Brett Battles - Sick

The footage looked like it had been shot on a camera phone. There were several dozen people pushing and shoving. Most were civilians, but there were a few people in uniforms, too.

This went on for several seconds, then a face flashed across the screen that caused Tamara to jerk back, startled.

It was Gavin, or someone who sure looked a hell of a lot like him. She pushed her way through the crowd so she could get closer to the screen.

Whoever was holding the camera seemed to be moving slightly away from the crowd. She could see the whole mob now, pushing and shoving at each other. She tried to find the guy who looked like Gavin, but didn’t see him.

A voice cut over the video, distorted by the poor quality of the camera’s microphone.

“Most of these guys…I think have family…in the…zone.” The speaker’s voice was punctuated by deep breaths. “They want to get in…but…the soldiers are…trying to push them…back. It looks like some…people are getting through.”

The shot zoomed in on a small group that was trying to go around the end of the roadblock while the soldiers were busy with the larger crowd. Suddenly several members of the big group saw what was happening and took off after the others, no doubt hoping that they, too, could get through. The trickle became a stream, then a river.

At the edge of the pack, two soldiers went down. As soon as their colleagues saw this, they opened fire.

“Oh, my God!” someone standing near Tamara yelled out as civilians started falling to the ground.

But Tamara couldn’t even speak. She had seen Gavin again. He was wearing one of the shirts she’d given him for Christmas. And when the chaos was at its height, it looked very much like a bullet had hit him, too. Only unlike the others, he hadn’t fallen away from the roadblock, but toward it, like he’d been shot from the other direction. And then there was the look on his face a moment before he went down, a look of disorientation and confusion.

Like he had no idea what he was doing there in the first place.

The pressure in her head built until she could almost take it no more. How she didn’t scream, she had no idea.

There was another conference call at noon. Since this one had been arranged ahead of time, they were connected via video chat. Though both Dr. Karp and Major Ross were at the Marin County location, each was in his own office. Shell was in a hotel room somewhere near the quarantine zone, and the Director of Preparation was at Bluebird. Of course the DOP’s feed was blacked out. The project’s number one guideline was that the members of the Bluebird Directorate were to remain anonymous.

“Dr. Karp, do you have the latest statistics on the outbreak?” the DOP asked.

The doctor leaned forward a few inches. “I talked to our source at the CDC five minutes ago, so the numbers I’m about to give you are as up to date as possible. Dead-three hundred and twenty-one. Currently infected-five hundred and seventeen. This information, of course, has not been released to the public yet. But I doubt they will be getting any-”

“That’s enough for the moment,” the DOP said, cutting him off. “Mr. Shell, your update, please.”

“Yes, sir,” Shell said, adjusting himself in his chair. “On the quarantine front, state and military officials have a pretty good handle on containment for the majority of the population. Fortunately, the outbreak occurred in an open and underpopulated area.”

“It was not fortunate , Mr. Shell,” Dr. Karp broke in. “It was by design. Why do you think we chose Barker Flats in the first place?”

“Thank you, doctor,” the DOP said. “Mr. Shell, please continue.”

Shell took a loud, annoyed breath, then said, “As you know, our strategy is one of plugging the holes the official response can’t handle. With your help, Director, I have my main team using Fort Irwin in Barstow as its base. Thank you for making that happen.” He paused, but the DOP said nothing. “I, uh, also have a team set up at a private airfield north of Victorville. Using thermal satellite imagery, we have been able to track in real time individuals who’ve tried to get out of the zone over the open desert. So far there have been twenty-eight attempts, and my people have stopped all of them.” There was no need for him to say what stopping meant. They all knew he was tasked with removing problems, not jailing them.

“Do you have any idea how many of those were actually infected?”

“Obviously, we wouldn’t be able to know that without proper tests, but I can say with confidence that six showed outward signs of KV-27a infection. My teams continue to monitor the intel, and are ready to move on any new escape attempts at a moment’s notice.”

“It’s critical that no one gets out,” the DOP said.

“Yes, sir. Of course.”

“Please continue.”

“Yes, sir. There was the matter of the reporter’s brother.”

“Yes. Gavin Costello. A mistake to pick him up in the first place.”

Shell looked uncomfortable. “Yes, sir. Things were a little fluid at that point, and there was no telling what he might dig up for his sister.”

“Mr. Shell, I’m not fond of glossing over mistakes. There was nothing for him to dig up that would have harmed us. It was a mistake from the beginning.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dr. Karp kept his expression neutral, but inside he was laughing as Shell squirmed.

“Continue your report.”

“Concerning Gavin Costello. Unfortunately, we couldn’t just let him go, especially given his sister’s high-profile job. Elimination was the only answer. We started spreading a rumor among people who were stranded in the Bakersfield area that the roadblock east of Tehachapi was going to be opened. When they arrived and found that it was still closed and would remain so, with the prodding of some of my men scattered within the group, they rioted. As soon as the military opened fire, one of my men eliminated Mr. Costello. When he is finally identified, his presence can easily be explained as concern for his sister.”

“And Ash?” the DOP asked.

“As you know we traced the original car to a parking garage at a casino in Nevada. I then gave a team instructions to trace the paths of every car that left that garage in the following four hours.”

Shell’s face was replaced by a thermal satellite image. Along the left side was a busy freeway running basically from bottom to top. It was covered with dozens of bright, warm blobs indicating vehicles.

“Please notice the spot near the midpoint of the picture. This is the most likely candidate.”

The spot in question was down an empty road that led off from the freeway. It was faint, but definitely warmer than the surrounding area.

“We were able to trace this car from the casino to this point. The heat signature you are looking at was generated by a person sitting inside a car. When it arrived here, there were two people, one up front, and one lying in the back. The driver got out, walked to the road, and was picked up three minutes later.” He then explained how the person in back got out, and eventually took a seat up front. He showed another picture. In this one, a larger vehicle was parked next to the smaller one. “The man transferred to the new vehicle and they left.”

“Were you able to follow it, too?” the DOP asked.

Shell hesitated. “We were able to follow them south for about twenty minutes. But we experienced a transmission problem that took us off line for an hour. In that gap, we lost them.”

“So you’re no closer to finding him now than you were earlier.”

“We are very hopeful that Dr. Karp’s suggestion of exposing Ash through the media will work,” Shell said, surprising Karp with his implied praise. “At the very least, it will be a long time before he can ever show his face again. Which means he’ll be unable to cause us any problems.”