The Susquehanna Virus Box Set

by Steve McEllistrem

  But it was only Dr. Poole. She looked at them and said, “Climb inside.”

  Curtik headed for the car door, while Zora stepped around to the other side. At that moment the bar exploded, bricks and glass flying in all directions. The concussive force knocked Curtik off his feet, slamming him into the wall behind him. Dazed, he lay there for a moment trying to assess whether he’d been hurt. His head felt like it had been struck with a sledgehammer. A burning pain knifed into the back of his neck. But when he tested his arms and legs, he realized he was okay and scrambled to his feet. He noted the CINTEP driver opening his door and stepping out of the car, a Las-pistol in his hand, while Dr. Poole sat dazed in the back seat. Across the street, a massive fireball rose where the building had once stood, flames reaching at least a hundred feet into the night sky. No doubt a gas line had ruptured. Rubble and body parts lay strewn about the street. For a few seconds Curtik heard nothing but a continuous roar in his ears. Then his implant adjusted for the concussive shock.

  “Cool!” he exclaimed. “I love explosions. Did you see that, Zora? Zora?” He vaulted over the car, fear numbing his body.

  Zora lay sprawled next to the car, her head twisted at an awkward angle, a small pool of blood growing beneath her neck. Curtik’s gut tightened. His mouth went dry. He knelt beside her and checked for a pulse. Nothing.

  “Doctor!” he yelled.

  Dr. Poole came around the car, one hand braced against it to steady herself, the other holding a medical bag.

  “It’s Zora,” he said. “I think she’s dead.”

  “CPR,” Dr. Poole commanded as she knelt on the other side of Zora and opened her bag. The CINTEP driver stood guard in the street, Las-pistol out, looking in both directions.

  Curtik began chest compressions, pushing down repeatedly on Zora’s sternum while Dr. Poole checked her med-scanner. She put the portable auto-breather in Zora’s mouth and lifted Zora’s head so she could apply a QuikHeal bandage to the wound. Then she indicated that Curtik should move aside and slapped a hypo-pad onto Zora’s chest. She said, “I’ve got an ambulance coming.”

  “Is she gonna be okay?” Curtik asked.

  “I don’t know. Keep going.”

  Curtik continued chest compressions, while Dr. Poole checked her med-scanner and prepared another hypo-pad. Live, you bitch. I won’t have you dying on me. What would I tell Jeremiah?

  A rush of hot air swirled around them as the whoosh of a jet-copter sounded in Curtik’s ears. Within a minute, the machine had landed in the middle of the street. Two paramedics jumped out and hurried over with a stretcher. As they loaded Zora onto it, Dr. Poole said, “What about Okoye? Any chance he got out?”

  Curtik looked over at the fireball across the street. For the first time he noticed the intense heat. And he also realized that the explosion must have occurred because he and Zora pushed the action. He was responsible for Okoye’s death—for all the innocent lives lost. “I’m sorry.”

  “Get in the jet-copter,” Dr. Poole said as the paramedics loaded Zora. She put a hand on his back and directed him to the open doorway, helping him up and in. As soon as she climbed in after him the jet-copter accelerated away, the CINTEP driver staying behind, holstering his Las-pistol as emergency vehicles approached.

  Chapter 7

  Bundled in his jacket, sitting on his porch swing, Jeremiah Jones looked out over the trees at the Blue Ridge Mountains. Although the calendar said June, it felt like March and the air still carried a faintly burnt odor. He’d come outside to avoid the news, which Hannah Swenson, the live-in CINTEP security officer, had decided he needed to see. He could hear her stomping around like an angry daughter while the latest developments—reports of the Susquehanna Virus, the transfer of a rat’s mind from Mars and the chaos of a world trapped temporarily in global winter—emanated from the TV. Of course, he knew why she insisted on blaring the news every day, but so far, at least, she hadn’t pressured him into returning to CINTEP.

  He tried not to listen. Every story served as a reminder of his failings, no matter how many times Dr. Poole told him the world’s problems weren’t his fault. He knew he shouldn’t blame himself. He was no Walt Devereaux. How could he, one man, have stopped the carnage wrought by his son, Curtik, and the rest of Eli’s cadets? That kind of arrogant thinking bordered on megalomania. Yet he still felt like a failure.

  Over the sound of the television he heard the crunch of tires on the gravel drive. Gritting his teeth and steeling himself for the pain of movement, he got to his feet and leaned against the porch railing, his right hand resting inches away from his holstered Las-pistol.

  Behind him the TV quieted, the door opened and Hannah stepped out onto the porch. She stood on the other side of the stairs, a tall Nordic blond with short hair, broad shoulders and muscular legs. She wore a beige interface on her left temple, a brown jacket over green pants—her standard uniform—and a Las-pistol and scanner on her belt. Guard or jailer: Jeremiah didn’t know how to classify her. All he knew was that after two months, she still hadn’t warmed to him. She frowned at Jeremiah. “You should go inside. Could be trouble.”

  Jeremiah laughed. “It’s trouble, all right—though not the kind you’re thinking of. It’s probably Lendra. Maybe with Curtik.”

  “You don’t know that.” Hannah put her hand on her Las-pistol.

  “It’s a limo,” Jeremiah said. “Right?” Hannah’s eyelids rose slightly, confirming his deduction. She would have seen the vehicle on the security vid via her interface. Hell, she’d probably been in contact with Lendra several times today. “And it’s moving at the wrong pace for an enemy. Not fast enough to be an attack. Not slow enough to be reconnaissance or stealth.”

  A few seconds later, a black limousine emerged from the trees.

  “Wasted talent,” Hannah muttered, shaking her head as the limo pulled to a stop beside the house. The back door opened and Curtik sprang out.

  “Hey, Pappy.” Curtik looked up at Jeremiah and gave him a mock salute. “You don’t look like a ghost to me. I can’t see through you at all.”

  Jeremiah’s chest tightened as he stared down at his son. Curtik—born Joshua Jones—stood nearly as tall as Jeremiah, though he was slimmer. Dark of hair and skin, with delicate features that had been genetically altered so that he no longer looked like his father, Curtik bore only the slightest resemblance to his mother Catherine. He sported the same mocking grin he always wore around Jeremiah: either as a defense mechanism or because he truly didn’t like his father.

  “Curtik.” Jeremiah nodded to his son. “How are you?”

  “Exceptionally skull bangish today,” Curtik said, moving to some beat Jeremiah couldn’t hear—music from his implant.

  “You’re a long way from DC,” Jeremiah said. “You coming back home?”

  Curtik scoffed, then looked at the limo as Lendra stepped from the car, pulling out a car seat carrying her daughter, Sophie. The guard/driver stayed behind the wheel.

  “I thought I told you not to bring that child here,” Jeremiah said.

  “She’s your daughter,” Lendra said. “I thought you should meet her.”

  “She’s a product of your treachery—yours and Eli’s. I trusted you. And—”

  “Eli ordered me to impregnate myself with your child.” Lendra held the car seat up so he could see the baby. “I didn’t want her any more than you did—at first. But now that she’s here—”

  “You’ll do to her what was done to Curtik.”

  Curtik interjected, “I’m happy with what they did to me, old man.”

  Jeremiah held up a hand, wincing at the movement. His shoulder felt like it had been stabbed with a thousand needles. “Kidnapping you from your mother and altering your genetic structure?”

  Curtik’s head bobbed up and down. “Hey, animal DNA and nanobots. The way of the future. I’m gonna be the greatest ghost ever.”
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  He giggled, then winked at Hannah, who snorted, glaring at Curtik and shaking her head almost imperceptibly. Jeremiah knew Hannah blamed Curtik for this assignment. She probably thought she could return to CINTEP if only Curtik stayed behind. Jeremiah didn’t bother to disabuse her of that belief.

  “It’s too bad you can’t remember your childhood,” Jeremiah said.”

  “I remember parts—getting an ice cream at the water park with Mom. And the big guy who took me away. Mouthy Man Marschenko. I kind of recall him. I especially remember wasting him. Good times. But I don’t remember you at all.”

  Guilt flooded Jeremiah. And anger. He shivered. “How come you never mentioned that?”

  “Why would I tell you?”

  “Because I’m your father?”

  “Operational security, old man. You never know when you might need an edge.”

  Jeremiah shook his head. “It’s sad that you think you need to get an edge over me.” He turned to Lendra. “You see why I don’t want to have anything to do with your daughter? Look what Eli did to my boy.”

  “Love you too, Daddio,” Curtik said.

  Jeremiah closed his eyes for a moment, collecting himself. He hadn’t meant to offend Curtik. When he opened them, he saw that Lendra had stepped to the foot of the stairs. Jeremiah could clearly see the baby’s head now, her dark hair sticking out from beneath her cap and her hazel eyes: exactly like his. The baby looked up at him, her tiny face scrunched up in a frown. She made little noises of discomfort. Jeremiah had no idea what kind of enhancements she’d been given but he was pretty certain she’d received some. She would become a target one day too.

  “I’m sorry, Curtik,” Jeremiah said. “How’s the pain?”

  To save his son’s life—and Zora’s—Jeremiah had provided a transfusion of his blood—blood infected with the Susquehanna Virus that nevertheless had amazing healing powers. In Jeremiah’s case, it continued to produce antibodies that attacked and repaired his joints many times a day. Now the two children suffered, to a lesser degree, the same kind of joint pain he did.

  “Drugs, man,” Curtik said, bopping his head up and down, side to side, his breath condensing in the chill air. “You gotta love ’em. Too bad they don’t work for you.” He sounded pleased at that, which again made Jeremiah angry. He lived every moment with the needle-sharp, grating agony that came with the slightest of movements. If only Curtik knew how painful his life was, would he still be so dismissive, so contemptuous?

  “And your friend Zora?” Jeremiah asked.

  “I wondered when you’d get to her,” Curtik answered. “You always liked her more than me.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” Jeremiah knew he shouldn’t speak but he couldn’t help himself. “All I’ve ever wanted to be is your father. And all you do is make smarmy comments and insult me—pushing me away like an enemy. Your mother did that sometimes. Drove me crazy. I know it’s not all your fault. I know they made you this way and you’re probably doing it as some sort of defense mechanism, but it hurts. Yes, your attitude hurts me. You’re smug and cruel and without any hint of empathy.”

  “Jeremiah,” Lendra said.

  “It’s true. If you can’t be civil around me, Curtik, then perhaps you shouldn’t visit.”

  “Oh, ouch,” Curtik replied. “A dagger to my heart.” Curtik feigned stabbing himself in the chest, then wiped off the invisible blade with a flourish. “How awful to stay away from all this luxury.” He made a sweeping gesture. “I’ll send along the preferred Zora next time. I wouldn’t have come today, but . . .”

  “What? Is she still refusing to take the drugs? I can talk to her again.”

  Curtik glanced over at Lendra, who waited patiently at the foot of the stairs. Hannah, meanwhile, pulled her scanner off her belt and made a pretense of studying it. Without knowing why, Jeremiah immediately realized something terrible had happened to Zora.

  “How badly is she hurt?” he asked.

  “Who?” Lendra said.

  “Don’t play games. Zora.”

  Curtik laughed. “Man, how do you do that? That’s freaky!”

  “That’s why you have to come back to CINTEP,” Lendra said. “You’re so good at intuiting truth from almost no data at all. We need you, not because of your enhanced skills, but because you’re so good at reading people and situations.”

  Jeremiah looked his son in the eye. “Tell me what happened to Zora.”

  “She’ll be fine,” Curtik said. “She was only dead for a couple minutes.”

  It felt like a punch to the heart, all the wind knocked out of him, his nervous system stunned. Jeremiah determined not to let the hollowness show. He looked at Lendra. “Where is she?”

  “The CINTEP medical center. She’ll be back on her feet in a few days. No permanent damage. Do you want to visit her? I can arrange that.” Lendra looked over at Hannah.

  “I’ll get the car,” Hannah said.

  Jeremiah held up a hand. “No.”

  Hannah frowned. The baby squirmed in her car seat. Lendra shifted the child from her right to her left arm.

  “Lighten up,” Curtik said. “Except for Zora getting kinda blown up, last night was wicked fun. Sorta reminded me of that mission you had in Rangoon, when the café you and Julianna were in exploded.”

  Jeremiah glared at Lendra. “He read my file?”

  Curtik whistled. “I wanna do the things you and Julianna did. Me and Zora, once she’s healed up, we’ll be unstoppable. We’ll be the best. ’Cuz Julianna, even though she was enhanced, she wasn’t like us. She was human.”

  Jeremiah said, “Julianna was better than me.”

  Curtik shrugged. “You gotta say that. She was your lover.” Curtik made kissing sounds.

  “That was before your mother.”

  “Don’t matter to me,” Curtik said. “They’re both dead.”

  Jeremiah’s stomach flipped at Curtik’s callousness. It’s not his fault, Jeremiah reminded himself. He wondered for a moment whether the other surviving cadets were as hard as Curtik and how their families were putting up with their return. Not my problem.

  “That must have been one hell of a battle the two of you had with the Elite Ops in Minnesota,” Curtik continued, “rescuing Devereaux, saving the Escala. Didn’t work out too well for Julianna though. And it’s too bad your last mission was such a disaster.”

  “Curtik,” Lendra said.

  “What? I’m just saying, he didn’t stop us from blasting all those cities with the Las-cannons.”

  Lendra shook her head. “You sound like you’re proud of that.”

  “Whatever,” Curtik said. “All I know is I need excitement. Without it, I might as well be him—sitting around waiting to die.”

  Hannah leaned forward, the rail creaking as she pressed against it, her face tightening into a frown as she glared at Curtik.

  “What?” Curtik said. “You want to go a few rounds? I haven’t had a good fight in days.” He grinned at Hannah until she backed away.

  Jeremiah felt the menace of his son—how close Curtik was to the precipice of madness. Or was Curtik playing a game at Lendra’s behest? Had she encouraged Curtik to act crazy as a way of ensnaring him back into CINTEP? He couldn’t know for certain. His heart sinking, Jeremiah looked at the baby again. She closed her eyes and yawned widely, then opened and closed her mouth several times.

  Lendra cleared her throat and said, “Hector is dead.”

  “Martinez?”

  Lendra nodded. Hannah breathed in sharply.

  Jeremiah said, “The virus?”

  “No. A neuro-tingler bomb. He detonated it in Jakarta.”

  “On the trail of Susquehanna Sally?” He regretted his words the moment he spoke them. He didn’t want to get involved. He wasn’t interested in that life anymore.

  “He was infiltrating a ce
ll by tracking a courier. Turns out Indonesia’s where Sally introduced her most virulent version of the virus to date.”

  “So that leaves just Brosk.”

  “And Ned,” Lendra said.

  “I thought he retired.”

  “Last year.” Lendra nodded. “But he agreed to return when Susquehanna Sally’s attacks became more deadly. He put his needs aside for the sake of the world.”

  “Good old Ned.”

  “How can you watch that much suffering without wanting to do something about it? You have to know that even if Devereaux finds a cure, Susquehanna Sally won’t just walk away. She’ll release some other horrible disease on the world, or some awful weapon of mass destruction. The only way to give humanity a decent shot at long-term survival is to find her . . . him . . . them.”

  Jeremiah looked at the baby once again. Then he shook his head slowly, trying to minimize the pain, and said, “You’re just like Eli. Every mission is end-of-the-world vital. Yet the world never changes. I don’t believe you, or trust you. And I don’t really care if humans die off. Humanicide seems inevitable. If not this crisis, then the next one. I don’t think the planet will be much worse off for that.”

  “Curtik tells me you made him slave away in a garden,” Lendra said.

  Jeremiah, confused by the change in topic, blinked.

  “Worst job I ever had,” Curtik said. “Planting rutabagas or whatever the hell they were.”

  “Radishes,” Jeremiah said, “and lettuce, peas, cabbage and potatoes.”

  “That was a good idea,” Lendra said. “Trying to get Curtik to connect with the earth he tried to destroy. Are you listening, Curtik?”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Gardening, good. Exploding planet, bad.”

  Hannah tensed, growling so softly that Jeremiah almost didn’t hear her. He hoped she’d control her temper. No matter how well trained she was, she’d be no match for Curtik.

  “Didn’t you have to work in your parents’ garden when you were a child?” Lendra said to Jeremiah.