The Serophim Breach (The Serophim Breach Series) (26 page)

Hammond continued as if Reggie had not spoken, saying, “You’re also assuming that two attacks per hour is possible. At a certain level of infection, those who are clear are going to be spread out and harder to find. The contamination will slow.”

“This says over seventy-five percent of the population lives in the city,” Tab cut in, pointing to something on her phone. “It’s densely populated, and we have to assume any action by the local government or law enforcement is only going to make things worse. Evacuation centers, things like that . . . get a high volume of people in a small space.”

“How long since the island went dark?” Gary asked in a husky voice.

Reggie checked his watch and answered, “Seven hours.”

Gary passed his hand over his eyes and tried to do the math in his head, but he found he could not focus on anything long enough to find an answer.

“That puts us at a potential eleven thousand five hundred people carrying the breached nanites.” Reggie filled in the blank for him with a sympathetic smile. “If our assumptions and calculations are right,” he finished quickly after a look from Hammond.

“So . . . so it’s still manageable right now. Right? That’s not . . . I mean, if we could just let people know, we could slow it down,” Gary said.

No one answered.

“I mean, if people knew to stay away from the injured or people behaving strangely. Or if we could just let someone know to get the uninfected off the island . . .”

They watched him, still silent. A wave of frustration swept up from his gut, and he found himself suddenly on his feet.

“So what? You’re just going to sit here
theorizing
until the whole island is gone? I guess it’s a natural quarantine in and of itself, right? There’s nothing forcing you to act. I don’t understand this. Why haven’t you gone to the news outlets?” he fumed.

Hammond held up a hand and said, “We certainly understand your frustration, but try to stay calm. We have to consider what exposing this would mean for the population in the contiguous states.”

“What are you
talking
about?” Gary shouted. “I brought you what you said you needed”—he jabbed a finger at Josie—“and you’re doing
nothing
with it. We need to start working on something, and while you’re doing that, people need to be informed of the truth. Give me something I can take to the news outlets—anything.”

“Gary, you have no idea what Argo is capable of,” Hammond answered in a measured tone.

“I’m not
afraid
of this
company
,” he roared. “I’m afraid of what’s happening around my kids, to all those people on the island, and the fact that you want to keep it from the general public . . . what if it gets to the mainland, and no one knows still? What then? If we let everyone know, then people can be prepared; they can—”

“Stay home from work? Barricade their doors? Empty grocery stores? Or worse, start looting?” Hammond cut in. “We have no idea what’s happening on Oahu, and we have no reason to think it will get here before we’re able to address it.”

“And if it does?” Gary was shaking with rage. The older man sitting across the room from him looked calm, placid—as if he had nothing at stake in the argument. To him, the debate was purely academic.

“He’s right,” Josie said quietly. She looked up at Hammond, whose calm demeanor melted into a disapproving frown.

“If we let him go to the news with some information, as long as he reports anonymously, we stand a chance at getting things mobilized. More people attacking the problem can only be a good thing,” she continued. “We let him take the videos as corroboration, and then he can tell them his story as an anonymous source. Even if it’s just the blogosphere and conspiracy theorists who pick it up to begin with, it will start to gain traction eventually. In the meantime, we start using the sample and figuring this thing out. We hope it’s contained on the island, but like he said, if it isn’t, then people here need to know.” She looked to Hammond again and said, “You’d want to know.”

The older man held her gaze for a few long moments, then waved his hand in surrender and said, “Fine. He takes a
copy
of the video and his story. But he goes alone with a cell phone, and we’ll guide him back once he’s done. I’m not risking any of you going out there again.”

“Fine,” Gary spat, the hard edge in his voice surprising him. “You give me what you can give me, and I’ll get where I need to go.”

~

The gun in Sarah’s hand was much heavier than she had expected; the way people waved them around in cop shows and action movies didn’t match with the unyielding weight she gripped, finger straight along the barrel the way Mike had shown her.
Don’t put your finger on the trigger unless you absolutely have to. And don’t point it at anything you don’t mean to shoot.
Mike’s words became her own as she repeated them over and over in her head, all of her thoughts focused on the lethal weapon he had handed her minutes earlier. That focus was the only thing keeping her from dissolving into a mass of trembling goo at the idea of walking out of the station.

Mike stood at the lobby door, squinting out into the night, with a rifle slung across his back and two holstered pistols at his hips. He had given Heather another rifle and another two pistols, which she wore in the same way. In a small, detached part of her mind, Sarah was impressed with Heather’s confidence with the weapons. The older girl had shrugged and told her quietly that Mike insisted she know how to handle a gun if she was going to run the shop. She had also grabbed a Taser and a canister of bear mace that Sarah wore hooked into a belt loop on her jeans.

“Once you step out, we’re locking the door,” one of the nameless women said, her voice edgy and frightened. Several members of the group had already locked themselves in a holding cell down the hall, while a few others waited in the lobby to secure it after she, Mike, and Heather left. Her stomach seized up at the finality of the choice; leaving the lobby was a bridge burned, but Mike seemed certain that staying much longer would be more dangerous than taking their chances out on the road.

She watched him as he continued peering out into the dark, fingering a ring of keys he had taken from a drawer in one of the offices marked “Impound.” Their plan was to circle around the building to the impound lot on the east side, take a vehicle, and head for the freeway. All in all, it would probably take them less than ten minutes.

Finally, Mike took in a deep breath and turned on his heel.

“You girls ready?” he asked gruffly.

They both nodded, Sarah more slowly than Heather. Mike looked at her for a long moment and said, “Don’t put your finger on the trigger—”

“—unless I absolutely have to. And don’t point it at anything I don’t mean to shoot,” she finished, her voice shaking.

“Stay behind me, and be as quiet as possible. If you see anything move, don’t make a sound, okay? No screaming; no calling out. Just put your hand on my back, and be still.”

They nodded in silent agreement; Mike’s voice was hard and businesslike, but Sarah took comfort in the fact that he seemed unafraid. When he turned and put his hand on the door handle, however, her stomach dropped the way it had the first time she flew in a plane. She knew she was stepping into an environment in which she did not belong, one she didn’t understand and couldn’t navigate. Sucking a breath in through her teeth, she mentally scolded herself. It was time to be a Mike or a Heather, and stop being a Gordon.

The lobby hadn’t seemed stuffy while they were in it, but when Mike pushed the door open slowly and a warm, moist breeze swept into the room, Sarah realized how clammy the air inside had become. The smells of her island greeted her: rain and plumeria, laced with hints of acrid smoke and gasoline. The air was laden with moisture, but also with electricity, and the sky was dark, covered by thick storm clouds that churned above them. Occasionally lightning would illuminate the horizon for a brief second, the clouds outlined in eerie shades of gray and purple.

She was outside before she realized she was walking, padding gently down the sidewalk, crouched between Mike and Heather, who moved silently as well. Scanning the street that lay to the north, she realized she could see better outside than she could inside the lobby. Although the moon was concealed by the brewing storm, she could still see the faint line of the horizon and the dark outlines of the buildings that lined the streets. The hair on her neck and arms stood up as she moved smoothly toward the corner of the building, beyond which lay the impound lot. Mike slowed, and Heather moved up to stand directly behind her; after a quick glance around the corner, Mike walked forward again with steady steps, heading straight across a grass lot toward the impound lot, which lay less than thirty yards ahead, surrounded by a high chain-link fence, with unfriendly barbed wire coiled along the top edge. Inside, the lot looked to be relatively full of vehicles, their familiar shapes a comforting promise of shelter and safety.

Sarah scanned their surroundings as they trotted across the grass, and found nothing moving in the dark. The buildings and streetlights were dark, still casting the faintest shadows on the ground from the diffused moonlight that struggled through the cloud cover. A surge of confidence flooded into her limbs as she sped her pace to keep up with Mike, who was almost to the gate; he was already fishing for the key ring in his pocket.

The adrenaline and confidence waned slightly as they had to wait at the gate while Mike tried different keys in the padlock, working hard to keep the jangling to a minimum and only having mild success. The wind had picked up, and all around them the trees shuddered and hissed, while leaves and refuse skittered down the empty streets, lending them some sound cover. Still, Sarah hoped fervently that the next key would be the one that opened the gate. The breeze tugged at her clothes and pushed her hair into her face, urging her to move forward.

The right key was hidden somewhere in the middle of the bunch, and when the padlock clicked open, they all three let out a breath of relief. The celebration was short-lived, however; as they slid the gate open, it creaked and whined, the wheels badly rusted from the moist air. Like a high-pitched alarm, the noise screeched out into the night, making Sarah cringe. She briefly imagined some nearby fiend’s ear perking up, and shuddered. So much distance lay between her and the door to the station, and she knew the people who remained inside would never leave the cells to let her back in. They were fully committed to this course.

Heather whispered, “Let’s go,” in her ear, and Sarah realized Mike was already well into the lot, examining keys and cars, trying to find a match.

“Shouldn’t we close this?” Sarah asked as they stepped past the gate.

Heather shook her head. “No, we need it open to drive out.”

With a nervous glance back at the gaping hole in the chain-link fence, Sarah hesitantly followed them farther into the lot. It was hard to see Mike clearly in the dark, but as he moved swiftly from car to car, it became evident that he was becoming frustrated with the process. The key ring was nearly full of keys, but without the remotes attached, it was simply a trial and error situation. And Sarah wasn’t sure Mike would risk the sound of an alarm, even if he had the remotes on hand.

There was no reason to follow him as he weaved through the lines of cars, so she tugged on Heather’s shirt and quietly suggested they keep watch while Mike found transportation. She looked back at the open gate again, and Heather followed her gaze.

“Sure,” she whispered, nodding. “Probably a good idea, just in case.”

Minutes passed slowly while they stood, shielded slightly by a maroon Cadillac Escalade, both their eyes on the entrance. When she finally realized that the keys quieted, Sarah sucked in a quick breath and grabbed Heather’s arm.

“What’s wrong?” the older girl hissed.

They both listened to the silence for a moment before Sarah whispered back, “The keys. I don’t hear the keys anymore.”

Heather’s eyes widened, a look of fear mingled with anger washing over her pretty features. As quickly and quietly as they could, they moved in a low crouch toward the back of the SUV to peek out at the last place they had seen Mike.

Sarah had her hand on Heather’s back, and so could feel her body relax as her father came into view. He was standing with his back to them at the driver’s side door of a black sedan.

“He must have gotten it open,” Heather mumbled. The interior light was on in the car, silhouetting Mike’s bulky figure and darkening the night around him. He was several rows from them, almost to the back of the lot, and Sarah thought it wise not to call out to him. If the car door opened, they were nearly on their way. But she couldn’t understand why he was waiting there, still as stone. Then the sedan’s interior light clicked off, and she saw the other man.

He was only a few feet outside the chain-link fence, just beyond the perimeter of the lot. The distance between them made it almost impossible to make out any details, but Sarah knew immediately from the man’s posture and the way he shuddered that he was not like them. Her stomach knotted into a tight ball, so violently she nearly doubled over. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness again, she saw that the man outside the fence was staring at Mike. Between gusts of wind, she thought she could hear a low growl, like a dog who had found a stranger in his house.

“Oh my God,” Heather breathed. Sarah gripped the older girl’s shirt, pulling her back as she tried to go to her father.

“Wait for him to tell us,” Sarah said, her voice low but insistent.

Mike had not moved an inch; it was difficult to tell from their position, but it appeared as though he had locked eyes with the man outside the fence, their shared gaze the bond that was holding them in place. The man outside shuddered again as if he had been chilled to the bone and began to pace slowly back and forth in the dirt, his muttered growls sweeping past them on the wind. But his eyes never moved from Mike. Suddenly he let out a short cry that resonated with both pain and frustration, and carried with it notes of a call. Like an electric current, the sound sent goose bumps rippling down Sarah’s body.