by LC Champlin
“Marvin.” As the economist leaned back, and Judge pulled her head from the magical box of food and light, Nathan pushed the doors shut. “Everybody, over here.”
The others ambled over to stand beside Albin, who occupied his usual at-ease stance.
“What does everyone want to eat? The menu is scrambled eggs, coffee, and whatever breakfast-genre food I can locate.”
Josephine fidgeted with her jacket zipper. “That’s really not necessary.”
Grinning, Badal backhanded her arm. “If he wants to make us breakfast in bed, let him!”
The group decided among themselves who would fetch what in the team effort.
Nathan joined Albin by the coffee maker under the auspices of looking for cooking hardware.
Albin scrolled through the options on the Jura Impressa Z9. Only the best deserved a place in Ken’s house. “Espresso, coffee, latte macchiato . . . How excessive.” He abandoned the screen to hunt through cupboards.
“A wealth of options increases capabilities.” Nathan grabbed a jumbo skillet from the rack over the prep area.
Albin set six mugs on the center counter. “Are we still speaking of the coffee?”
Shifting his weight, Nathan looked down. Williams-Sonoma non-stick gray looked back. Gray. Like his situation, morals . . . hardware engineer. “I’m not sure anymore.”
“Ah.”
“Do you want the usual?”
“I prefer my eggs precisely how I do not like my life.”
“Scrambled. My specialty.”
“It certainly is.” Sarcasm saturated the words.
Badal and Marvin each brought an armload of ingredients to the stovetop, where Nathan stationed himself. The others queued up to give their orders.
“This is really generous of you,” Josephine remarked. “Say, how generous are you going to be with info on last night’s project?”
Nathan selected an egg. Crack. Shell met steel mixing bowl. “We worked past the witching hour.” Crack. Second. “Mikhail, fill everyone in.”
“Me? Uh, all right.” Mikhail shoved both hands through his hair and let out a breath. “The research notes are very technical, but we believe they—Doorway Pharmaceuticals—were exploring ways to create neural stimulators for people with seizures and major depression.” He paused, glancing at his employer.
“Go on.”
Albin acted as sous-chef, slicing vegetables.
“But they had a novel approach to creating the stimulators’ neural networks—that is, their wiring. They appear to be using genetically engineered bacteria to lay down ‘track,’ so to speak, in the brain. They secrete chemical substances that graphene, a type of carbon molecule arrangement, gravitates to.”
Josephine wrinkled her nose. “How does it—”
“Ah-ah.” Nathan held up the spatula for silence. “Please hold your applause until the end of the performance.”
She frowned and leaned back against the counter. Albin gazed into the distance of thought but continued dicing mushrooms, while Marvin stared at Mikhail as if the engineer had grown tentacles.
“Bacteria in the brain,” Nathan began, “cause—”
“Meningitis,” Badal finished. “The way Ken explained it, the blood-brain barrier is like a rubber glove for the brain. Not much gets past it, but when it does, you’re gonna have a bad time. A few types of bacteria use toxins to get past the barrier, but they can also enter through tears. The defenses inside the brain’s membrane aren’t the same as the ones that activate when, say, you get a paper cut or a cold. But your immune system still reacts. This causes inflammation, which can cause even more damage than the infection itself.”
“What are the symptoms, Mikhail?” Nathan prompted, dropping Badal’s frittata on a plate.
“Ken said it would depend on how severe the inflammation was, but headache, fever, nausea, vomiting, seizures, changes in reflexes, altered level of consciousness and mental status—”
Badal cut in: “In other words, they act crazy.”
“Wait, wait, time!” Josephine held up her hands in a time-out T. “You’re telling me that those things out there, the affected—”
“Cannibals,” Nathan and Albin said.
“That the cannibals are just people with meningitis?” She stared around at her companions. “Then . . . we’ve been shooting innocent people!”
Chapter 38
Blood Sings
Surrender - Egypt Central
Marvin barked a laugh as Nathan took a breath to argue. “Innocent people who would have killed us and whose slobber turns you into one of them, you mean. If shooting regular people when they attack you is acceptable, then doing it when they look and act like zombies is too.”
“Well put.” Albin lifted his chin in agreement as he emerged from his silence.
Jo opened her mouth, but deflated with a sigh. “I suppose. I don’t know what I expected, but it still seems wrong.”
“Because it is,” Nathan responded, plating Josephine’s omelet. “This entire situation is hellishly wrong.”
“Then . . .” Taking a breath, Jo forced the rest: “We’re working with germ warfare?”
Nathan had avoided mentioning Ebola, a trigger word for anyone who possessed even the faintest idea of what the infection entailed.
Marvin poured oatmeal into a pan as he hummed. “Our only option is to wait for the government or somebody to come up with an antibiotic or vaccine.”
Just agree. “So it seems.” The bacteria theory provided only a partial explanation. Meningitis couldn’t explain the cannibals’ resistance to damage, their hunger, or their blisters . . . could it? In addition, how would bacteria enter the brain so easily and work so quickly? Then again, who knew what this genetically engineered organism could do? Some epidemiologists predicted antibiotic-resistant bacteria would give rise to the next plague. Had the prophecy come true this weekend?
As Nathan began the scrambled eggs, Marvin asked, “Anybody know what’s going on outside?”
Albin straightened his glasses with thumb and ring finger. “Martial law is in effect in the city proper. The National Guard is out en masse. Emergency services are stretched to the limit. Data and cell phone coverage are still non-functional, as are landlines and Internet cables. Electrical power has yet to be restored.”
Gold from eggs that would never grow into chickens flowed into the skillet. Chaos, so much easier to create than order.
“Food and water are no longer available in stores. People are going to Red Cross and government staging areas for essentials. Rioting accompanied by looting is occurring in downtown San Francisco.”
Now, eggs onto the plate.
“As for the cannibals, they are multiplying at an exponential rate.”
“Yours.” The plate slid down the counter to Albin.
“Thank you, sir.”
Mikhail looked up from pouring himself a bowl of Raisins and Cardboard Flakes. “We’ll be staying here, then.”
Bowl of oatmeal in hand, Marvin remarked as he ambled past, “That’s up to the lord of the Oshiro, I suppose.”
“He seems as interested in the files as we are,” Nathan responded.
Plate in hand, Josephine sighed. “The sooner we get to the bottom of the cannibal contagion, the better.” Ah, sweet agreement!
A tug on Nathan’s right trap made him step back. Albin.
“The usual?” The blond relieved his employer of the spatula.
I’m not hungry tangled with I don’t need assistance.
“Go,” Albin ordered.
Nathan grabbed a glass of water as he meandered out to the breakfast club. An empty seat between Mikhail and Jo at the longtable would do. Food silenced the chatter, occupying everyone’s mouths and interests.
“Eat.” Albin materialized at Nathan’s elbow and set a plate of eggs before him, then slid into the seat between him and Jo.
“Thank you.”
Unlike the Japanese-style entry, the deeper, private rooms like the kitchen adopted American furnishings. Décor, on the other hand, had a thirteenth-century English feel. The Tower of London, to be precise. Stone columns rose along the slate walls to support a wooden ceiling twelve feet above. Flicker-flame bulbs in sconces provided the torchlight. Overhead, an iron chandelier boasted real flames. Propane?
“Thanks for breakfast,” Badal put in, snapping Nathan’s attention to the engineer.
Nods and similar sentiments followed from the others. They had wolfed down their food.
Nathan raised his glass to them. “Thank you all for your efforts. The future days will be challenging, but with teammates like you”—eye contact with each for a split second—“we’ll turn obstacles into opportunities.”
“Bravo!” From the hall at the end of the dining room strode Ken. He wore black from neck to toes. Nathan stifled a smirk and the comment, The 1990s called. They want their Goth belt-pants back. Rubbing his hands before him, Ken moved to stand opposite Nathan. “Good morning, everybody. I hope the breakfast options were passable?” His glasses flashed in the firelight, bright as his grin.
Gratitude from the others followed.
“Dracula cooked for his guests, if I remember correctly,” Nathan commented, leaning back and giving a half smile.
Ken grabbed the remaining chair, flipped it around to sit with his arms crossed over the back. “My apologies for not attempting to drain your life blood while you slept, too.”
“Hah.”
Then Josephine launched into Covert Interview Mode: “Mr. Oshiro, this is your stronghold for what’s ahead. I’m sure you have it well stocked for yourself. Is our arrival a concern for you as far as supplies and energy go? We don’t want to be a drain.” She attached a smile to the last word.
Ken waved her concern and veiled question aside. “Don’t worry. We’re all friends here. Right?” His dark eyes flicked to Mikhail, who avoided them, then slid to Nathan. “Friends help friends.” The semi-recluse’s meaning came through loud as a thunderclap: behave.
Then Ken sobered. “I didn’t come here just for a satisfaction survey. I have something you want to hear. You in particular, Badal.”
The Indian tensed. “Yeah?”
Now what? Nathan’s pulse rode higher.
“This.” As Ken pushed off his chair, he gestured to the wall behind him. At least, it had looked like a wall a moment ago. Now the 3-D image of a mansion rotated against the screen’s black background. “This is one of my neighbors. They have a radio, and they know how to contact me if they need to borrow a cup of sugar or whatever it is people use neighbors for.
“Badal,” Ken continued, “it’s seven o’clock. Do you know where your sister is?”
“In New York City.”
“Is she?”
Nathan crossed his arms. “Marketing wasn’t flying out here until Saturday—the day before yesterday—meaning Hemali is still in New York.”
Ken spread his arms in surrender. “I don’t know what the itinerary was supposed to be, but she must’ve taken an earlier flight.”
“No.” Badal’s chest heaved as he began hyperventilating. “She’d have told me.”
“Your confidence is heartwarming, but don’t delude yourself.” Smart-ass smile in place, Ken turned to the image. “This is what came through this morning.”
A recording queued, sound graph motionless, then—“Oshiro, this is Campbell.” Male, middle age, with desperation in his voice. “Can you hear me? We need help. We’ve got . . . I don’t know what. Looters?” Gunshots spiked the graph. “If you can do anything, for God’s sake, help us! We’ve got good people here. One of them says her brother may be with you. Her name’s Hemali. What—Badal? Badal is his name. Look—”
Flatline.
Chapter 39
Blood Stings
Save Me - Avenged Sevenfold
We don’t have time for this! Nathan gripped the edge of the table, nails sliding on the wood.
“When did you get this message?” Josephine demanded.
“Not long ago, 6:46.”
Badal shot from his chair, face dark. “This isn’t some trick to get help? They must know me, or even Hemali. It’s no secret we’re siblings. Maybe at the party Mik and I went to—” He broke off, veins pulsing in his forehead, muscles tense.
Ken shrugged. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”
Static hissed, low. From the screen? No, from Nathan’s ears. A chill rippled across his shoulders. Details blurred. He should leap up and start barking orders. Instead . . . I am comfortably numb. In the flickering lights, the faces of his pack shifted. Pale, blistered—No!
Gold eyes blazed from the dark of his mind. Chase the sun.
Nathan eyed Ken. Why had he brought this call up in front of everyone? Common sense and common decency called for Ken to approach Nathan and Badal alone. Too bad common slipped to endangered, right next to the Sumatran tiger.
Sliding his chair back, Nathan eased to his feet. “Badal, sit down.” The engineer obeyed. “You haven’t heard anything from Hemali about a change in plans prior to Friday night?”
“No—”
“Do you know this Campbell fellow?” The name didn’t match any tech developers, but now gold rather than silicon earned entrance to the Valley.
“No—”
Josephine cut across: “Not even at the party?”
“I—”
“Do you think your sister knew him?”
“Let me talk!” Badal exclaimed, rocketing to his feet. “I don’t know what’s going on, but if my sister is out there, I have to get her.” Wide-eyed, he gripped the back of his chair with white knuckles.
Family in danger motivated most people to take risks. Blood mattered. “Badal, if she is in danger, I will do everything in my power to get her back. However, we need more information.” Nathan locked gazes with Badal. “Running out there blind isn’t going to help us.”
“How are we—”
Albin rose, silencing the software engineer. “Kenichi-san is capable of supplying aerial reconnaissance, as well as infrared views.”
“Mr. Oshiro, are you going to help with reinforcements?” Josephine asked as she too abandoned her chair. “The Tasers in the bushes were nice, but you probably don’t have any in your neighbors’ shrubs.”
“Slow your steamroll, kids!” Confusion on his face, Ken raised his hands as if to fend off attack. “How did I get elected to chaperone your field trip?”
No backing out today. “You’re not chaperoning, you’re sponsoring. If you didn’t want any part of this, you wouldn’t have brought it to our attention.”
“If you’re running in Relay for Life, I’ll sponsor, but you’re overestimating my usefulness.”
“Am I?”
“I think I reached my useful quota today with that recording. Badal, I’m sorry your sister is in danger, but there’s not much I can do. Do you think maybe I’ve got giant mechas in my basement—”
WOOF!
Judge reared onto her hind legs, her forepaws on the edge of the table. She stared at Ken, then at the other humans.
Marvin, the only person besides Mikhail still seated, nodded as if he spoke Dog. “We need to get our priorities straight. Our resources are limited. We have to use our heads, not just our hearts or muscles. The people who took Campbell and Hemali hostage want something. If we know what it is, we have leverage.”
Economists viewed the world through the lens of—“Supply and demand.”
“They demand to be shot in the head,” Badal growled, beginning to pace beside the table. “I’m happy to supply the bullet.”
Turning a shade of green the Pale Horse would admire, Mikhail left his seat to catch the other engineer by the shoulder. “Don’t be rash. You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I’m not rash!” Badal jerked away. “It’s not your sister out there, and it’s not your right to te
ll me what to do!”
“No, she’s not my sister, she’s my coworker.”
During the engineers’ exchange, Ken remained impassive. Judge watched him as if she expected him to attack.
Ken is dangerous. The realization unfurled like the wings of a dragon. The inventor executed a scheme, but to what end? Little did he know he batted out of his league when it came to maneuvering.
God brought Nathan here for such a time as this. Victory would come of it. Pride went before defeat.
A smile curled Nathan’s lip. “Let’s find your sister, Badal.”
Chapter 40
Send in the Drones
You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch - Queen's Club
A smile more threatening than any snarl darkened Mr. Serebus’s face. He had a plan, one encompassing far more than the Shukla siblings’ predicament.
Mr. Serebus stalked past the software engineer and backhanded him on the shoulder. “Badal, come. Ken, we need to talk.” He continued to the hall from which Kenichi-san had emerged. “Albin, you’re with me. Jo, Marvin, Mikhail, look through surveillance footage. This won’t take long.”
The trio voiced assent as Albin joined the men in the hall. Silent, Mr. Serebus and Kenichi-san led the way to the courtyard. The inventor looked curious, while Shukla appeared ready to break. Whether into tears or violence remained uncertain.
Kenichi-san sighed. “I can provide some drone reconnaissance, but you’re on your own for anything else. They’re just small hobby crafts; you can’t shoot missiles from them. My goal was to shelter in place, not go to war—”
“I’m not leaving her out there,” Shukla snapped.
As they crossed the threshold into the garden, Mr. Serebus turned to Shukla and Albin. “Excuse us for a moment. Albin, please review the recordings with Badal.”