Brian O'Grady - Hybrid

“You’ve seen him,” she said.

“I’ve seen someone, and Lisa has seen the same person several times as well. It’s probably just Internal Affairs making sure that my retirement is not too comfortable.”

“You don’t believe that and neither do I,” she answered. “I’ll know more as soon as I see you.”

“Amanda, don’t be a fool; if you come anywhere near here, the FBI will be all over you.”

“O ye of little faith, with a wave of my hand, they will all disappear.”

“Amanda this isn’t funny,” Greg rebuked her.

“What’s wrong with you, Greg?”

He waited a moment before answering her. “There is a priest in our parish. I’ve known him for a few years. He’s a good man; at least, I thought he was a good man.”

“Greg you’re babbling,” Amanda prodded him along.

“It seems he has abilities similar to yours and has managed to conceal them for I don’t know how long.” Greg waited for a reaction, but Amanda stayed quiet. “He said he saw you early this morning and that you were looking for someone to kill.”

“He’s wrong,” Amanda said rather unconvincingly.

“Honey, we can’t do this again. The last time. .”

Amanda cut him off. “I gave you my word, and I’ve kept it,” she said sharply. ”I am coming home to find the man who is purposely spreading this infection. I will tell you now that I will do whatever is necessary to stop him; you can’t ask me to do anything less.”

“Even if you do it for the right reasons, it’s still murder.”

Amanda didn’t respond; she didn’t want to argue with Greg, especially over a cell phone. “I should go Greg, it’s starting to snow, and traffic is picking up. I’ll call you once I get in, and please don’t worry about me.”

“I will always worry about you, Amanda, please be careful.”

Over the next half hour, the snow worsened. Travel was being discouraged, but no one seemed to have listened. There had been three multi-car accidents within a twenty-mile stretch along I-25 before the road was closed. Amanda had been lucky; she had been able to follow three huge snowplows into Colorado Springs a little after nine. The Highway Patrol finally directed her off onto a downtown exit. The streets had been plowed and sanded so the going became a little easier. Her first order of business was to find a place to stay. For more than six years, she had successfully evaded the FBI by assuming the identities of others. She was surprised how easy it was. Even with the additional scrutiny over the last few years, Amanda could effortlessly become half a dozen different people. She had credit cards, drivers’ licenses, and bank accounts, everything a normal person would need to move through society without arousing suspicion, including getting a hotel room.

“Good morning, and welcome to the Hilton,” the desk clerk greeted Amanda with a tired smile. Normally, she would have preferred a place with a lower profile, but all the low-to medium-range hotels were filled with stranded travelers.

“Morning!” Amanda returned the smile and read his nametag and his mind in the same instant. David Ruiz was twentyseven, married with three children, all boys. He and Sophie, his wife of six years, had just moved into a new house, and David was working two jobs to manage the mortgage. Sophie was a legal clerk, and David’s greatest fear was that he would lose her to a better provider. Normally, he was home by this time, but the rest of the hotel staff was having trouble getting in, so David had volunteered to stay for a while. He needed the extra hours almost as much as he needed the gratitude of his boss. He was a good, decent man, which made it all the harder to accept that he was infected.

“How long have you been sick?” Amanda asked. She could have pulled the answer directly from his mind, but that would have required an active search, and she didn’t know how he would react.

“About a week. It’s just this flu that’s been going around. I think I picked it up from one of my kids.” He seemed somewhat embarrassed by his haggard look. “I’m pretty much over it now, but last week was pretty rough.”

“So you’re getting better?” she asked with a voice too high for casual conversation.

David paused and looked at Amanda. She had slipped out of character, and he had noticed. “I can assure you that I’m not infectious.”

She stared at him with a blank face. His embarrassment changed to curiosity, and then just as fast to the special, viralinduced brand of anger that Amanda was all too familiar with. He stared back at Amanda, his rage building. He tried to fight the rising fury, but the more she stared at him the harder it became for him to control himself.

She regretted having to do it, but just before he exploded, she reached for his mind and enveloped it. David responded by screaming and grabbing his head. She tried to be as gentle as possible while sifting through his mind. It took seven seconds before Amanda retreated back into herself. By that point, David was on the floor, howling in agony.

“Are you okay?” Amanda leaned over the counter, back in character. It took him a full minute to register that someone was talking to him.

“Huh? What?” He looked back up at her, wondering who she was and why he was on the floor.

“I asked if you were okay. You slipped on something, and I think you hit your head.”

He climbed back up to the counter, dazed, and still confused. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he repeated. He looked at Amanda as if he had never seen her before. “Are you checking in?”

“You were about to give me the room key.” This was more an instruction than an answer.

He looked down and found a room card with a sleeve. In his handwriting, the number 456 was scrolled across the top. “Oh yes, I’m sorry. Please excuse me. I’m just getting over a cold, and I’m moving a little slower than usual.” He handed her the card. “It’s room 456. Go through the lobby and take the elevators to your left. Do you need help with your luggage?”

“No, thank you,” Amanda answered. She walked away, leaving David Ruiz with a headache and a five-minute memory gap. She reached her room, dropped into the chair by the window, and called Greg.

“Hello,” Greg said tentatively.

“I’m here,” she said quickly. “It’s not the same virus, but it’s close. The clerk downstairs has been sick for a week; if it was my virus, he would be dead by now instead of getting better. I’m fairly certain that this is a mutation, and that’s why people aren’t dying by the thousands.”

“What about the violence? Is it related?”

“Absolutely.”

“Do you know who’s doing this?” Greg’s voice was rising in excitement.

“Not yet. I can feel him, he’s close, but for some reason I can’t break through.”

“So how do you find him?”

“I don’t know, but I’m worried that we may be too late. A slower-acting virus has greater infectivity. Thousands could already be affected.” Amanda wondered how many travelers Ruiz had infected in the last week, and how many those people had infected once they left. “We need help, and it’s not going to come from Atlanta.” Amanda quickly summarized her exchange with Martin.

“Our Chief Medical Examiner is brilliant but somewhat unusual. I can start with him.”

“It might be more effective if I talk with him.”

Greg laughed loudly. “I think if you met with Phillip Rucker, we wouldn’t be able to get him out from under his desk for a week. You better let me handle this.”

“All right,” Amanda said. “Greg, I really do need to see you and Lisa.” Aside from Emily, they were her last real contacts with humanity. “Let me find someplace safe, and I’ll call you back with a location. ’Bye.”