Robin Cook - Contagion

“I was afraid to say anything about it,” Terese said. “I didn’t want to associate myself with it in any way. But as bad as it was, I thought that was it. I didn’t know you were planning on more.”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” Richard said.

Jack became aware they were slowing down. He lifted his head as high as his handcuffed hands would allow. The glare of artificial light penetrated the car. They’d been driving in darkness for some time.

Suddenly there were bright lights, and they’d come to a complete stop under an overhang. When Jack heard the driver’s-side window going down, he realized they were at a tollbooth. He started to yell for help, but his voice was weak and raspy.

Richard reacted swiftly by reaching around and smacking Jack with a hard object. The blow impacted on Jack’s head. He collapsed onto the floor.

“Don’t hit him so hard,” Terese said. “You don’t want blood on the inside of the car.”

“I thought shutting him up was more important,” Richard said. He threw a handful of coins into the bin of the automatic gate.

Jack’s headache was now worse from the blow. He closed his eyes. He tried to find the most comfortable position, but there weren’t many choices. Mercifully, he finally fell into a troubled sleep despite being thrown from side to side. After the toll they were driving on a winding and twisting road.

The next thing Jack knew, they were stopped again. Carefully he raised his head. Again there were lights outside of the car.

“Don’t even think about it,” Richard said. He had the revolver in his hand.

“Where are we?” Jack asked groggily.

“At an all-night convenience store,” Richard said. “Terese wanted to get some basics.”

Terese came back to the car with a bag of groceries.

“Did he stir?” she asked, as she climbed in.

“Yeah, he’s awake,” Richard said.

“Did he try to yell again?”

“Nope,” Richard said. “He didn’t dare.”

They drove for another hour. Terese and Richard intermittently continued to bicker about whose fault the whole mess was. Neither was willing to give in.

Finally they turned off the paved road and bounced along a rutted gravel drive. Jack winced as his tender body thumped against the floor and the driveshaft hump.

Eventually they made a sharp turn to the left and came to a stop. Richard switched off the motor. Both he and Terese then got out.

Jack was left in the car by himself. Lifting his head as high as he could, he was only able to see a swatch of night sky. It was very dark.

Getting his legs under him, Jack tried to see if he could possibly rip the handcuffs from beneath the seat. But it wasn’t possible. The handcuffs had been looped around a stout piece of steel.

Collapsing back down, he resigned himself to waiting. It was half an hour before they came back for him. When they did they opened both doors on the passenger side.

Terese unlocked one side of the handcuffs.

“Out of the car!” Richard commanded. He held his gun aimed at Jack’s head.

Jack did as he was told. Terese then quickly stepped forward and recuffed Jack’s free hand.

“In the house!” Richard said.

Jack started walking on wobbly legs through the wet grass. It was much colder than in the city, and he could see his breath. Ahead a white farmhouse loomed in the darkness. There were lights in the windows facing a balustraded porch. Jack could make out smoke and a few sparks issuing from the chimney.

As they reached the porch, Jack glanced around. To the left he could see the dark outline of a barn. Beyond that was a field. Then there were mountains. There were no distant lights; it was an isolated, private hideaway.

“Come on!” Richard said, poking Jack in the ribs with the barrel of the gun. “Inside.”

The interior was decorated as a comfortable weekend/summer house with an English country flair. There were matching calico couches facing each other in front of a massive fieldstone chimney. In the fireplace was a roaring, freshly kindled fire. An oriental rug covered most of the wide-board floor.

Through a large arch was a country kitchen with a center table and ladder-back chairs. Beyond the table was a Franklin stove. Against the far wall was a large 1920s-style porcelain kitchen sink.

Richard marched Jack into the kitchen and motioned for him to get down on the rag rug in front of the sink. Sensing he was about to be shackled to the plumbing, Jack asked to use the rest room.

The request brought on a new argument between brother and sister. Terese wanted Richard to go into the bathroom with Jack, but Richard flatly refused. He told Terese she could do it, but she thought it was Richard’s role. Finally they agreed to let Jack go in by himself, since the guest bathroom had only one tiny window, one that was too small for Jack to climb through.

Left to himself, Jack got out the rimantadine and took one of the tablets. He’d been discouraged that the drug had not prevented his infection, but he did think it was slowing the flu’s course. No doubt his symptoms would be far worse if he weren’t taking it.

When Jack came out of the bathroom, Richard took him back to the kitchen, and as Jack had anticipated, locked the handcuffs around the kitchen drainpipe. While Terese and Richard retired to the couches in front of the fire, Jack eyed the plumbing with the intent of escaping. The problem was that the pipes were old-fashioned. They weren’t PVC or even copper. They were brass and cast iron. Jack tried putting pressure on them, but they didn’t budge.

Resigned for the moment, Jack assumed the most comfortable position. It was lying on his back on the rag rug. He listened to Terese and Richard, who for the moment had gotten past their attempts to blame each other for the present catastrophe. They were now being more rational. They knew they had to make some decisions.

Jack’s position on his back made his nasal discharge run down the back of his throat. His coughing jags returned, as did a round of violent sneezes. When he finally got himself under control he found himself looking up into Terese’s and Richard’s faces.

“We have to know how you found out about Frazer Labs,” Richard said, gun once again in hand.

Jack feared that if they found out he was the only person who knew about Frazer Labs, they’d probably kill him then and there.

“It was easy,” Jack said.

“Give us an idea how easy,” Terese said.

“I just called up National Biologicals and asked if anyone had recently ordered plague bacteria. They told me Frazer Labs had.”

Terese reacted as if she’d been slapped. Angrily she turned to Richard. “Don’t tell me you ordered the stuff,” she said with disbelief. “I thought you had all these bugs in your so-called collection.”

“I didn’t have plague,” Richard said. “And I thought plague would make the biggest media impact. But what difference does it make? They can’t trace where the bacteria came from.”

“That’s where you are wrong,” Jack said. “National Biologicals tags their cultures. We all found out about it at the medical examiner’s office when we did the autopsy.”

“You idiot!” Terese shouted. “You’ve left a goddamn trail right to your door.”

“I didn’t know they tagged their cultures,” Richard said meekly.

“Oh, God!” Terese said, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. “That means everybody at the ME’s office knows the plague episode was artificial.”

“What should we do?” Richard asked nervously.

“Wait a second,” Terese said. She looked down at Jack. “I’m not sure he’s telling the truth. I don’t think that fits with what Colleen said. Hang on. Let me call her.”