Authors: Julie Korzenko
She was frightened and feeling out of her element. Inhaling short deep breaths, Cassidy tried to convince herself she was in the midst of a nightmare and would awaken any second.
Silence. Then more gunshots.
“It's the Kill-and-Go squad.”
Cassidy shook her head. She didn't want to acknowledge any of this. “You're wrong. We're protected.”
He ripped up the sleeve of his camouflage T-shirt to reveal a tattoo of a jagged black “Z” striking the center of an American flag. “Not anymore.”
Cassidy squinted at it, trying to decipher the meaning. Could this situation get any more bizarre? Perplexed, she glanced at his face. His features were undistinguishable beneath heavy camo paint, but his gaze was steady and unwavering, making her feel a bit like Alice down the rabbit hole. Her mind tumbled through the significance of his tattoo, but nothing clarified the mystery. “Zorro Squad?” she asked, unimpressed with this display of masculine pride and struggling with the fear that slammed her heart against her chest, making it difficult to breathe.
His shoulders dropped, and he rolled his eyes at her.
She shrugged, her fear turning into anger. “I'm not psychic, you know.”
“Zebra. Black Stripe.”
Her breath caught. The “Z” on his arm was suddenly more deadly than lightning and no longer amusing. She moved her head from side to side. “No way.”
A sarcastic grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “'fraid so.”
“You're a myth. You don't exist.”
She flinched when he reached out to take her arm. “Some days I wish that were true.” A bullet split the top of her tent, and he slammed her to the floor. “No more time for pleasantries.” His words were a rush of hot air against her cheek. She scrambled to find her pants, but her fingers only connected with air.
Her thigh slammed into the edge of the desk, which wobbled and caused the laptop to slip and tumble to the ground, smacking her on the head. She winced and reached over, releasing the flash drive. She heard him muttering and swearing as he pulled on her arm. “Just a sec.” Making a fist around the miniscule plastic hard drive, Cassidy crawled behind him. At least she'd save some evidence.
Whipping out a knife, he cut the base of the tent, reached back, and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her forward and shoving her through the hole. “Move!”
Cassidy ignored the sharp bite of rocks and rough ground and scrambled to her feet. He pushed her from behind, and she stumbled. A scream rang above the chaotic gunfire, making Cassidy cry out loud. “Anna! That's Anna! We have to get Anna and Georgie!” She struggled against the arm holding her and pulling her away from the camp.
“Doc, my orders are to get you out. Let's go.”
Cassidy screamed at him. “No! Anna and Georgie! I won't leave without them!” He pulled her tightly against his chest and prevented her from running.
His eyes glittered dangerously beneath the orange haze of night. “The Kill-and-Go are here for you. Understand?”
Shock froze her. She gazed into his face, trying to latch onto something familiar and grounding. “No.” Cassidy swore when her vision blurred. She shook her head, refusing to allow the tears to fall.
His face softened, and he offered her a halfhearted smile. “Sorry, Doc. We need to go.” Bullets shattered the branches of a tree behind them. “Now!”
Cassidy spun around, spotting the Kill-and-Go. A group of heavily armed soldiers, faces pockmarked with the cruelty and destruction of their trade, wove through the camp shooting at anything, man or beast, that moved. Leading the mass of angry men was a figure she recognized, the jagged scar that ran from the edge of his cropped dirty-blonde hair down across his chin and below his neck unmistakable even at this distance.
As if in response to a silent signal, his head swung in her direction. Their eyes locked and he lifted an arm, pointing at her. Nick Fowler. Her security guard. Why was NWP targeting their camp?
Revulsion and fear coursed down her spine, and her hands came up clutching onto the man from Black Stripe as if he were the last person alive on earth. Nick Fowler's howl of rage rang through the camp, and the evil and danger buried in its tone struck at Cassidy's heart. Her gaze dimmed, and brilliant sparks of light flickered before her eyes.
She heard a muffled swear, and suddenly Cassidy felt her body being lifted and then the sharp edges of Zorro's shoulder cutting into her abdomen. They were moving. Her eyes wouldn't focus. She tried to speak, but her mouth couldn't work its way around coherent words. She heard him yell, and then the deep baritone of other male voices drifted through the haze of absolute shock.
She closed her eyes tightly, then reopened them. Misty figures ran behind them, firing machine guns at a heavily armed pack of militia. Cassidy recognized the figures of her biologist and ecologist colleagues; then she lost sight of them as she was lifted off the man's shoulder and swung in a circle.
Cold metal slammed against her back. Her teeth snapped together, followed by the bitter taste of blood. Shaking her head, Cassidy realized she'd been tossed into a helicopter. She scrambled back against the door, gripped the outside edge, and bent forward, offering her hand to the other two ZEBRA employees being pushed inside.
Although dazed, Cassidy heard Anna's cry for help. “Anna! Anna! Run, dammit, run!” Her voice cracked and disintegrated against the whirring sound of revving helicopter props. Panicked, she glanced at the faces within the chopper. “Where's Charles?” The other ZEBRA scientists shook their heads, indicating they didn't know.
Cassidy swung around to search the camp and watched in desperation as Anna raced across the ground, little Georgie cradled against her chest. A small band of militia ran to intercept her. Cassidy screamed at the men inside the chopper. “Help her!”
The helicopter lifted. Cassidy grabbed the edge to steady herself, ignoring the arm that anchored her in place. A man, black as a panther, knelt on the earth below. He lifted his elbow, pointing a rifle across the field. Cassidy followed the angle of his arm. Screams ripped from her throat.
Anna glanced over her shoulder, then spun and lifted Georgie toward the helicopter. “Oh my God,” Cassidy pleaded, tears coursing down her face and blurring her vision. “Please, I beg you! Go back! Please go back!” A gunshot snapped, an alien noise against the rhythmic thud of the helicopter blades. Her friend fell to her knees.
“Anna!” she sobbed. Fear flooded Georgie's small face. A red stain spread across the left corner of his mother's shirt. She bent her head and crumpled against the ground, protecting her son from the rain of bullets.
Cassidy leaned over the edge of the helicopter, trying in vain to reach her. But they were airborne and nothing but a cold blast of air entered her embrace. She spun around and pounded on the nearest soldier's arm. “Go back! What's wrong with you people? Go back!”
Horror gripped her chest, making it difficult to breathe and racking her body with uncontrollable shakes. Cassidy's eyes connected with the hard gaze of the Black Stripe soldier. An emotion kicked in her gut. One that was all too familiar. One that she'd fought against the last nine years.
Hate.
It bloomed within. Fired by the power of evil that invaded the land below and fueled by self-loathing. If she'd been better, been stronger, been smarter â¦
Gardiner, Montana
E
DWARD
F
ISKE PAUSED IN THE CENTER OF THE CIRCULAR GRAVEL
drive, the toe of his shoe grinding into the tiny gray rocks. The entrance to Livingston Golf Course and Country Club lay before him, its wrought iron gates mocking his poor attempt at proper golf attire. Patting down the strands of hair once again whisked away from his bald spot, he breathed deeply. He didn't belong in places like this.
Edward tugged at the pleat on his tan corduroys and prayed his inexpensive white button-down shirt wasn't too full of wrinkles. He knew his clothes were out of place among the bright colored golf pants and polo shirts decorated with designer logos.
A man beyond the gates lifted an arm and waved him forward. Edward hitched his overburdened messenger bag more comfortably on his shoulder, sniffed, and almost sneezed as the scent of freshly cut grass assaulted his nose. He walked toward the gentleman. Counting each step as it crunched on the stone drive, Edward concentrated on not allowing his nerves to publicly display themselves.
He'd never met this particular board member. Actually, he'd not been aware that there was a member of the corporation positioned this close to his laboratory.
“Mr. Jacobs?” Edward asked, attempting to sound confident and at ease.
Mr. Jacobs nodded and extended his hand. “Edward, on behalf of the board and myself, let me be the first to congratulate you on your success. I'm sorry that we were unable to convene at a more respectable arena. Everyone is extremely anxious to learn of your results. However, it has been left to me to speak with you personally.”
Edward frowned. This was a first. Normally, the board barked orders and pressured him for results via e-mail and video conferencing. Never had they ever expressed any gratitude. Returning the man's handshake with enough strength to avoid the image of being weak, he assumed that these men finally realized the importance of his discovery. “Mr. Jacobs, thank you very much.” Edward glanced around. His eyes scanned the span of perfectly manicured grass. In the distance a small lake glittered beneath the sun, affording a scenic landscape. “Where would you like me to set up?”
“Set up?”
Edward shifted his weight and refrained from sliding his sweat-soaked palms against the edge of his pants. “Yes, sir. I've blown up my notes and created a diagram to explain the procedure. Also, I have a three-dimensional computer program that explains more detail on the genetic compound and mutation.”
Mr. Jacobs walked toward a golf cart, jumped behind the wheel, and signaled for Edward to join him. “Actually, Edward, what we're most interested in is the composition of CPV-19.”
Edward moved his bag from one shoulder to the next and followed Mr. Jacobs. He eyed the green and white cart and for one brief second envisioned it popping nuts and bolts and disintegrating into a pile of junk the second he sat down. “I don't understand.” Edward said a silent prayer and shuffled onto the white vinyl bench. The golf cart rocked beneath his weight but didn't break. “CPV-19 is simply the byproduct of the successful mutation. The process is what must be patented.” He clutched his bag to his chest as the golf cart swung off the driveway and sped across the fairway.
The wheels hit a narrow gravel path, crunching and grinding the small rocks into the dirt. Mr. Jacobs eased off the pedal, and the cart slowed to a crawl. Edward inhaled and continued his mini-lecture. “You see, with this procedure many scientists will be able to utilize their existing gene therapies, apply my mutation series, and then reach cures for inherited blood disorders and anomalies. For example, we could find a way to cure sickle-cell anemia.”
As Mr. Jacobs nodded absently, Edward fumbled in his bag and pulled out a detailed sketch of CPV-19. “You see, sir, I modified the gene in the canine parvo virus to recognize the transferrin receptor of the human version of parvo, Fifth Disease.”
The golf cart crept to a complete stop. Edward glanced around quickly, not certain of their location. They appeared to be beside some type of watering hole. There was a funny red metal stand beside a large, green, metal container with a dispenser of paper cups on the side. Edward tilted his head and studied the red stand. A puddle of water muddied the sand at its base, adding to the puzzle.
Mr. Jacobs reached his hand out and pulled the diagram from Edward, scrutinizing the sheet. “Transferrin receptor?”
Snapping his attention back from the mystery of the metal pole, Edward realized he needed to simplify. “Every virus has this protein affixed to their genetic compound.” He climbed out of the cart, leaving his bag behind. “For example, take this red stand.”
“The ball washer?”
Mystery solved. Edward smiled and placed his hand on the ball washer. “Yes. This ball washer. Both the ball washer and this green dispenser contain the same product, right?”
Mr. Jacobs lifted one shoulder. “Water?”
“Yes, water. But they're not the same, really; are they?”
“Of course not. Dr. Fiske, what exactly are you trying to say?”
Edward stood between the two metal stands. “Even though these units contain the same liquid inside, their outer shell or metal containers determine specifically what they are used for.” He walked back toward the golf cart, swatting at a fog of gnats attacking his eyes. “Essentially, parvo and Fifth Disease are identical except for the proteins marring their surface which determine what cells to attack. Inside is the same, but not outside.”
“So you made the outside the same?”
Edward became excited. Finally, the man beside him was interested. “Kind of. I genetically modified the DNA to contain both protein strains. Wove them together like a braid.”
“Which does what?”
“Actually, it's rather a bad thing. These two diseases merged into one are highly contagious. The amazing thing is not this new virus but the fact that I was successful in manipulating the protein. Imagineâwe could cure any immune deficiency with this technology.”
“How?”
“Immune deficiencies can be caused by a missing gene or one that's been eradicated due to disease. We could inject that gene and tell it exactly where to go by attaching the right protein. See?”
“I see.” Mr. Jacobs neatly folded the large piece of paper and handed the diagram back to Edward. “But what is CPV-19?”
Edward thought for a moment. “An extremely volatile and highly contagious virus.”
“What does it do?”