ZooFall

by Lawrence Ambrose

  Copyright 2018

  All Rights Are Reserved. No parts of this book may be used or reproduced without permission of the author.

  Proofread and Edited by Sweet Syntax

  Cover by Lawrence Ambrose

  COMMENTS, QUESTIONS, OR COMPLAINTS? Please email me at lawrencej63@gmail.com

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 1

  "DIANA," SAID DR. CHRIS Cranston, after the I.V. was in place and the anesthesiologist's hand was gripping the syringe, "I'm wondering what's in your garden this year."

  Diana Mann tried to focus. She was having an infected appendix removed. Gardening was the last thing on her mind. Summer squash? She vaguely remembered debating whether or not to plant it. Foremost on her mind were her suspicions. She was losing control of her mind. What a convenient time for an accident to occur. People died under anesthesia all the time.

  Her husband had died two years ago under what she still considered suspicious circumstances: brakes failing, his Audi plunging into a lake, and he couldn't get the windows open. Dean Mann was former Special Forces and a graduate of both Army and Agency survival schools. Not someone who'd go gently into that good night. And yet the divers had found him in his seat, seatbelt still firmly locked in place. Dean knew where many more Company skeletons were buried than she did, and he'd made a point of not sharing them with her.

  Hacking control of a modern car's computer was child's play for the Agency. Faking an infected appendix...much more challenging. Dr. Cranston had the X-rays. Diana had the perfect symptoms. Still, X-rays could be faked and doctors could be bought. But how likely was that?

  "Diana?" Dr. Cranston broke into her scattered thoughts. "Are you still there?"

  "Yes, Doctor."

  "Why don't we do it the old-fashioned way? Will you count backward from ten please?"

  "Ten, nine, eight –"

  Dr. Cranston coughed.

  "Eight," Diana repeated, just in case he hadn't heard. "Seven, six –"

  The doctor coughed again. His first cough had sounded fairly generic, but this cough had a rough, sickly, desperate edge to it. And Dr. Cranston's frown was puzzled.

  "Doctor...?"

  Dr. Cranston bent over suddenly, his breath wheezing out as if an invisible assailant had punched him in the gut. A sharp jolt of fear reared up against the rising grey tide that was engulfing Diana's consciousness. What's going on here?

  Dr. Cranston was bracing himself on the bed to hold himself upright. And now the nurses and anesthetist were coughing and clutching their chests. The Agency would never do this, not when a thousand more subtle methods were available. But what could this be? A terrorist biochemical attack?

  Or am I hallucinating?

  That made a hell of a lot more sense. What kind of terrorists would attack a small-town hospital in Northern Minnesota?

  Even that paradox could not keep her thoughts afloat on the rising tide of darkness.

  THE ARROW flew in a beautiful tight arc, striking the upper line dividing the yellow and the red on the target fifty yards distant. Laurie Jensen lowered her new bow – Obsession Turmoil – and adjusted the sight pins slightly up, a small smile registering her pleasure. Not the usual gift for a girl's fifteenth birthday, but for her, this was a dream come true. She still had affection for her old compound bow, purchased when she was twelve, but she'd outgrown its low draw and small size. This was a serious bow. At 350 feet per second, you could take down serious game. She'd become a little obsessed with this bow, recommended by Dad's best friend, Merlin, the most avid archer she knew. "As good as most premier bows," he said, "and it won't break your bank."

  Laurie drew again and released. The arrow, despite her adjustment, struck a bit higher in the red ring.

  "Having a bad day?"

  Her brother, Donny, camped out on the front porch with his laptop, smiled his usual sardonic smile. So worldly and wise for a twelve-year-old, Laurie thought. Or maybe he was just a smartass who thought he knew way more than he really did?

  Laurie notched another arrow and got all Zen with her target. Focusing and breathing the bullseye. Sometimes that actually worked.

  The arrow launched. She willed it in like a guided missile. Thwap! It buried itself just below the first arrow, cleanly within the yellow center. She arched an eyebrow at her know-it-all brother.

  Laurie noticed several things at once: Donny's puzzled frown and frantic key-tapping on his laptop; the nearby well pump, which had been running for the last two or three minutes, stopped; her father's planter, a quarter-mile off in the field, grinding to a halt; and over her dad's head, rippling lines of light illuminating the air and clouds like a combination of heat lightning and the Aurora Borealis.

  Her father emerged from the planter and gazed up at the sky, doffing his cap and scratching his head. Donny's laptop snapped shut. He left the porch and strolled over to her, tracing her gaze to their father and the adjacent fields.

  "Odd," he said.

  "Yeah," said Laurie. "I've never seen Northern Lights in the middle of the afternoon."

  "Right." He stroked his chubby chin. "There's that. And there's also my computer's battery suddenly going dead."

  "A power outage?"

  "That wouldn't affect my laptop. It runs on a battery, as you might recall. Also" – he nodded to their father, who was circling his planter, stooping to check on something – "didn't his tractor suddenly stall?"

  "Looks that way."

  The front door creaked open and slapped shut. Sonja, their mom, descended the steps, a cup of coffee in hand, shading her eyes to gaze out at her husband.

  "Hey, Mom," Laurie called. "Is the power out?"

  "Yes," she called. "Just a few seconds ago."

  She wandered over to them with one eye on their father, who was walking in from the fields, head hung in thought.

  "My laptop just stopped working," said Donny.

  Their mom stared at him. "Power surge?"

  "It wasn't plugged in."

  Dan Jensen crossed the driveway over to them, working up a tepid smile. "Family conference?"

  "The power's out, apparently," Sonja Jensen said. "What happened with the planter?"

  "I have no idea." Dan pushed back thick brown locks from his sweat-creased brow. "It just went dead. No warning at all. No juice in the battery. I've never seen anything like it."

  "Ah, Dad." Donny pointed to the ripples of blue, pink, and orange light cascading across the sky. "Have you ever seen anything like that?"

  Dan Jensen replaced his cap and peered upward. "Not during the day. I wonder..."

  "What?" asked Laurie.

  "A solar flare? That might knock out our electricity and create a light show?"

  "A high altitude nuke might, too."

  Laurie rolled her eyes at her brother. His big brain loved cooking up doomsday scenarios. Sonja ruffled his hair.

  "I'm going with solar flare," she said.

  "A solar flare could cause widespread damage, true." Donny acknowledged that with a reluctant tone. "The problem is that neither a high-altitude nuke nor a solar flare would harm batteries – unless they were connected to a power source."

  Meanwhile, the sky wasn't finished displaying oddities: a small, black object that reminded Laurie o
f a jumping spider appeared below the clouds a few miles away to the south, and like a spider, it appeared to jettison something that resembled a web –gossamer-threads that dissolved into a fine, grey mist. The spidery object skittered away to the east was gone.

  The Jensen family stood as if rooted in the lawn. A south breeze, coming from the direction of the black flying object, raised dust on their gravel driveway and ruffled through clothing. Goosebumps rose on Laurie's forearms. Her left hand tightened around her bow.

  "I'm thinking not a solar flare," said Donny.

  Frowning, Dan Jensen raised his eyes to the sky overhead and then turned in a slow circle. Sonja started turning with him, both studying the sky around them.

  "There!" She pointed. "Isn't that another of whatever that was?"

  They swiveled to the north – Laurie's body tight, resisting the turn. A tiny dark spot jittered across the distant horizon, its pauses and accelerations like a spastic dance step.

  "Um, Dan," Sonja whispered. "What is that thing? What's happening?"

  "I don't know. They're some form of aircraft. Could be related to what's going on. Or not."

  The flying object disappeared over the horizon.

  "The North Koreans?" Sonja swallowed. "An EMP attack?"

  "I don't think they have any aircraft like that," said Dan. "But knocking out the power grid might be the first step to an attack of some kind."

  Sonja hugged herself. "This is crazy. Who'd dare attack us? I know that disgusting little tyrant has been making threats, but..."

  "Those were UFOs, weren't they?" Donny asked. "That's what they looked like to me."

  "Well, let's not jump to any conclusions." Dan rested a hand on his wife's shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze. With his free hand, he slipped out his cell. He tapped a few keys, muttering under his breath.

  "No reception?" Laurie asked.

  "No power."

  "It would take an incredibly strong EMP to harm a battery," said Donny. "Something that strong would probably take us out, too."

  "What about those weird objects in the sky?" Laurie asked. "That first one shot something into the air, didn't it?"

  "You saw that, too?" Her dad was frowning. "I wasn't sure if I'd imagined that. It reminded me of a crop duster spraying."

  "But...spraying what?"

  "I don't know, honey." Dan drew out a breath. "Why don't you guys go in the house, make sure nothing has power? I'm going to try starting my truck."

  Inside, Laurie and her brother headed up to their bedrooms while their mom checked out appliances in the kitchen. She tried her computer, which had a battery backup/surge protector, but got nothing. Other than that, she had a small flashlight, but that also didn't work.

  From her window, Laurie watched her dad emerge from his pickup shaking his head. She met her brother in the hall.

  "Nothing," he said. "You?"

  "Nope," said Laurie.

  "This is beyond strange."

  Laurie was starting to feel seriously shaky inside as they headed downstairs. They convened on the front lawn.

  "None of the cars started," said her dad. "I take it nothing electrical is working inside?"

  "Not that I saw," said Sonja. Laurie and her brother shook their heads.

  "It's like someone sucked the power out of everything," said Donny.

  "Okay." Dan looked them over in turn. "I have an idea. We break out our bikes and ride into town, see what's happening there."

  "Do we even have four working bikes?" Sonja asked.

  "Good question. Our bikes are probably flat, but we can fix that easily enough."

  "My front tire's badly warped," said Donny. "Ran into a ditch."

  "My bike's fine," said Laurie. "I could ride in ahead and see what's happening in town. It's only three miles."

  Dan shook his head. "No. We'll stick together."

  They marched to the garage, Laurie battling exasperation with her brother and frustration at not being able to leave now. With Donny's IQ, you would think he might be good at fixing things, but he abhorred working on anything mechanical. His interests were all theoretical, his head in the clouds – or up his ass, as some of her friends had opined. She suspected he just didn't like getting his hands dirty. Real physical work was beneath him.

  Laurie nursed her resentment toward her brother because it was a lot better than thinking about what might be happening. The most disturbing thing was how her usually unflappable dad was worried. When Dad got worried, that was real. Neither of her parents was the panicking sort.

  In the garage, they soon discovered that her mom's rear tire wouldn't take air and her brother's front tire was so warped that it looked like someone had run over it with a truck. Her mom got busy removing the tire while her dad, uttering disbelieving grunts that sounded like curses, attempted to reduce the warp in her brother's front tire.

  Donny was the first to clutch his chest and make a coughing sound. Hearing that made Laurie realize that she was starting to feel a little woozy herself. Her brother had always been their "early warning" system: his immune system, weakened by Juvenile Idiopathic Arthritis – a joint inflammation disease her mother and other doctors diagnosed two years ago – made him prone to catch every cold or flu bug and develop symptoms before anyone else in the family did. Laurie, who seemed to occupy the other end of the immune spectrum, almost never got sick. But this moment was proving to be the exception. The room was performing a slow and nauseous waltz around her, and her lunch felt poised to launch itself on the garage wall she was bracing one hand against.

  "Something's wrong," said my mom. She dropped the tire pump in her hand on the work table, grabbing its edge for support.

  Dan was rubbing his eyes fiercely, giving sharp shakes of his head. Donny lowered himself to the floor.

  "I think I'm gonna be sick," he groaned.

  Dan and Sonja's eyes met – Dan blinking as fast as butterfly wings while his wife's cheek muscles were twitching.

  "There's a toxin in the air, Dan," she said. "That object released a toxin."

  "I think you're right. Wind just brought it to us..."

  "It's too fast-acting for a biological agent."

  "Nerve gas?" A fear Dan and his unit members had feared on a daily basis during the invasion and occupation of Baghdad a lifetime ago. "Sarin? Tabun?"

  "Possible..." Sonja's head drooped. She slapped both hands on the work table. "Atropine is my only thought."

  "Have any?"

  "Medical bag. In the hallway closet."

  "I know."

  Laurie watched her dad take a deep, shuddering breath. Donny sprawled on the floor, twitching and moaning, his eyes squeezed shut.

  "I'll get it," said Laurie.

  She staggered across the garage into the house. Her dad sometimes said she was the strongest one in the family. Her mom called her a natural athlete. Donny called her a jock "who lacks the excuse of being dumb." But careening through her home, which abruptly had transformed into a carnival house of horrors – complete with flashing lights and twisted hallways and things that leaped out to shock you – Laurie felt like a drunken old lady suffering from dementia. The hallway closet became a destination at the end of a darkened and impossibly complex maze.

  But then she was there, through some means that transcended calculation. She dragged out the bag, and started back –

  And found herself sitting limply on the floor, the room spinning faster and faster around her. She wasn't going anywhere. This was it. She knew that without question. Only one option...

  She pried open the bag and fumbled blindly inside, her vision reduced to a narrow tunnel of semi-light. It was more by feel that she found the autoinjectors. Maybe atropine, maybe something else. She couldn't remember. It was attached to a clip. She tore it free. A brief hesitation and she jammed it into her thigh. She felt nothing. Wrong end. She turned it around, so slowly, slowly, and felt the reversed end prick her thigh through her jeans. She forced it down, feeling the needle slide
into muscle.

  Her brain cleared with startling swiftness. Not exactly normal yet, but she could now see the label on the autoinjector. Atropine Sulfate. Yes, she thought. The room's spin slowed to a comparatively pleasant polka dance. She pushed up on one knee, grabbed the bag, and hauled herself to her feet.

  The journey out was infinitely easier than the journey in. Back in the garage, her parents had joined Donny on the cement floor, their eyes casting about but resting nowhere, seemingly still conscious but unable to speak. Donny lay still. She couldn't tell if he was breathing.

  Dropping to her knees, Laurie found only two atropine autoinjector syringes on the clip in her mom's bag. She spilled the rest of the bag on the floor. She spotted another clip of autoinjectors, but the label read Epinephrine. They both were stimulants, weren't they? Atropine did something specific against nerve toxins, but she had no idea what. Two she knew would work, one she had no idea about. A real-life Sophie's Choice.

  Time's up.

  Laurie injected her dad and then her mom with the atropine spring-loaded syringes. After a brief hesitation, she injected her brother with epinephrine.

  Her parents stopped squirming, their gazes gradually focusing on Laurie. Donny stirred and uttered a soft groan, but didn't open his eyes.

  "Only three atropine injectors," Laurie said.

  Fear inched into her mom and dad's dazed eyes.

  "Donny," her mom whispered.

  "Already injected you and Dad."

  Sonja gave her head a slow, half-shake while her dad clenched his lips.

  "No," said her father.

  "I gave Donny epinephrine. Couldn't that work?"

  Sonja sat halfway up, her body shaking. "More atropine...office..."

  "Okay. I'll go."

  Laurie crawled to the work table and climbed one of its legs to her feet. Six miles. The impossibility of that loomed like a twenty-foot high steel wall in front of her. Unless she got a lot stronger soon, she wasn't going anywhere. But maybe she could make it. No way to know without trying.

  Laurie grabbed her bike from one wall and rolled it out to the driveway. She got on the saddle, but her right foot slipped off the pedal and she went down hard on the gravel.

  From her back, she watched her house and the blue skies above it fade into a dark, grainy mist.