by Cade Brogan
“Suspicious, that’s for sure.”
“Man, wouldn’t it be nice if that cure they found worked?”
“Yeah, it would,” Rylee answered. “It could end up saving one heck of a bunch of lives.”
“And I just thought of another unlikely coincidence,” Claire responded. “I mean, if this thing turns out to be the same virus, that it jumped from West Africa to here after so many years.”
“Good thought,” Rylee said with a nod. “Let’s check with Matthews, see if any of the agencies keep records of medical folks traveling to areas where there’s been a viral outbreak like this one.”
“We already know Marsh and Voss are gonna be on it.”
“Yes,” Rylee said, “but it’d be interesting to see a complete list, see how many skip behind viral outbreaks. Of course, I suppose it’s possible that this thing was brought in accidently by a monkey or some other animal. And then, our doer just made use of it.”
“Or maybe we’re looking for a veterinarian.”
“Maybe,” Rylee responded. “Field’s wide open. Let’s check recent animal shipments from pretty much anywhere they’ve had problems with viral outbreaks, including West Africa. See if any of the animals arrived sick. And if so, see if any veterinarians treated them. I’d bet my paycheck that our doer has some kind of connection to the biosciences.”
“Me too,” Claire responded, “except I’m not in a position to bet my paycheck.”
Rylee laughed, reaching into her pocket for her cell phone. “Okay, so you can bet a quarter. Hey, this is Kenzie,” she said, preparing to swipe her screen, “I need to take it. She never calls without a good reason.”
“Yeah, sure,” Claire answered, looking away, and giving the illusion of privacy.
“Hi honey, what’s up?” Rylee answered, pinching her brow. “What do you mean, she’s gone?... No, I don’t think we need to do that, not yet. It’s not like she’s a missing person, just a kid who needs her ass grounded for the next month.” She nodded. “Okay, so I’ll have patrol swing by Piper’s…I know, I know, it’d be nice if they’d answer their damn phone…I’ll call you when I know something. Love you too...And Kenz, don’t worry yourself into a frenzy over this. She’s fine.”
“Kid go AWOL?” Claire asked, knowing that she had from Rylee’s end of the conversation.
“Yeah, sometime during the night,” Rylee responded, returning her phone to her pocket. “When she didn’t get up by her usual time, Kenz went in to check on her. Said it looked like she went out her window.”
“Have any idea where she got off to?”
“You bet I do,” Rylee said, her eyes narrowing. “And when I catch up with her, her ass is grounded from everything.” She sucked in air. “And that new little romance of hers, she can damn well know it’s over.”
“I remember sneaking out one time when I was about her age,” Claire responded. “Stepdad beat me black-n-blue when he caught up with me. But every cloud has a silver lining,” she added. “Mine was that I got to stay home from school for the rest of the week because they were afraid that one of my teachers would report us to Family Services.”
“It happens,” Rylee responded, shifting in her seat.
“Yeah,” Claire answered, “pretty normal.”
Rylee fell silent, looking toward the building. “Amazing how quickly they set up a decontamination and support area, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Claire responded, studying the activity more closely. “Looks like they’re directing staff to take the old folks to the rear of the building. Wonder what that’s about.”
“My guess? They have an observation area set up back there,” Rylee responded. “You know, a place where they can monitor for the development of symptoms.”
“Kind of like a cold zone, but not.”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
*
Abby paced, looking out, and pacing some more. Then, she slid down the wall to the floor, unable to hold back tears any longer. “Some initiation,” she squeaked. “You promised, Piper. You promised you guys would be back before sunrise. I’m gonna be in so much trouble.” She got up, sobbing. Initiations, they’re supposed to be scary. That’s why they blindfolded you, took your phone, and left you alone in a basement in the middle of nowhere. They’re coming back; you know they are. She stifled a sob, getting up. In the meantime, you can try to figure out where you are. She went to the window, peering through the dirty fog the best she could—overgrown weeds, as high as the sill. Wherever she was had been abandoned long ago. She listened, hearing no familiar sounds—no sirens, no horns, and no city buses. She sniffed the air, smelling mold, dill from a broken jar of pickles, and moist earth. If they didn’t come back, at least she’d have canned goods. But hardly any water. And with that thought, she crumpled to the cold cement, whimpering for her mother.
*
Claire lifted her arm, pointing toward the building. “Kids. Between the bushes. You see ‘em?”
Rylee bolted.
“Oh no you don’t,” Claire reacted, grabbing her arm firmly. “Not without a suit, you don’t.”
Rylee jerked free, her eyes fiery, but her momentum halted.
“Look,” Claire said, her tone softening, “there’s nothing you can do for ‘em, nothing that can’t wait a few more minutes.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I think I do.”
“The purple shoes,” Rylee said quietly. “Abby’s girlfriend, she has a pair just like ‘em.” She swallowed. “And they’re together, I just know it.” She could hardly believe that this time last year she’d wished for one guilty second that Abby didn’t exist at all. How could she have done that? How could she have wished her—gone?
“It’s a popular color,” Claire said, “and you can’t see enough to make an identification.”
“I know, but—”
“No buts,” Claire responded, patting her back as they moved toward the biohazard enclosure. “Come on, let’s suit up.” She handled her well, handled her like someone who had the potential to be a good partner. “Two kids on the south side,” she announced, stepping inside the temporary structure. “In the hazelnuts. Not sure if you guys saw them or not.”
“Oh no, not kids,” Ben responded, motioning to a colleague. “We’ll head on out.”
“Wait,” Rylee said, “wait for us. The taller one, I think I might know her.” The other pair of legs looked equally familiar, but she couldn’t allow her mind to go there.
“Take your time,” Ben said. “We’ll wait.”
Claire slid one leg into her suit, followed by the other. “So, just one victim inside?”
“Yes, a ninety-two-year-old Caucasian woman,” Ben responded.
“Poor thing,” Claire said, “probably someone’s grandma.”
“Or wife, or mother,” Rylee responded, certain that this would be one of those days, and there weren’t that many, when she hated her job. She choked down an uncomfortable swallow, for that second, fear of what they might find getting the best of her. “Ready when you are, doc.”
Ben nodded, two colleagues, stepping beside him. “We’ll be right behind you.” They rounded the corner, moved through a woodland garden, and stepped behind a tall thicket of shrubs, yellow blooms still clinging to their branches.
Shit, Claire thought, saliva pooling in her mouth, and her stomach rolling. She’d imagined a whiff of decomposing flesh, an olfactory blend of feces, rotten eggs, and spoiled cabbage. She touched the tubing of her respirator, reminding herself that smelling anything on the outside of her suit was impossible. There was no way that she or anyone else could smell what they’d just come upon—two kids, dead for hours. She stepped closer, meeting Rylee’s gaze. “Abby’s girlfriend?” she asked softly.
“Yes, that’s Piper,” Rylee answered with a swallow. “But the other girl, I don’t know her.” She removed her lens cap, squatting down for a shot. “These backpacks, they’re identical.”
Claire dropped t
o her knee for a closer look, jotting details in her notebook. Well-made, black with black stitching, and a red emblem. “I think I recognize this logo.”
Rylee’s eyes widened with interest. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” Claire responded, “it belongs to one of the high-end medical bag manufacturers. I can’t remember the name of the company right now, but I’ll bet forensics finds a tag inside one of the pockets.”
“Maybe,” Rylee said, noticing two fellow officers walking by the facility’s sign: Loving Arms—We hold your loved ones close.
“Another girl in the parking lot,” one called out, “seventeen, eighteen maybe. Between the Mustang and the Explorer.”
“Oh crap,” Rylee said, “just down from where we parked.”
“Too close for comfort,” Claire responded, “but not as bad as finding somebody who just died of the virus when you don’t have a suit on.”
Rylee’s eyes darted to the officers, hoping at that distance they hadn’t heard her comment.
Claire lowered her voice to a whisper. “We should tell them to check in at the observation station.”
Rylee nodded, calling out to them, and radioing ahead to say they were coming. “If it’s Abby,” she said quietly, “I want you to take over.”
“It won’t be,” Claire said. “This kid’s older.”
“I know. But if it is—”
“Don’t worry; I will.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ChiTownBreakingNews.com
BREAKING NEWS
The Chi-town Spree Killer, now being referred to as The Armageddon Killer, has targeted the Loving Arms Senior Living Facility overnight, claiming the lives of four victims, a ninety-two-year-old resident, and three minors. A source near the investigation reports that detectives have zeroed in on the killer’s MO but have not identified persons of interest or suspects.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Elizabeth parked two blocks off, watching her back as she made her way down the uneven sidewalk. It was a lower-class neighborhood, the kind of neighborhood that she’d often frequented throughout the years. It’s too early for the vast majority of these people to be up, she told herself, so stop worrying. The truth was, if her hands weren’t fully occupied, she wouldn’t be. As long as you can reach your blowpipe, and you can if you drop a bag, you’re fine. She shifted her load, quickening her pace across the overgrown yard, opening the rusty gate, and stepping down the metal staircase. With a glance over her shoulder, relieved that she hadn’t been followed, she unclipped her keyring from her belt-loop, smiling as she inserted three keys.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Then, she entered her six-digit code, waited for a series of beeps, and nudged the heavyweight door open, artificial sunlight bathing her face with unnatural warmth. Without grow lamps, a humidifier and a dehumidifier, and strict temperature control, the three-room space would be damp, dark, and lifeless. “Hello, my darlings,” she greeted, examining the growth of each plant as she strolled down one row and then the other. “I’m sorry I didn’t get by to check on you yesterday,” she told them. “I’m sure you’re all aware that it’s a long drive and quite difficult for me to slip away unnoticed.” She hated that part, the part where having sex with someone gave them the idea that they had the right to know her whereabouts. Happy thoughts, she reminded herself, closing her eyes, and inhaling the sweet fragrance of delicate blossoms and moist soil. “Alright, pretty babies,” she said, her voice lifting as she snapped on a pair of gloves, “I need you to listen up, because I have an important announcement, one that will affect three in our midst. That’s right, you heard me correctly, three of you will be chosen this week.” She smiled, pulling her shoulders back. “So, stand up straight,” she instructed, “because I need to see all the way down to where your stems meet the earth.” She touched individual plants, one, two, three of them, examining their veins and leaves. “Okay,” she announced, “I’ve made my selections, you can relax. For those who aren’t chosen, please remember that there’s always next week. And for those who are, I don’t want you to be afraid.” She stroked the trio with gentleness telling them that it might be better if they looked away. “Your sacrifice is appreciated,” she said, opening her pocket copy of the King James Version of the Bible, and reading. “Luke 9:24 For whosoever will save his life shall lose it: but whosoever will lose his life for my sake, the same shall save it.” She positioned her pruning shears, resting the first stem between sharp edges. “Now, look away,” she reminded softly. “It’ll just be a little pinch.”
Snip.
Snip.
Snip.
“And now,” she continued, bagging the clippings, “we should pause for a moment of silence, remembering our good friends and their ultimate sacrifice.”
The gas water heater fired up.
Someone above flushed a toilet.
A moth sizzled on a light bulb.
“Carry on,” Elizabeth said, stepping off, and into the alcove, the space she’d equipped to be a modern pharmaceutical lab. It had everything that a scientist could want, more than she’d had, back when she’d had her own house, a centrifuge, shakers, an autoclave, and a balance. Of course, in those days, days not so long ago, she’d had access to sophisticated devices on the job. As she set her clippings on the top shelf of her biological safety cabinet, she missed being an employee of the ME’s Office, missed dissecting dead bodies. Happy thoughts. Happy, happy, happy thoughts. And with a soft exhale, she made her way to the rear of the three-room basement quarters, checking the thermometer as she came through the door. Fifty-three degrees. Dark, cool, and moist, the third room offered a striking contrast to the larger ones. Lining two of the walls were five-gallon buckets with holes drilled at eight-inch intervals. Inside each was a unique mixture of organic matter, garden debris, coffee grounds, and sawdust, creating the ideal growing medium for poisonous mushrooms. She looked to the ceiling, assuring that the automatic misting devices were functioning properly. Hunting fungi used to be so much fun. Now, it was work, the challenge of domesticating something that was meant to be wild. Always about the pleasure, aren’t you? Always tempted to frolic in the Devil’s playground. Such a short memory you have. She shook her head, sneering. You’d be hunting your precious little fungi right now had you not screwed up. She thought back to the critical error that resulted in her being where she was. It would’ve been the perfect drug, a blend of four toxins, each complimenting the other, three with antidotes, but the fourth, a little brown mushroom, with none. It was to have been her deadliest poison, concocted especially for dispatch 353—Kenzie Bigham. And if you’d had your mind on God’s business instead of the detective, you’d have harvested the correct mushroom. Such an idiot, you picked its look-alike cousin. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the imaginary weight of the flagrum in her hand. Forgive me. I deserve to be punished. She held the instrument low, lifted it high, and cracked its invisible leather straps across her back. Then, she sucked in air, desperate to feel the pain, and cracked the straps again. You should lose everything that brings you pleasure. Everything…except for what you experience when you have sexual relations with your lesbian lover. Because surrendering to her, to a woman, is part of your penance. She bit her lower lip, her skin prickling with the involuntary tremors of arousal. And, for the mere consideration that you might do otherwise, you’ll surrender to her every night from this day forward, every night that she’ll have you, spreading your legs—allowing her to fill and devour you. She brushed her fingertips across her nipples. You’re vile and disgusting, that’s what you are. And with that, she lowered down to touch a tiny sprout. “Before you know it,” she panted, “you’re going to grow up to be a handsome brown mushroom.” She stroked another, thinking about Claire, how when they were both in the mood, their passion was like a fire feeding upon itself. “And you,” she added, swallowing, and squeezing her thighs together, “you’re going to grow up to have the prettiest little cap.” She
licked her lips, her body crying out for penance. “And together,” she continued, wishing it was nearer to the time that Claire got home from work, “with the help of a couple of friends in the next room, you’ll become my most lethal poison.”
*
Kenzie checked the kitchen clock, winding ribbons around the neck of a small mason jar. It’d been four hours, where, in God’s creation, was Abby? You know where she is. She’s with Piper. Probably snuck out to have sex with her. Since the little hoodlum had come along, she barely knew her own daughter. She dialed one number after the other. Why wasn’t anybody answering their phone? You shouldn’t have ordered her out to the car. She’s a reasonable kid, at least she used to be, you should’ve explained to her what was going on. She set the next jar in front of her, using a teaspoon to plant a tiny pine. Rylee will pick her up. You’ll see, they’ll be home in a little while. Her throat constricted. But what if something’s wrong? What if she can’t find her? What if we really did need to make a police report? What if she’s in danger somewhere and no one’s searching for her? She rubbed the back of her neck, looking up at the clock as she touched her phone. Rylee’s searching for her. Come on; you’re just working yourself up. In the past year, anxiety had become a serious problem. She inhaled a slow breath and let it go. You’re doing what you need to do, staying busy until they get home. She made a loop with ribbons in their colors, tangerine, and robin egg blue, bringing them around and under to create another loop. Then, she tugged, inspecting her bow. “One-hundred-twenty-one,” she said out loud, setting the practical wedding souvenir into a cardboard box. What in the world were you thinking, gifting live trees to three-hundred people? Rylee had warned her that it was too much. She got up, stepping onto the porch.