Vector Borne

by Michael McBride

  Her legs gave out and she fell to all fours at the edge of the jungle. Water raced through the detritus and over her wrists and knees. She started to cry when the saltwater found her wounds.

  “Come on, Courtney.” Bishop eased her back to her feet and helped steady her. “We still have our work cut out for us.”

  “We’ll never make it,” she whispered. “Without motors, those rafts will never clear the bay.”

  “Who said anything about rafts?” The corner of his mouth lilted into a crooked grin. “Are you ready to get wet?”

  “I’m already drenched.” She held her arms out to her sides to showcase her saturated scrubs, from which rivulets of water already drained. Her auburn hair hung in clumps that partially obscured her face. “How much wetter could I possibly get?”

  “We’re going to have to swim for it.”

  She looked him in the eyes in an effort to gauge if he was making a poor excuse for a joke. In them, she saw only determination.

  “You’re out of your mind.” She turned away and let her arms fall to her sides in exasperation. “We’re nearly sixty kilometers from the nearest landmass.”

  “We don’t have to go nearly that far.” He pointed to the southwest, where the wreckage of the Huxley drifted in and out of the smoke. The stern stood from the reef at roughly a twenty-degree angle, and the ocean had risen halfway to the submersible hanger. It wouldn’t be long before the reef gave way and it settled to the ocean floor with the bow. “We just have to make it to the ship.”

  Courtney started to laugh, but stopped when she saw that he was serious.

  “And then what? Sail away? Hide and wait for it to sink? We did that once before, remember? How well did that work out?”

  “You’re going to have to trust me, Courtney.” The smirk returned. “Can you make it that far?”

  “What’s on the ship?”

  “If I’m right, our ticket off of this island.”

  “And if you’re wrong?”

  “Do you think you can swim that far or not?”

  “What if I can’t?”

  “I’m going to need your help, Courtney. Either we both make it or neither of us does. And to be blunt, as much as I’ve enjoyed spending time with you, I don’t want to spend another second on this island.” He took her by the hands and stared deeply into her eyes. “You can do this.”

  She held his gaze for a long moment, then finally nodded. She’d heard that drowning was the most peaceful way to die. If she couldn’t pull this off, they could dredge her body out of the reef with her brother’s.

  Bishop smiled, released her left hand, and guided her out into the ocean. The waves reached up her shins and over her knees, nearly knocking her onto her rear end. She leaned into them as her feet sank into the eroding sand. The wind whipped the raindrops through the churning smoke and into their faces. The Huxley appeared to move farther away as she watched.

  It was now or never.

  “I’ll be right behind you the whole way.” Bishop released her hand and waded deeper. “Don’t even think about drowning on me.”

  Courtney staggered forward. The waves punched her in the chest nearly hard enough to knock the wind out of her and lifted her from her feet. She spit out a mouthful of saltwater, drew a deep breath, and plunged under the next wave. When she broke through on the other side, she barely had time to steal another breath before the next wave washed over her. She could no longer feel the sand underfoot. All she could do was stroke against the surf and try not to let it slam her against the rocks. Every crest she survived nearly robbed her of her forward progress. She was already swallowing brine and the soles of her feet hurt so badly she could hardly kick. Every glimpse of the wrecked research vessel confirmed that it was still far off on the horizon.

  She’d been wrong. She wasn’t going to make it.

  Courtney mustered what little strength remained and swam for her life.

  Seventy-Four

  Bradley walked in a daze, as though his mind had detached from the body that trudged through the endless jungle. He imagined himself traveling though time, an invisible specter walking among men and women long since decomposed in the earth.

  He stands in the red desert as brick-skinned warriors painted for battle wall in the sacred chamber under the kiva, while livestock shriek and squeal from the other side of the stacked stones. The braves glance toward the setting sun, a blood-red stain through the ash- and smoke-filled sky. Chanting voices echo from the canyon walls. He blinks and finds himself in a jungle markedly different from the one through which his corporeal form travels. A group of men is gathered on top of the knoll where a linga to the auspicious one, Shiva, will soon be erected. There are bodies sprawled in the earthen orifice. One man raises a wicked blade and swings it at the silver body pinned at his feet. A head bounces down the slope to where a holy man waits to collect it. Already people are arriving with carts filled with bricks. Onward Bradley travels, to yet another tropical forest, this one sparser and more arid. He can feel the coldness radiating from the hole in the ground. Someone screams, no…something…as it flails against the chains that ensnare it. Shadows emerge from the trees and throw their shoulders into the boulder, similarly bound in chains, perched at the precipice. The creature opens its horrible mouth and cries its indignation as chains snake through the weeds and rip it from its feet. Its screams become hollow as it slides over the edge and plummets into the cenote, where it’s abruptly silenced by a splash. On and on he travels, through steep Japanese mountains and sheer volcanic cliffs, until he again finds himself tangled in a doorway with Reaves and Barnes, a silver-skinned demon bearing down on them, mouth open wide like a shark breaching the waves.

  Bradley ducked from the path and vomited into a shrub.

  All of this death…and for what?

  Bradley wiped the strands of saliva from his chin and returned to the path. The others were already a good dozen paces ahead of him. No one had even bothered to wait, let alone stay behind to make sure that he was all right. He hurried to catch up before they abandoned him altogether.

  He tried to think of all the good they could do with the knowledge contained in that one buried carcass, which so many lives had been sacrificed to obtain. The bacterium obviously held the key to unlock the human genetic code and the ability to seamlessly insert modified genes capable of immediate physical manifestation. With the right combinations, they could cure Down’s syndrome and all kinds of hereditary diseases in utero. They could stimulate malfunctioning systems to eradicate functional disorders of all kinds. The cure for cancer was so close he could positively taste it. But what if they couldn’t control the mutations, or, God forbid, this remarkable biotechnology fell into the wrong hands? Mankind could be remade into something it was never meant to be. There were factions out there that would undoubtedly like to create more creatures like the one that had nearly killed them all. Imagine an army of soldiers with this kind of destructive potential slipping across a hostile border under the cover of night. It would be an absolute slaughter. Whichever nation held this power would rule the world in whatever manner it saw fit. Maybe this knowledge would remain the proprietary property of GeNext for a while, but how long would it be before it leaked or whatever patents it held expired? It would be a biotechnological free-for-all. And then the race to Armageddon would officially commence. Every company would rush to develop and market products and solutions that could only lead to one possible outcome.

  Genocide.

  Bradley thought back to that day at the Pueblo Bonito ruins when he had first laid eyes on the original Chaco Man. His had been a noble pursuit, or so he told himself. Perhaps he had only been on a quest to solve a riddle for which there was no answer and had never really expected to find such a miraculous specimen in the flesh. The notion had been abstract, as he supposed the idea of giant reptilian killing machines must have been to the first man to exhume the fossils of a dinosaur. And he knew damn well what would happen if scientists found a w
ay to tinker with their genetic code. He’d read Jurassic Park. How was this any different? They had figured out how to unleash nature’s perfect killing machine, and once they opened that door to the world, they would never be able to close it. And all of the lives lost here wouldn’t be a tragedy…they would be a prelude.

  Forget his competitors and those who would abuse this knowledge. Was he alone responsible enough to wield the awesome might of evolution? Were the millions of cancer deaths he could potentially prevent worth the risk of creating even a handful more of these monsters?

  They would eventually be evacuated from this island, and when that moment arrived, he was going to have to make a decision. All he could do now was pray that he made the right one.

  By the time he caught up with the group, he was splashing through ankle-deep water. The others stood facing the southwest. Beyond them, the violent sea wreaked havoc on the bay. The beach from the night before was gone, and the vicious waves had already knocked down scores of trees at the verge of the jungle on their way to meet their opposite number, the lava flows that burned their way down through the forest.

  The waves had to be easily ten feet tall past the breakers and rolled in one after the other from where what was left of the Huxley prepared to disappear forever. It was tilted in such a way that he could see into the darkened rooms exposed when the ship’s back broke. Unless he was mistaken, the one on the right had been the very same engineering room in which he had spent the majority of the previous night. If he had known then what he knew now, how much would he have done differently? It had been upon his orders that they sailed to their deaths on the reef, but the creature had already been aboard. Would rethinking that choice have made any difference in the long run? At least with the bulk of the computer room saved from flooding like the engine room below it, they ought to be able to scavenge whatever supplies Barnes needed to fix the radio. But the ship was so far away, and the waves seemed to be growing larger by the second.

  “How do you propose we get all the way out there?” Bradley had to shout to be heard over the rising wind. “Trying to swim all that way would be suicide!”

  “We should just wait for the storm to die down,” Reaves said. “It’s not like we have to worry about the creature anymore.”

  “Maybe not,” Barnes said, “but the whole damn island’s about to come down on our heads.”

  “You’d risk drowning instead of waiting to see how things play…”

  Bradley tuned out the arguing and watched Pike, who stood stock-still, staring out across the sea. His face was blank. He barely even blinked as the raindrops peppered it. Whatever thoughts raced through his mind, he betrayed nothing. Even during all of the years in his employ, Bradley had never quite figured out how to read him, which had, until this point, served him well. Whatever messes Pike had cleaned up for him, it was always best that he never learn the details. There had undoubtedly been scores of problems Pike had rectified that he had never even known about. That was the whole reason he employed an entire security contingent. Such was the nature of the job, and the reason that Pike and his men were paid so handsomely for it, but right now, Bradley would have killed to know what was going on inside of his head.

  “…never make it that far,” Reaves said.

  “If you want to stick around to prove me wrong, be my guest. I’ll bet there were a bunch of Romans who felt the exact same way when Mt. Vesuvius started to blow.”

  “They were Pompeiians, not—”

  “Enough,” Pike said. He didn’t even need to raise his voice to silence them both. His cold blue eyes bored through each of them in turn. “We’re all going, and we’re not coming back. If you want to take one last look at this island, now’s your chance to do it.”

  “There’s no way I can swim that far,” Reaves said. “How do you suggest—?”

  “Leave that to me,” Pike said.

  He shed his backpack and hung it from a branch. He unzipped the bag, removed a small portable oxygen tank and regulator from the main pouch, and exchanged his night vision apparatus for a pair of diving goggles with a small headlamp. Without another word, Pike waded out into the ocean and dove beneath the waves. Bradley stared at the spot where he had disappeared and couldn’t help but wonder if Pike was ever coming back for them.

  Seventy-Five

  Bishop breached the water with a gasp and grabbed onto the rung of the ladder as tightly as he could. The waves tried to wrench it from his gasp with nearly enough force to dislocate his shoulder. He braced his feet against the hull and frantically scanned the sea for any sign of Courtney. He’d glimpsed her cresting a wave ahead of him not so long ago, but with the ferocity of the ocean, she could have been dragged down in the blink of an eye. He’d never been this physically exhausted in his entire life and could only imagine how she must have felt.

  “Courtney!” he shouted, but the screaming wind stole her name from his lips.

  He looked in every direction at once, watching each wave rise and fold over itself, praying not to see her body being tossed around like driftwood.

  “Courtney!”

  She should have beaten him here. Had she climbed up onto one of the other ladders along the side while he was swimming around toward the stern? Had the waves bludgeoned her against the ship? He could think of a thousand ways she could have died.

  “Courtney!”

  “I may have water in my ears, but I’m certainly not deaf.”

  Bishop turned and looked up the column of rungs to see Courtney crouching at the edge of the starboard rail mere feet above him. She held onto the handrails lining the walkway that serviced the control console for the A-frame winch, an elevated platform ten feet above the deck, which was now mostly below the water level. A shiver of relief rippled through him as he quickly ascended the slanted rungs and hauled himself up onto the metal platform.

  Courtney smirked down at him.

  “Took you long enough.”

  Bishop crawled over, wrapped her in his arms, and kissed her. She positively trembled. Her skin was ice-cold, her breath lukewarm. He couldn’t imagine he was much better off. They needed to warm up in a hurry and get to work before the reef crumbled and this metallic oasis plunged under the sea with them trapped inside. Reluctantly, he pulled away and helped her to her feet.

  The formerly horizontal walkway ascended toward the 01 Deck at an angle steep enough to necessitate the use of the railings. Ahead, the staircase leading downward to the stern terminated in the waves that lapped up the smooth deck nearly all the way to the garage door of the submersible hanger. Only the steel arch of the upper quarter of the twenty-five-foot A-frame and its winch assembly reared from the ocean to his left. It had been much higher the last time he had seen it from the shore. The vessel was definitely going down. All that remained was to see if he could get them safely on their way before it did.

  He glanced to the east, toward where an impossible cloud of ash gushed from the invisible cone and the orange glow that appeared close to engulfing the entire volcano. Never in his life had he seen such destructive force. That gray mushroom cloud must have been clearly visible from space as it eclipsed the entire sky overhead.

  He and Courtney navigated the canted stairs and stood knee-deep in the frigid water once more. The deck was every bit as slick as he had anticipated. If they couldn’t secure traction, they were going to have to crawl and hope for the best. He didn’t know if he had the strength to swim back aboard if he slipped and slid back into the ocean.

  “Where are we going?” Courtney asked.

  “To the hanger.”

  With those three words, he eased away from the handrail and out into the water. He kept his center of gravity low and forward as he ascended. The interior door was maybe fifteen feet away, but it might as well have been a mile. He slipped and fell to all fours. He was barely able to halt his rapid descent with his palms and knees before starting forward once again, his heart pounding.

  He looked sheepishly toward Cou
rtney, who was only now stepping onto the deck. She was far more graceful than he was. Like a tightrope walker, she advanced carefully toward the door until she was forced to lower her hands to the ground for balance, her rear end held high in the air.

  Bishop nearly slipped again as he watched it move, that perfect apple shape to which the scrubs clung like a second skin. He had to lower his stare to focus on what he was doing. By the time he was halfway there, he heard the squeal of hinges and then the thud of the door slamming against the wall. He peeked up to see Courtney leaning in the open doorway, clinging to the trim. The expression on her face was one of amusement.

  “Need a hand?” she called.

  “I’m fine,” he grumbled, even as he slipped once more. “Just give me a second.”

  When he finally crossed the threshold and pulled himself upright, Courtney was a silhouette ahead of him against the rectangle of gray sky where the hallway now abruptly ended in tattered metal. A steady stream of rainwater ran past their feet. The stench of death was nauseating. He pressed his palm against the wall, yanked it away wet, and cringed at the thought of what he might have gotten on his hand. Surely it was only the elements leaking down through the crumpled roof. He did his best to ignore the rust-colored spatters on the ceiling and walls, and prayed that whoever had left them hadn’t suffered for very long.