D
aniel Tate shoved hard and another piece of concrete gave way. Finally he felt rain pouring down on him. He tilted back his head and opened his mouth, so thirsty he wanted to yell in relief. But he stopped himself. He had no idea how close the enemy might be.
All night long he’d heard rumbles and muffled explosions. The debris beneath him shook and the walls vibrated as though the whole place could give way again.
His fingers were raw and bleeding from digging. He had scraped out a cozy but teetering cave. Now that he could see sky—though cloudy and dark—he could see his surroundings.
The examination room had crumbled. Branches pierced through the walls. Frayed electrical wires dangled along trails of insulation from what used to be the ceiling. The door that Dr. Shaw had slammed shut and locked had been ripped away. Tate could see the dark hallway beyond the splintered doorway. Pieces of glass and broken equipment littered the floor.
What interested Tate most was the hole he had finally opened up above. It looked large enough for him to escape through. And yet he hesitated. He crouched in a dark corner atop a tattered pile of what used to be the examination table he had clung to and hidden under. It had probably saved his life.
Now he tried listening for the sounds beyond the hole that was just a foot over his head. He managed enough courage to push himself up and peek out. His eyes flew to the treetops and he scanned the branches. Before the earthquake, explosion—whatever the hell had happened—he had seen tiny green monkeys scurrying up the hallway outside his room. He looked for them now. Surely they were harmless, but what did he know about monkeys?
He crawled out onto jagged rocks slick with mud. Only then did he notice that his feet were swollen and covered with tiny cuts. It must have been the glass on the floor. His arms were cut, too, the shirtsleeves shredded. He had only been concerned about his hands as he dug his way out.
In the open air he felt light-headed. Blood dripped from his nostrils and he wiped his nose with an arm stained with dried blood. He heard a noise behind him and spun around so quickly he slipped in the mud. He came down hard on his knees. So hard he felt it in his jaw.
His eyes searched for the cause of the noise. There! Behind a tree not fifty feet away he saw someone duck into the bushes. Tate kept completely still. Lowered his body closer to the mud, keeping to the ground where he’d be hidden by the debris. He never let his eyes leave the spot where he swore he had seen a face.
They were still here. And they were still after him. He knew it wouldn’t be safe up here. His heartbeat kicked against his ribs. He could barely hear over the sound of it pounding in his ears. This close to the ground he could smell something awful, like sewer gas. Still, he slithered his way through the mud and over the sharp edges of metal and rock poking up out of the ground. His eyes stayed glued, watching the bushes and the tree that he’d seen the face disappear behind.
He found the hole and slipped back down into the space he had spent hours digging his way out of. But this time he started looking for provisions he’d need: water, light, and most important—a weapon.
Washington, D.C.
B
enjamin Platt knew better than to offer assistance to the man walking beside him, despite his slow and laborious effort. The two men saw each other almost every week either at meetings or during their weekly lunch together. Colonel Abraham Hess had been Platt’s mentor for almost twenty years. He was the backbone of DARPA, a valued consultant at USAMRIID. Never once would Platt think to use the word “old” to describe Hess, yet today he thought he glimpsed a tired and worn-out fatigue in the man’s step.
He knew that Hess was concerned about the DARPA facility affected by the landslide in North Carolina. But Platt sensed there was something more than just concern. By the time they reached Hess’s office, Platt could hear the older man’s raspy breathing. Perspiration beaded on his upper lip and forehead. Platt watched him as they took their seats, careful not to let Hess know that he saw him using both hands to steady himself as he dropped into the club chair. His office was massive and included a huge desk and floor-to-ceiling bookcases. There was also a sitting area with a small kitchenette in the corner.
“Should we have some coffee?” Hess asked.
Platt knew the offer meant that Hess wanted his guest to make and serve it. He didn’t mind. He was on his feet before he answered with “That sounds good. I’ll make us a pot.”
“Little Ellie Delanor,” Hess said, shaking his head and smiling. “She turned out to be a beautiful woman. She was all knobby-kneed and skinny as a girl. She has her father’s eyes. Reminded me how much I miss him.”
“I never had the pleasure of meeting Colonel Delanor.”
“He was one of the best men I ever knew. I’m glad to see his daughter is on our side.”
Platt knew “our side” simply meant a public official willing to stay out of the way of their jobs to research and develop what was necessary to keep the military and U.S. citizens safe. He wasn’t sure what made Hess think Ellie Delanor was on their side. As soon as they had left the conference room, Hess was handed a subpoena by a young staff member whom Platt recognized as one of Senator Delanor’s.
He said nothing, however, as he scooped and measured coffee grounds from the economy-sized, discounted can. The man could more than afford one of the fresh-ground designer brands and still chose this one. Platt saw it as a telltale sign that the genius behind so many innovative and technologically advanced ideas still liked to keep some things just the way he’d always had them.
“I need to ask a favor of you, Benjamin,” Hess told him as Platt handed him a ceramic cup that rattled against the saucer as soon as the two were in Hess’s brown-spotted hands.
“I already told you, Abe, I don’t mind testifying. The committee should hear about all the groundbreaking research USAMRIID is working on. All of us could be affected by the results of this hearing.”
“And I appreciate your help, but that’s not what I was going to ask.”
Hess pursed his lips to take a sip as he held up his finger, a familiar gesture that Platt knew meant to hold on a minute and he would explain.
“I’m concerned about the facility down in North Carolina. If there’s an investigation, it could be messy, especially now, during these hearings. I wonder if you might know someone, perhaps at the FBI, who might be able to go down there. Someone who would be discreet.” Then he waved his hand and said, “You know, someone on our side.”
Again that term, only this time it brought Platt to the edge of his chair. “How badly was the facility affected?”
Hess shrugged as if it weren’t a big deal, but his eyes flitted back and forth across Platt’s face without settling.
“It’s too early to know. I haven’t been able to talk to Dr. Shaw yet. I’ve asked Peter Logan to find out what’s going on. He promised to send down a few of his people.” He glanced at his wristwatch and shook his head in disappointment. “I expected to hear from him by now with an update.”
Platt knew Peter Logan. He was a soldier, not a scientist, and Platt had never quite understood why Hess had taken him under his wing—so to speak—even making him a deputy director. But that was what Hess did with many young men, including Platt. He saw potential where others did not, and as a result fostered an amazing loyalty. There were men who would literally take a bullet for Colonel Hess. Platt wondered if Logan was one of them.
Logan and Platt were about the same age. Both had served in Afghanistan and Iraq, though Platt served as a medical doctor and surgeon and Logan as a platoon leader. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t like the man.
“Why the FBI?” Platt finally asked when Hess didn’t offer anything else.
“They will, most likely, be the ones asking questions if something has gone wrong. I’d like to know we at least have someone who will be—” He stopped, as if to select his words carefully. “Someone who will be on our side.”
There was that phrase again, as though they were schoolchildren choosing up sides for a game of flag football.
“What exactly was at this particular facility?” Platt asked.
Another shrug from Hess, and Platt noticed how slumped his shoulders had become.
“I’m not sure at this time. You know we purposely allow our facilities and directors much leeway for their research.”
Platt did know that. There were dozens, perhaps more than a hundred, research facilities across the country like the one in North Carolina. Giving them a generous amount of independence was an attempt to relieve them of the many constraints the politicians tried to saddle them with. Platt understood all too well from his own experience at USAMRIID how much politicians could get in the way. Everyone wanted a cure for Ebola but few wanted to know the deliberate and tedious process it took to develop a serum or vaccine. Until recently they couldn’t even experiment on human cases.
“I do know Dr. Shaw, who’s the director of this facility,” Hess told him. “She’s a brilliant woman. Very impressive. I doubt there’s a virus she wouldn’t be able to replicate.”
Platt felt a knot tighten in his stomach with the sudden realization.
“Hold on, Abe. Are you saying there could be Level 3 or Level 4 samples at this facility?”
“You can’t find cures without having the samples.” When he saw Platt’s concern, he continued, “They take every precaution to keep them safe. Our laboratory lockboxes are made to withstand a terrorist explosion.”
“But can they withstand the destructive forces of a landslide?”
The phone began to ring on Hess’s desk, interrupting them. Before Platt could offer to get it for him, Hess struggled to his feet, shuffling as quickly as he could to pick up the receiver.
“This is Colonel Hess.”
Platt watched the colonel’s face as he listened to the caller. The downturned mouth, the taut jaw, the perpetual lines in his forehead remained unchanged. The perfect poker player except for his eyes, which again darted from side to side, giving away his worry.
He was quiet for almost a minute before he said, “I’ll get back to you with instructions.” And then he hung up.
He stayed behind the desk, leaning against it as if needing an anchor. This time when he looked up at Platt, he couldn’t hide the anxiety.
“One of the scientists was found.”
Platt waited to see relief that never came.
Then Hess added, “He’s dead.”
“He died in the landslide?”
“No. Probably before. It appears that he was shot in the head.”
Haywood County, North Carolina
C
reed kept his palms flat against the tiled wall and let the warm stream of water course over his battered body. Beside him, Bolo was doing the same, standing still, head down, and enjoying the spray.
After he examined Creed, the medic, named Kevin, had taken him away from the noisy gymnasium that was being staged to accommodate the rescue crews. He had led Creed and Bolo down a long hallway to a small locker room with a private shower and bath. Creed guessed it was normally used by the high school’s coaching staff.
He couldn’t shake the pressure from inside his head. His ears were ringing and if he moved too quickly he got dizzy enough to see stars. Kevin had barely left them when Creed had caved to his knees, emptying his stomach in the toilet. Bolo kept close the whole time, nudging Creed and allowing him to use the big dog’s back to help him get to his feet. Even now the dog kept so close his side touched Creed’s leg. Every once in a while he noticed Bolo looking up at him.
As soon as Creed felt he had his balance back, he knelt down again, only this time he ran his hands over Bolo. He let the water help him clean and examine the dog’s back, his legs, his neck and chest. Gradually Creed felt the dog relax his muscles, and he didn’t tense when his owner palpated his sides and belly.
Suddenly another wave of nausea washed over Creed and he stopped. Leaned his forehead against Bolo’s side and felt the dog’s muscles go rigid. Creed waited, head pounding, ears ringing. There was nothing more in his stomach to churn but acid. Bolo stood still, also waiting. Then the dog twisted his neck to look back at Creed. He didn’t move his body away, letting Creed continue to lean on him.
“I’m okay, buddy,” Creed told the dog, but he still didn’t move. Right now the slightest motion threatened to drop him. And Bolo seemed to know this.
He remembered the medic showing him his helmet. The back had cracked like an eggshell.
“You’re gonna feel like a truck hit you then backed up and ran over you,” Kevin had said to him.
He told Creed they could transport him to the nearest hospital to get X-rays, that he was almost certain Creed had a few broken ribs. Creed had refused the transport, but agreed to have Kevin wrap and treat him after he scraped the mud off.
He wasn’t sure how much time had gone by. How long had he been on his knees, eyes closed, forehead nestled against Bolo? He hadn’t heard the door open. Hadn’t sensed anyone else’s presence.
“Mr. Creed?”
He heard Kevin’s voice but still didn’t move.
“You doing okay?”
The man was older than Creed, shorter but lean and muscular. Callused hands suggested he had another job—perhaps part-time—or a hobby that required other skills. He had been careful when he examined Creed earlier, experienced in knowing how much pressure he could get away with. But now he stood across the room, waiting for permission.
“Wishing the room would stop tilting.”
“Sure I can’t talk you into that ride to the med center in Clyde?”
As if he needed to prove it to himself as much as to Kevin, Creed pushed himself to his feet, holding on to Bolo with one hand and the wall with the other. He needed to catch his breath while he shut off the water and grabbed a towel.
“I’ll be okay. Just need some rest.”
He bent to dry off Bolo and bit his lip when the pain in his chest took him off guard.
“You have anyone who can keep an eye on you tonight?”
“This guy right here.”
Kevin didn’t look pleased. He was digging in his medical duffel, pulling out bandages, ready to work on Creed’s body again.
“How’s the dog doing? The one we dug up?” Creed asked, remembering he wasn’t the only patient in the ambulance back from the slide site.
“About as good as you. Battered but stubborn.”
“She gonna be okay?”
“I think so. She actually didn’t refuse to be taken to the animal hospital.”
“What’ll happen to her?” He remembered Vance saying that all the other passengers in the car they had pulled up out of the mud were already dead. Her entire family, gone.
“If there’s no other family or friends to take her, she’ll probably go to a shelter.”
“Can you do me a favor? If there’s no one else, would you make sure I get her?”
“Seriously?” Kevin looked up at him. “The rescue of that dog almost got you killed. You sure you want it?”
“It wasn’t her fault.” Finished with Bolo, he grabbed another towel for himself. “Can you do that for me?”
The guy shook his head like he still couldn’t believe Creed wanted the dog. He filled his hands with scissors and ACE bandage, but when he looked up again, Creed could see the hint of a smile when he said, “Sure, I can do that for you.”