For Sylvia, though, it was all fear. She didn’t understand what was causing the disease, what she was being injected with or what was going to happen inside her once the serum entered her bloodstream. That Mike and Donna, who apparently understood these things much better than her, were afraid and unwilling to get the injection only validated her fear. She trembled as Dr. Volkov held off her vein, regretting ever responding to the invitation to the megahunt so clearly meant for her husband.
If anyone should be here, it should be Charles, she thought. It was Charles who deserved to have all this happening to him, not her. She was here out of a humanitarian calling, out of a desire to stop these canned hunts and preserve rare and endangered animals. How could such a noble desire go so terribly wrong? Where was the justice in that? In a fair and just world, it would be Charles sitting in this chair wondering if he were going to be alive tomorrow.
Okay, maybe she had been trying to screw Charles over just a little by coming here, but he deserved that as well. There should be consequences for every action, but how fair was it he was being rewarded for running off with his little tart while she was the one paying for his vanity and indiscretions?
She tried to stay quiet as the serum flowed into her vein, but a small whimper betrayed her fear. She looked into Dr. Volkov’s eyes and found kindness and compassion in them. And something else — an inevitability that chilled her to her core. She could imagine such eyes when a doctor told a patient they were terminal, that there was nothing else that could be done for them medically and to simply go live out the rest of their days as best they could.
She pushed her chair back, breaking eye contact. “Get out of here.” She didn’t shout the order or whisper it. It was a simple dismissal — of him, of her life, of a world that let such things happen to good people.
Dr. Volkov bowed his head. “I’ll want blood samples every four hours, at least in the beginning. And vitals once you’ve had a chance to adjust to your accommodations. Whatever is going to happen will happen now. It can’t be reversed. Your cooperation in this research is vital. Does it really matter who it helps so long as it helps someone?”
Who it helps? Mike went cold. “You heard us talking.”
“You must assume nothing is private in here.” Dr. Volkov motioned for the guards and opened the door. “You are being watched as well,” he cautioned before disappearing out the door.
Mike and Donna exchanged long, slow looks. Despite Walt Thurman’s promise, it didn’t look like this was going to blow over in a couple of days. They were lab specimens now. Research subjects. And this experiment wasn’t going to end until one or more of them was dead.
CHAPTER 43
THE SYNDICATED NEWSRADIO SHOW Jim Thompson was listening to on the way to Triple E generally had correspondents reporting out of large foreign cities or from third-world countries he’d be hard-pressed to locate on a map. It didn’t feel right that the anchorman in New York this morning was throwing to a correspondent in Bismarck who threw to a reporter in Williston, less than 30 miles away. Global news didn’t happen here in McKenzie County, and knowing the world’s eyes were on events right here meant he and the other ranchers were under pressure to make sure they didn’t screw things up with Triple E. Not that a successful arson attempt would be more than a small blip in the news compared to the numbers of people contracting VTSE and dying from it, but even passing worldwide attention for a failed attempt would be humiliating.
… more than a thousand confirmed cases of the disease, the local reporter was repeating for the third time since Jim had tuned in, with another two-to-three thousand suspected in this tri-state area. And we have confirmation from the National Guard that upwards of four million animals have already been slaughtered and buried, with the Guard estimating there are another six to seven million still to go. Tourists and business people are all waiting anxiously to see when travel and shipping restrictions will be lifted.
For now, most residents are retreating to their homes, duct-taping their windows and doors, and throwing out literally tons of food that may or may not be contaminated. With city services practically at a stand-still, one thing is fairly certain: what’s collecting along the streets will soon begin attracting mice, cats and stray dogs into the towns. The smell here is already quite unpleasant and will only get worse in the summer heat. More and more people are covering their faces with surgical masks and scarves, and some are even donning gas masks in an effort to keep out not only the offending prions but the building smell of rot and decay as well. There is one smell, though, that masks will not be able to block — and that is the smell of fear. Reporting from Williston, North Dakota, this is Jill Elston.
Jim flipped the radio off, opting for silence during the last ten minutes of his ride. Outside the truck windows, the sun sat just below the horizon, a pool of orange gathering above it and purpling the clouds where the sky kissed the earth. A sunrise no different from any other day in the last few million years, he thought. Perspective. That’s what it gave him. And confidence, in its way. There was a higher order to all of this. An order that didn’t care about the petty actions of a handful of men. An order that wouldn’t care if the whole human race was wiped as clean off the face of the earth as the dinosaurs had been. Whether he succeeded or failed or didn’t even try, the cosmos wasn’t about to blink. Not for another couple of billion years anyway.
He eased his truck to a stop behind a tree line a half mile from the fence he’d soaked in a mixture of gasoline and diesel yesterday. The eerie trumpet of a distant elephant broke the stillness as Jim scrambled through the dry, waving prairie grass. He paused a moment to listen, and an answering trumpet, closer yet, quivered through the air. Once at the fence line, it took only a few moments to find the first of six rocket engine igniters he’d rigged the day before. As he unrolled the wire backing him to what he hoped would be a safe distance away, a muffled pop sounded to his right and a spit of dark smoke boiled lazily into the sky.
Encouraged by at least one cohort’s success, Jim tripped the igniter.
He slapped his hands together in satisfaction at the resultant boom and immediate flicker of flame.
Fire sped up the anchoring pole and quickly spread like wings unfolding along the fence to either side. Just accelerant and dry bark were burning now, but Jim knew it wouldn’t take long for the intensity of the heat to build enough in the interiors of the log poles for them to catch and crack.
A puff of wind blew up to help the cause, shattering the tips of the gathering flames into a thousand sparks that leapt free of the fence to land in tall stands of prairie grass, dried by summer heat. On the compound side, fed by the dry tinder, sparks grew into flames that crept across the open pasture, finding other flames to bolster them until a thick carpet of fire crawled its way inward, devouring the land as it spread.
As burnoff in the form of oily smoke rose victoriously from the first of the fence posts, Jim moved on to light the others.
CHAPTER 44
THE SUDDEN BREEP BREEP OF THE fire alarm brought Walt Thurman to his feet, instinctively sniffing the air. Barely a moment later his phone buzzed with a brief text: Not a drill. Wildfire on animal ranges in Sectors B & C. Main buildings in path. Evacuate!
Damn. Walt grabbed his Pad-L and a handful of files from his desk then rushed into the hall where other staff hurried for the exits hugging their Pad-Ls close.
“Deanne!” He shouted to his assistant who was still gathering items from her work area. “What about the labs?”
He saw the panic in her face as she stacked Pad-L, files, handbag, personal photos and an African violet into a precarious pile on her desk. “I don’t know, Mr. Thurman. I got the same message as you.”
“Anyone still around from security?” he bellowed into the quickly emptying building. When no one answered he raced to the nearest exit, leaving Deanne to handle the evacuation on her own. He thumbed a number on his phone and heard it picked up on the other side just as he hit the door
.
“Yes, Mr. Thurman?” The voice of Triple E’s security chief, Sam, was clearly harried but still deferential.
“Are the labs in danger?”
“The last fence will hold the fire awhile. But the wind is bringing it right to our door. Even if we can get a fire department out here, I don’t know how much help they’ll — Jesus! Just a sec.”
Now outside, Walt could see the blanket of smoke billowing over the compound. The stockade fence just behind the main buildings was the same material that ringed the entire perimeter of the animal enclosures. High, thick and solid, it would provide a formidable barrier to the first flames that reached it. But the creosote-treated poles wouldn’t hold long against a gathering onslaught.
He hurried toward the labs as a cacophony of sound erupted around him. Security officers and others shouted directions to the people exiting the buildings. Elephants and mammoths trumpeted their fright while roars from panicked bears and tigers punctuated the smoke-filled sky.
Squeals from the nearby nursery added to the overall distress. The smoke wasn’t billowing from that direction yet, so Walt assumed the brood stock and their young were simply agitated by the noise and the acrid smell of burning grass and timber that his own unevolved nose was already picking up.
Just as his foot hit the concrete walkway at the rear entrance of the lab building, a backhoe from the maintenance garage lumbered past. Off to dig a fire break, Walt assumed. Hopefully it could manage one deep enough and wide enough on its own as there likely wouldn’t be much support from the fire departments for some time.
“You still there?” asked the harried security chief.
“Go ahead.”
“I’m told the perimeter fence is down in Sector C. Across several of the ranges. Looks like the fire started at the fence line.”
“Started at —?”
“Arson.”
Fuck. “What about the animals?”
“Don’t know. Seeley’s taking a jeep there now. But he’s gonna need help, whether they’re out yet or not. Give me the priority — the buildings or the animals.”
The backhoe had dug in and was beginning its slow cut down the fence line, scoop by shallow scoop. Sparks shattered on the fence, sending bits of themselves skyward, topping the fence to land upon grass that was little better than dry kindling. It wouldn’t be long before the stockade was breached.
The future rested on Walt’s next words.
“The labs and the museum. Put everything you have on them. We’ll round up the inventory later.”
There was a disaster plan somewhere, Walt knew. Written up years ago before the museum and the research had become such critical components. When the business was still about the hunt and the animals and the cool factor. Back then, the nursery would have been the first priority — all other staff not involved with its safety would have been directed to keeping the stock from escaping. To ensuring animals committed to hunters would be available. He had helped put those very objectives into the plan, had even walked through the obligatory practices. When they’d drafted the plan, it never occurred to them there would ever be a priority greater than stopping millions of dollars from running off the compound.
Unplanned current events always had a funny way of shredding the most carefully thought-out business plans. That’s because most events couldn’t be seen coming a month or two ahead much less a year or more. Corporate executives created their own golden parachutes by demanding not only one-year plans but three-year, five-year, and even ten-year plans. Constant readjustments to the changing business climate and strategic objectives of those business plans was what kept them employed. They stayed engaged not by charging ahead with a clear, single-minded goal and strategy, but by documenting new plans for changing the business model and the target. By reinventing the company annually so they were always “on plan”.
Today, “on plan” meant sacrificing the inventory and the goodwill of current clients to protect future income streams and opportunities.
The rarely used sprinkler system kicked on, patiently spewing water onto the xeriscaped grounds. A maintenance man grabbed a garden hose and began spraying the roof, trying to buy a few precious minutes should the fire reach them. Further down, one of the keepers had a hose strung from the main building and was wetting down the propane tanks. The compound had its own well along with several small ponds, so fire trucks would be able to refill onsite — good news considering the distances involved.
Inside the research center, geneticists and aides raced about, identifying which projects to preserve and which to abandon at need. Agar plates, test tubes, equipment and animals were all being marked “go” items and moved for easiest transfer. As Walt hurried through the halls, he realized personnel were being overly ambitious about what they’d be able to take with them. Another round of culling was going to have to happen before they could start loading out. He desperately hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
Walt found Dr. Volkov in his lab tagging the last of the specimens for removal. A pile of equipment sat on a rolling cart in the middle of the room. “Can I help?”
“If we have to evacuate, we’ll need every hand we can get. Right now, no. How close is the fire?”
“It’s at the fence, but it’ll take a while to burn through.”
“The nursery?”
“It’ll get there before it gets here.”
“We need a big truck.”
“We need time. We need help. We need to put the goddamn fire out.” Walt thumbed a button on his phone. “Get the maintenance truck cleaned out and over to the lab,” he told Sam, who by default had become the operations manager for the duration.
Dr. Volkov nodded. The maintenance truck wouldn’t be nearly big enough, but it was the best they had. Between it and a couple of dozen SUVs they would be able to get a good chunk of their research out. “What about our three guests?”
In fact, Walt hadn’t even thought about them. But fire could prove an elegant solution to the problem they posed. One which would keep his own hands clean. “They stay where they are. We’ll deal with them after — if there is an after.”
The meaning was clear enough to Dr. Volkov. It was a fine legal line between innocence and culpability. What Walt proposed might be morally reprehensible but it would take a jury to decide if it was negligence or manslaughter should there not be an “after”. Walt had been a decent businessman and a man Volkov had been proud to call a business partner for many years. But ever since it became clear the megabeasts had introduced — or more technically, re-introduced — a new prion to the world, something had shifted in Walt’s behavior and he’d been putting his soul deeper and deeper into jeopardy since. The greater misfortune, to Dr. Volkov’s mind, was that Walt had been dragging Triple E right down with him.
No matter the outcome today, Dr. Volkov decided, he was done with Walt and Triple E. Zia Khan had been busy recruiting in the last 24 hours and the offer they’d put on his table would not have been easy to refuse in the best of times. These times were not even close to the best. Tomorrow, he’d tell them yes.
Right now, he had other things to worry about.
CHAPTER 45
A COLUMN OF THICK, DARK SMOKE boiled into the sky as Lim Chiou stared in growing horror. The near-black color signaled one thing — creosote. That meant somewhere in Sector C another fence laden with the flammable chemical was burning. Already the fire had swept its way to the perimeter near the main buildings. As one tendril of it worked at the fence there, another devoured its way toward the nursery where Lim and the rest of the keepers gathered.
Repeated calls to security went unanswered. One keeper, Sandy Tempkin, held the only hose attached to a spigot, poor defense against the hot flames steadily approaching. She was shaking, but she kept the flow of water aimed first at the roof then at the dry grass beyond the runs. A second keeper ran from one self-watering device to the next turning them on full blast.
The two other keepers, Kristin and Ca
rl, looked to Lim, waiting for the answer to a question it seemed had been asked ages ago: “What if we can’t keep back the fire?”
He’d waited to answer, partly hoping to hear the sound of firefighters arriving to save the nursery, partly because he didn’t want this decision to be his. Stalling, he’d picked up one of the ever-present rifles by the door and loaded it before turning his attention back to the fire rushing across the prairie grass.
Now, though, as the first of the flames licked at the outer edges of the long runs that extended radially around the nursery barn like the long tentacles of an octopus, it was clear help wasn’t coming and a decision had to be made.
An iron gate clattered behind him as a grizzly shook the bars. Wolves and tigers paced nervously in their pens, clearly agitated by the smell of smoke and the unusual amount of activity around them. Animals already nervous and on the verge of panic would be especially dangerous. That played a heavy factor in what their next course of action would be. Lim knew how much these creatures meant to their keepers, to him. Knew, too, how unpredictable a panicked animal could be. In other circumstances, he knew the risk would have been worth it. As it was —
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