Kathy Reichs - Virals

I flipped the tag indented side up. Vague symbols wavered under the lens.

“The reverse side’s a little easier to see. But the letters are backward. I can only make out an F on the next line up.”

“Focus on the top row,” Shelton urged. “That’s the soldier’s last name. Get that, we could investigate online.”

Using the penlight, I angled a beam across the tag. Letters appeared as shadows in the metal. “This is working. I see an N . Then a C . No, it’s an O .” I increased the angle of the penlight. “Then a T - A - E . The last is an H .”

I reversed the string in my mind. “Heaton.”

“Well, that’s a start.” Hi flicked a salute. “Nice to meet you, F. Heaton.”

I summarized aloud. “F. Heaton. Catholic. O positive blood. Served during the Vietnam War era.”

“Not bad,” Shelton said.

Not bad? I was psyched. We’d accomplished our goal. But our discovery only led to more questions.

Who was F. Heaton? Why was his dog tag buried on an uninhabited island? Where was he now?

I didn’t know. But I was determined to find out.

And it was time to go. Our luck couldn’t last forever.

We were repacking the sonicator when Ben burst through the double doors.

“Ben, the name was—”

He waved me off. “I found another lab upstairs. Locked, but I think it’s in use.” Ben was speaking to everyone, but looking at me. “You’ll want to see.”

“We got what we came for. We should leave before we’re nabbed.”

“Something’s in there. Something alive.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I heard barking.”

CHAPTER 13

A windowless steel door barred our path. Thwarted us. If thoughts could destroy, it would have become a smoldering ruin. I wanted past that door in the worst way.

The thing looked shiny-new and had a ten-digit electronic keypad entry system. Billions of combinations. Unbreakable.

This was not a door that made friends. Its sole purpose was to make you go away. I could feel it sneering. Aggressive. Cocky. Intending to stay closed.

After Ben’s bombshell, I’d flown up the stairs, the others trailing behind. At the top, a dingy hallway cut across the building, leading to this monstrosity. Stopping me cold.

“Ben, are you sure, absolutely sure, you heard a dog?” My nerves were firing like automatic weapons.

A firm nod. “I know what I heard.”

“Okay,” I said. “Shelton, do your magic.”

Shelton worried his right ear. “Sorry, Tor, but this one’s out of my league. I can’t crack a keyless system.”

Think! Find another way.

“We need the code.” My mind raced for a solution. “Who put this thing here, anyway? I’ve never seen a door like this in the other buildings.”

Hi pointed at the keypad. “That monster is waaay more advanced than the keyless systems in the main building. The others aren’t even electronic, just old push-button jobs.” He shrugged. “I could probably get past one of those, they all have the same . . .”

Hi trailed off. His eyes narrowed. He opened his mouth, closed it. He scratched his head. Shifting his weight, he started to speak, shut down once more. Shifted again.

“Quit dancing,” Ben commanded. “If you’ve got something, out with it.”

Hi shrugged. “It’s a long shot, but try 3-3-3-3.”

I punched the numbers and pressed enter.

Green light. Beep. Pass Go. Collect two hundred.

“Hi, you’re a genius!” My second near-shriek.

“How in the world?” Shelton looked perplexed.

“It’s the default.” Hi grinned. “When a person moves to a new office, that’s the original code. They’re supposed to change the settings, but half the time they don’t bother.”

Hi rubbed the doorframe. “This baby is new. I figured, maybe the same workers install all the new doors and use the same default code. So then I thought, whoever ordered the fancy lock might have forgotten to adjust the sequence.” A wink. “I was right!”

“Great work,” Shelton said. “You get the fruit cup.”

“I’m going in,” I said. “Still with me?”

Ben snorted. “Sure. What’s one more B and E?”

Not exactly reassuring. Using the palm of my hand, I pushed the door wide.

Colored lights blinked in the darkness. Screensavers danced across monitors. Machines hummed. The room possessed an energy that spoke of recent use.

Ben flipped the light switch.

Racket erupted across the room. Everyone jumped. The noise separated into recognizable parts. Barks. Whines. The scratching of paws.

A dog! I rushed forward to locate the source.

A far corner of the lab contained a sealed glass chamber resembling a phone booth. Inside sat a medium-sized cage.

Crouching, I scrutinized the miniature prison, trying to spot its inmate.

“Careful!” Shelton cautioned. “Don’t open the glass—it looks like a quarantine.”

I heard nothing. My eyes had locked onto a pair of blue eyes I’d seen before. The world receded. Thunderstruck, I stared, unable to comprehend the terrible scene.

“Coop,” I whispered.

Then I shouted. “Coop! It’s Cooper in this cage!”

The others crowded close, disbelieving. But there was no doubt. Speechless, we stared at the inconceivable. Coop was the subject of some twisted medical experiment.

Through the bars I could see tubes protruding from Coop’s right leg. He wore a bell collar to prevent him from pulling out the needles. His side was shaved and bandaged.

Emotions tumbled inside me. Anger. Fear. Horror.

Forcing myself calm, I examined the contents of the glass compartment. Beside the cage was an IV stand with hanging fluid bags, their tubes running downward into the enclosure. The pen itself was constructed of closely spaced metal bars, and was latched, not locked. It contained a soiled mat and scuffed water dish.

And Coop. Captive.

Fury won out. Fighting tears of rage, I scanned the bright orange tag affixed to the cage. In bold, black letters the label read: SUBJECT A—PARVOVIRUS XPB-19.

Oh no.

Parvovirus. Deadly, especially for a puppy.

Coop now lay quiet on the enclosure floor. My heart broke. I laid a hand on the glass.

Seeing me, Coop tried to raise his head. Exhausted by his initial outburst, he could no longer muster the energy. He whimpered softly. My heart broke again.

How did you get there? Who did this to you?

In a flash, I understood why the pack hounded the complex each night. Some monster had stolen their baby.

A clipboard hung from a hook beside the glass partition. I snatched it, read furiously. The attached papers resembled a hospital chart, largely incomprehensible. My eyes dropped to a line of handwritten notes scribbled at the bottom.

“Subject A not responding to experimental regimen for parvovirus XPB-19. Scheduled for immediate termination.” The form was signed: Dr. Marcus E. Karsten.

Anger exploded through my veins like the Incredible Hulk.

That bastard Karsten was planning to put Coop down!

I won’t let this happen! No chance! No way!

“I’m getting Coop out of here,” I said, in a tone that brooked no argument. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to help.”

Shelton tapped the clipboard. “It says he’s infectious.” His voice cracked. “It’s not safe.”

“The dog must be in that box for a reason,” Ben agreed.

I shook my head fiercely. “Coop has parvo. I’ve heard of it. The virus is bad, but not infectious to humans, only other dogs. It’s no threat to us.”

Hi jumped in. “Look, normally I’d be with you. I hate this crap too. But if that dog’s gone when Karsten comes back, all hell’s gonna break loose.” His voice became a plea. “We’ll get caught.”