HAYWIRE: A Pandemic Thriller (The F.A.S.T. Series Book 2) (37 page)

The gunman shoved Justin again.

‘Move!’ he barked.

Justin barely managed to keep himself from falling this time. He wasn’t used to running with his hands tied behind his back.

He was keeping up, but the sadistic gunman kept shoving him anyway.

Just stay on your feet. Don’t fall again!

Last time the gunman had wrenched Justin to his feet by his scalp.

What the hell happened to Mom? I hope she’s safe.
Maybe she’s reached the lifeboat.
She could be there already.

Justin never underestimated his mother.

She had raised Justin on her own since he was two. She had never let being in a wheelchair hold her back. When Justin started school, she went back to work as a consultant. A year later she started playing wheelchair basketball. Now she played in the state division.

Justin had only vague memories of his father. And photos. His father died in the car wreck that paralyzed his mother. Justin hadn’t been in the car. He’d been staying with his grandparents that night while his parents went out to celebrate their wedding anniversary.

On the way home from the restaurant, on their way back to pick up Justin, his father had driven through a red light.

‘It was just an accident,’ his mother had explained. ‘We were talking and laughing. He turned his head too long talking to me and missed the red light.’

The impact of the truck to the driver’s side crushed his father instantly. His mother had been paralyzed from the waist down. She had been pregnant, but she lost the baby. Justin’s little sister would be eleven by now.

Justin stayed with his grandparents until his mother returned from the hospital. He didn’t really have memories of a time when his mother wasn’t in her wheelchair.

‘Move!’

The gunman pushed Justin when he slowed for a corner. They were running toward the casino.

Slam!

Justin crashed into the man in front.

He heard yelling ahead.

Christov was yelling orders.

FWOOOOOOOOSH!

Justin heard
the terrifying sound of flamethrowers discharging.

The crazies were attacking again.

Justin knew what to expect this time, but still nearly vomited.

The chemical roar of the flamethrowers sounded just seconds before the heat wave rolled back down the corridor. Justin felt it burning his face and neck where his clothes offered no protection.

But that didn’t make him feel sick.

It was the smell.

The stomach-churning smell of burning hair as the flames engulfed the crazies.

Justin had never inhaled anything more repulsive. When he tried breathing through his mouth, he tasted it.

Hold your breath
, he told himself, wishing he’d thought of it earlier.
We’ll move again in a second.

The crazies feared fire. Justin had never seen them run away before. They were terrible at it. They ran into walls. Ran into each other. Tripped over each other.

It was as if the concept of fleeing was as obscure as flying.

Nevertheless, they fled from fire.

Still holding his breath, Justin felt his head start to spin. His lungs demanded air after all that running.

He inhaled.

Oh, yuck. Oh, God. That’s even worse than before!

The repulsive smell made his head spin faster.

Christov walked back into sight.

He yelled instructions at his men. ‘The acid drive is made of metal. It can fit into your palm. It will be on them. I don’t want it damaged, so shoot them in the head. Elizabeth activated the drive when she left, so the countdown is active.’

Christov touched a tool strapped to his body armor, as though reassuring himself it was still there. ‘I need to deactivate that drive or we’ll lose everything.’

Christov checked his watch. ‘The countdown has reached the two hour mark. I expect that drive to be in my hands in the next twenty minutes.’

Two hours?

Justin knew that number was significant.

I’ve seen that somewhere. I remember. In the room where I found Elizabeth. In her stuff. The digital timer.

The gunman shoved Justin.

They were moving again.

Justin tried to remember what had happened back in the hospital. He’d handed Craigson Elizabeth’s ID card. Myers had asked about the device with the countdown.

Just after that, Christov attacked,
remembered Justin.

Did I give it to Myers?

No.

Did I drop it?

No.

Justin looked down at his jeans.

Holy crap - it’s in my pocket. The thing Christov wants is in my pocket. It’s been there this entire time!

All Christov had to do was search Justin’s pockets.

What even is it? What’s an acid drive?

Justin had never heard that term before, but he knew something incredible was happening on this ship. His mother had regained the feeling in her legs. As impossible as it seemed, the damaged nerves in her spine had begun healing. Justin had seen it with his own eyes. And Christov had come to the hospital to get it.

That’s why Christov is here. The acid drive has something to do with Mom’s healing legs. Maybe it’s like a flash drive.

Justin looked at the tool strapped to Christov’s chest.

The tool resembled a socket wrench. The handle had a small digital touchscreen. The thicker end looked designed to accept the acid drive.

Should I give it to him? Will he take it and go?

Even as Justin thought it, he knew he wouldn’t dare. The fact that Christov didn’t have the acid drive could be the only thing keeping Justin alive.

If I tell him, he’ll kill me. He’ll think I’ve been hiding it. And there could be information on this drive that would help Mom walk again. I can’t let him take it.

Justin kept moving, suddenly feeling like the most dangerous thing on the ship was right in his pocket.

Coleman tried to make sense of Neve’s explanation.

‘So Elizabeth Green was employed by Pharmafirst to find new drugs. Somehow she did. The drug can make damaged nerve cells grow. But that wasn’t enough for Pharmafirst. They wanted the drug to be communicable?’

Neve nodded.

‘That doesn’t make sense,’ reasoned Coleman. ‘If the drug can reproduce and move freely from one person to another, how can a pharmaceutical company make a profit?’

‘By limiting its lifespan,’ replied Neve. ‘That’s why you and none of your Marines are infected. The sinus bacteria are engineered to self-terminate. The drug is only infectious for a limited time.’

‘The bacteria kills itself?’ asked Coleman.

‘Exactly,’ answered Neve. ‘Pharmafirst can control its distribution. They could send a single vial of these sino-bacteria to any hospital with enough money. One vial could treat all the nerve damaged patients in an entire hospital and then self-terminate. Pharmafirst doesn’t need to produce millions of tablets or injections. They would have no distribution costs. Everything would be profit. They will be the richest company in the world.’

‘Except it doesn’t work,’ said Coleman. ‘Turning patients into homicidal maniacs isn’t a good business model.’

Neve nodded. ‘I think the original drug evolved with a dual purpose. In addition to repairing nerve damage, the drug alters the brain’s blood supply. It sends humans crazy. It’s a terrible side effect that Elizabeth was trying to eliminate.’

‘But something Christov could sell as a weapon if she couldn’t,’ said Coleman.

Neve nodded. ‘Pharmafirst must have been desperate for a return on their investment. Elizabeth had already managed to eliminate the violent side effect from about half of the population. That’s why only half the ship went crazy.’

‘So why are some people resistant to the side effects?’

‘I couldn’t see any pattern,’ confessed Neve.

Coleman pointed. ‘Let me see those files.’

Neve passed them to him skeptically. ‘I’ve already looked, and I know what to look for.’

Coleman took the patient files and flicked through them, scanning each patient’s medical information for a few seconds.

...flick, flick, flick...

‘You won’t find anything,’ said Neve. ‘We’d need computers and a lot more samples.’

‘Shhhhh,’ said Coleman.

A particular area on each page of the medical reports had started to draw his attention.

Coleman never quite understood how his gift for patterns worked. The real trick was finding ways to make his talent useful. The military had provided the best use of his skill up until now.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be useful elsewhere.

...flick, flick, flick, flick...

‘I’ve got it,’ said Coleman, returning the files. ‘It’s blood type.’

Neve shook her head, disbelieving.

‘Check for yourself,’ said Coleman. ‘People with type O blood are resistant to the side effects.’

Neve rapidly flicked through the files.

 ‘You and Justin have O type blood, correct?’ asked Coleman.

Neve closed the file, obviously amazed.

‘We’re both O positive,’ she replied. ‘How did I miss that? It was right in front of me.’