  “Let’s move. He needs some more medication fast,” Emma said. They drove to the first cabin.

  “Can you walk?” Emma asked Oz. He opened his eyes halfway.

  “Not sure. Can Lock help?”

  Vanderlock pulled Oz out of the car, wrapped one of his arms over his shoulder, and helped him to the nearest cabin. The interior smelled dusty, as if the room hadn’t been aired in a while. A patchwork quilt covered a queen-sized bed and a white lace doily covered the nearby nightstand. Vanderlock lowered Oz to the bed while Emma checked the washroom. It contained a small sink, toilet, and stand-up shower.

  Emma sat at a small table placed against a window and surrounded by two wooden chairs. She dumped the contents of the tote and began sifting through the medicine.

  “I’ll unload the car and cover it with the mesh,” Vanderlock said. Emma nodded, not turning her focus from the myriad bottles and pills before her.

  The majority of the stolen compounds contained substances that were unfamiliar to her. A couple of the bottles included not only a name, but a suggested use, and none of these were antibiotics.

  Eight bottles contained well-known antibiotics found in any pharmacy, including penicillin, and two were broad spectrum and guaranteed to knock any bug out with one punch, but not known to cure leprosy. One bottle contained a powerful antibiotic combined with a second, investigational, one.

  “Here, take these.” Emma handed Oz two more pills from the samples and one of the new investigational drugs. He swallowed them down without hesitation and followed them with a swig of water. “I’m giving you a bit of the traditional treatment, but there’s a new drug thrown in there. I don’t know about drug interactions, though.”

  Oz waved her off. “I don’t care. Let’s just see what happens.” He closed his eyes again.

  She watched him for a few minutes. He fell into a deep sleep, and she slipped outside.

  She stopped a moment on the cabin’s front porch. Crickets scratched, an owl hooted, and a breeze rustled through the trees. Insects bounced around a light at the top of a six-foot-high pole at the end of the circular drive. The cool night air felt good. She glanced at the spray of star
s overhead.

  She found Vanderlock and the Caliber a few feet into the trees on a path that ran from the cul de sac-shaped driveway. He was engrossed in unrolling the last of the mesh screen over the car. He’d run it from front to back and was putting more over from side to side. He’d taken care to park the car facing out.

  “Considering a quick getaway? No need to turn around first?” Emma said.

  “Can’t be too sure. Who knows if this will work.”

  Emma noticed that he’d bought work gloves to cover his hands. The rest of their purchases lay on the ground in front of the last cabin. Emma grabbed the bag and carried it inside, dumping most of it on one of the two double beds. This cabin was larger, with a small kitchenette area. She separated out the microwave soup and other food along with the bottles of water and placed those on the kitchen counter. When she opened the refrigerator to store the bottles of water she found the jug of white lightning already occupying the main shelf. She added the assorted bottles of medicine.

  She assembled the prepaid phones, set them on their respective chargers and plugged them into a socket on the wall next to a well-worn toaster oven.

  She’d purchased toiletries, toothbrushes, a comb, and shampoo, and these last items she carried with her into the bathroom. A flick of the knobs got the shower started and while the water heated she began to peel the cloth away from the wound on her hip. The oozing red gash hurt, but wasn’t deep and not infected. She stepped into the shower and sighed when the hot water hit her back.

  Twenty minutes later she emerged from the bathroom wearing the new clothes and bumped right into Vanderlock, who stood in front of the door.

  “I thought you’d never finish,” he said. He didn’t move, remaining a few inches from her. He held a cup of the microwave soup in one hand and a spoon in the other. Emma noticed that he’d kept a glove on the affected one. The smell of hot chicken broth wafted toward her, making her mouth water.

  “God, that smells great,” she said.

  “Have some. I haven’t touched it yet.” He filled the spoon and held it out to her, bringing it close, sliding it into her mouth. She swallowed the warm liquid, all the while watching him. He paused, his face inches from hers, holding her gaze. He was so close that Emma saw the flecks of gold in his eyes. He smelled of an appealing combination of whiskey and cigarettes and sweat. Emma took a small step toward him, and his look sharpened.

  “Your turn,” she said, and pointed to the shower.

  He gave a nod, but didn’t move out of her way and continued to look at her, saying nothing. Emma felt the tension between them rise.

  “I’m clearly infected, but you don’t have any sores yet?” he said.

  “No.”

  “I shouldn’t touch you, then.”

  Emma inhaled. “That’s safest.”

  He gave her a small smile.

  “I’ll just take this,” Emma said. She reached out and removed the soup from his hand. When she looked up again his face held an amused expression. He moved past her with only inches to spare, keeping his eyes on her the entire time. She gazed back and stayed still. He went into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

  Emma exhaled before walking into the kitchen area. Within minutes she heard the shower kick on again. She finished the soup standing at the sink and in record time, and tossed the carton in the garbage. Exhaustion clawed at her. She set the alarm on her running watch to wake her in two hours and fell onto one of the beds to sleep. Later, she emerged from her sleep state long enough to hear the microwave beep as Vanderlock made another bowl of soup for himself.

  Just before closing her eyes she felt a line of blood run from her nose, across her cheek, and into her ear. She grabbed a tissue from the night table and wiped it away.

  Chapter 40

  Emma woke to the sound, not of her alarm, but of pounding on the door. She flicked on the nightstand light, and looked at the other bed. Vanderlock sat on the edge of the mattress, checking the gun. She moved to the door and waved a silent “wait” signal to him. He nodded and slipped to her right, getting in line with the door as it opened. He knelt down and aimed. She looked through the peephole.

  Three uniform police officers stood on the deck. The one in the lead was the pounder, the two standing behind him were in the same general position as Vanderlock, with guns drawn and prepared to fire.

  “Police,” Emma whispered. Vanderlock lowered his gun.

  “Don’t let them in, we’ll infect them,” he said.

  “I don’t see that we have much choice.”

  Another pounding came at the door.

  Vanderlock jerked his head at the window in the kitchenette’s wall. “Check the window. Are they in the back?”

  Emma tiptoed her way to the opposite end of the cabin, pressed herself against the wall, and peered through the glass.

  “Nothing here that I can see.” She put her hands on the sash to raise it. Another pounding.

  “Police! Your car is being towed. Better get out here and stop it.”

  Vanderlock joined her at the window. “That means they took off the mesh,” he said.

  “Perfect. Mono can start chasing the police impound vehicle and leave us alone,” Emma whispered back. “I’ll talk to them. We have a much better chance of stopping the shipment with their help. You want to leave, you go. I won’t tell anyone you were here.” The old wooden window stuck. Emma strained to open it. It jerked in the tracks, but moved upward about two feet. She applied herself to removing the screen, pulling the stops and lowering it to the ground. “Time to go,” she said.

  Mono and Raoul appeared on the rear lawn, thirty feet from the cabin, standing in a half shadow. Mono raised his gun and fired.

  The bullet passed through the open window, crossed the room, and punched through the front door. Emma heard a man’s cry as the bullet hit him. She grabbed Vanderlock, dragging him to the floor with her. A hail of answering shots hammered through the pressed wood panel.

  Emma crawled over Vanderlock, covering him with her body, wrapping an arm around his head and putting her face against his hair. Bullets flew above her back. She rolled off him and pushed him toward the bathroom, crawling in that direction. Vanderlock lay flat on his stomach, watching the front door. The room quieted. She made it to the bathroom entrance and hovered there.

  “We’ve got to get out of here,” she said in low tones to Vanderlock. “Forget the front. If an officer’s down they’re going to fire first and ask questions later.”

  Vanderlock nodded. He rose slowly, keeping well away from the window, pointed his gun out the back, and squeezed off two shots. He dropped once again and the firing started from the front door. Emma curled up on the bathroom floor. The moment the shooting stopped Vanderlock crab-walked to the window.

  “Mono’s gone. Out the window,” he said. He threw a leg over the sill, bent his frame in half and slid out. Emma scrambled up and clambered over the sill behind him, dropping onto the ground below. She crouched against the back wall. The lawn appeared empty, but in the dark of the night it was hard to see anything. The weak light thrown by the moon didn’t do much to illuminate the area. She thought the worst part would be racing across it without cover. Vanderlock didn’t hesitate, and she didn’t either. She sprinted the distance, moving as fast as she could. She plunged into the woods and ran toward the creek. From behind came a volley of shots, along with answering fire. When she hit the creek she turned right, jogging alongside it. Vanderlock stayed with her, moving fast. She cut back around the first cabin to the front, sliding up to a tree trunk. Vanderlock came up behind her, leaned against her, and looked in the same direction.

  Mono and Raoul stood over the bodies of two of the police officers in the cul de sac drive. The black BMW was there, its headlights on and the engine running. Both police moved slightly, but neither was conscious. Raoul, his arms a mass of sores, chambered a bullet into the gun in his hand.

  Vanderlock took aim, his arm extending out next to
her shoulder as he did. She heard a sharp intake of breath and he froze. When she turned her head she saw Carlos standing behind them both. She watched as Vanderlock removed his finger from the trigger, clicked a safety in place, and handed back the revolver. Carlos reached around them both to claim it.

  “Move away from her.” La Valle spoke from behind Emma. Vanderlock stepped away and a metal gun tip rammed into Emma’s spine. She felt La Valle frisk her.

  “Give me your cell phone,” he said.

  “You know I don’t have one. You just frisked me.”

  “Serena’s dead,” La Valle said. Emma briefly closed her eyes, unable to believe that she’d come this far only to end up in the exact same position she was in when she started. “Walk over to Raoul.” Emma started forward. Vanderlock and Carlos moved in unison with her. She stopped five feet from Raoul.

  His condition, though not as dire as Oz’s, was much worse than the last time she’d seen him. He looked at her with wild eyes filled with fear, anger, and a hint of madness. La Valle stepped around to face her, and Emma gasped.

  Sores covered his arms, disappearing under the short sleeves of the shirt he wore and creeping up to cover his neck. Three quarter-sized masses covered his right cheek.

  “I can cure you,” Emma said.

  La Valle shot her a look full of hate. “Like you cured Serena? Where’s the computer guy?”

  “Dead,” Emma said.

  “Like you cured him?”

  “He died before I knew what he had.”

  “What is it?” La Valle said.

  “A virulent mutation of leprosy.”

  La Valle swung the hand that held the gun and smacked the back of it across her face. Emma’s cheek vibrated with the hit, pain exploded across her cheek and she stumbled sideways.

  “Liar!” La Valle’s face turned red with the force of his scream. The cords on his neck stood up, causing the sores there to undulate. Raoul spit on the ground, his eyes glinting with an ever-increasing frenzy. Carlos took a step back, as did Mono. Both looked repulsed and petrified in equal measure.