No Such Thing As Werewolves (38 page)

A timid knock sounded at the door. For fuck’s sake, he’d only been out of Ops for five minutes.

“What?” he roared, the single word imbued with all the hell he was about to bring down on the head of whomever had chosen this particular moment to bother him. He hoped it would be enough to scare them into coming back later. No such luck.

“Jordan?” A soft female voice called.

He forced himself into sitting position and reached over to yank the door open; then he dropped back onto the cot. “What do you want, Sheila?”

He’d grown to like the feisty scientist. There was more steel in her than almost every soldier in his command. Not even the Director seemed to intimidate her. Sure, her ire was focused on him more often than not, but her honest criticism was brutally refreshing.

She entered his tiny quarters, closing the door with a soft scraping and dropping into the folding chair next to the cot. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I needed to speak to you alone, and this is the first time I’ve seen you outside of the CIC.”

“It’s Ops,” he rumbled, not opening his eyes.

“What?”

“It’s Ops, not CIC,” he said, massaging his temples with his index fingers. “A CIC is found on a ship.”

“Ok, Ops,” Sheila corrected herself. The chair creaked as her weight shifted. She was silent for a moment. That got his attention. Sheila wasn’t one to hedge. She spoke her mind and didn’t care who heard.

Jordan opened his eyes and sat up, giving her a worried look.
 

“What’s going on, Sheila? You still upset about Steve?” he asked, the thought needling at something in the back of his mind. Something didn’t feel quite right about how that situation ended, but he couldn’t put his finger on what was wrong. Not precisely. The memory was fuzzy somehow.

“I checked NPR this morning,” she said, ignoring his question. Her hair was tousled from the wind, her overalls caked with two or three days worth of grime. “The attacks are everywhere. People are posting videos. It’s all over the news.”

“Yeah,” Jordan admitted with a defeated sigh. “It’s past the point of containment. There are reports of attacks all over the southwest, from Texas to California. Even a couple in Europe. I’m not really sure what we’re going to do now. Our only real hope is finding Smith, but I’m not sure even that would help.”

“It might. I’m not a geneticist, so I don’t know,” Sheila said, pursing her lips. “That’s not why I brought it up, though. I think the attacks are building toward something.”

“Building toward what?” he asked, running a hand over a face that felt like sandpaper. He was good about removing the stubble, but even that effort had slipped over the last few days.

“You remember me telling you about the Galactic Procession?” she asked, withdrawing a dusty handkerchief and blowing her nose. She looked like hell, now that he thought about it.
 

“Yeah, you thought the pyramid was programmed to come back at a certain time, but you weren’t sure why,” he said. He was still skeptical about that, but Sheila was damned smart and he was learning to trust her opinion.

“I’m more sure than ever, and I think I finally know why. There is a lot of sun symbology in the inner chamber. I think it corresponds to a calendar. If I’m right, the symbols show the sun changing somehow,” Sheila explained. She stuffed the handkerchief back in her pocket. “That makes a lot of sense. We know that climate has varied dramatically throughout the past. In fact we’ve only been in the current epoch for about twelve millennia.”

“That’s about how old you said the sediment covering the pyramid was, right?” he asked. He could see where she was going with this, and he was positive he didn’t like it.

“Exactly,” she said, straightening in the chair. A ghost of her fire returned. “Thirteen thousand years ago, Egypt was more grassland that desert. The Andes, where we’re standing right now, was a field of glaciers. Sea levels were three hundred feet lower. The world was a radically different place. Then it all changed in a blink of an eye. The previous epoch, the Pleistocene, lasted for two and a half million years.”

It was a lot to take in. He mulled over her words for long seconds before replying. “So what, you think this ancient culture predicted the change? What does that have to do with what’s going on now?”

“The Pleistocene wasn’t just one long ice age. There were warmer periods and cooler periods. It changed many, many times. I think the pyramid came back now because we’re about to go through another one of those changes,” Sheila explained.
 

Jordan tried to process it. Either he was more exhausted than he thought, or he was missing something. “So they predicted global warming and decided to get ready for it?”
 

“Something like that, yeah. If the previous epoch is any indication, it went from cold to colder. I’m betting that this epoch, our epoch, will go from warm to hot,” she mused, raising a hand to stifle a cough. Her skin had gone pale. Apparently he wasn’t the only exhausted one. “But believe it or not, that’s not why I came to see you, well not the only reason.”

“Then why?” he asked.

“Jordan, as I understand it, you were here at the exact instant the pyramid appeared,” she said, expression suggesting he should infer something obvious from her words.

“So?”

“So how the hell did Mohn Corp. know that the pyramid was coming back? If they knew that, then what do they know about what’s coming?” she asked.

The words kicked him in the gut, and he grunted at the near physical blow. She raised an excellent point. He’d wondered since the day they’d found this place how Mohn had known, but he’d missed the obvious. What else did they know? If Sheila was right and some big change was coming, they probably knew about it. The Director probably knew about it. And he hadn’t said a damn thing, not to the senior-most officer on-site.

Jordan tensed as his radio chirped. He hadn’t taken it from his belt when he’d lain down. A few calming breaths later, he plucked it from his side and spoke. “Go ahead.”

“Commander Jordan, we’ve got a hit,” came the excited voice of a communications analyst. Sooner or later he’d have to learn their names.
 

“I’m going to need more than that,” he growled with a bit more heat than he’d intended.

“Sir, do you remember the attack on the Peruvian coast? The one where Subject Alpha was spotted?” the voice said enthusiastically.

“Yeah,” he grunted, tugging at the neck of his tank top. The tight black fabric clung to him like a second skin, which wasn’t an accident. Tight clothing made it harder for an opponent to get a grip.

“We traced a phone call from where the attack took place. It was made to a residence in California. The same number just called in a report to HELIOS,” the analyst explained. Jordan was familiar with the division. It was a shell company Mohn used to fund scientific research at several of the top universities.

“What was the gist of the report?” he asked, straightening. The analyst might be on to something.

“Doctor Gregg claims that a sunspot has been growing for the last six weeks. Preliminary research confirmed the findings. He believes it could cause a global event.”

“Have you notified the Director?” Jordan asked, rising to his feet.

“Not yet. We weren’t sure if it was worth bothering him,” the analyst said, a note of unease entering his voice.

“It is. Prepare a full report on this Doctor Gregg. Find out who he knows in Peru that might have called him. Also, I want an assault team prepped,” Jordan ordered. He picked up his sidearm and buckled it around his thigh. “Then radio the Director and tell him that I need to speak to him immediately.”

Chapter 53- CellScope

Liz jumped as the computer began chirping an odd melody. She staggered backward in a panic before she recognized it as an incoming
Skype
call. Trevor’s computer chair tumbled to the floor, the tan carpet thankfully muffling the clatter. She took a deep breath and then righted the chair. Liz reached for the mouse and tapped the little blue icon. It was a 510 number, and the contact had a picture of a smiling man in his mid thirties. Even though she’d been expecting the call her heart still galloped.

“Hello?” she said, sinking back into the chair. A video feed sprang to life, taking up most of the screen. It showed the man from the pictures, dark haired with an enthusiastic smile. He wore a bright blue T-shirt with
 
the word
CellScope
emblazoned across the chest in white.

“Hi, Liz?” he asked, cocking his head to the side. In the background she could see several people moving between desks in a spacious office. The man continued before she could respond. “I’m Erik. Trevor said you were expecting my call.”

“Uh yeah, that’s me,” she answered, giving a shy smile. She knew it was shy, because the chat program showed a miniature feed of her in the corner. Sometimes she hated technology. What was wrong with using a phone?

“Did you get my package?” Erik asked. A short blond woman entered the corner of the screen. She offered Erik a sandwich wrapped in white paper with a red
Jimmy John’s
logo. Erik nodded his thanks before turning back to face to her.
 

“Yes, it arrived this morning. Trevor had to head out on an errand, but he set it up before he left,” she replied. Liz glanced at the far side of the table where the odd device lay. It was roughly the size of a loaf of bread, with a tray on top where the user could insert a microscope slide. A black plastic housing had been built into the blocky base, which held Trevor’s iPhone. The name CellScope definitely made sense.

“Great,” Erik answered, his smile infectious. “Trevor says you need a blood sample analyzed. He says it could be an entirely new disease. Have you taken the sample yet?”

“Yes, I have several of them,” she said, moving her hand to a row of covered slides she’d laid out near the base of the CellScope.

“Insert the first slide. Then tap the CellScope app. Once the slide comes into focus, the camera will automatically begin recording,” Erik explained with the practiced ease of someone who’d delivered the same speech hundreds of times. “It will record for forty-five seconds. Then it will stop and upload the video to our server. You don’t have to do anything.”

“Ok, I’m inserting the first slide now,” she said, picking up her own sample and sliding it into the CellScope with a satisfying click. She tapped the blue and white app icon, and a moment later the camera came into focus. She stared intently as it began to record.

She knew enough about biology to recognize the pile of red blood cells, each shaped like a donut with a depressed center. That part was normal. What wasn’t were the lime-green veins running through each cell. It was a vibrant neon, unlike anything she’d seen or heard of outside the
X-Files
.

A moment later the red recording light clicked off and a progress indicator began filling up. It raced along, chiming when it finished.
 

“Ahh there we go,” Erik said, glancing at something offscreen. His eyes moved back and forth, gaze intent. “Give me just a sec. I’m reviewing the video now. I’m mostly used to reviewing ear images, so it might take a minute.”

He was silent for several tense moments and then turned in her direction. The enthusiasm was forced now, a thin veneer over something like nervousness. “Liz, where did you get this sample?”

She thought hard over what Trevor had told her. He trusted Erik and had told her she could too, but that didn’t make talking about their situation any easier. She closed her eyes, bracing herself. “I drew the vial of blood from myself this morning.”

Erik glanced offscreen and then back at her. He seemed to weigh his words very carefully before speaking.

“Liz, I’ll be honest. I’ve never seen anything like this. I’m not qualified to diagnose it. I’m not sure any more than a handful of people in the world are,” he said, the veneer gone. It had been replaced by sober candor.

“That’s fair. What
can
you tell me about it?” she asked. Her hands had begun to tremble.
 

“Well, let’s see,” Erik began. He trailed off, squinting as he read something. “I can at least give you my observations. Red blood cells carry oxygen to the entire body. The green striations are only grafted to red blood cells, so whatever they’re doing has to be related to that mechanism. They carry something to every part of the body that requires oxygen.”

“That’s pretty much everywhere, isn’t it? All the muscles, and the brain?” Liz asked. She wished she had a stronger foundation in biology, but at least she understood the basics.

“That’s right,” Erik confirmed. He paused and then continued. “Between time index thirty-four and thirty-seven, the striations move to another red blood cell. Whatever this thing is spreads like a virus. Have you noticed any symptoms?”

Liz barked out a harsh laugh that threatened to turn into tears. “Yes, I’ve definitely noticed symptoms.”

Erik was silent for a long moment. “I don’t want to press if you’re not comfortable talking about it. Were there other samples you wanted me to review?”

“We have three more,” she said, wiping a hand across her eyes. It came away wet.
 

“Why don’t you go ahead and send them? I don’t need to stay on the phone for that. I’ll analyze them and send your brother an email with my observations,” he said, tone empathetic.