Everything was quiet, as usual. Up until a day or so ago there were usually some cats and dogs that strayed close to the fence; Reddy could often see the cats' eyes glow in the floodlights and searchlights. But last night and so far again tonight there was nothing. The zone was dead.
It could be a lot worse, he thought. Things were generally dull where he was but in the south he'd heard some of the guys say that people threw rocks and bottles at you. Not that they could hurt you—they just bounced off the shield. But it was the principle of it. Rock and bottle tossing was not an actionable offense, so you had to just stand there and take it. And the names. Yes, that would be the worst thing of all. Killers, they were shouting. Nazis. You're murdering us, you filthy bastards. Homicide, genocide, all of those words.
We're only obeying orders, thought Reddy. You don't like it, go out and vote in the next election instead of blowing it off.
A light turned on in a house in the containment zone. A curtain in the window briefly drew back and what might have been a face appeared to stare out for a moment or two. Reddy, tensing, watched it.
They would try something soon, the sergeant had said before the shift began. You just wait, they'll try to bust out of there before long.
The face in the window disappeared. The light stayed on, filtered by the curtain. Can't sleep, figured Reddy. He didn't blame whoever it was. He wouldn't have been able to sleep either, caught in a containment zone. Poor, luckless people, in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Reddy was from Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. He imagined how he would feel if the government ringed off his neighborhood, maybe even the whole town. His wife and six-month-old baby.... Damn, man, there's no justice in this world! Why did they have to pen these people up like animals in a zoo?
Plop!
Reddy whirled around. A limb of the tree behind him was swinging. Did somebody throw something at him?
Then he saw the movement. Something had fallen out of the tree. At first he thought it was a squirrel, but squirrels aren't active at night. A possum?
Whatever it was got up off the ground. It had landed all the way on the other side of the fence, inside the zone. And it was big.
A person. A person! Reddy assumed it was a man but couldn't tell for sure. The man got to his feet, awkwardly, dazedly.
Reddy placed the barrel of his gun on the shield. He nestled the stock against his flexible face protector and took aim. "Halt! Stop or I'll shoot!"
The target moved with surprising speed and agility considering its bulk. The body and head were huge but the legs and arms were skinny.
"Halt!" cried Reddy. His finger tickled the trigger of his gun. "This is your last warning!"
Reddy kept his gaze glued onto the target, but his finger eased off the trigger. The target ran along the road away from the fence, further into the zone and into the darkness.
The target was retreating. Reddy's orders were explicit: Do NOT shoot at retreating civilians.
The target kept moving into the zone. He had busted into the zone.
"Reddy, Reddy!" shouted his buddy. "Don't shoot!"
Reddy had already lowered his rifle. Emman, his buddy, came running up. "Jesus Christ," said Emman, out of breath—his suit speaker made wheezing sounds. "That guy flew out of a tree!"
Bethesda, Maryland / 6:00 a.m.
All the test results were positive. Kraig Drennan stared at the screen. He wanted to scream but he didn't have the energy.
An image of Roderick Halkin appeared on an inset. Kraig and Roderick exchanged looks via the remote cameras.
"I see you have assimilated the test results," said Roderick. His face was pale but composed.
"Everybody," said Kraig weakly. "Even our own team. We just...everybody."
"I don't suppose you'll accept congratulations on your quick actions regarding the quarantine. Had it not been for the barrier, we'd be facing a much more horrible disaster. I've tested a small sample of National Guard troops that have been stationed around the perimeter, along with a few civilians near but not inside the zone. All results are negative. I believe that, at least for the moment, the disease has been successfully contained."
Kraig closed his eyes; his head bowed. "I sent them out. The team. I sent them in there...."
"So you did. And now we must work diligently in order to find the solution to the current problem. Namely, how to destroy protobiont."
Kraig looked up sharply. "Destroy what?"
"The pathogen."
Leaning back in his chair, Kraig stared at Roderick's tired but dignified expression. "Talk to me."
"The key is evolution."
"Protobiont," said Kraig, pronouncing every syllable carefully. "Pre-life."
Roderick smiled. "Exactly."
"Biogenesis all over again, just like several billion years ago. The problem is, it can't happen, Rod."
"On the contrary. It did happen. The only mystery is how, and I have a theory."
"It couldn't have happened. Not a chance. Conditions are a lot different today than billions of years ago."
"Of course the conditions are different. I'm not suggesting that our protobiont evolved in the same way as the first ones did—the ones that gave rise to all the life forms existing today. Nor am I suggesting that it is similar to today's life forms, chemically or physiologically. In fact we already know that it isn't."
Kraig shook his head. "It's not even conceivable. There was no oxygen around billions of years ago, but there's plenty of it today. Oxygen is a very reactive element, it'll oxidize almost anything."
"Yet organisms and organic molecules can exist in oxygen today. I don't see a problem."
"But the origin of life on Earth took millions of years—and there were no competing systems around. It just doesn't make any sense. Life can't arise again, it's got too much competition. Anything new that comes along will get eaten before it can get started."
"Quite true, normally. But there are special circumstances here."
Kraig thought for a moment. "The creek. You're talking about the creek?"
"Not exactly. I'm talking about Vision Cell Bioceuticals."
"They cooked up a new bug?"
"No, or at least not intentionally. And it's not, precisely speaking, a life form, although it does replicate. It's like a virus in that it has no metabolism and must rely on pirating the machinery of a living cell in order to duplicate itself."
"But they claimed to autoclave and chlorinate their—" Kraig frowned.
"Yes," said Roderick, "but that doesn't matter here, does it? All of the ways of killing organisms that laboratories employ are based on known life forms. Life as we know it consists of cells housing genetic material, or viruses—if you want to call them living—with genetic material housed in a coat of protein. In either case, we always assume that there must be nucleic acids: DNA or, in the case of some viruses, RNA, protected by some sort of membrane or protein coat."
"So what you're saying is this little protobiont doesn't have either one. It doesn't have any of the conventional mechanisms and requirements of life. And so it escaped."
"Even more than that, Kraig. It was given excellent conditions to evolve, and it did so, right under the very noses of the scientists. The combinatorial organic chemist, a Dr. Pradeep Rumanshan, concocted batches of chemicals related to those used by neurons and other brain cells, for purposes of finding molecules with significant biological activity. They were tested in cultured brain cells and kept under controlled conditions, which means of course that predators like bacteria were kept to a minimum."
"And they found a winner. A real winner."
"One evolved, at any rate. But evolution must have played a factor."
Kraig's brow furrowed? "How?"
"Consider the chances of something like this happening. It must be millions, billions to one. It would be like mixing together some proteins, carbohydrates, and lipids and having something as complex as a bacterium crawl out. It's phenomenally unlikely. Unless�
��"
"Unless it had some help." Kraig began to understand. "Unless there was some selection pressure. Darwinian evolution."
"Which was unwittingly applied by the scientists at Vision Cell Bioceuticals. They were merely doing their job, finding and selecting the chemicals that showed biological activity in brain cells."
"So the scientists at Vision Cell accidentally set up a perfect Darwinian environment for something like protobiont. And they dutifully destroyed all material that didn't suit their purpose and discarded it, thinking they had killed anything that may be dangerous...."
Roderick nodded. "No one's to blame, except evolution. And dumb luck."
"Over twenty thousand people are going to die from this dumb luck unless we can find a way to destroy this thing," said Kraig. Included in that twenty-thousand-plus, he realized, were two people, Cecily Sunday and Lisa Murdoch. He tried hard to put that out of his mind but it kept coming back. Yes, there were twenty thousand people, but two of them were people he cared about. That shouldn't make a difference but somehow, against his will, it did.
"There are a lot of things we still don't know but must find out," said Roderick. "We must discover what protobiont is made of, how it replicates, how it invades the human body, and how it kills."
Kraig felt like someone dropped an ice cube down the back of his shirt. Rod, of course, was right. "That's a lot of stuff."
"I suggest we get started by bringing in a few people who may be able to help. I have, in fact, taken the liberty of calling them without asking your permission. Strictly speaking I was exceeding my authority—"
"Forget it! Just do it. Do whatever's necessary." Kraig stared at the ticker, which had incremented before his eyes. It was now up to 159.
Montgomery County, Pennsylvania / 8:45 a.m.
When he opened the front door of his house and saw the armed officers, Pradeep Rumanshan stepped back in alarm. He'd seen movies where "they" came to get you, "they" took you away somewhere, and you never came back.
One of the officers flashed a badge and asked Pradeep for identification. After the chemist had given it, the officers stepped inside.
They wanted information. Laboratory notebooks, data disks, anything related to the work Pradeep had done at Vision Cell Bioceuticals.
"I did nothing wrong or immoral," Pradeep kept repeating. He showed them everything, all his notes that he'd kept at home. He told them that most of the data and the lab notebooks were still at the company's building.
"No they're not," one of the officers said. "They're in the car."
Pradeep began to get even more frightened. "If you have them then you know I did nothing wrong."
"Nobody's saying you did, sir. Would you mind coming with us?"
"Where?"
"To Bethesda, Maryland."
Pradeep was not sure whether he had a choice or not, but he decided the time was not right to argue. If this was part of the process of proving his innocence then he would do it without complaining. He called his fiancée—a postdoctoral fellow at the University of Pennsylvania—then packed a small bag with clothes and toiletries.
Outside, Pradeep stepped toward an official limo—black with tinted windows so that you couldn't see inside. A forbidding vehicle.
"Sir, do you know the whereabouts of Dr. Norschalk?"
"Gordon?" Pradeep paused as an officer opened one of the rear doors. Pradeep took a peek inside; no signs of hoodlums with brass knuckles and tire irons. He let out a deep breath.
"Yes, sir. Dr. Gordon Norschalk, your colleague at Vision Cell Bioceuticals. Would you happen to know where he can be found?"
Pradeep thought a moment, then pulled out his personal data organizer. "I can find his address."
"No, no sir. We know his address."
Pradeep gave a puzzled look. "I have not conversed with him recently. No, I misspoke—we talked over the phone." He related the details.
The officer wrote the information down. "This was the last time you heard from Dr. Norschalk?"
Pradeep nodded. "You cannot find him?"
The officer didn't answer. He simply urged the chemist to get comfortable and then shut the door.
Looking out the window, Pradeep sat and watched the spring scenery as the car motored down the street. Pink buds were forming on the trees. Life was being renewed for another season.
He tried not to think about Vision Cell Bioceuticals during the whole limo ride to the airport. But he failed miserably.
Medburg, Pennsylvania / 10:00 a.m.
As he'd expected, he had landed hard. Even with all the padding it had almost knocked the wind out of him. Gordon picked crushed packing peanuts and plastic air bubbles out of his cardigan the whole morning. And that was after he finally managed to unwrap himself—no simple task since the force of the landing had flattened many of the layers, pressing them together so tightly that they seemed to be stitched or knitted.
It would have been far easier if they'd just let him walk in. But of course they wouldn't do that. And they might have even dragged him to a psychiatric ward if he'd asked permission to enter the containment zone.
Perhaps, thought Gordon grimly, a psychiatric ward is exactly where I belong.
Gordon looked around. Like most April days in Medburg, the sky was overcast—cloudy, damp, and drizzling. Gordon wandered around the streets, feeling the need to keep moving, but he consulted the map as he walked. Luckily his data instruments had survived the fall better than the packing peanuts.
He had no idea where to go. He knew where he was—the map plus the GPS receiver told him that—but there was no specific destination in mind.
Only a specific person.
Bethesda, Maryland / 12:15 p.m.
Kraig was napping when he heard his name. The voice woke him at once.
Not that the voice was loud. It was actually soft. Kraig recognized the voice at once and that's why he snapped awake instantly.
"Lisa?"
The telephone speaker crackled to life: "I'm just calling to...."
Kraig waited. Finally he said, "Lisa, I'm sorry."
"I'm just calling to thank you for this assignment."
The sarcasm in her voice was evident. "I'm sorry. If I'd known what I was sending you into...I didn't know."
"Of course not. Of course you didn't know. None of us knew."
"Where are you?"
"I'm in the hospital." A sob escaped her. "With the others on the team, I assume. They have us isolated. Anyway, I'm sitting here alone, in my room...they have the ventilators all ready and waiting. Even though they know full well that doesn't do any good...and I know it too."
"Hang on, Lisa. We're working on a treatment."
"What was your first assignment, Kraig?"
Kraig paused, thinking back. "I don't remember...it was something about a hemorrhagic fever in Florida, I think. People were afraid it was an Ebola outbreak."
"And was it?"
"No. No, as I recall it was some noncontagious tropical disease that some tourist had gotten in South America and came back home with."
"Sounds like my first assignment has yours beat pretty handily."
Kraig didn't know what to say. "Yeah, I guess." He was thinking, this is killing me. But he never considered cutting her off. She wanted to talk, vent her rage, whatever, he would listen. It was the least he could do, and a damn sorry least it was.
The computer screen flashed on, displaying a visual communication panel. Kraig glanced at it and saw the face of Roderick Halkin.
Lisa was trying to say something, but having trouble. "Kraig...I just...."
Kraig perked up. Roderick was saying something but Kraig muted the computer speaker. He turned to the telephone. "Lisa? Lisa, are you okay?"
"Yes," she said weakly. "I haven't croaked yet."
There was silence that lasted a full minute. Kraig started sweating. Roderick's face was showing a carefully measured dose of impatience.
"Lisa," said Kraig finally. "Lisa, Rod Halkin
wants to talk to me. I've got to go. There might be some important news...we're working on this as hard as we can. I promise you, we're working as hard as we can."
"I'll let you go now," said Lisa. "I just wanted to...thank you for this assignment."
The computer beeped, indicating that the line had been disconnected.
Kraig wiped his face. He paused before increasing the volume of the speaker. His gaze was drawn once again to the ticker. 178. He winced.
Finally he activated the visual communication channel.
"I haven't interrupted anything important, have I?" asked Roderick.
Great, thought Kraig. More sarcasm. He felt his control slowly, inexorably slipping away. Cyan lights appeared in the office. "Not at all," said Kraig evenly. "I was just talking to someone with a death sentence hanging over her head, that's all. Nothing serious. What's up with you?"
Roderick glanced an apology. "We could all do with a rest," he said. "Unfortunately we don't have the time. I have with me in my office Dr. Pradeep Rumanshan, the combinatorial chemist at Vision Cell Bioceuticals. Dr. Rumanshan was good enough to come to Bethesda for a discussion."
The camera in Roderick's office widened its view to show a small dark fellow sitting beside Roderick Halkin. The couple made an interesting contrast, Kraig noted briefly. The odd couple.
Kraig and Pradeep exchanged greetings. "I will do everything and anything in my power to help you," pledged Pradeep.
"We want your help to reconstruct some of the chemicals you made in the lab," said Roderick.
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