Containment (15 page)

Abe didn
't smile. Through the dark night he saw the blinding xenon arc searchlights of the National Guard. Floodlights covered the whole perimeter of the fence. In the containment zone, the fifty feet of ground next to the fence had been denuded—no trees or bushes. Behind the fence, on the other side of the zone, Abe saw some lights in the distance representing a scattering of buildings. He'd heard that everyone who lived within a quarter-mile of the containment fence had been voluntarily evacuated. It was probably true—and voluntary. Who would want to live right next to an epidemic?

"
Stop worrying," said Jimmy. The car's interior was dark but the figures within were lit by stray light from the barricade.

Abe gave him a look.

"What's the matter?" asked Jimmy.

Abe frowned, nodded toward the fence.
"You see what I see?"

"
Ain't a cage built yet that can hold me, big guy," said Jimmy, smiling.

"
I hope you see their guns. They got
big
guns. And a lot of 'em."

Jimmy stopped smiling. His gaze ran along the shadows lining the fence
—the soldiers standing watch. "Yeah," he said. "I see 'em."

"
We got a problem and it ain't no laughing matter."

"
It's only for a few days," said Jimmy, slouching in his seat. "The zone'll be open in a while, that's what they said on television."

"
And you believe them?"

Jimmy shrugged.
"Thousands of people are in here, not just us. Think they'll just let everybody get sick? Even the stupid stinkin' government wouldn't let that happen. Hitler's dead, and last time I checked there weren't no Nazis at the mayor's office."

"
It's an epidemic. They aren't gonna open the gates and let that disease out. Thousands of us are in here, but there are millions outside."

"
They'll find a cure."

"
Maybe, maybe not. But even if they find a cure it probably won't be in time to save most of the people in the zone." Abe pointed to the soldiers along the fence. "And they know it."

Suddenly Jimmy sat up. He glared at the fence, then looked at Abe.
"What're they trying to do to us?"

"
Nothing. They aren't trying to do nothing to us. They're trying to protect other people. Look at those guns, Jimbo. Look at 'em! You think those guys are just playing around? Man, I'm telling you, dudes come up to you with a lot of guns, that means they think they're gonna need 'em. You get that into your brain, man, you hold onto it and lock it away, cause it's pure truth. Dudes don't bring out the artillery unless they think they're going to have to use it."

Jimmy looked at his partner. It was starting to sink in, what Abe was saying.

Abe went on, "Why do they think they need those guns? Cause they know what's gonna happen if people start dying around here. They know people are gonna be running at that fence, and they know they got to stop 'em somehow."

"
Bastards." Jimmy shot a stare of hatred at the shadows along the fence. "What're we gonna do?"

"
I don't know. But we better think of something, if you don't want to die here like a rat."

"
I'm not dying like no rat." Jimmy kept glaring at the barricade. "I told you, just cause they build a cage doesn't mean it'll hold."

17 April, Saturday

Bethesda, Maryland
/ 8:30 a.m.

The weekend didn't come for the Micro-Investigation Unit. Monday might as well have followed Friday.

Kraig sat in his office, staring absently at his computer screen.

The toll was up to ten. Five more had passed away, all of them from respiratory failure. Two had been discovered late Friday night and three more found in the morning. One of them was a child, eight years old. Ten fatalities total. So far.

Something caught in Kraig
's throat every time he saw the number on the screen. He'd programmed his computer to show the death toll in an inset at the lower right corner of the screen. The body count. Kraig found he couldn't take his eyes off it, and he finally decided to wipe the bloody thing from the screen. But he didn't enter the command to do so, he just kept staring at it, mesmerized.

The rest of the screen flashed. The news and boilerplate text was replaced by the white mustache.

"I'm here in my office," announced the director. "Just to let you know."

"
Fine," muttered Kraig.

Chet
's optimism had vanished. "None of the latest victims died in the hospital, did they?" His ashen face glistened in the fluorescent lights over his desk.

Kraig shook his head.

The director uttered a curse. "This thing kills without sickening! The victims just quit breathing. What kind of crazy bug does that?"

"
Our bug," said Kraig. "The one we're dealing with in Medburg. Our bug does that."

"
But it's impossible!"

"
No it's not. It's very possible. It's happening, Chet. It's real."

"
Have the cultures been checked?"

"
Three times."

One glance at Kraig
's expression told the director all he needed to know about the result. Negative, no pathogens had appeared. Nothing unusual or dangerous had grown in the rows and rows of Petri dishes currently inhabiting lab space at Bethesda and all over the globe.

"
Have we started injecting the mice with samples from the victims?"

Kraig nodded.
"Started last night. I mean this morning, about one o'clock."

Chet paused.
"Have you been home?"

"
A little." There was no one for Kraig to go home to, now that Jenny had moved out of his condo.

A moment of silence followed. Then Chet asked,
"How soon will we know?"

"
Depends on how quickly the mice catch the disease and show any symptoms—or just die. We know they're susceptible. They seem to get it faster than we do, so this might work."

The director wiped his face with a handkerchief.
"I want to warn you...now, this wasn't my idea, you understand."

Kraig
's gaze steadied on the white mustache.

"
Politicians," complained Chet. "You know how they are."

"
What are you talking about?"

"
The news of the latest victims is being suppressed. By the request of—"

Cyan lights flooded Kraig
's office. "They can't do this!"

"
Well, now, hold on."

"
They can't do this!" repeated Kraig. The sound of water breaking over a reef filled the background but Kraig didn't pay any attention to it.

"
You will not become upset!" said Chet sternly. "I won't have it. Disequilibrium is the next thing to panic, and panic, young man, is the one thing that is always to be avoided."

Kraig gritted his teeth.
"You want to avoid panic? What's going to happen in the zone?"

"
That's why the politicians want to keep a lid on the news, for now."

"
Don't those idiots understand? What's going to happen when the lid comes off?"

Chet paused.

"Morons!" shouted Kraig. "Rumors will start circulating. Panic? You ain't seen nothing yet. Look, Chet. Up until now we've been getting pretty good cooperation from the people in the zone. Considering that we've disrupted their routine, we've imprisoned them against their will, and we've circled their neighborhood with armed guards, I think they've responded about as well as anybody could. Tip your hat to the people of Medburg. But it's all based on trust. Right now most of the people in the zone trust us. You start feeding them lies and they're going to find out about it soon enough, and then all the trust will be gone. Do you know what that means? No more cooperation."

"
The politicians believe the risk is worth it."

"
People will find out. If a lot of victims start dying, you won't be able to suppress it."

"
Of course not. But they'll undoubtedly riot at that point anyway. In the meanwhile, we've bought some time. We've delayed any riots that might occur until they're bound to happen."

Kraig shook his head.
"There'll be rumors."

"
Certainly there will be rumors. There already are. It's my understanding that all kinds of fanciful ideas are making the whisper circuit. The containment zone is a plot by Democrats to take over the country, or it's a plot by Republicans to do the same thing. Communists. Invasion of space aliens. Right-wing conspiracy. Left-wing conspiracy. Anarchists. Islamic terrorists intent on destroying Christians. Christians intent on destroying all other religions in the country. Revolutionaries. You name it, it's out there."

"
I'm talking about what reasonable, ordinary citizens are thinking. You're not telling them the truth."

"
We're not telling them anything."

"
But it's the same as lying to them. Nobody will ever trust us again, and not just in Medburg. Nobody anywhere will trust us. We'll never get any kind of cooperation again. This is crazy!"

"
I told you to calm down." Chet glared briefly at the assistant director. "Now, you just listen to me. I admit, what you say is true enough. Believe me, I argued our case. But the politicians, especially a certain Senator from—"

"
But
you
decide what news gets released from this office!"

"
Me, and the president."

"
He'll defer to you if you press him. My God, Chet, don't you have any backbone?"

Chet wiped his face again. He looked angry, he looked like he wanted to lash out at his assistant
—at the insulting, ill-bred young man who wanted so badly to take his job and push him into retirement. But the words that escaped from beneath the white mustache were mild. "I'm a survivor, Kraig."

Kraig stared at the director
's image. "You're a survivor, all right. I hope we can say the same for the people in the zone."

"
That," said the director pontifically, "is what everyone hopes, and is working for. Even though not everyone seems to know what they're doing."

The white mustache vanished from the screen, replaced by news updates and videos.

Holding his head in both hands, Kraig closed his eyes and thought about 21,190 people. More or less—probably a few more, since the census takers undoubtedly missed a few stragglers.

21,190 people. The only good thing about it was that the casualty figure could go no higher. Currently it was at 10 and was certain to rise unless they made a breakthrough in the next few days. But thanks to the barricade and the courage that it took to put one up, 21,190 was the maximum number of victims. It was tons better than exposing the whole population of the city, the county, the rest of the state. And the rest of the country.

21,190, max.
If
the barricade held.

Montgomery County, Pennsylvania / 11:20 a.m.

"Dr. Norschalk," said the woman with wavy black hair and a Boston accent—"Doctah No'shalk." She looked at him with a grave expression. "Twenty thousand people in Medburg are depending on us to get answers."

Gordon ran some fingers through his white hair.
"I told you everything I know."

"
Yeah?" said a man sitting across the table. "But you admit that you withheld information from the investigation team earlier?"

With lowered gaze, Gordon supplied a slight nod.

His inquisitors had shown up at Vision Cell Bioceuticals armed with questions and an interview request that apparently was more demand than request. Not that Gordon had tried to squirm out of it. He had immediately led the three of them to the conference room.

They had followed him home last night. Or at least someone had; Gordon had noticed the headlights in his rear view mirror, and he
'd seen the car in the parking lot of his condominium building when he'd gone to bed. And another car had been in its place when he got up in the morning. That car followed him to Vision Cell Bioceuticals and contained the three interviewers, who according to the badges they carried belonged to the FBI or, in the case of the woman with the Boston accent, the Micro-Investigation Unit.

They had gone straight to the conference room from the parking lot. Gordon noticed that the
parking lot also contained the cars of Pradeep Rumanshan and Burnett Sellás.

Gordon had not been too surprised at the accusatory tone of the interview. It hurt him deeply, but he wasn
't taken aback. I probably deserve it, he thought.

The man went on about how withholding information from an
"epidemiological investigation" was a crime punishable by ten years in jail. Not to mention, added the Bostonian, a crime against humanity.

"
Look," said Gordon, "I admit I made a mistake. But I corrected it. I told Cecily Sunday, who dropped in yesterday, everything I know."

The woman glanced at the FBI agents.
"Ms. Sunday is under contract with the Micro-Investigation Unit. She didn't report the incident, for which you may be sure she will be reprimanded."

Gordon frowned, but figured Cecily was tough enough and good enough to take a reprimand and not let it bother her too much. Her odd behavior even suggested she would casually shrug it off.

"I don't care about that," said one of the FBI agents. "What I care about is that you hurt the investigation. As soon as we speak to this Ms. Sunday, you may or may not be charged. I advise you to secure the services of an attorney, Dr. Norschalk."

"
I can defend myself," said Gordon testily, thinking of how Cecily would handle the situation.

"
That's as may be," said the FBI agent sharply, "but we're shutting this place down."

Gordon looked up.
"What?"

"
Absolutely," said the Micro person. "Under the authority of the director of the Micro-Investigation Unit, acting with consent of the president of the United States...."

Gordon didn
't listen to the rest of it. They were shutting down the company!

They escorted Gordon outside. A van full of masked and gloved technicians had pulled up. Another van arrived, full of uniformed officers
—Gordon didn't recognize the uniforms but they had badges that identified them as employees of the Department of Health and Human Services. As they jumped out of the van they carried with them reels of yellow caution tape.

Pradeep, Burnett, and a few other scientists and technicians
who were at work on the weekend emerged from the labs. All were confused and shooting questions at anyone who would listen.

Finally everyone understood that the company was being shuttered. For how long nobody would say, but for the time being no work would be conducted at the company laboratories. The building was off limits and would be patrolled to ensure compliance.

Pradeep Rumanshan looked like a little boy whose finger had just been stuck by a callous nurse with a sharp needle. Burnett Sellás's expression was a mixture of fury and resignation. He looked at Gordon for a long moment. He said nothing, but the look said it all.

You ruined us.

* * *

From his car Gordon watched as the bright yellow caution tape barred the doors to Vision Cell Bioceuticals. The glowing phosphorous would be visible from a long way at night.

Finally he drove out of the parking lot, his little four-cylinder Toyota straining as Gordon floored the accelerator. The engine couldn't muster more than a decent burst of speed, and Gordon rounded the curvy lane onto the busy avenue without difficulty.

His first thought was to see his son, his family. He noticed that the route he was taking would lead him not to his condominium but to his house. His ex
's house, that is.

Gordon continued, as if he were driving home from a hard day
's work at the lab, except it was still day instead of night. When he reached the house he slowed but did not stop.