Genesis Plague (12 page)

R
ain pounded the path, turning dirt to mud. Mike handled it
well, skidding around sharp bends and avoiding the deepest of potholes. Wet
palm fronds slapped my face when he got too close to the trees.

The gray sky was
quickly overtaken by the black ash cloud swelling from the orange peak of Mauna
Loa. Lava continuously pumped out, belching forth in explosive bursts when it
wasn’t simply running down the side like a raging river.

The muddy road swung
wide and took us back in the direction of the volcano for a few hundred feet. A
loud rumble filled the air and the ground next to the road ahead erupted,
sending trees and debris flying.

Somewhere farther down
the road in front of us, there was a collective scream from the black Mercedes
as a geyser of molten rock jetted upward from the ground.

Mike rounded a bend,
swinging away from the volcano, and slammed on the brakes. Renfield’s SUV was
lying on its roof next to the road. The bottom of the chassis was charred
black. Orange flames crawled over the metal.

Ten feet away from the
overturned vehicle, a geyser of lava spouted fifty feet into the air, like
water from a cracked fire hydrant. The molten rock slapped to the ground – thankfully
away from the SUV – forming a spreading pool near the road.

“Help us, Paul!”
shouted Flint as he jumped out of the back seat of the Jeep.

Mike was right next to
him, running for the other car. Maria leaned forward and gave me a push, and
without thinking, I was out of the Jeep and heading for the SUV.

Mike got to it first.
He skids to a stop in the mud next to the driver’s window and reached in.
Renfield’s bloody arms appeared, grabbing for Mike. Flint ran around to the
other side and knelt next to the passenger seat.

I crouched at the back
window and reached into the car. Dan Grayson was squirming around like a
wounded animal, blood covering half his face. I quickly unbuckled his seatbelt
and he fell on his head, then he kicked like mad as I pulled him free of the
SUV.

He took off running,
toward the white Jeep, screaming bloody murder. I reached back in for Sarah.

I could tell without
unbuckling her that it would be pointless. Her neck was bent at an impossible
angle, twisted back and to the side, creating a broken bulge in her throat. Her
eyes were open and glossy, staring into nothingness, reflecting the fountain of
lava that erupted nearby.

In the front, Flint
succeeded in pulling Levino out of the passenger seat. Then he stumbled to the
back of the SUV, where he pulled out the crate containing the sample case and
carried it over to the Jeep.

Mike called for me, and
I reached into the SUV next to him to help with Renfield. A sheet of blood
covered Renfield’s face, and he was gibbering incoherently. At least he was
conscious.

“Kick, Doc!” yelled
Mike, pulling on one of his arms.

Renfield’s legs scissored
inside the vehicle, then by pure luck, they clunked up against the center
console. He kicked against it, pushing himself out of the SUV and spilling onto
the ground. Mike jumped up and ran back to the Jeep while I helped Renfield to
his feet.

“Where did she go?!” I
shouted in his bloody face. “Where is Cassidy?!”

He ripped away from my
grasp and stumbled toward the geyser of lava, shouting nonsense. I screamed
after him to stop but he ignored me. He stomped off like some Frankenstein
monster, his arms out in front of him, blinded by the blood pouring down his
face from a deep gash in his forehead.

Then he stopped and
shook his head, as if trying to clear away a bad dream. He wiped blood from his
eyes and looked back at me.

“Paul?” he said. “What
happened?”

He took a step toward
the white Jeep when a strong burst of wind ripped past us, cracking branches
and pushing me back. The top of the lava geyser wavered in the powerful gust,
and a large portion of molten rock blew off the main stream and fell on
Renfield.

He screeched like some
unearthly creature and stumbled the wrong way, right toward the erupting lava.
His feet slapped into the puddle of molten rock, splashing huge glops of it against
his shins. He looked like some kind of glowing slime monster, risen from its
viscous pool, coated from head to toe in lava. The heavy rain hissed as it
struck his coat of shifting lava, causing tiny circles of black char to bloom
and disappear with small puffs of smoke.

I ran toward him, then
stopped as the ground shook and cracked open near the geyser, exposing more
bright red-orange magma below.

Renfield screamed again
and dropped to his knees. The lava dripped off every inch of his body. He held
his glowing arms toward me, pleading, before falling face-down on the ground.
Then he was silent and still.

I ran back to the Jeep
and jumped into the passenger seat, squeezing in next to Levino. Maria, Flint,
and Dan were crammed into the back seat. Dan’s face was ashen, his eyes
brimming with tears, his gaze a million miles away. Mike floored the gas, and
we sped away from the expanding geyser, toward the distant observatory.

T
he observatory and its surrounding buildings were locked and deserted.
Flint broke the glass door of the main building with a chunk of igneous rock he
found on the ground nearby, and we all pushed into the observatory, out of the
driving rain.

I looked back at Mauna
Loa as we filed in. The entire north face was lost in a sheet of moving lava.
The river of molten rock had swallowed base camp and everything else in its mad
slide downhill. Lightning zig-zags out of the jagged peak, coursing up through
the black ash cloud as it expanded to cover the sky.

Levino went straight to
the radio and turned it on. He picked up the handset and began talking,
relaying our situation and asking if there were any pilots dumb enough to want
to come pick us up.

I stood by the broken
door, looking at the chaos outside.

The rain fell at a sharp
angle, pounding down against the parking lot. Trees that lined the lot bent
with the increasing wind, almost to the point of snapping in half.

“The hurricane is a
category five now,” said Maria flatly, scanning a computer monitor. “It picked
up speed and it’s almost here.”

“This is ‘almost’
here?” asked Mike.

I wiped rain from my
face and stared outside, waiting for a sign, any sign, of Cass.

Flint stood next to
Levino as he spoke into the radio, arms folded, biting his bottom lip and
staring at the ground. There was a burst of static on the radio and Levino
twisted a dial.

“Come again, over,” he
said. “This is the Mauna Loa Observatory. We are a group of scientists trapped
inside and need immediate evacuation, over.”

“We could just drive
out,” said Maria.

“And go where?” asked
Mike.

“We stay by the
airfield,” Flint said, “until we’re absolutely sure there’s no other option.”

The radio burst static
again, then a voice cut in through the noise.

“—sierra bravo four one
seven, repeat, what is your situation, over?”

I recognized the French
accent immediately.

“You know him?” asked
Levino as I hurried over. He handed me the receiver.

“Pierre, it’s Paul.”

There was a moment of
silence. “Dr. Nassai? Is that you, Paul? What are you still doing on the
island?”

“We’re trapped in the
observatory, Pierre, and the goddamn volcano’s erupting.”

“I know,
mon ami
.
This is why I am flying away.”

I waited a moment
longer.

“You want a lift?” he
asked.

“Only if you can get
here and get away without crashing. Strong emphasis on the
getting away
part.”

“I will stay below the
ash cloud. No problem. Banking now. I’ll see you in…half an hour, over.”

“Thanks, Pierre,” I
said, then set down the receiver.

Flint closed his eyes and
nodded, breathing out in relief. Mike put his arms around Maria, and she buried
her face in his chest as he pulled her in close.

I went back to the
shattered door. Wind ripped thick rain into the opening, but I stayed there
anyway, watching for Cass.

Behind me, in the
corner, Dan Grayson began to cough.

FOUR DAYS LATER…

“Ladies
and gentlemen, I’d just like to remind everyone watching at home that we here
at KNLR are doing everything in our power to learn more about the reported
outbreak of a new strand of flu virus in the pacific northwest.

“For
those of you who have been watching since the beginning, you know that details
have been trickling out of Seattle’s St. Christopher’s Hospital since the first
case was reported early yesterday morning. Eleven people have been hospitalized
so far, but there could be hundreds more unaware of their infection and the
danger they pose to your family.

“The
biggest news today, of course, is the rumor that the CDC’s Infectious Disease
Laboratory in Seattle is close to finding a vaccine for this terrifying new
strain.

“I
don’t need to tell you how scary a mass epidemic could be. The implications are
staggering and the death toll could very well reach catastrophic proportions.
But not to worry. We here at KNLR will be with you every step of the way.

“Stay
tuned for further details.”

I
clicked off the television and stared at the blank screen.

I was alone in the
expansive break room on the sixth floor of Seattle’s Infectious Disease
Laboratory. The cushioned chairs aligned in neat rows reminded me of a hospital
waiting room. Fluorescent lights buzzed down from the ceiling, casting a harsh
blue glow that enhanced the sterile atmosphere.

In contrast, the
interior of the microwave across the room was crusted with days-old brown chili
that, for whatever reason, smelled like tuna fish. It was the only part of the
lab where germs were allowed to flourish unchecked. Needless to say, I was
still hungry, and my frozen burrito was still thawing on the counter.

I sat there, staring up
at the blank television bolted just below the ceiling, and of course I thought
of Cassidy Baker. The realization that I might never learn what happened to her
on Hawaii pulled down my entire body, especially my face, and it felt like I
was sinking lower in my cushioned chair. I wasn’t allowed to go back to Mauna
Loa after it erupted to search for her. None of us had been allowed outside of
this damned
building
since we transferred to it four days ago, though
that restriction was lifted earlier this morning.

Not that there was any
reason to go out. My apartment was all the way down in San Francisco, and even
if I could go back home, I wouldn’t want to – not until someone else went
through my place with a blowtorch and erased every sign of Cassidy.

I turned on the
television again and quickly flicked through the channels with the volume
muted, searching for either one of the two people who might have an answer. It
wasn’t that I expected to see Cass or Alexander King waving at the camera, but
I was supposed to be taking a nap and I couldn’t sleep, and television was the
easiest distraction when you didn’t want to use your brain.

Past the glut of
reality shows was a Tom and Jerry cartoon that I watched for a few seconds.

I turned off the
television and threw the remote down the long row of cushioned chairs. It
bounced off one of the seats and clattered to the polished floor, spilling its
battery when it hit the counter below the microwave.

I frowned at my frozen
burrito, finding it easy to blame the lump of saturated fat for all the
problems of the universe. I realized I was anthropomorphizing the damn thing,
but cut me some slack. Everyone in the building was under a lot of pressure.

A hurt voice spoke from
behind me.

“How am I supposed to
watch my soaps?”

I turned to see Flint
standing behind the rows of chairs, looking from the fallen remote to the blank
television.

“The evil twin brother
did it,” I said, turning back around. “The evil twin brother
always
does
it.” I rubbed my face with both hands. The stubble on my cheeks and chin
scratched like sandpaper.

“Sometimes it’s the
twin sister,” Flint said.

He stepped over the
chair next to me, then plopped down with a heavy sigh, filling the air with the
very distinct smell of salt and vinegar potato chips. As he held the open bag
in my direction, I noticed his hand was still red from the burns he suffered on
our expedition to the Celebes Sea near Indonesia. I shook my head and Flint
shrugged, then popped a chip into his mouth.

Outside, I heard a
swell of distant shouts from the street below.

“They’re still out
there?” asked Flint.

I nodded. “About thirty
of ‘em. Signs and all. And there will be more soon with the jackasses on the
news telling everyone we made a cure.”

“How’s that going, by
the way?”

“Johann’s got a new
batch brewing. He feels pretty good about it.”

“What about you? Think
it will work?”

I shrugged. “Maybe.”

We heard more shouting
from outside and Flint shook his head.

“Beats me how the hell
word got out in the first place. CDC’s got this place buttoned up tighter than
my ex-wife’s you-know-what.”

“Her mouth?”

“If it was her mouth
we’d still be married.” Flint laughed hard, his face turning bright red. He was
his own best audience. Then he sighed and looked at me out of the corner of his
eye. “You’ve been down here a while,” he said, crunching down on a chip. “Get
any sleep?”

I shook my head wearily.
Locks of my shaggy hair fell down over my eyes and I let them hang there,
welcoming the way they obscured my view of the world.

“You can’t keep going
like this, Paul,” Flint said. “It’s not fair to yourself, or to what we’re
trying to do here.”

“What the hell am I
supposed to do? I don’t know if I’m ever gonna see Cassidy again and—”

“Enough about Cass,”
said Flint firmly. “Enough about her, Paul. She’s gone. She left you. Adios,
goodbye, screw you very much.”

“But why?”

“You won’t ever know.
I’m breaking that news to you right now, buddy. If she doesn’t want to tell
you, you will
never
know the reason. Never. Want me to say it again?
Never
.”

I leaned back in my
seat and looked at him. At first glance, he didn’t strike me as the sharp-minded
volcanologist I knew him to be. He wore a Grateful Dead tee shirt tucked into
green denim cutoff shorts. His sandaled feet rested on the back of the chair in
front of him, and his shoulder-length gray hair was pulled back in a ponytail. It
made his gray and black beard seem fluffier than usual.

His eyes were clear and
honest, and I hated that about him in that moment, because I was seriously
hoping he was full of shit.

“It’s hard to hear, my
man,” he continued. “But you gotta hear it. Do you know what you do when you
can’t change a situation?”

My throat was dry and
scratchy when I answered. “Accept it and move on.”

He nodded. “And you
gotta focus right now, Paul. If you get sloppy, it ain’t just you who will pay
the price. You hear me?”

I smiled for the first
time in four days. “Yeah. I hear you.”

“Good,” he said. He
pushed me away from my chair. “Now hand me that remote and either go to sleep
or get back to work. No distractions while I’m watching my stories.”