A Hole in the Sky (11 page)

Truitt paused as he repositioned the microphone. “First, before we go any further, could you comment on how you came to be President? As I understand it, you were Assistant Secretary of Interior during the previous administration.”

Voss was expecting the question and had an answer ready. “As Assistant Secretary of Interior I was subordinate to a person on the succession list. And, if someone on the official list steps forward, I will immediately surrender the reins of government to them. But,” Voss continued, “no one has done so thus far. Probably because all of them are dead. So, as acting President, I’m trying to do everything in my power to protect our citizens and take our country back from the Chimera.”

“And that brings us to the attack on the tower in New York,” Truitt said, as a cup of coffee and a huge cinnamon roll arrived at his elbow. “Tell us about that.”

Even though the attack had been a horrible failure, Voss knew it was the only thing he had to support his claim that he was trying to take the country back. So he was eager to explain the tower’s function, and why it was so important that he and a group of volunteers had attempted to shut it down.

“Finally,” Voss concluded somberly, “all we could do was run. We went east, towards the river, which was clogged with chunks of drifting ice. At least a dozen
Hybrids were on our tails, so we jumped onto a passing floe in hopes that they would give up. They didn’t.

“That was the beginning of a horrible death dance. As we jumped from one chunk of ice to the next, they fired at us and we fired at them,” Voss said darkly. “But we eventually whittled them down, and Captain Kawecki killed the last of them, as the floe carried us past Governor’s Island and out toward the Statue of Liberty. It took some fancy footwork, but we were able to get off the ice, and scramble ashore in Jersey City. It was a long walk to Arkansas, but we made it.”

Truitt had managed to eat a couple of bites of cinnamon roll and wash them down with coffee by then. “So what now, Mr. President? Are you planning further attacks?”

“I can’t address the possibility of more attacks for security reasons,” Voss answered. “But I do have a very exciting announcement to make … one that will improve the lives of our citizens and prepare the way for a counterattack.”

Truitt brightened. “I’m all ears, Mr. President.”

“Here’s how things stand now … when a human is bitten by one of the forms that we generally refer to as a Spinner, he or she is immediately incapacitated by a viral infection that leaves the victim conscious, but unable to move. At that point the stink spins a cocoon around the individual, who remains conscious throughout. A fate that’s truly worse than death.

“After an excruciating incubation process the person is transformed into a Grim or a Menial, depending on how long the changeling is allowed to mature. At some point the newly formed Chimera bursts out of its pod and begins to serve the hive-mind, or to roam the countryside killing everything in sight in the case of the Grims.

“Now,” Voss said, as his eyes took on additional intensity.
“Here’s my announcement. Thanks to a staff of brilliant scientists, and a brave soldier named Nathan Hale, a new vaccine has been developed. Prior to his unfortunate death, Hale was part of a top-secret government program to inoculate our soldiers with the Chimeran virus. And now, using antibodies taken from his blood, we’ve been able to develop a vaccine for use by the
entire
population.

“That means that if a vaccinated human is bitten by a Spinner they
won’t
be incapacitated. In fact they will be able to fight back, much as such a person would if attacked by a dog. So once the population is vaccinated, a major battle will have been won and the stage will be set for a coast-to-coast uprising.”

Truitt was clearly impressed, but a frown came over his face. “That’s wonderful news, Mr. President. My listeners will be thrilled to hear it. But shouldn’t you keep the program secret?”

“There’s risk in making the announcement,” Voss admitted. “But people need to know that the vaccine exists, and what the benefits are, so that they will agree to be inoculated. With that in mind, I think the benefits of releasing the information outweigh the need for security.”

“How effective is the vaccine?”

“It’s 97.6 percent effective,” Voss replied. “I took part in a field test in which people who had been inoculated allowed themselves to be bitten by a captured Spinner. And you’ll notice I’m still here,” Voss said levelly, as he pushed a sleeve up out of the way. “You can see the scar on my arm—and there were witnesses.”

“You’re a brave man,” Truitt observed. “So you have the vaccine, and it’s effective. But how are you going to develop sufficient quantities—and get it to a population that is in hiding?”

“Production was already under way when we attacked the tower in New York,” Voss replied. “And since that time Dr. Malikov has been able to help improve our methodologies. So we have more than a hundred thousand doses on hand.

“But I admit that informing the public about the program and getting the vaccine out to citizens are major undertakings. At this point I suggest that we adjourn to the lab, where you can speak with Dr. Malikov regarding the production process—and Chief of Staff Aklin about distribution.”

Truitt reached in to turn the recorder off. Then he looked Voss in the eye. “You may be the acting President in the legal sense, but insofar as I’m concerned you’re the
real
thing, and I plan to tell my listeners that.”

That was music to Voss’s ears. “Thank you. Is there anything you need before we visit the lab?”

Truitt grinned. “Yes, there is. I want another cinnamon roll. And a vaccination would be nice, too.”

To protect it from falling debris, and to keep potential contaminants out, the lab had a peaked roof, plywood walls, and no windows. Workstations were positioned around three sides of the facility, all of them equipped with microscopes and a variety of lab ware. Most of the facility’s two dozen scientists and technicians were busy carrying out quality control tests, working on ways to increase output, or tending the so-called production line at the center of the room.

That was where minute quantities of the Chimeran virus were injected into carefully chosen chicken eggs. Once that part of the process was complete, the eggs were moved to incubators, where they would remain for three months. Then the refining process would finally begin.

And one of the technicians responsible for some of the more routine aspects of the production process was
frightened. Her name was Monica Shaw and she was in a terrible situation. If she refused to betray her country, and was caught doing so, she would be imprisoned or worse. And if she failed to betray her country, a man named Judge Ramsey would kill her husband and her three-year-old daughter, both of whom were being held virtual prisoners inside his complex in Oklahoma. Which, to hear him tell it, was going to be the seat of government for the
new
United States of America. A dictatorship run by him.

But only if Ramsey could compete with and destroy the real government. Which was why he had taken Shaw’s family prisoner and sent her to Arkansas with instructions to infiltrate the federal government. An assignment she’d been able to accomplish with relative ease. First as a volunteer, then as a lab worker, trained to help produce the Hale vaccine.

Such were Shaw’s thoughts as Voss, Truitt, and Malikov neared her workstation.

“This is Monica Shaw,” Malikov said, as the three men came to a halt. “Her job is to help grow cultures.”

Truitt said “Hello” to her and Voss smiled. Then they were gone. It was a trivial interaction really, but her heart was beating like a trip hammer, and her palms were sweaty. And Shaw knew why. She felt guilty,
and
she owed Ramsey a report.

The drop consisted of a rusty Hopalong Cassidy lunch box, which was located outside the cavern about half a mile from the main entrance. And, since she was one of those scheduled for a so-called outing that afternoon, there would be an opportunity to leave a written report. Then, if she was lucky, a letter from her husband would appear a few days later. It would be at least two or three weeks out of date, of course, but would include precious details about their little girl, and an awkward attempt to tell her how much he missed her. Awkward because both
of them knew that Ramsey and/or one of his minions would get to read it before she did. Still, the possibility of such a communication was enough to send Shaw back to work. She was alive, and so were her loved ones, but the price was very, very high.

Capelli was inside his sleeping bag when the Grims came surging up out of their underground lair to attack the unsuspecting humans. The basement of the burned-out farmhouse was the perfect place for dozens of pods to mature. And because of the charred debris piled on top of the ground floor, the unsuspecting humans had no idea what was lurking below.

The lone sentry managed to get off a single shot before a charging Grim threw its skeletal arms around him and opened its mouth to expose two rows of needle-sharp teeth. The man tried to push the foul-smelling creature away, but it was too strong. So the wrangler started to scream. But the sound was cut off as the Chimera tore his throat out. The sentry’s eyes rolled back in his head, his body went limp, and he collapsed.

The gunshot, and the gibbering sounds that the Grims made, offered some warning but not enough. Most of the humans were still in the process of exiting their bags and scrabbling for weapons when the Chimera fell on them.

But unlike the rest, Capelli was not only awake but on guard against a possible attack. Not from the Grims, but from the wranglers, at least one of whom had been acting suspiciously earlier in the evening.

So he was fully dressed and his sleeping bag was unzipped as the stinks swept across the encampment and a scattering of shots were heard. He didn’t have enough time to do more than sit up, however. Capelli had battled Grims in the past and knew how important it was to keep them at a distance. They liked to attack en masse. And once the Chimera made physical contact with their victims the battle was over. So Capelli fired the Rossmore, heard the sharper
blam, blam, blam
sound produced by Locke’s Winchester, and knew the other man was fighting as well.

As Capelli’s buckshot tore into them, the Grims literally flew apart. But the runner knew there was reason to worry because he was going to need time to reload. Even if it was only two or three shells. Fortunately, that opportunity came as the last of what might have been a dozen Chimera disintegrated and Capelli was able to thumb two rounds into the Rossmore’s magazine as a grotesquerie collapsed at the foot of his sleeping bag.

But
another
group of stinks was already charging towards him, and it was only a matter of seconds before the shotgun was empty. Capelli was reaching for the Magnum when Rowdy flew past him and tore into the Chimera with such ferocity that the attack stalled.

As the growling dog tore gobbets of bloody flesh out of the Grims, Capelli was able to not only shove six shells into the Rossmore, but throw the sleeping bag off his legs and scramble to his feet. “Rowdy! Here, boy.”

The dog broke contact and whirled away. That allowed Capelli to fire freely. Now, with only half a dozen stinks left to deal with, he was able to blow them away two at a time. Finally, after what seemed like an hour but was actually a matter of minutes, the last Grim went down. A profound silence settled over the encampment, broken only by the
click, click, click
sound the shotgun shells made as Capelli thumbed them into the tubular
magazine. He was still in the process of absorbing what had occurred when Locke groaned.

As Capelli swiveled towards his client, he saw that a dead Grim was sprawled across Locke’s body and immediately knew what had taken place. Once the big man had expended all of the rounds in the Winchester’s tubular magazine, the stink had been able to close in on him. Then, seeing the knife hilt that was protruding from the left side of the Chimera’s skull, Capelli knew that Locke had managed to kill the monstrosity.

But as Capelli rolled the corpse off the big man’s body, he saw Locke’s badly bloodied shoulder, and his heart sank. His client wouldn’t turn into a Chimera, not without being infected by a Spinner, but Grim bites were known to be extremely toxic.

Capelli put the shotgun down and knelt next to Locke’s pack. The first-aid kit was sitting on top of everything else.

“Find the bottle of gin,” Locke instructed through gritted teeth. “Give me a swallow and pour the rest into the wound.”

After removing the bottle, Capelli used the pack to prop the other man up, and set about giving him first aid. Locke swore a blue streak as the alcohol made contact with his raw flesh—and Capelli did the best he could to blot the puncture wounds dry.

As fresh blood continued to well up from below, Locke told Capelli how to create a pressure bandage and tape it in place. The truth was that Capelli had been forced to treat dozens of wounds over the last few years, many of which were worse than Locke’s. But there was no point in saying so and he didn’t.

Once Locke was stabilized, Capelli took the shotgun and set about the grisly process of inspecting the rest of the encampment with Rowdy at his side. The average Chimera smelled like rotting flesh even at the best of times.
So their body odor, plus the smell of spilled intestinal matter, combined to form a stench so powerful it made Capelli gag. Bodies lay everywhere, Grims mostly, but with badly mauled human corpses mixed in.

But Capelli wasn’t interested in either one. Not at the moment, anyway. What he wanted was two or three horses. Capelli thought he had heard screaming noises during the worst of the fighting, so he figured that at least some of the mounts were dead. And as the light from the shotgun swept across the ground ahead, he saw that he was correct. Two of the horses were down and one was dead. The other whinnied pitifully and kicked its legs in a futile attempt to stand.