"Not my lucky day!" Borland said, smiled heavily and shrugged.
Brass reached out to squeeze his elbow and then spoke to the group. "It's not anyone's lucky day." His big shoulders sagged, and then straightened. "None of us wanted to meet again under these circumstances." His eyes fell on Hyde, who continued to mutter with his head down. "But thank God we've got you to meet the new threat."
CHAPTER 25
Borland was just about to suggest a washroom break before they got started when a banging sound brought them all around. A shape was moving outside the pebbled glass window in the lunchroom door. The knob ratcheted, there was another thump and the door slowly swung aside.
The stationhouse lights silhouetted a skeletal form before Borland's eyes adjusted.
Long thin jowls streamed down from the chin and tucked into the stiff collar of a dark blue uniform. Tufts of white hair curled from under a tall peaked cap. The external light gleamed off golden epaulets. The man took a step into the lunchroom revealing that the cuffs on his sleeves and pants were wrapped and held tight by thick elastic bands.
It was the Old Man or Metro Police Staff Inspector Steven Midhurst. A liaison between the privately run Variant Squads and civilian law enforcement, Midhurst had presented as an arachnophobe. He was terrified of spiders and chain smoked to deal with the non-lethal Variant form until he had to have one lung removed. It was rumored that he had since adopted Yoga as a chief calming technique.
The story went that he had good days and bad days after, but was twitchy on the best. Borland referred to him as "Muffet" when cranking up with his baggies, short for the Miss of the famous rhyme.
The Old Man never trusted the younger Brass because of his connections to Bezo and his apparent comfort with sending former cops, EMTs and soldiers into lethal situations. The Old Man believed the squads should never have been privatized.
As he took another shaky step forward, Borland was able to register all the affects of age on him. Midhurst was 59 at the end of the day-and snidely rated the Old Man nickname, but Borland could see he was there now: old, ancient, near death.
Then Borland adjusted his thinking, gave the Old Man another look. True he was skeletal, and his face was a sack of wrinkled skin, but the old bastard stood ramrod straight, and was steady enough on his feet once he got moving. He wore thick glasses with heavy rims on a long nose tangled with veins. His cheeks and hands were mottled with age spots, but the same big hard bones showed through.
He still had a riding crop tucked under his arm that he kept as evidence of working with a mounted police division in his youth. He used to talk about that a lot.
The Old Man never liked Borland, had threatened to kick him off the squads many times, but couldn't. Brass had the final say for pink slips. The Old Man believed Borland was on the Squads as an excuse to drink and act on his various addictions.
Borland thought that was partly right.
He and bagged-boys on the Old Man's Watch List delighted in getting vengeance by planting plastic spiders around the stationhouse whenever he arrived for snap inspections or debriefings. It was a special hoot doing it if the Old Man brought company from HQ.
Setting off his Variant-enhanced arachnophobic response was fun at first starting with high-pitched monkey howls, very lady-like, that continued in intensity and terror until the Old Man ended up curled in like a fetus. It was too unsettling to repeat often.
Borland watched for the Old Man's trademark twitch and he wasn't disappointed. Four steps in and his rheumy eyes glanced from face to face and then swept down, flashed to the baseboard, by the electric heaters and into the corners, before sliding along the juncture of ceiling and wall. He was looking for spider webs, dust clouds and conglomerations; anything that might hide one of them-any bug really, could get his anxiety spiking. The set of his shoulders stiffened during the inspection, and then relaxed when he saw that Brass had pulled a chair out for him a good two feet from the head of the table: somewhere defensible, free of corners and overhangs.
The Old Man looked at Aggie and gave his wince-like smile as she shook his hand. He glanced at Hyde, raised a hand to shake and then stopped: too many corners and folds of material to chance it. A tremor of uncertainty struggled in his features, before he took a deep breath and offered his hand again.
Hyde reluctantly took it, and withdrew quickly, palming a sheet of moistened disinfectant wipe. The Old Man scowled, and then seemed to understand.
Tinfingers was on his feet and offered a hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir." The Old Man gingerly took the handful of prosthetics. "I've read all your eBooks. I especially enjoyed, History of the Day."
"Get your nose out of my ass, Ortega." The Old Man frowned at him.
"Staff Inspector Midhurst." Brass stepped briskly up to him, shook his hand and began to lead him to the offered chair. "It is a pleasure to have you here to consult."
The Old Man glared at him suspiciously, sideways as Brass offered a steadying arm.
"It is not a pleasure to be here, I assure you," the Old Man grumbled in a gloomy tone. "It never was." He bent and swung his riding crop under the chair, inspected it for webs before he turned and sat. The new orientation put him in direct line of sight for Borland, who was leaning forward in his chair, struggling with the room's sudden claustrophobic dimensions. He felt fresh sweat rings forming under his arms.
"Borland," the Old Man rasped and scowled, "you look terrible."
"Like looking in a mirror," Borland fired back.
Brass ended the Mexican standoff before it started.
"Dr. Cavalle," the big man said, and everyone looked toward the door.
CHAPTER 26
A woman stood in the doorway. She was about 30, had an athletic body under a formfitting suit jacket, dress shirt and slacks. Her hair was long and auburn, and framed a face that could have done glamour magazine covers if it was ever allowed a stroke of makeup. She carried a briefcase in one long-fingered hand.
Dr. Cavalle smiled and walked quietly up to Brass in rubber-soled shoes.
"Psyche Operations Office offers their every resource and resolve to meet this new threat," she said, shaking his hand and hefting her briefcase. "I have our preliminary findings."
"Excellent, doctor." Brass smiled broadly and then turned to the table, introducing Cavalle to the assembled consultants.
"I've read everyone's files." She smiled and nodded like that was good news. "It's like I already know you."
Borland frowned and rolled that one around his brain for a few seconds. A POO never said anything that didn't come wrapped in another meaning. Or was it the other way around? They never said anything they actually meant. That was it. They were famous for blindsides. Innocent questions kept you distracted while they crowbarred the back of your head open.
A sharp hiss that spat out of Hyde's hood suggested he was in agreement.
Brass caught it, but shrugged smoothly past.
"Then, perhaps we can dispense with the introductions and get down to business," he said as Cavalle walked to the end of the table, shook hands and had a word or two with the Old Man. He was frowning too, distrustful from his own troubles with POO.
"Captain Borland, would you mind getting the door?" Brass asked in a pleasing tone.
Borland lurched to his feet, his chair screeching against the linoleum. He pulled at his necktie before stepping away from the table. His hernias itched. His tongue was thick and swollen. He needed a drink. Bad. Just a little crank but the room was too crowded to sneak one.
"Sure," he said and cleared his throat. He took a step toward the door and then swung around like an idea just occurred to him. "Maybe I can grab a breath of air before we get started, and take a piss." He laughed and then apologized. "Sorry, ladies. I've been in the museum too long." Borland banged against another chair and wiped an arm across his forehead. The action allowed him a glance at his cuff. A tag was stitched there. An unfamiliar flush of embarrassment warmed his face before he shrug
ged it off. Careful you don't start believing this crap!
"Certainly, Captain Borland." Brass nodded. "I'm sure the events of the last 48 hours require some adjustment, and I will say you're starting to look a little worse for wear." He snapped a look at Tinfingers who stepped forward, seeming to understand. "Lieutenant Ortega will accompany you." Brass paused, before swinging back to Borland with a knowing smile. "To make sure that's all you take."
Borland puffed his lips out and shrugged innocently like he didn't know exactly what that meant. He led Tinfingers out of the room.
Borland was sure he heard a chuckle slip from under Hyde's hood.
CHAPTER 27
The Old Man's Beta Blocker Applicator bubbled wetly when he inhaled, reminding Borland of a kid slurping up the last of his milkshake. The applicator was a common sight among survivors of the day, especially those who had presented with one of the Variant Effect's milder forms. The plastic tube, designed to look like a cigarette, delivered a mild cocktail of drugs for calming the fight or flight response while keeping various harmful side effects to a minimum.
Variant Effect survivors used them in stressful settings that might induce panic.
Borland had his own cocktail for that. He'd just recharged it in the can while Tinfingers waited outside the stall. A couple quiet pulls from his flask had settled him out again, kept his fingers from trembling where he laid them flat and heavy on the table. Hyde had whispered something derogatory as Borland re-entered the lunchroom smiling around a handful of peppermints. He shut the door after Tinfingers.
The others watched him confidently take his seat across from Hyde but his nonchalance was blown away when he caught sight of the skinned captain's red-rimmed eye. Goddamn freak!
Someone had set out bottles of distilled water. Borland quickly uncapped one and hid his discomfort behind it as he drank.
The Old Man had turned his chair so he could watch Dr. Cavalle at the front of the room. Aggie sat across from Brass. Then it was Hyde and Borland with Tinfingers taking a chair near the far end of the table.
Borland's first moment of discomfort passed as the whiskey took effect. He even found the wherewithal to smile insolently into Hyde's hood.
Don't forget I've got you by the bagless balls.
Dr. Cavalle started, "Scott Morrison, the Alpha first-infector, brought it into Metro six days ago, Saturday. The other two were second-bites. It was a fluke that both victims turned, but it was not uncommon back in the day."
Borland scowled at the pretty doctor. What do you know about the day?
The Old Man's applicator gurgled.
"Is it possible we're looking at a more virulent form of the Varion-hybrid molecule?" This came from Brass. He sat forward, and tapped something into his little palm-com. Borland knew he was recording the whole thing.
"Research predicted variations might produce the hypothesized thirteenth Varion-hybrid moleculeÖ"
Cavalle kept talking while Borland sniggered.
"Öbut it never did," she said evenly.
"Your blood-work found Varion-hybrid that fits one of the Twelve," Brass continued. He would know. He'd have access to all of their records.
"Yes," Cavalle reassured, flipping a page in her e-reader. "The Varion-hybrid molecules arrange themselves into twelve configurations with subgroups based on chemical typesÖ"
"Then it's nothing new!" Hyde snapped from under his hood.
"Yes." Cavalle looked up. "There have been computer studies on the dormant Varion being re-animated with re-infection-the thirteenth never formed. After thousands of simulations the Variant Effect occurred along predicted lines."
"You were talking about the first-infector?" Aggie asked; her fingers knitted into a single fist in front of her.
The Old Man lifted his applicator. It bubbled as he took a hit.
"Scott Morrison arrived in Metro six days ago and presented as a dermatophage not long after." Cavalle flipped a page. "His first victim was Fran Oldenstruud, a temp secretary that got off at the wrong bus stop Monday night. She left her job at Syman Corp. at 10 p.m. and was last seen alive at 10:45. We're assuming Morrison got her as she passed by the Demarco furrier building. There's no proof of that, but as a lone Biter pre-skin fight, he'd still look human. Once she presented they jumped the third together, a squatter named Red McDonald-homeless, a former military man suffering post-traumatic stress disorder from a tour in the second Gulf War. He was living in the Demarco building basement."
"Five days before we got them," Tinfingers interrupted. "And only three Biters, one of them first." He had his own palm-com out. "Don't skin eaters work faster than that?"
Hyde snarled and then rasped, "Early in the day, Biters did not have established Ritual, and they're also enhanced to survive." He shifted under his heavy coverings. "They are opportunists in small groups. In time they form aggressive hunting packs to actively seek victims where they can." He cleared his throat. "Stalkers and Biters are similar in the early stages of presentation. Survival is key to Ritual. Ritual is key to survival."
"Yes," Cavalle nodded. "And that's two victims that we know of. There could be other bodies. Morrison's activities have not been traced from Saturday when he arrived until Monday night when he attacked Oldenstruud."
"Who called the blood angel in?" Borland growled, dragged out of his apprehension by Hyde's voice. "Who found it?"
"The building's ownership is being contested by the Demarco heirs," Brass explained. "While it is held up in court, a private firm was hired to do monthly patrols-security and maintenance checks." He tapped his palm-com. "Ahmed Karum was doing his rounds for Night Watch Security; he called it in Tuesday night. Regular uniforms checked it out, but they were rookies. An older desk Sergeant recognized the Variant Effect similarities. That made it through the chain to me at 4 a.m. Wednesday."
Borland remembered getting the call from Brass at 7 a.m. while he was lying on sweaty sheets, struggling to sleep past the booze.
"WhereÖ" the Old Man started, his ridged teeth chewing the applicator, "did our Mr. Morrison hail from?"
Cavalle nodded. "There is a town 85 miles from Metro. It grew in size back in the day when people started moving out of the cities."
"I remember." The Old Man nodded slowly. "The worst Variant Effect cases like Biters were unlikely to cross that much open country without skin."
"What town is it?" Aggie asked and sipped her water. Some random thought or memory made her scowl at Borland.
"Parkerville," Brass said, smiling without humor. His eyes swept around the room and ended up on Hyde. "There's a military base there."
A hiss vented through Hyde's teeth.
CHAPTER 28
"I thought the base at Parkerville was closed," Aggie said and cracked her knuckles.
"It pretty much is. The military use the buildings and bunkers for storage. There is small contingent of soldiers based there. Cakewalk job guarding boxes," Brass explained. "The town leases landing strip access from the military like they did back in the day. They've still got a small airport out there. A smart realtor convinced investors to build luxury homes around the original town center back when Variant was just starting to present. Really nice places built over farmland. Country mansions. After the first few wealthy Metro families moved out there, more homes sprang up. There are about five gated communities now." The big man chuckled ironically. "They've all got those silly 'peace out' names. Sacred Gardens, Happy HillsÖyou get the pictureÖ"
"I'll bet the whole town is 'gated' now," Borland snarled, and glared at Brass. His mood was shifting as yesterday's hangover lurked behind today's booze and mixed with his painkillers. He looked along the table, stopped at Cavalle. "Well, come on. You must have Parkerville secure. Am I right?" He wiped a broad palm over his sweaty brow. "Nobody in. Nobody out."
"Yes, Captain Borland," Tinfingers said, drawing his attention. "Our contingency plan has been in place for decades. Since the day."
"Protocol?" Hyde burst out. "You're a
pplying Variant protocol to a town?"
"A modified protocol, as we did in the day. We lock the outbreak down and search for a source of contamination in the local environment," Brass said. Borland noticed something softer in his tone when he talked to Hyde. Brass was going easy on the goldbricker. "We're applying it in stages."
"You ziplocked Parkerville?" Borland almost laughed. "Jesus Brass, and everyone thinks I'm an asshole."
"It's too early to apply protocol to a town! There'll be panic." Hyde continued, "with only one confirmed caseÖthe rules clearly state..."
"Different time," Brass said, voice firm. "Different rules."
"One confirmed case from Parkerville, and two in Metro," Cavalle corrected. "We're scouring the neighborhood and sewers around the furrier building."
"You ziplocked a Metro neighborhood too?" Borland shook his head and laughed.
"The first-biter was here too long for only a pair of second-bites," Cavalle sighed. "And there is no knowing what you'll find out in Parkerville."
"You aren't some downy innocent, Borland," Aggie rasped and glowered at him. "Acting like you didn't have a hand in yanking people's rights away the odd time. God!"
"That was back in the day!" Borland snarled, and thumped a palm against the tabletop. "Maybe people will start remembering that and leave off dragging me around by the sack."
"We can't take any chances. The town must be quarantined," the Old Man said, his applicator clicking and bubbling between his teeth. "We must treat it as we would back in the day, to avoid anotherÖday."
"Parkerville law enforcement, thenÖ" Hyde said, tilting his face up enough to show his lower jaw as he turned to Brass. "Is that it? They've told you something."
"We've made queries," Brass said and hung his head. "Quiet investigations by phone, email and other modes to avoid raising any alarm. But there have been no reports of anything unusual."
"You must know more!" Hyde insisted, he gestured with a claw-like hand toward the rest of the stationhouse. "All of this is dangerous enough. Why clamber about building a squad?"
The Variant Effect Page 8