Pale Horse (A Project Eden Thriller)

by Battles, Brett

  Jiao quickly set down her pruning scissors, and rushed through her apartment out into the hallway. It took her less than a minute to reach the other side of the street.

  Madam Zhang hadn’t moved.

  “Where are you headed?” Jiao said. “Perhaps I can go with you.”

  Madam Zhang took a labored breath. Jiao noticed sweat on the woman’s brow. “I need…to get some medicine for my husband.” She halfheartedly raised a hand holding a piece of paper with several items on it.

  “I’m heading that way. Perhaps I can pick these up for you.”

  “I wouldn’t want to…” She paused for several seconds. “To trouble you.”

  “It is no trouble at all. Here, I will walk you back to your apartment, then I’ll pick up everything.”

  Jiao placed her hands on the other woman’s arm and eased her away from the wall.

  Without another word, they walked into the building, and slowly up the stairs to the third floor where Madam Zhang lived with her husband.

  When they reached the door, Jiao carefully took the key from Madam Zhang and let them in. She led her friend over to a cushioned chair and helped her sit down.

  “Where is Mr. Zhang?” Jiao asked. The place was quiet.

  “Lying down.”

  It was clear he’d given whatever he had to his wife.

  “Here. Give me your list,” Jiao said. “I won’t be long.”

  The woman handed the list over. “You’ll need some money.”

  “You can pay me later.”

  “That is unnecessary,” Madam Zhang said, but the look on her face was relieved. Jiao got the impression that the energy it’d take to look for her money was not something her friend had.

  “You just rest,” Jiao said.

  She stopped back at her apartment to pick up one of her shopping bags, and headed out. As she walked, she decided she would cook something for Madam Zhang when she got back. The woman had always been kind to her in the past. It was the least she could do.

  With a smile, she continued down the street, unaware that later that evening, she would be cooking her last meal.

  BERLIN, GERMANY

  12:23 PM CENTRAL EUROPE TIME

  HAROLD WOLF DROVE past the Brandenburg Gate, an uneasy knot in his stomach. He had never seen Berlin so quiet. The only places with any action were the areas where the shipping containers had been found.

  Thank God he hadn’t drawn that duty. Instead he was ordered to enforce the twenty-four hour curfew, which had so far been extremely easy.

  That was why he was nervous. Easy was always a warning signal to him. He knew it wouldn’t last. And he was right.

  The call came over his radio four minutes later. A problem at one of the hotels not far from the American Embassy.

  Making a U-turn on the usually busy Ebertstrasse, he headed for the Dorint Hotel near the Gendarmenmarkt. The trouble was immediately apparent as he rounded the corner onto the block where the hotel was. There were at least half a dozen people standing outside the entrance, banging on the glass doors, and shouting angrily at hotel security staring back at them from inside.

  Wolf pulled to the curb fifty feet away. Knowing it was more than he wanted to handle on his own, he radioed in for backup. Unfortunately, one of the people outside noticed him and headed over.

  “You’ve got to tell them to let us in!” the man yelled.

  “Please stand back, sir,” Wolf said, climbing off his bike.

  The man slowed his pace but didn’t stop. “They won’t open the door. We have rooms here. We’re guests!”

  “Please, sir. Just stand back.”

  He touched the gun at this waist, emphasizing the point. The man seemed to finally get the message, though his anger didn’t subside.

  “You need to talk to them! Where are we supposed to go? Those are our rooms!”

  Wolf closed his eyes for a second as a wave of pain shot through his head. Great. Just what he needed. A migraine.

  “Let me see what I can do,” he said.

  “We can’t stand out here like this,” the man said. “Who knows what’s in the air?”

  “Sir, just a minute. Please.”

  Wolf took a step toward the hotel, then stopped suddenly, a wave of dizziness rushing over him.

  “Hey. Are you going to help us or what?” the man asked.

  “Are you all right?” A woman’s voice.

  Wolf realized a few of the others had come over.

  “I’m fine,” he said. “It’s just a long day.”

  Another step, and this time it was his stomach.

  He was only able to turn partially away before his breakfast made a quick exit out his mouth.

  “Jesus!” the first man said, jumping back. “You’re sick! Dammit, you got some on me!” He started wiping viciously at his suit jacket. “Dammit!”

  Wolf fell to his knees and retched again. When he finished, he looked up and saw the others staring at him as if he were death itself.

  “Please, someone call for help,” he managed before his stomach churned again.

  MUMBAI, INDIA

  4:12 PM INDIAN STANDARD TIME

  TARU LEANED AGAINST the side of a car, exhausted. He’d been up walking the streets since six a.m. and it was now past four in the afternoon. That in itself would have been enough to tire most people, but he had to also carry the heavy container of anti-malaria spray on his back.

  Up and down his assigned roads he’d gone, spraying the liquid along the edge of the streets. Whenever he started to run out, one of the suppliers would invariably show up and fill his tank again.

  But it wasn’t the walking or the burden that had caused him to stop. Though he didn’t know it then, nor would it dawn on him later when he started to hallucinate, the cause was directly attributable to the fact he had stopped wearing his face mask not long after the morning had grown hot.

  His exposure to the virus, in extreme amounts, was inevitable, but he also had a genetic makeup that accelerated the KV-27a virus’s effects, making him one of the first to contract the disease.

  He coughed, and was surprised that it hurt deep down in his chest.

  He must be catching something, he thought. Ironic, given the mission of mercy he was on.

  He coughed again then spit a wad of phlegm into the gutter.

  “Just a few more hours,” he told himself.

  A full day would include an extra bonus, and that was money he sorely needed.

  “Just a few more.”

  He pushed off the car and started walking again.

  Forty minutes later, he was lying half in the road, the contents of the container on his back spilling across the ground.

  34

  SIERRA NEVADA MOUNTAINS, CALIFORNIA

  6:06 AM PACIFIC STANDARD TIME

  MARTINA HEARD SOMEONE moving around, but she didn’t want to open her eyes. Sleep was what she wanted, a place where she could pretend she was somewhere else. At school, perhaps, getting ready for the softball season. Or back home, helping her mother finish putting up the Christmas decorations. Or somewhere on the coast with Ben, finally spending enough time with him to solidify their relationship.

  “Has anyone seen Laurie?” Mrs. Weber said.

  Reluctantly, Martina opened her eyes and propped herself up on an elbow. Riley looked like she had just woken up, too, but both Pamela and Donny seemed to be still asleep. Laurie’s sleeping bag was empty.

  Mrs. Weber was standing near the front door, frowning and clearly worried.

  “Did you check the bathroom?” Riley asked.

  “First place I looked,” her mother told her. “She’s not there. Her coat’s missing, too.”

  “Her coat?” Riley sat up. “What time is it?”

  “A little after six.”

  The look on Riley’s face began to match her mother’s.

  “Maybe she went for a walk,” Martina suggested.

  “Laurie?” Riley said. “Are you kidding me? She doesn’t walk. And
she would definitely not do it at six a.m.”

  “She’s not in the house so she must be outside,” Mrs. Weber told them.

  Donny rolled onto his stomach and covered his head with his pillow.

  “Didn’t either of you hear her leave?” Mrs. Weber asked.

  “I didn’t hear anything,” Riley said.

  “Neither did I,” Martina added.

  “I’m going to go check,” Mrs. Weber said.

  Riley pushed herself off the floor. “I’ll do it, Mom.” She started pulling on her clothes.

  “I’ll go, too,” Martina offered, grabbing her jeans off a nearby chair.

  Mrs. Weber looked unsure at first. She glanced down at her long nightgown, then nodded. “Okay. I’ll go change and join you in a few minutes.”

  The two girls quickly finished dressing and pulled on their winter gear. Since the sun had yet to rise, they flipped on the outside lights before leaving.

  At some point during the night, the storm had moved on. What it left behind was over a foot of snow that covered the ground as far as they could see.

  Riley was about to step off the porch when Martina grabbed her arm. “Don’t.”

  “What?”

  “Look,” Martina said, pointing at the ground in front of the porch. “No footprints.”

  The snow surrounding the entrance was a flat, white surface. It would have been impossible for Laurie to go this way without leaving a mark.

  “See, she must be inside somewhere,” Riley said.

  “Or,” Martina said, “she could have used the back door.”

  “Um, maybe,” Riley grudgingly admitted.

  Since they were outside already, they started to walk around the house, but as they neared the Webers’ car, Martina noticed something. There were several small depressions in the snow close to the driver’s door. Footprints from the night before, she thought, the snow having almost filled them in.

  She angled over for a better look. Even though they had been partially filled, it was strange that the depressions were still smaller than her own prints. So it wasn’t one of their dads she’d heard last night?

  “What are you doing?” Riley said from the corner of the house. “Come on.”

  Martina looked up and nodded. Before she said what she was starting to think, it would be best to check the back of the house. If Laurie’s prints were there, everything would be fine.

  But everything wasn’t fine.

  “See, I told you,” Riley said. “She’s inside.”

  The snow outside the backdoor was as flat as it was out front.

  “Come on,” Riley said, reaching for the door.

  “Did you hear someone go out last night after we went to bed?” Martina asked.

  Riley paused, then shook her head. “No.”

  “I did. I thought it was either your dad or mine. Whoever it was went out to the car and turned on the radio, but I fell asleep so I didn’t hear anyone come back.”

  Riley’s eyes widened. “Do you think it was Laurie?”

  “I don’t know. That was around midnight.”

  They stared at each other for a moment. Riley then grabbed the knob and tried to open the door. It was locked, so she had to pound on it until her mother answered.

  Mrs. Weber pulled the door open a few seconds later, her coat half on. “Did you find her?”

  Riley rushed past her. “Dad!” she yelled. “Dad!”

  Martina came in right behind her.

  “What is it?” Mrs. Weber called after them.

  But the girls ignored her as they headed for the bedrooms. When Martina opened the door to her parents’ room, they looked up, obviously having been woken by Riley’s yelling.

  “Is something wrong?” her mom asked.

  “Dad, did you go out to the Webers’ car last night?” Martina asked.

  “Why would I do that?”

  “To listen to the radio.”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Your mother and I went to bed the same time you did.”

  Martina whipped around and looked over at Riley, who was staring back at her from the doorway to her parents’ room.

  “He didn’t go out,” Martina said.

  “Neither did my dad,” Riley said.

  __________

  THEY WALKED IN an ever-widening circle around the cabin, but there were no footprints or other signs of Laurie anywhere. It was like she had just vanished.

  After a while, it was decided someone should take one of the cars and check along the road. Mr. Weber wanted to do that, but Martina’s dad used the argument that his car was the only one with chains. Martina suspected it was more than that. Mr. Weber was starting to show signs of panic, and letting him operate a car would have been a mistake.

  Martina sat up front with her father, while Donny had the backseat to himself.

  Keeping their speed slow, her dad headed down the snow-covered road. Martina watched to the right, while her brother scanned the area to the left.

  They were getting close to the main paved road when Donny said, “What’s that?”

  Their father took his foot off the gas and let the car roll to a stop.

  There was a slight rise that started about twenty feet from the road on the driver’s side. Donny was pointing at something toward the top—a flash of color peeking out from behind a tree. Lavender, like the color of Laurie’s jacket.

  Without waiting for the others, Martina threw open her door and ran around the car.

  “Martina, hold on!” her father called out.

  She ignored him and headed up the side of the ridge. When she reached the tree, she found Laurie there, sitting with her back to the trunk. The girl’s face had lost most of its color, and her lips were ashen gray.

  “Laurie?” Martina said, shaking the girl’s shoulder.

  For a second there was no response, then Laurie’s chin moved up a fraction of an inch. Her eyelids parted just enough so she could peer at Martina.

  “Dad!” Martina called down the hill. “Dad, she’s here!” She looked back at Laurie. “It’s okay. We’ve found you. We’ll take you back and warm you up.”

  “Home,” Laurie whispered. “I want to go home.”

  __________

  MARTINA’S DAD BLARED the horn as they approached the cabin and pulled to a stop. Her mom and Mrs. Weber rushed outside as Martina and her father jumped out of the car.

  “We found her,” Martina said, and helped her dad ease Laurie out of the backseat.

  “Oh, my God,” Mrs. Weber said “Oh, my God!”

  While they carried the girl to the house, Mr. Weber, Riley, and Pamela ran out of the woods from where they’d been searching.

  “Laurie?” Riley said.

  “Someone open the door,” Martina’s father ordered.

  Martina’s mom ran around them and pushed the door out of the way. They took Laurie into the Webers’ bedroom, where Mrs. Weber and Martina’s mom stripped off her cold, wet clothes and covered her with blankets. Mrs. Weber asked everyone to leave the bedroom and let Laurie rest.

  No one would admit it, but they had all thought they’d never see Laurie alive again. Instead, they just talked about how happy they were that they’d found her, and how they were sure she would be all right.

  At one point, Martina heard a muffled cough from the Webers’ bedroom. She assumed it was Laurie, her system reacting to her ordeal.

  She was wrong on both counts.

  35

  LAS CRUCES, NEW MEXICO

  8:09 AM MOUNTAIN STANDARD TIME

  THE CONFERENCE ROOM at NB219 had undergone a major overhaul in the last twelve hours. No longer was there a single monitor that needed to be split into sections when several people were on a video call. Now there were six monitors, all mounted to the wall, each capable of receiving a different feed.

  The furniture had also been replaced with pieces Perez thought were more fitting for the new principal director’s temporary headquarters—an impressive black metal
table and a dozen padded leather chairs, the largest of which he was sitting in at that very moment.

  Four of the screens were active, each displaying the image of a different person looking out at him. Of the former leadership committee, only Dr. Lassiter was present. On the other three screens were Renée Girard, Richard Chang, and Dr. Ronald Fisher.

  “For all intents and purposes, Europe is completely shut down,” Girard said. “Everyone has locked themselves inside. The only ones moving around are military and other government personnel.”

  “It’s the same here in Hong Kong,” Chang said. “And throughout the rest of Asia. Borders are closed, but it’s an unnecessary step. No one wants to go anywhere.”

  “Any reports of illness?” Perez asked.

  “Yes,” Girard said. “It’s scattered, but growing.”

  “Same thing here,” Chang replied.

  “Dr. Fisher, are we still working on the same timeline?” Perez asked.

  With those who’d been at Bluebird either dead or at least temporarily out of communication, Fisher became the head Project scientist. He had been on the team who worked on perfecting KV-27a.

  “Yes,” the doctor said in his distinctive monotone. “Our latest tests of samples taken from dispersal points in various locations indicate the agent is working as planned. I would say reports of illness will no longer be ‘scattered’ by midnight.”

  It was exactly as Perez hoped.

  “Kind of ironic,” Dr. Lassiter said. “That it’ll basically hit tomorrow.”

  “Not ironic at all,” Dr. Fisher told him. “I believe that was the plan.”

  No one said anything for a few seconds, then Perez leaned forward. “All right. We’ll reconvene at midnight my time.”

  As Perez reached for the keyboard to turn off the system, Dr. Lassiter said, “Merry Christmas, world.”

  Perez paused for a moment before disconnecting the call.

  36