John Locke: Maybe

“Affected how?”

“The flesh is falling off their bones.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“People’s hands, babies’ faces-appear to be melting.”

“How many victims?”

“Somewhere around twenty.”

My mind starts racing.

“ Babies ?”

“That’s right.”

“Their entire face or just the lips and cheeks?”

There’s a pause. “Lips and cheeks. How’d you know?”

“You said people’s hands. Is it mostly women and children?”

“Yes.”

“When you say their flesh is falling off the bone. Which side of their hands is worse, the palms or the back of the hands?”

“Does it matter?”

“What do you think?”

“Hold on.”

Sherm clicks back on and says, “It’s worse on the palms.”

“Hand sanitizer,” I say.

“Excuse me?”

“Ask if they have plastic hand sanitizing stations at the fair.”

“Why?”

“My first guess? This is an urban terrorist, acting alone. He’s putting a chemical agent in the public hand sanitizers. Some type of acid. Mom pushes the plunger, foam comes out, she rubs her palms together, then the top of her hands, then pumps some more and rubs it on her baby’s hands and cheeks. She can’t leave the toddlers out, so she pumps again and wipes their hands. For some reason the acid effect is delayed. But after a time, it starts burning holes in their hands and cheeks.”

I hear Sherm in the background. He’s on another line, asking if they have hand sanitizing stations at the fair.

Callie, Maybe, and Gwen enter the room. Gwen places a tray of cupcakes on the coffee table. Each lady has her own unique style of attack, but when Gwen licks her frosting the temperature in the room goes up five degrees.

A new voice comes on the line.

“Mr. Creed.”

“Yes, Mr. President?”

Callie arches her eyebrows.

“You asked if they had plastic hand sanitizing stations at the fair. Why plastic?”

“Plastic resists acid erosion.”

There’s another pause. Then the president says, “There are two stations on the midway, two in the exhibit buildings. All four have plastic reservoirs. I think you’ve done us a great service.”

“Thank you sir.”

He says, “It terrifies me to know there are people like you in the world.”

“Rest easy, Mr. President. I’m on your team.”

“That’s what frightens me.”

I say, “You understand this is just the beginning?”

“What do you mean?”

“You need to get the word out to all airports, public buildings, private businesses, anyone who uses plastic dispensers in bathrooms or work spaces. Especially Louisville, and the surrounding cities and towns.”

“You’re joking.”

“Not remotely.”

“You said it’s one man, acting alone.”

“That’s what makes him so dangerous.”

“We need to catch him.”

“Good luck with that.”

He pauses. “Could you catch such a man?”

“If he continues attacking? Yes. But it’ll take time.”

“How much time?”

“If he stays busy? Days or weeks.”

“Then catch him.”

“I’ll need the full cooperation and resources of government and law enforcement.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ll need the highest possible clearance.”

“You’re joking.”

“Total access, Mr. President. Nothing less.”

He says, “I wouldn’t give a man like you access to a dog turd.”

“Thank you, Mr. President.”

The line goes dead.

Maybe says, “You were talking to the president just now?”

“Yes.”

“Of the United States?”

Gwen makes a face and says, “Bullshit. He was just trying to impress me. He’ll say or do anything to get in my pants.”

She looks at me and says, “It won’t work.”

Her tongue flicks at the frosting again and again, and I see she’s making little sculptures on her cupcake. Callie catches me staring.

“Down boy,” she says.

LOU CALLS ME back.

“Good call on the hand sanitizer,” he says.

“Any deaths yet?”

“No. But they’re going to be permanently disfigured.”

“That bothers me.”

“Me too. Wait. Which part?”

“The acid should start burning mom’s hands immediately. But there’s a delayed reaction of what, ten, maybe fifteen minutes? Possibly longer?”

“You’re trying to guess how long it would take him to put acid in all four sanitizing stations?”

“I am. Ask the Louisville PD how far apart the stations are, from first to fourth.”

“Will do.”

“And ask the geeks how he managed to delay the effect.”

Lou’s geek squad possesses the finest computer minds and researchers on the planet. It’s one of the reasons I keep him on my personal payroll.

“I’ll run it by them,” he says. “Anything else?”

“I want to know every victim’s name. I want to see their before and after photos.”

“Even the babies?”

“Especially the babies.”

“This will help you find him, somehow?”

“No. But it’ll help me want to. And Lou?”

“Yeah?”

“When the scientists isolate the chemical agent, we need to learn who manufactures it, who distributes it, and how our urban terrorist got hold of it.”

“What type of person are we looking for?”

“A chemist.”

“Corporate?”

“Yes. Or a high school chemistry teacher, college professor, or grad student with a chemistry major.”

“That’s a pretty wide range.”

“First cut.”

“What do you mean?”

“Everyone with a chemistry background has survived the first cut. As Felix continues terrorizing people, we’ll narrow the possibilities accordingly.”

“Felix?”

“We need to call him something besides the urban terrorist.”

I hang up and tell Callie and Maybe about Felix and what he’s done.

“Sounds like a kid’s book,” Maybe says. “ Felix at the Fair ?”

Callie says, “I thought we were going to war against Darwin.”

“We are. If he’s alive.”

“Then what’s all this about finding Felix?”

“We’re a long way from finding Felix. But it’ll keep Lou busy while I try to figure out if Darwin’s still alive.

Sam Case.

THE GOVERNMENT FACILITY at Mount Weather, near Bluemont, Virginia, includes an underground bunker called Area B, which is the size of a small city. Area B was built to withstand repeated strikes from nuclear weapons. More than 600,000 square feet in size, Area B contains a hospital, crematorium, dining and recreational facilities, self-contained power plants, and is equipped to broadcast TV and radio signals.

Area B is where Sam Case lives and works for the government, developing a synthetic cure for the Spanish Flu, a virus so deadly it decimated one-third of the earth’s population in 1918. The thing about the Spanish Flu, there’s no cure. First time around, it nearly wiped out the planet.

Next time it’ll be worse.

And there will be a next time.

Like many government employees, Sam’s in no hurry to solve the problem he’s been hired to solve. But Sam’s motivation isn’t about steady employment. It’s about self-preservation. Sam’s life is in jeopardy, and Mount Weather is the only place on earth his enemies can’t get to him.