"You're somebody, Lisa," Clarissa Zimmerman quickly said. Lisa turned to look at her as she continued. "Never forget that. It's because of you, and the gift that your grandpa here gave your mother through his blood, and she then to you, that you're going to help save the world from that kind of thing from now on."
"We hope," Lisa added.
Jimmy nodded. "Yes. We hope. Speaking of hope," and with that he motioned for the other woman to come forward, "your grandma and I have someone we'd like you to meet." He waved at her as he spoke. "Lisa, this is Anne Willoughby, a longtime friend of our family. You've probably heard of her under her maiden name, Anne Bradshaw. Anne, meet our granddaughter, Lisa Stanridge."
Lisa looked at the older woman standing before her, her mouth partway open and unable to speak. It was some time before she could find the words to say. "Mrs. Willoughby ... I'm ... I'm honored."
"I'm just as honored as you, Lisa," Anne said. "We're birds of a feather, you know. Pebbles in the pond, at two different points in time, but each having its effect on people and events around them. That's what my late brother would have said."
The two said no more but merely looked at each other, their eyes saying what their mouths could not. Cy cleared his throat after a while, and then spoke to the others. "Uh, folks, maybe we'd better clear out, and let these two visit for a while."
"Sounds like a good idea," Nancy agreed.
"Let's go to the lounge just down the hall," Jimmy suggested. "I could use a good cup of coffee right about now."
"Hospital coffee is never good," Clarissa said, "but it sounds like a plan." She looked at him and he back, then she looked lovingly at her granddaughter, next at Anne, and then spoke to them both. "Just call the nurse's station when you two are done, and we'll come back."
"Thank you," Lisa said, still looking at Anne.
"Don't drink too much, Jimmy," Anne said with a smile, then looked at Nancy. "We'll call when we're done."
Nancy nodded, and she joined the group heading for the door. Cy was the last to leave, and he shot Lisa a smile before he left. Lisa returned it, the door closed, and then both she and Anne were left alone together to visit and share their unique experiences with each other: Anne and her ordeal with regards to Projekt Regenschirm four decades before, and Lisa and her Outbreak adventure in the here and now.
In a small country somewhere in that part of the world known as the Eastern Mediterranean, one that was fiercely independent and highly insular, and one that did not have and did not want any extradition treaty of any kind with the United States or any other democratically-minded country, Pandora chief executive officer B. D. Nye sat in a chair in one of the gate lounges of its main international airport along with his entourage, three persons of varying nationalities, and some half-dozen armed bodyguards. He watched through the wide windows of the lounge as the latest passenger airplane to have landed there taxi up to the gate where he was located. It was an older model Antonov An-24, a popular twin-engined Russian turboprop design that had been flying ever since the 1960s. The markings on it were in Cyrillic, although it was not a Russian-owned aircraft. It was in fact owned and operated by one of the state airlines of a neighboring country. It had been the last change of flights for one particular man who was now on board that plane, and who was about to disembark and meet with Nye. Only the occasional rapid glance of Nye's cobalt eyes betrayed his impatience as the Antonov came to a complete stop and shut down its engines. The final landing checks were performed once they had stopped moving, the front door to the Antonov was opened and a boarding ladder put in place, and then a pleasant female voice which was not speaking English bade the passengers farewell and hearty thanks for using their particular air service. Nye now stood up, and so did both his entourage and the three other individuals with him. They watched as the plane's passengers began to file out of the airplane and towards the airport, passing through a side door that connected directly with the gate lounge where they were standing. The man they were waiting for did not appear until fully two-thirds of the plane's passengers had disembarked before him. When it was his turn to walk through the door, he was wearing a rumpled dark suit with red tie and contrasting shirt, and he was carrying an oversized attaché case.
Nye immediately walked up to the man and held out his hand. "Piter," he said, in a tone that was almost warm and friendly. "You made it."
Piter de Voormand took Nye's offered hand and shook it firmly. "I almost didn't," he said. "Interpol had a warrant out for my arrest on behalf of the fed, and I had to jump flights at the last minute to avoid them. That's how I ended up on that old rattletrap," he finished, thumbing out the window at the Antonov. He then gave Nye a knowing smile. "It never ceases to amaze me what a big wad of cash presented to the right person at the right time and place can buy you."
"As I found out long ago," Nye said, cracking the smallest of smiles at de Voormand's words. The two let go, turned, and walked back to where Nye's entourage and his three guests were waiting for them.
"Oh, I have something for you and Pandora," de Voormand said. He held up his oversized attaché case a bit so Nye would take notice of it, then lowered it again. "Samples of Lisa's Stanridge's blood."
"How ever did you get them?" Nye asked, and he could not hide the amazement in his voice.
"It wasn't easy," de Voormand admitted, as they finished their walk to the others. They stopped within the ring of bodyguards, and stood beside Nye's three guests as the Dutchman continued. "The fed had already moved in and foiled our efforts in getting access to the other Alpenfestung raid survivors and their descendants. However, one of my people checking out the hospital where they were keeping Ms. Stanridge discovered that one of the CDC people assigned to her case had a not-so-small gambling problem. After that, things went as you might expect and I was able to obtain these samples for you."
"And the CDC staffer?"
de Voormand looked at his watch, then back at Nye. "He died in a fatal road accident about fourteen hours ago. He happened to be passing through an intersection when a tractor-trailer rig with bad brakes ran the red light on its side and clobbered the poor fellow in his dinky little rice rocket." de Voormand grinned. "I'm betting they're still scraping what's left of him and his car off the front of that truck."
"And there's no way it can be traced to us?"
"Absolutely none, sir. We took advantage of a local trucker known to us who had a bad habit of skipping inspections and not keeping his rig in top condition. He was already in trouble with the authorities about that before this happened. Neither he nor they will ever detect the extra encouragement one of our people gave to his already failing brakes while he was sleeping, and he'll get manslaughter at the least once they try him."
Nye nodded. "Nice and neat. I like that. Good work, Piter."
de Voormand bowed his head in respect, then brought it back up again. "Thank you, sir."
"And what about Carlton Dahl?"
The Dutchman shook his head. "No go there, sir. General Ryan arrested him as soon as that business with the ubermensch went south. I hear the fed is going to throw the book at him, since he's the most senior Pandora executive they've been able to grab."
Nye sighed. "A necessary sacrifice, and he knew what he was going into when I sent him. We'll see to it that his family is well cared for until he gets out."
de Voormand nodded. "I wasn't able to see him myself, you understand, but I've been told from our contacts that he's taking the whole thing rather well, all things considered."
"Of course," Nye said. He now waved to the three men. "I'm glad you were able to secure those blood samples, Piter. That way our efforts can continue, and I've been having the most interesting discussion about our work with these three gentlemen." He nodded to each in turn, waving a hand in their direction as he did so, and they nodded back as he continued talking. "Piter, this is Colonel Dimitri Nevitch of the Soviet KGB. This is Colonel Sung Nook Tai of the People's Liberation Army of China, and this gentleman
here with the turban is His Excellency Mohammed al-Ashid, representing the Ayatollah's government in Iran. All three of their countries have expressed considerable interest in what we might have to offer them with regards to our refined untotenvirus and ubermensch products and development programs, and what you have just brought with you is only going to sweeten our impending discussions even more." He again allowed himself a smile. "His Excellency al-Ashid is also authorized to negotiate on behalf of certain, ahh, third party organizations who would be willing to put our products to immediate use in the field, provided we can come to terms and such."
"Of course," de Voormand said smoothly. He smiled at the three men and again dipped his head in a slight bow, and they likewise did so in kind.
"Well, let's not keep them waiting, shall we?" Nye said. He waved toward the front of the building. "Our rides await. Piter, you're with me. Gentlemen, if you will take the second limo, then I will treat all of us out to eat at a most excellent and discreet local restaurant, and we can proceed from there."
With that, the entire group turned almost as one and left the gate lobby.
Epilogue
The time came soon enough when Lisa Stanridge underwent her total knee replacement surgery. This was the only one of her major injuries left to treat, for her broken arm and ribs were already well on the mend. It was a long and delicate operation, but it had already been done time and again with previous patients since the technique had first been successfully tried in 1974. The prognosis for Lisa was very promising, according to both her attending physician Dr. Phillps and knee surgery specialist Dr. Watkins. She remembered being wheeled into the operating room, conversing with the nurses and other hospital staffers who were to assist Dr. Watkins with the operation, even as the anesthesiologist was getting ready to put her under. A filter and feeder mask was put over her face, she indicated that she was all right when asked, and the next thing she knew she was coming back to consciousness in an outpatient room with her mother and Cy by her bedside, and finding out that the clock had rolled over into the next day while she was under and getting her surgery. As with everything she had undergone up until now she rolled with it, and almost immediately began to plan for and make arrangements for the day when she would be able to begin her physical therapy, and someday walk again.
A memorial service was held in Kramerville at the Easterbrook Cemetery just outside of town approximately a week-and-a-half after Lisa's knee surgery, in order to pay tribute to all of the victims of the Metro City Outbreak. A special salute was also scheduled as part of the event in order to honor the handful of Outbreak survivors who somehow escaped that calamity. Only forty-two men, women, and children all told were known to have escaped infection and survived the Outbreak itself. Of these, all but three came from the five-mile zone surrounding the city proper, and they had been discovered by General Ryan's forces after they had moved in to clean out the area of all infected. Lisa's mother Nancy had been one of these. Only three had come from inside Metro City itself: Raul Esteban, Cy Rappalo, and Lisa Stanridge. This memorial service was Lisa's first public appearance after her dramatic rescue and subsequent hospitalization for her many injuries. She came in a wheelchair with her immobilized left leg propped up, escorted by federal agents as bodyguards, but nevertheless she came. She had been told that the late Mercy Parks was going to be honored with a Presidential citation at the service for her part in both finding and saving Lisa, whose blood had proven to be the key in saving the world from the threat from Pandora's refined untotenvirus strain. "Mercy would have done the same for me, had I been the one to die and not she," Lisa had said to Dr. Phillips when he tried to dissuade her from going, and that was that. She was now famous because of what Mercy had discovered and the federal government had subsequently revealed about her, so it was no wonder that an eager crowd of reporters was ready to mob Lisa as soon as the van bringing her to the service pulled up, and the side door was opened so that her wheelchair could be lowered on a powered lift. Fortunately, her new protectors kept all members of the press at bay, and they were not allowed to even get close to her. For her part Lisa waved and smiled as the press took its pictures from an enforced distance, but that was it. She politely ignored all of their shouted questions, paid her respects at the service, was invited to and agreed to say a few words on Mercy's behalf citing her courage and determination in trying to right the great wrong that Pandora's experiments had brought down on Metro City, and then she was escorted back to the van so she could be taken away to spend the rest of the day visiting with family and friends at an undisclosed location within the holdings of the Cherokee Nation, where she had been staying for her recovery. She left dealing with the press for a later time and place, when she would better feel up to that particular challenge.
It was the Cherokee, both her people and her late father's, who did the most for her aside from her medical caregivers during her subsequent recovery. For their part they had insisted on her staying with them, almost begging at one point, for she was now one of the heroes of the Cherokee Nation and they held her in great honor and respect. She had talked it over with Cy, her mother, and both sets of her grandparents, and in the end had agreed to stay with the Cherokee as they had requested. It worked out quite well, for they put both her and her mother up in the best hotel suite in the best casino that they had, and they made sure she had everything she needed to make her recovery as comfortable and as speedy as possible. They even paid her medical bills, and provided volunteers to assist her caregivers with the physical therapy she had to undergo in order to be able to walk again with her artificial knee, and for that she was genuinely grateful. The press never bothered her during her time with them, because the Cherokee wouldn't let them. Cy Rappalo was as frequent a visitor as his military duties permitted, and he made Lisa's recovery time even more enjoyable than it already was. In addition, between post-operation therapy, various other related treatments, and long periods of time with Cy, she found the opportunity to visit with and have several long discussions with Running Elk, the senior Cherokee medicine man in the area where she was staying.
During one such discussion, as they sat on an upper balcony of the casino while its customers came and went below them, many of them completely ignorant of the fact that the famed Lisa Stanridge was a resident guest there, Running Elk had again brought up the subject of Lisa's spirit vision. "It is most unusual," he ruminated, leaning on his medicine stick despite the fact that he was sitting down. "It is unheard of. No tales tell of Kalona Ayeliski giving up on her chosen prey, all the way back to the old times. Yours is the first."
"She didn't give up, honored one," Lisa said. "The Great Spirit wouldn't let her have mine. She told me that herself." She looked away and across the nearby highway to the tall forest on the other side. "I think that's why she took Mercy's soul instead. She wasn't going to be allowed to take mine, so she decided to claim that of one of the other three who were with me. She struck close, since she couldn't strike home. Getting the rest of the souls of those soldiers was just icing on the cake, and maybe helped make up on her end for the fact that she was denied mine."
The aged medicine man nodded thoughtfully. "And you say she told you that Unhlahnauhi had decreed that great things were in store for you, and that was why you were being spared?"
"So long as I kept my feet on the right path, whatever that is," Lisa replied, "only I haven't a clue. The Raven Mocker also said that she would be there waiting for me if I didn't follow that path, whatever it is." She looked at Running Elk. "What do you think, honored one?"
The medicine man said nothing in reply at first. He continued to look thoughtful, and he would occasionally tap the floor of the balcony with his medicine stick as he pondered the question. Lisa waited patiently, knowing better to disturb him until he was ready to speak. Eventually he drew in a deep breath, let it out again, then turned to Lisa and spoke. "Child, I do not know what Unhlahnauhi has in mind for the future path that your life must now follow. Only
you can know that. There will be signs, and you mush watch for them. I cannot tell you what they are, or what they will be, for I do not know them either. They will be unique to you. Some may have already happened. Some may have yet to happen. Rest assured that there will be enough of them for you to know what is his desire for you, once you see them and realize them for what they are. Once you know what it is, then do it. Do it with all of your heart, your mind, and your soul, and that way Kalona Ayeliski need never visit you again."
The balcony fell silent. Running Elk's face was now serene, while Lisa's was the thoughtful one. She started to say something, stopped, started again, and stopped herself again. All the while the aged medicine man watched her, saying nothing. Lisa finally looked at him and spoke. "I'll do my best, honored one, even though I don't know what I'm doing."
Running Elk smiled kindly. "That is the way it always is, child. Sometimes I think we were meant to stumble towards the light, instead of having a clear beacon by which to see."
Lisa gave a gentle laugh. "That I cannot dispute, sir."
The two fell silent again, saying nothing as they quietly watched the activity in the casino courtyard below.
There was one thing that Lisa was never going to be able to do again, and that was to race stock cars professionally. That previously chosen life path was now permanently closed to her. The loss of her left eye mandated it, given the strict vision requirements NASCAR had in place both for its regular professional drivers and the semi-pro racers on the Sportsman Circuit, to which Lisa had formerly belonged. Nevertheless, she had earned a special place in the history of NASCAR despite the one and only year she had been part of the Sportsman Circuit, and there was also the added celebrity status bequeathed on her by both the Metro City Outbreak and her unusual connection to it. While Lisa would never race stock cars again, she was delighted when a special display about her, her brief racing career, and why it came to its sudden end was installed in the industry's main racing museum. There was also the satisfaction, however smaller in stature, of her still being able to re-earn her driver's license once her knee had healed sufficiently for her to walk on her own to take the test, albeit with a cane and a stiff leg brace. The vision requirements for earning her state driver's license were not as stringent as those for NASCAR racing, and she was by no means the first one-eyed person in her state to successfully past the test and get her license. Her final score was lower than she would have liked because of that. She still passed in spite of that, and Lisa proudly sat still with a smile on her face at the Kramerville DMV office while one of its clerks took her picture for her new driver's license. Cy had accompanied her to the DMV, and after that he treated her out to lunch. Both had a good meal and a good time together. "I'll bet this is one of those signs your medicine chief told you about in those long talks you two had," Cy said as they finished their meal.
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