“He also loves cookies,” Sister Ezekiel continued, “especially chocolate chip cookies. When someone offers him a cookie, his mouth breaks into a huge smile. His head bobs up and down in this—I don’t know, frenzy—and everyone who sees him has to laugh. He’s the gentlest creature you’d ever want to meet.”
“Yes, well, he may appear that way to you, Sister. But if he’s a pseudo like I think he is, he’s very dangerous.”
Sister Ezekiel studied Cookie Monster, asleep on the gurney. She’d heard, of course, that some people chose to tinker with their genes to make themselves different: usually more athletic or prettier. Cookie Monster, though not ugly, had an almost animal quality about him, rather like a bear or a gorilla. And the Mars Project astronauts were supposedly hiding in the area.
Colonel Truman stepped to the doorway of the infirmary and looked out over the lobby for a moment. Then he turned back to Sister Ezekiel and said, “So you don’t remember when he first started coming here?”
Sister Ezekiel shook her head. “Since April, maybe March.”
“Does he live here at the shelter?”
“No. He lives somewhere out there,” Sister Ezekiel waved her hand to indicate the area to the east, “off in the woods with most of the other men who come here.”
“And he’s never caused you any trouble?”
“Cookie Monster?” Sister Ezekiel said. “I don’t think you could find a more likable man. He looks after a lot of men here, especially poor Rock Man.”
“Who’s Rock Man?”
“Just a deaf-mute who likes to collect unusual rocks. He’s harmless too.”
“Is he here now?”
“I haven’t seen him.”
“And what about you, Doctor?” Colonel Truman turned to Dr. Mary. “How long have you been here?”
“About eight weeks.”
“Where were you before that?”
“Los Angeles.”
Colonel Truman pointed to his temple. “I see you’re wearing one of those fancy computer interfaces.”
Dr. Mary reached up and touched the device. She’d explained to Sister Ezekiel that it allowed her instantaneous access to vast medical databases, which was essential when treating people who came from all over, with a wide variety of ailments. It connected to a port in her temple that transmitted signals to and from the brain—a wireless hands-free computer.
“That seems like an expensive piece of equipment for someone working in a setting like this.”
Dr. Mary took a half step forward. “Is there a question in that statement, Colonel?”
“I’m wondering why you would choose to work in these circumstances. Surely you could earn a great deal more working elsewhere?”
“No question about it, Colonel. Just as a man of your intellect and discipline and—dare I say—good looks could earn a great deal more in the private sector. Why would you choose to stay in the Army all these years?”
“Touché, Doctor.” Colonel Truman bowed his head and Dr. Mary returned the gesture.
Surveying the infirmary, Colonel Truman said, “I’ll post a guard here at the door. Just to be on the safe side.”
“A guard will only make Cookie Monster nervous,” Dr. Mary said.
“I’m afraid I must insist.”
Dr. Mary looked at Sister Ezekiel.
Sister Ezekiel said, “Very well. I’ll call Ahmad. I was hoping to wait until morning but it looks like we’ll need him here sooner. Colonel?” Sister Ezekiel held out her arm toward the door. “Shall we return to my office and let the good doctor work in peace?”
“Fine,” Colonel Truman answered. After assigning a guard to the infirmary, he instructed Major Sims to bring in the scanner. And as the soldiers began moving large metal parts into the lobby, their boots leaving muddy streaks on the floor, he said, “We need everybody’s profile in the DS-9000’s database so we can run a comparison check. Anybody coming in or out of the shelter will have to step through the arch of the machine.”
“And how long will this machine be in place?”
“Hopefully not long, Sister.” He glanced out at the lobby and yelled, “Hey, watch that!”
A large metal object crashed to the tile floor, causing everyone in the room to jump. Tic, a nervous skinny man, ran for the door, and two soldiers simultaneously hit him in the chest with their stun clubs. As Tic fell to the floor, Sister Ezekiel hurried toward him. The poor man groaned softly, then pulled himself into a fetal position, writhing in agony.
“Hold it,” the colonel shouted. “Back off, people. Medic!” He stepped forward and bent to take a long look at Tic, who was twitching, holding onto his stomach and moaning. As the medic approached, the colonel straightened.
“Henry,” Sister Ezekiel said, “fetch the doctor. Hurry!”
While the medic opened her kit, Sister Ezekiel knelt before Tic, took his hand and began to pray. Henry started for the infirmary but was stopped short by a long, drawn-out yell. Everyone in the lobby turned toward the sound.
Through the doorway of the infirmary Cookie Monster charged—a great naked beast—carrying the guard’s Las-rifle by the barrel and dragging the guard, who clung to one of Cookie Monster’s tree-trunk legs. The soldiers in the lobby aimed their weapons at the gentle giant.
“Don’t…hurt him.” Dr. Mary panted as she huffed out of the infirmary behind them, moving surprisingly quickly for a woman of her bulk.
“No!” Cookie Monster yelled, his booming voice echoing throughout the shelter. He stopped in the center of the room, hands held high, blood trickling from his left arm where the saline bag had been attached.
“Hold your fire,” Colonel Truman commanded.
Dr. Mary caught up with Cookie Monster and managed to grab hold of his arm, dragging it down to her level so she could retrieve the Las-rifle. He let her grab the weapon and she then helped the guard to his feet, handing him back his Las-rifle as the other soldiers began to close in on them.
Dr. Mary stepped in front of Cookie Monster, arms held wide, facing the soldiers. “Just woke up a bit confused,” she said calmly.
“Step away from him, Doctor,” Colonel Truman ordered as he unholstered his Las-pistol.
Sister Ezekiel rose to her feet, heart pounding in her chest, her mouth suddenly dry. Every instinct told her to run. Instead, she made her way toward Cookie Monster and Dr. Mary, cleared her throat and said, “He’s not going to harm anyone.”
“Stay back, Sister,” Colonel Truman said. “He’s dangerous.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Dr. Mary said. As Sister Ezekiel reached her side, Dr. Mary stepped over to Colonel Truman, her hand extended toward the colonel’s weapon. “Put that down.”
Sister Ezekiel held her breath. The colonel stared at Dr. Mary, his pistol now aimed squarely at her ample chest. Dear Lord, Sister Ezekiel prayed, don’t let him shoot that brave woman.
“He’s gentle as a lamb,” Dr. Mary said.
After a moment’s hesitation, Colonel Truman re-holstered his pistol, though his soldiers kept their weapons trained on Cookie Monster.
Dr. Mary turned back to Cookie Monster. She grabbed his hand and spoke calmly: “Cookie Monster. You need to get back into bed.”
“Bed?”
“You need to finish your medical treatment.”
Cookie Monster looked around the room, studying every face, as if checking for a friend. A few soldiers smirked at his nakedness but most seemed tense, their faces pinched, their eyes narrow.
Sister Ezekiel said, “Are you looking for Rock Man?”
Cookie Monster’s massive head swung in her direction. “Rock Man?”
“He’s not here,” she replied. “Please. Get back into bed.”
Doug said, “I’ll get you some cookies.”
Dr. Mary pulled Cookie Monster by the hand. “Come on.”
Sister Ezekiel said, “He got nervous and tried to run. Two soldiers hit him with their stun clubs.”
Dr. Mary addressed the medic. “What are you doing for him?”
“There’s not much you can do for a stun club hit, ma’am,” the medic said.
“What about balancing his electrolytes?”
“Yes, ma’am, I was just about to hook up a saline bag.”
“Good.” Dr. Mary retreated to her infirmary.
Colonel Truman looked at Sister Ezekiel. “I’m going to have to arrest Cookie Monster, you know.”
“He’s like a child. He didn’t mean to hurt your soldier.”
“It doesn’t matter. He can’t go around attacking my men. He’s a menace.” Colonel Truman turned to his remaining soldiers. “I want the DS-9000 set up by the entrance. Once we have it ready, Sister, every man here is going to have to be run through it.”
“I ain’t goin’ through no scanner,” Doug said.
The colonel turned to Doug. “You hiding something?”
Sister Ezekiel answered. “Half the men here are hiding something. That’s why they’re here. We ask no questions.”
“We won’t be arresting people for minor offenses, Sister. We’re not looking for drugs or other illegal items. We just want Devereaux.”
“And you’ll trample on society’s outcasts to find him.”
“I’m just doing my job, Sister.” Colonel Truman pressed a button on his lapel and spoke into his headset: “Everything’s secure at the shelter, sir.” He listened for a few seconds, then said, “We’re setting it up now. We should have a good idea in a few hours.” More listening, then, “We’ll see you shortly.”
Turning to Sister Ezekiel, the colonel said, “The Attorney General is on his way.”
Chapter Five
The windmills of Wisconsin lined the freeway, their long white blades spinning lazily in the night, their energy supplementing the solar and nuclear power that kept the City of Madison and its suburbs running. Up ahead, looming out of the darkness, Jeremiah saw the city’s orange lights. Madison’s suburbs mostly looked dark, their residents hunkered in their fortresses, Bibles open, guns loaded, fearful of the criminals and mad liberals infesting the city. Driving into the city center past the well-lit perimeter road that served as a barrier between the Godless and the saved, Jeremiah took only a few minutes to reach the Four-Key Security Hotel overlooking Lake Mendota. After his vehicle was scanned, he drove into the secure underground parking lot.
“Is it safe to do this with someone behind us?” Lendra asked.
“Relax,” he answered. “This is the safest hotel chain in the country. And I’ll be right next door. Plus, I’ll put extra alarms on your entry points—door and windows—that will sound in my room. You’ll be fine.”
“Couldn’t we stay in the same room?” Lendra whined.
Jeremiah sighed as he entered the lobby. Two heavily armed security guards scanned them for weapons. The desk clerk, a short brunette with a tight shimmer cloth shirt that emphasized her muscular shoulders, wore a stun club at her side. She smiled at them politely and said, “Welcome to Four-Key Security.”
Lendra put a hand on Jeremiah’s arm, then stepped in front of him and said to the clerk, “A double room, please.” To Jeremiah she said, “I’ll handle this. Look, they have a restaurant on the roof. Why don’t you get us a table? I want to clean up a little. Order me a vodka stinger, okay?”
Jeremiah smiled. Just like Julianna—a take-charge woman. He waited for Lendra to complete the check-in process, then rode up in the elevator with her to their floor, where he handed his bag to the security guard taking Lendra to their room. He continued up to the restaurant and examined the dozen or so diners eating at this late hour even though he knew none could be his pursuer. No way the man—Jeremiah assumed it was a man—could have caught up to them yet. And even if the man had lucked onto them somehow, he wouldn’t dare try anything here. The wait staff all moved with the fluidity of fighters, stun clubs hanging from their belts.
Jeremiah sat and ordered a water. Marschenko, he realized, might be drinking nutri-water at this very moment. A good man. Eventually he’d tell Jeremiah what he knew. Jeremiah tried not to think about holding Marschenko captive, concentrating on his surroundings instead. But after twenty minutes, he wondered what was keeping Lendra. She should have been here by now.
A familiar tune he couldn’t quite identify played softly in the background. He closed his eyes for a moment and decided to give Lendra a few more minutes before ordering. Finally she breezed into the restaurant wearing a deeply cut red silk dress. She flashed Jeremiah a grin as she crossed to him, ignoring the stares of the diners at the other tables. Why wasn’t he surprised at her outfit?
Jeremiah stood and said, “They told me we can sit out on the deck if you like, under the stars.”
“Please.” She followed him outside, looked down at Lake Mendota below them, then turned to take in the Capitol, bathed in soft orange lighting that Jeremiah knew came from biochemical elements requiring less energy than LED lights. The waiter, a crewcut blond about Lendra’s age with bright blue eyes and a skintight shirt that showed off his developed torso, brought her drink as well as a fresh glass of water for Jeremiah, then stood to the side, eyeing Lendra while she studied the scrolling menu on the pop-up screen, pictures of each dish appearing every few seconds. Jeremiah had seen them all before. While he waited, he listened to the soft strings and pleasant riffs on the familiar tune. What was that song? And then he had it: “On Wisconsin.” A fight song turned into a symphonic waltz, slowed down and performed on cello and violin.
“Artichoke-Mint Delight, please,” Lendra said to the waiter. “And a Winnipeg Chablis.”
“Hawaiian Chicken,” Jeremiah added, pointing to his water.
The waiter nodded, withdrawing only after another glance at Lendra.
“No wine?” Lendra asked, taking a long drink and licking her lips.
“I like to stay alert,” Jeremiah answered.
“Poor man. All dressed up and no one to fight. Nothing happened on the way here. Maybe the roads aren’t as dangerous as you said.”
“We were on tollways through all the big cities,” Jeremiah answered. “But I disabled a couple trucks about a hundred miles outside Cleveland. Still you’re right. It’s been pretty quiet.”
“You disabled two trucks?”
“Waiting off the highway with charged weapons, looking for vulnerable targets. I zapped their electrical systems with a photon pulse as we passed. No big deal.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“You were nervous enough. And they weren’t a threat.”
“So are we safe here?”
Jeremiah nodded. “Did you notice that perimeter road around the city center?”
“That really bright one?”
Jeremiah nodded. “That’s the city’s version of a security fence. Every vehicle crossing the road is scanned—every person too. If I’d left our scatterer on, we’d have been stopped within a block.”
“What about your weapons?”
“I locked them in a separate unit in the back of the van. Combination scatterer and dampening field. Reflects an echo of solid metal. No weapons inside this hotel. We’ll be fine here.”
Lendra raised an eyebrow, then turned to look out at the Capitol. “Did you know that this city is actually eco-positive, removing more pollutants than it produces?”
Jeremiah shrugged. “I doubt that’s true. Our governments have an annoying tendency to lie to us.”
“I take it you’re not political,” Lendra said.
Jeremiah shook his head. “There are thi
ngs I worry about, like this trend to segregate along religious beliefs. A terrible idea. Makes people less tolerant. But mostly I stay away from it. Politicians drive me crazy.”
“Even President Hope?” Lendra asked. She took a long swallow as she stared into Jeremiah’s eyes. He noticed that her pupils were dilated, her expression a little too slack.
He said, “What did you take?”
“Take?” Lendra frowned, then nodded. “Oh. Neo-dopamine. I have a prescription for it.”
“That’s a relaxant, isn’t it?”
Lendra ran her finger around the rim of her glass. “Sort of. More complex than Aquitine. Does a lot more than just relax muscles.”
“Should you be drinking?”
“I feel fine.” She giggled. “Although I have the strangest feeling that we’re being watched.”
“We are,” Jeremiah said. “That’s the price you pay for staying in a Four-Key Security Hotel.”
“Even in our room?”
“Yes.”
The waiter returned with their meals and for a time they ate quietly. The food, as Jeremiah expected, was only adequate. Lendra’s meal looked nothing like the picture. But then one didn’t stay at a Four-Key Security Hotel for the food. Lendra took only a dozen bites, instead filling up on the rolls and the Winnipeg Chablis. Finally she pushed her plate away.
“So,” Lendra said after swallowing the last of her wine and holding up her empty glass for the waiter, who stood in the shadow of the doorway, “tell me about Catherine.”
As the waiter departed, Jeremiah, his appetite now gone, set his napkin atop the uneaten portion of his meal. Lendra stared at him, her chin in her hands, elbows on the table. All patience. Jeremiah waited for the waiter to return. The man approached quietly, his movements controlled, slipping around chairs and tables to hand Lendra a new wineglass, then picked up their plates and cast another lingering glance at Lendra.
“What’s to tell?” Jeremiah finally said after the waiter disappeared. “She killed herself.”
The Susquehanna Virus Box Set Page 6