Invasion (28 page)

Randy tried to hear what the captain was saying, but he couldn’t.

“So they are on their way to the CDC in Atlanta,”
Beau said. “I’m glad you called to let us know, but I assure you there won’t be a problem.”

Beau disconnected but did not hang up the receiver. Instead he dialed another number with a 404 area code. When the call was answered Beau said: “Dr. Clyde Horn, this is Beau Stark. That group of people I told you about today is on their way to Atlanta as we speak. I imagine they’ll be at the CDC tomorrow so handle them as we discussed.”

Beau replaced the receiver.

“Do you expect any trouble?” Randy asked.

Beau smiled. “Of course not. Don’t be silly.”

“Are you sure you should have let that Cassy Winthrope leave today?” Randy asked.

“Goodness, you are a worrywart tonight,” Beau said. “But yes, I’m sure. She’s been rather special to me, and I decided I didn’t want to force her. I want her to embrace the cause voluntarily.”

“I don’t understand why you care,” Randy said.

“I’m not sure why I do either,” Beau admitted. “But enough of this talk. Come outside! It’s almost time.”

Beau and Randy stepped out onto the balcony. After a glance up at the night sky, Beau stuck his head back inside the room and asked one of the assistants to go down and turn off the underwater lights in the pool.

A few minutes later the pool lights went out. The effect was dramatic. The stars were much more intense, especially those in the galactic core of the Milky Way.

“How much longer?” Randy asked.

“Two seconds,” Beau said.

No sooner had the words escaped from Beau’s lips
than the sky lit up with a profusion of shooting stars. Literally thousands of them rained down like a gigantic fireworks display.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Beau said.

“Marvelous,” Randy said.

“It’s the final wave,” Beau said. “The final wave!”

8:15
A.M.

“I’VE NEVER SEEN ANYTHING LIKE THIS,” JESSE SAID.

“You know what I’m saying. I mean, how long does it take three young people to get themselves together to go out for breakfast?”

“It’s Cassy’s fault,” Pitt said. “She was in the bathroom for eight years.”

“That’s untrue,” Cassy said, taking immediate umbrage. “I didn’t take as long as Jonathan here. Besides, I had to wash my hair.”

“I didn’t take long,” Jonathan said.

“You most certainly did,” Cassy said.

“All right, enough already,” Jesse shouted. Then in a more moderate tone he added: “I’ve just forgotten what it’s like having kids around.”

They had stayed the night at Pitt’s second cousin’s apartment, thinking it was the safest place. It had worked
out fine with Pitt and Jonathan sharing a bedroom. The only minor problem had been the single bathroom.

“Where should we eat?” Jesse asked.

“We usually eat at Costa’s,” Cassy said. “But I think the waitress there is an infected person.”

“There’s going to be infected people no matter where we go,” Jesse said. “Let’s go to Costa’s. I don’t want to go anyplace where I might run into any of my fellow officers.”

It was a beautiful morning as they emerged into the sunlight. Jesse had them wait by the front door a few minutes while he went out to reconnoiter his car. When he saw no evidence of it having been tampered with, he waved them over. They piled in.

“I got to stop for gas,” Jesse informed them as he pulled out into the street.

“There’s still a lot of people walking around,” Jonathan said. “Just like last night. And they all have that weird shit-eating grin.”

“Foul language is no longer cool,” Cassy admonished.

“Jeez, you sound like my mother,” Jonathan said.

They drove into a gas station. Jesse got out to pump the gas. Pitt got out to keep him company.

“Have you been noticing what I have?” Jesse asked when the tank was almost full. The gas station was very busy at that time in the morning.

“Are you referring to the fact that everybody seems to have the flu?” Pitt commented.

“That’s exactly what I’m referring to,” Jesse said. Most everyone they saw was either coughing, sneezing, or looking pale.

A few blocks away from the diner, Jesse pulled over to
the curb at a newsstand and asked Pitt to get a paper. Pitt got out and waited his turn. Like the gas station, the newsstand was busy. As Pitt got closer to the stacks of papers, he noticed that each was being held down with a black disc!

Pitt asked the proprietor about his paperweights.

“Cute little things, ain’t they?” he said.

“Where did you get them?” Pitt asked.

“They were all over my yard this morning,” the man said.

Pitt ducked back into the car with the paper and told the others about the black discs.

“Wonderful!” Jesse said sarcastically. He glanced at the headlines:
Mild Flu Spreading
. “As if we didn’t know that already,” he added.

Cassy took the paper in the back seat and read the article as Jesse drove on to Costa’s.

“It says the illness is miserable but short,” Cassy said. “At least for healthy people. For people with chronic diseases, it advises them to seek medical attention at the first sign of symptoms.”

“A lot of good that’s going to do them,” Pitt commented.

Once inside Costa’s they took a booth toward the front. Pitt and Cassy were on the lookout for Marjorie. They didn’t see her. When a boy about Jonathan’s age came over to take their order, Cassy asked about the waitress.

“She went to Santa Fe,” the boy said. “A lot of our staff went there. That’s why I’m working. I’m Stephanos, Costa’s son.”

After Stephanos disappeared back into the kitchen,
Cassy told the others about what she’d seen in Santa Fe. “They’re all working at this castlelike house,” she added.

“What are they doing?” Jesse asked.

Cassy shrugged. “I asked; it was a natural question. But Beau just gave me platitudes and generalities about a new beginning and making everything right, whatever the hell that meant.”

“I thought foul language wasn’t cool,” Jonathan said.

“You’re right,” Cassy said. “I’m sorry.”

Pitt glanced at his watch for the tenth time since they’d been in the diner. “It shouldn’t be too long now before they arrive at the CDC.”

“They might be waiting for the place to open,” Cassy said. “By now they’ve been in Atlanta for several hours. With the time difference maybe the CDC doesn’t open for another hour or so.”

A family of four in the next booth started to cough and sneeze almost simultaneously. The flu symptoms progressed rapidly. Pitt looked over and recognized the pale, feverish appearance, particularly of the father. “I wish I could warn them,” he said.

“What would you tell them?” Cassy asked. “That they have an alien monster inside that’s now been activated and that by tomorrow they won’t be themselves?”

“You’re right,” Pitt said. “At this stage there’s not much that can be said. Prevention is key.”

“That’s why we’ve gone to the CDC,” Cassy said. “Prevention is what they are about. We just have to keep our fingers crossed that they’ll take the threat seriously before it is too late.”

DR. WILTON MARCHAND LEANED BACK IN HIS HIGH
-backed desk chair and folded his hands over his expansive abdomen. He’d never followed any of his own organization’s recommendations concerning diet and exercise. He looked more like a successful brewery proprietor of the late nineteenth century than the director of the Centers for Disease Control.

Dr. Marchand had hastily called together some of his department heads for an impromptu meeting. Attending were Dr. Isabel Sanchez, head of the Influenza branch; Dr. Delbert Black, head of Special Pathogens; Dr. Patrick Delbanco, head of virology; and Dr. Hamar Eggans, head of epidemiology. Dr. Marchand would have liked to have included others, but they were either out of town or tied up with other commitments.

“Thank you,” Dr. Marchand said to Sheila who’d just finished an impassioned presentation of the entire problem. Dr. Marchand gazed at his branch heads who were looking over each other’s shoulders, busily reading the single copy of the report that Sheila had handed them prior to her presentation.

Sheila glanced at Eugene and Nancy who were sitting to her immediate right. The room had gone silent. Nancy nodded to Sheila to convey that she thought Sheila had done an excellent job. Eugene shrugged and raised his eyebrows in response to the silence. He was silently asking the question of how this collection of CDC brass could be taking this information with such apparent composure.

“Excuse me,” Eugene said a minute or so later, unable
to bear the prolonged silence. “As a physicist, I have to emphasize to you people that these black discs are made of a material that could not have been made on Earth.”

Dr. Marchand picked up the Tupperware container on his desk and with lidded eyes gazed in at the two objects.

“And they are definitely manufactured,” Eugene continued. “They are not natural. In other words, it would have to be from an advanced culture…an alien culture!” It was the first time the trio had used the word “alien.” They had implied as much but had avoided being so explicit.

Dr. Marchand smiled to indicate that he understood Eugene’s point. He extended the Tupperware container out toward Dr. Black who took it and peered within.

“Quite heavy,” Dr. Black commented before handing the container on to Dr. Delbanco.

“And you say that there are many such objects in your city,” Dr. Marchand said.

Sheila threw up her hands in exasperation and got to her feet. She couldn’t sit a moment longer. “There could be thousands,” she said. “But that’s not the point. The point that we are making is that we are in the beginning of an epidemic stemming from a provirus in our genomes. In fact, it’s in every higher animal’s genome that we’ve tested, suggesting it’s been there for maybe a billion years. And the scariest part is that it has to be extraterrestrial in origin.”

“Every element, every atom, and every particle of our bodies are ‘extraterrestrial,’” Dr. Black said sternly. “Our entire makeup has been forged in the supernova of dying stars.”

“That may be,” Eugene said. “But we are talking about a life form. Not mere atoms.”

“Exactly,” Sheila said. “A viruslike organism that has been lying dormant in the genomes of Earth creatures, including human beings.”

“Which you purport was transported to Earth in these miniature spaceships in the Tupperware container,” Dr. Marchand said wearily.

Sheila rubbed her face to get herself under control. She knew she was exhausted and emotionally drained. Like Nancy and Eugene she’d not slept a wink all night. “I know it sounds implausible,” she said, deliberately speaking slowly. “But it is happening. These black discs have the capability of injecting a fluid into living organisms. We were lucky to obtain a drop of the fluid from which we have isolated a protein that we believe functions like a prion.”

“A prion only carries one of the spongiform encephalopathies,” Dr. Delbanco said with a broad smile. “I doubt your protein is a prion.”

“I said, ‘Like a prion!’” Sheila added venomously. “I didn’t say it was a prion.”