Brett Battles - Sick

Still, protocol was to dispatch a team.

So he did.

Dr. Karp was feeling particularly pleased with himself. He’d been in touch with his research team, and was told all indications were that the new vaccine would work exactly as they’d hoped.

This was the fifth time they’d tested KV-27a, and only the first in which they’d run across someone with immunity. What a bonus that had been. They’d been working on a synthetic vaccine to that point and having multiple problems, but the blood running through the veins of Captain Ash and his children had proved most useful, and the previous problems quickly disappeared. Even the issue of how females versus males reacted was on the cusp of being solved.

The doctor had all but given up hope that they’d find someone like the three surviving members of the Ash family. Between the tests in Tanzania, Bangladesh, Tajikistan, Alaska, Barker Flats, and the unintentional victims of what the media was calling the Sage Flu outbreak, there had been 3578 subjects, of which 3575 had died. That was a success rate of 99.9 %, even better than their targeted goal of 99.85 %. Which would mean there should be even fewer genetically immune survivors when the official implementation occurred, and thus making it easier for those survivors chosen by the project to control those chosen by nature.

Of course, thinking like that was getting ahead of the game. There were still many obstacles to overcome. But his part was all but done. He was sure of it. Once the vaccine was in production, he could relax and act as consultant for the others as he waited for the great day.

His most immediate task was the children. What he had to do wasn’t pleasant, but he was smart enough to understand this was not a task he could delegate. These children would be giving their lives so that he and the others could make things right. In many ways, they were as important to the future as he was. Well, almost.

He would take care of them first thing in the morning before they woke-that would be best. Right now, he was content to let them have one more night of dreams.

Why not? Everything was going so well. Even the outbreak in California had given them more data to back up his work.

Yes, very well, indeed.

“What time is it?” Tamara asked.

Bobby turned the camera back on, its display screen lighting up their tiny room. It was the only clock they had. His cell phone was sitting on the editing console in the van, while hers was in her purse along with the wristwatch she had for work but seldom wore.

“Eleven fifty-three,” he said.

He switched the camera off to save its battery, plunging them back into darkness.

Tamara dropped her chin to her chest. Eleven fifty-three p.m. They’d been in the truck’s secret compartment for over five hours. And who knew how much longer they’d have to stay?

After the first ten minutes in the box had passed, she’d had a moment when she started to think that maybe Chavez was wrong, that maybe the soldiers weren’t there to kill them. But then an image of her brother’s face appeared in her mind. Gavin looked confused and unsure at first, then suddenly his eyes went wide and he started to scream. The bullet. It had been fired by one of the soldiers who were now chasing her.

“Should…should we check?” Bobby had asked. “Maybe they’re gone.”

“No,” she said quickly.

Another silent minute went by, then, as if to confirm Tamara’s response, the sound of several boots running on asphalt could be heard approaching the truck, then stopping at the back.

“Clear!” one voice called out.

“Clear!” a second one chimed in.

There was some scuffling around, then a new voice said, “Team one, recheck the buildings along that row. We’ll take these over here. They’ve got to be in one of them. Say whatever’s necessary to get them into the helicopter, but let’s get this done now.”

Several voices replied, “Yes, sir,” then immediately there was the sound of at least half a dozen people running off.

Say whatever’s necessary to get them into the helicopter…

The words stuck in Tamara’s mind. Any lingering doubts that the soldiers just wanted to talk to them were gone.

As the hours passed, they could hear groups of people running by the truck on five separate occasions. Whether they were the soldiers or not, it was impossible to tell, but it was more than enough to reinforce the idea she and Bobby were better off in their box than anywhere else.

Then an hour passed with no one running by. It was the longest gap there’d been yet. Tamara hoped the others had finally left, and that the next sound she and Bobby heard would be the three knocks on the side of the truck, telling them it was safe to come out.

But the night remained silent.

“Why don’t you stretch out on the floor?” Bobby suggested in a whisper.

Their hidey-hole was set up with cushion-topped metal boxes they could sit on at either end. In the boxes, as they’d found out by touch, were food and drink, and on the floor near Bobby’s side had been the pot for relieving themselves. So far both of them had been able to avoid the need to use it. Between the two metal makeshift seats was an area plenty long enough for either of them to lie down, just not both at the same time.

“I’m fine,” she said softly. “You can use it.”

“I know you’re not fine, because I’m not fine. Now get some rest. The sooner you’re done, the sooner I can lie down.”

“Bobby, seriously. You can go first.”

“Absolutely not. You first, or neither of us go.”

Even though she knew he couldn’t see her, she rolled her eyes, but as soon as she lay on the floor, she was thankful he’d forced her to do it. She was completely drained. The time since they’d arrived outside the roadblock at Sage Springs seemed to have blurred into one long, living nightmare.

“We probably lost our jobs,” she said as she closed her eyes.

“They won’t fire us. They’ll make us stars. ‘The reporter and the cameraman forced into hiding by…’ ”

“ ‘…a rogue military force,’ ” she finished for him.

“Oh, that’s good. I like that.”

They fell silent for a moment.

“Who do you really think they are?” he asked.

“I wish I knew.”

He asked her another question a moment later, but though she could hear his voice, she couldn’t make out the words as exhaustion took over, and she fell into a deep sleep.

The low tone of the motion sensor alarm suddenly pulsed out of the speaker in the security room right off the lobby at NB7. The head of security had been sitting at the monitoring desk, talking to one of his men. The moment the alarm went off he whirled his chair around and looked back at his computer.

His first thought was that the two men he’d sent out to check for the missing car on the highway had somehow triggered the motion sensors.

By the time he took a good look at the warning screen, six seconds had passed.

Cameras covered the entire grounds, but there was no sense in constantly watching them since the system would alert security to any problems, at which point the video could be reviewed.

Though he immediately saw the others weren’t there, the head of security wasn’t worried. They’d had these alarms in the past, and all had turned out to be animals wandering in from the desert. The beams were supposed to be elevated high enough to cut out this kind of false alarm, but it still happened.

As he tapped the link to the video, he said, “Luke, go out front and check.”

The other man got up from his chair and went into the lobby.

By the time the head of security was looking at the video feed from the west side of the building, ten more seconds had gone by.