Graham's Resolution Trilogy Bundle: Books 1-3 (42 page)

“Good afternoon, sunshine, what’s up?” Dalton asked Rick as he wandered into the media tent after lunch. The morning had been a long one, and he was sure the rest of the day would drag out even longer. He’d barely slept the night before, as he suffered from his own moral conflict.

“Same damned thing; the world ended, but our four corners are secure. Reuben, Steven, and a few others are headed out on their scheduled hunt early tomorrow morning. They’re going on the northwest trail since Sam and his group are straight north.”

Dalton watched Rick, who obviously had something more on his mind; he sat in his chair with his back to Dalton and was doing that damn tapping thing again, which always led to trouble, as Dalton saw it.

“What else?”

“Macy called in earlier. She said Graham had left camp early this morning. He was going into town for something, but she didn’t catch for what or why, and a few of the cameras are iced over despite the fucking auto defrost mechanism. I can’t see a damn thing in town.”

“You may not track him, Rick. I know what you’re thinking. He’s probably sick of being cooped up indoors like the rest of us and needed some air. Those trackers probably don’t work now anyway. They eventually work their way out to the surface of the skin, and they’re out by now.”

Rick spun around to face Dalton. “Yeah. Something’s off, though. Something’s not right.”

“That’s so prophetic of you, Rick.” Dalton stared at his old friend. The stress in his eyes made him appear tired, and Dalton guessed he’d stayed up late with Addy and Bethany giggling into the night. To base anything on less than a fact for Rick was new. Dalton thought perhaps the lowering of testosterone, now that he was past forty, was getting to him. Having Rick PMSing was a frightening thought.

“Why don’t you go get a late lunch? I’ll man the media for a while.”

“All right,” Rick said, never one to turn down the prospect of a hot meal. But as he got up to make his way out of the tent he stopped. “Just remembered. Clarisse hiked her way to quarantine bright and early this morning. She said to tell you she had some work to do, and Addy’s staying with Bethany for the afternoon. She said she’d be back by dinner.”

“Okay, Rick, thanks.”

“She’d
better
be back by dinner,” Dalton said under his breath.

He checked the existing cameras and surveyed the boundary compound fence. It was clear other than a few snowdrifts. They had no way of knowing if the storm was yet over. It was anyone’s guess.

On further inspection, the path to the quarantine building appeared clear as well. He checked the inside cameras and found Clarisse hovering over a microscope again, as always. He wondered if she’d slept at all last night. At least she was inside and safe for now, even if she was still pissed at him.

Tearing himself away from her image, Dalton checked the other cameras in their own camp and noted in the log the time and condition. Next he viewed Graham’s camp and found Macy on watch at the drive side, and he could barely make out Bang on the lake side through the partially frosted lens. Tala was in the greenhouse, and he supposed Ennis was still inside the cabin, though without the cameras he had no idea. The absence of Graham’s truck in the driveway showed that he hadn’t yet returned from town. He missed seeing his kid cousin, Mark, but Dalton was sure he was having the time of his life with Sam and Marcy out on their hunt.

He reviewed all the exterior cameras and found nothing out of the ordinary in the deep of winter after a big storm. He made more notations in the log and turned his attention to the town cameras. One in particular was blacked out completely, and the others were nothing but blobs of grayness.

All of a sudden the radio crackled to life, and the sound was Clarisse’s voice coming in, low and sweet. “Rick, can you get Steven? He was on guard duty last night, but I’m hoping he’s up by now. I need someone else to take a look at this.” By the sound of it Dalton could tell she was pretty excited about something, though he wished she wasn’t sharing the news with Steven.

He gazed at her on the screen for a few seconds before he hit the microphone button. “It’s me, Clarisse. Rick’s taking a lunch break,” he said, hearing the tension in his own voice, coming out low and hoarse. He surveyed her body language for any reaction.

“Oh,” she said and paused. “Can you please get Steven out here?” By the way she pulled abruptly away from the radio, he thought she still fumed over last night’s episode.

“Yeah, I’ll send him out right away. Do you need anything from here? Coffee? A muffin?”

“No. I only need Steven. Thank you.”

He smiled now, because she was still more than a
little
pissed, and he needed her to be. If she ever turned her steamy gaze on him again, like the night before, he was afraid of what he might do—of what he might discard because he needed her.

He couldn’t let her have her own way, either. It was too bad, but she needed to follow the rules like the rest of them. What would they do without her otherwise?

He cleared his throat from all that, and when he said, “All right, I’ll send him over,” his voice was still gruff. He didn’t mean it to be. He had no right or claim to her, and if she needed Steven, he would get the guy for her. But he wouldn’t be happy about it.

“Clarisse out,” she clipped quickly, as if she couldn’t hang up fast enough.

He didn’t like that she
needed
Steven, but a relationship between her and Steven would be for the best. He ignored his jealousy for now and went in search of the guy.

Steven was the closest Clarisse had to an assistant these days. In his prior life he had been a paramedic, and before that he served in Afghanistan with the rest of them as a medic.

The first place to look for anyone in the afternoon was in the mess tent and, more specifically, in the coffee line. Dalton liked to get in the dining area first thing in the morning because he hated anyone standing between him and his coffee.

He surveyed the tent and found the man he looked for. With his blond hair sticking up in all directions, Steven looked like he’d just rolled out of bed. He must have just walked out of the shower and lost his comb somewhere along the way to the mess tent. Dalton smiled at the guy, though his instincts told him to strangle him.

“What?” Steven asked, seeing Dalton stare him down.

Dalton knew it was too early for Steven after pulling the midnight guard shift duty.

“Clarisse needs your assistance,” Dalton informed him.

“Since when does she need my help?”

“She discovered something, and wants you to come look at her findings,” Dalton explained to him.

“Oh. So she needs me, then?” Steven puffed out his chest with mock importance and plastered a big smile on his face.

“Yep, but don’t let it go to your head,” Dalton barked at him.

“All right! Let me get some coffee. If I can get through this goddamn line!” he yelled, enough for Rick to get the idea to hurry up. He was taking his sweet time mixing his own brew to perfection.

Dalton watched as Rick said with deliberate slowness, “Keep your pants on, man. It’s not the end of the world; well, not quite yet, anyway.” Then, the other two people waiting in line parted to each side knowing from experience Steven would retaliate. As Dalton expected, Steven walked up behind the unsuspecting Rick and deliberately pushed the other man’s elbow just enough that the brew sloshed all over the counter.

Dalton gave up and walked back to the media tent as Rick’s explicative retort wafted behind him. These proceedings would be the beginning of a tit-for-tat game that would both entertain and drive others crazy for days until they both called it a draw. To Dalton, Steven’s antics meant that, without a doubt, Clarisse would not settle in the long term for anyone so childish. That acknowledgment both thrilled and terrified him.

Steven finally got his coffee fixed and changed his now sodden and coffee-stained T-shirt; Rick had dispensed the rest of his remaining brew in one impressive splash aimed directly at his chest. Steven had called a temporary truce, then headed back to his tent to change and don his outerwear before he made his way over to Clarisse in the quarantine building. As he opened the lab door, she turned, looking impatient. It was obvious she had been waiting for him.

A really broad grin wasn’t something he’d ever have expected to cross Clarisse’s face, so when one did, it creeped him out a little. So much so that he shot a quick glance behind himself in case Rick had somehow appeared there with some kind of sadistic reprisal.

“What is going on? I like you better bitchy and arrogant. It’s too damn early for this, even though it’s nearly evening,” he complained like a little boy as she led him by the elbow over to the microscope. “At least it’s too early for me.”

“Look,” she commanded, pointing to the microscope.

He sat and took a peek through the scope. After a few seconds, he gave up. “What am I looking at here?”

“Antibodies.”

“Clarisse, I treat the wounded. This isn’t exactly my thing. Please explain.”

“Okay, so, as you remember, before the pandemic we had no vaccine for the avian flu. The government stocked antivirals, but they did little to affect this mutated version of the avian flu, and actually, it prolonged suffering but did not prevent death.

“Then they tried the vaccine, which included the adjuvant they needed to stabilize the vaccine, but that caused narcolepsy. As if we didn’t have enough to worry about already.” She was pacing in front him now. “That vaccine never worked to begin with. It was for a different variation altogether.”

She stopped pacing. “Really, Steven this is so sick and sad. If only our government had funded the research we needed to come up with this variation, not nearly so many would have died. But no, they had to give millions to fund farming in China or video game research in California.”

Steven interrupted her, “Hey, I for one miss video games, and you’re ranting. Get to the point. I need more coffee.”

“I think I have it. You’re looking at the antibodies I took from subject twelve.”

He scrunched his eyebrows together.

“You mean Harry? You gave Harry H5N1 and a vaccine that actually produced antibodies?”

“Hey, I
told
you not to name the ferrets. And, actually, no, not quite. I gave Harry and three of his ferret buddies a vaccine containing
HA
(
hemagglutinin
)
with aluminum phosphate, plus a new adjuvant that I’ve been working with to help stabilize the vaccine to allow it to absorb better. I followed up three weeks later with a second dose, exactly the same, then waited four weeks and gave them the challenge virus.

“This is the first time I’ve had all test subjects show no sign of the virus. There was no increase in temperature, no runny noses, no weight loss, and no loss of activity, but they do show strong antibodies.”

For a while Steven acted bored, but as she babbled on he soon realized what she was saying—something he hadn’t heard before:
strong antibodies
. She’d tried over and over for months, and now, she’d finally developed a viable vaccine.

He ignored her babbling while he digested the information. He lifted one eyebrow and said, “Wait a minute. Are you saying you created the
vaccine
?
For real?
You did it?”

She nodded, and to his surprise, tears started flooding down her cheeks. Her shoulders heaved with suppressed sobs.

Steven got up off the lab stool with arms opened wide and yelled, “You did it? You
did
it!”

He lifted her up and spun her around a few times, then set her back down carefully. He fixed her collar while she adjusted her glasses. “Oh, my God! Why doesn’t everyone know about this?” he asked as the realization set in.

“Because I wanted to be sure my data was correct. I wanted to finish checking the results last night, but Dalton wouldn’t let me stay, so I came out early this morning.”

“That bastard! Is the vaccine ready for the first round?”

“No, I’m using the cell-cultured method, so the process should take about four weeks; then we can begin giving the first injections.”

“So you’re saying that once we are inoculated and show antibodies to this one, we can interact with the carriers?”

“Yes. Full immunity will take about two weeks, but yes,” she nodded, glassy-eyed. “It means Addy can be with her dad again.” It took all of Clarisse’s strength to keep her voice from cracking as she revealed the triumph. Steven reached out to hold her again, more softly this time; even the Quarantine Queen needed a hug now and again. He held her there for a moment until she recovered and pulled away from him again.

“One thing no one knows yet, though, is if this virus will naturally mutate next season. We have to assume, based on recent history, the likelihood that the virus will continue to transform. We’re still not safe from H5N1, and neither are the carriers, for that matter. Next year we could be dealing with a much different mutated form of the avian flu—call it a subtype variation. The only thing now that might save us is this drastic decrease in population allowing a greater buffer between societies.”