Containment (19 page)

The girl led her upstairs to a bedroom. In Loretta
's house it would be her own bedroom. There was a woman lying on the bed, lying on top of the quilt. The bed was made-up, not so much as a pillow out of place.

Loretta stopped at the doorway. Something about the woman.... Loretta heard the loud peels of alarm bells going off in her head.

The woman was dead.

Staring, Loretta recognized her. Dalia. That was the woman
's name. And her daughter was Rico, Ricah, something like that.

The child ran up to her mother and looked back at Loretta.

Somehow Loretta knew the woman was dead without feeling for a pulse, without doing anything clinical. Death hung in the air. Dalia was lying on her back, eyes closed, unmoving. No breathing; no rise and fall of the chest. Motionless, still, quiet; a mannequin. One arm dangled off the bed at a terribly awkward angle, its owner no longer aware of the fact.

But Loretta couldn
't leave without making sure. The government wasn't mentioning any more deaths. Nobody on WKH had said anything about it. She made a single step toward the bed—then stopped abruptly.

Her family. She could bring back the disease to her house. All of her children could end up just like that.

Loretta panicked and stepped away. She lifted up her blouse and covered her mouth and nose. Other people had been wearing masks but she hadn't bothered. Some people kept saying it didn't help. Maybe so, thought Loretta, but it was something simple you could do to at least try to protect yourself. How foolish she'd been. How complacent!

She backed out of the bedroom. Then her conscience stabbed her. She leaned back in, where the girl was still standing, waiting.

Loretta lowered the blouse away from her mouth. "Call 911, sweetheart! Do you know where the telephone is? Do you know how to use it?" Loretta tried to keep herself from babbling, overwhelming the child. She wanted to run away, yet she couldn't.

Finally the little girl picked up a telephone receiver from a table beside the bed. She looked at Loretta with teary eyes.

"Does it work? Punch 911. The buttons, on the phone." Loretta stared at the girl. Did she even have the right end next to her mouth? "Do it, honey. Punch 9, then 1, then 1 again. Do it. 9, 1, 1."

The girl finally did.

Loretta felt her heart racing.
Leave now! The woman's dead and beyond help.

"
Did anyone answer?"

The girl shook her head.

Damn it!
Loretta started to walk over, then stopped again.
I can't touch anything in this house.

"
I'll call 911 from my house, on my phone," said Loretta. "I promise. I'm just down the block."

Suddenly the girl spoke into the telephone.
"It's my mommy. She's sick."

"
Tell them your address, honey." Loretta called out the street name.

"
Yes," said the girl. "Someone is with me...I don't know who." After a short pause, the girl held out the handset. "She wants to talk to you."

Loretta stared at it, sitting there in the little girl
's palm. The palm looked so much like Yvonne's little hand.

Her mind raced. Loretta felt faint, sick to her stomach.

Then she made a decision. She ran. Out the house, across the dead lawn, across all the dead lawns between Dalia's house and hers. She leapt over ankle-high wrought-iron decorative pickets, plowed through rows of bushes, finally made it up to the door of her house. She fumbled the key, picked it up, inserted it into the door. It wouldn't open. She tried again. Failed again.

Screaming, Loretta banged on the door. She tried the key again and still it wouldn
't work. Pumping her fist against the thin wood, she cried for Gary and Alicia.

Yvonne opened the door a moment later and Loretta fell inside.

Lying on the floor, Loretta tried to catch her breath. Her eight-year-old daughter was staring at her with wide, frightened eyes.

"
Oh honey, I'm sorry," whispered Loretta, chest heaving. "I'm so sorry."

Her youngest son and Alicia showed up.

"God, Mom," said Alicia. "What happened?"

Getting to her feet, Loretta held out the key. Her hand was trembling and she couldn
't stop it. She put the key on the end table beside the staircase. "Key wouldn't work," she said breathlessly.

Puzzled, Alicia picked up the key.
"This isn't ours."

"
Mommy, mommy, are you sick?" Yvonne's big eyes kept staring at her.

Loretta glanced at her daughter. Intellectually she knew she was looking at her own daughter, but in Yvonne, Loretta couldn
't help seeing the other little girl. The one she'd run out on. The one whose mother was dead.

The valiant effort of the last few days was at an end. The tears and sobs came out of Loretta like a raging river that had jumped its banks. Nothing could hold it back now.

Gary's voice: "Alicia, take the kids upstairs...just do it, now!"

Then Loretta was alone with her son, sobbing uncontrollably on his shoulder.
"Oh God," she cried. "It's true, it's all true. But they can't, they just can't. They can't just leave us all here to die."

* * *

Twenty minutes later Gary walked into his bedroom. All three of his siblings were there, looking very scared. Yvonne was first to ask the question.

"
What's wrong with Mommy?"

"
Nothing's wrong with Mom," said Gary. "She just had a bad fright, that's all. She's resting in her room now and I don't want any of you pestering her. But she'll be all right."

No one said anything. The two youngest children were sitting on the floor. Alicia was sitting on Gary
's bed.

He sat down beside Alicia. A look passed between them. Alicia studied Gary
's face, then nodded. Satisfaction came over her expression.

Gary had not wanted to do it at first. When Abe and Jimmy had told them of their plan, Gary had immediately rejected it.
"Forget that," he said. Flatly, firmly. "We don't want any part of that
.
"

Jimmy
's eyes had narrowed and he'd given Gary an ugly look, like he was getting ready to scream at him or throw a punch. But Abe's massive hand clamped down on his shoulder and Jimmy ended up saying nothing.

Now Gary had changed his mind. If Jimmy and Abe still needed any help, he and Alicia would give it.

In Gary's mind, an idea of his own had now formed. If some people busted out of the zone, or at least made the attempt, then maybe the government would start doing more to cure the infection. That's what the government was so afraid of, wasn't it—people busting out? If it started happening, maybe they'd do something. Then maybe everyone in the zone wouldn't have to just sit around and wait to get sick.

Bethesda, Maryland / 6:15 p.m.

The ticker on Kraig's LCD screen was up to 35. He'd been staring at the number all afternoon, watching it steadily climb. The prediction of the epidemiologists for a steeply rising curve had come true.

We just ran out of time.

Kraig dialed Cecily Sunday's personal cell phone number. The line beeped, indicating a connection, but what he heard frightened him. Scuffling noises, muffled voices, shouting in the background.

"
Cecily?"

No answer. In a faint voice someone was yelling for the police.

Kraig felt a stab of fear. In a loud voice he called for Cecily twice.

"
Yeah, boss. Kind of busy here."

"
What's happening?" Suddenly Kraig understood. "You're still in the zone?"

"
That's where the action is—ouch!"

"
What? What is it?"

"
Somebody just stepped on my foot. Listen, Kraig, I don't know what kind of reports you've been receiving back at Bethesda, but we've got problems here in the zone."

Thirty-five fatalities worth of problems, thought Kraig.
"What's the situation?"

"
I'm near one of the gates. Lisa and I and some of our techs tried to drive in as usual to look around and gather samples. We didn't get far because we were met by a mob as soon as we passed the gate. They...wait. I'll let
them
tell you."

A whistling sound came over the speaker
as Cecily transferred the comm circuits to the external microphone. Then Kraig heard chanting, shouting, and screaming. He could make out only bits and pieces, but it was enough to get the drift. There were plenty of unhappy people in the containment zone who were suffering from feelings of neglect. Now they had begun to vent their frustrations.

Cecily came back on.
"They think we're not doing enough."

"
Get out of the zone, Cecily."

There was a pause.
"We can't desert these people—"

"
Get out of the zone. That's an order. Leave at once."

"
I just need to talk to the people, make them listen. Make them understand that we're doing all we can."

"
They'll rip you to shreds."

"
We have an armed escort."

Kraig shook his head. In a little while that wouldn
't be enough. Might not even be enough now. "Get out, Cecily, or I'm going to order the National Guard to lock you up."

"
You'd do it too, wouldn't you?"

Bet your dysphoric ass I would.
"I'm doing it now." Kraig opened another line on the telephone.

"
Stop. You win, we're going back."

Kraig heard noises of motion and doors slamming. The background yelling diminished. He closed the other phone line.

"We're passing through the gate," said Cecily. Plunking noises accompanied her voice.

"
They're throwing rocks?" asked Kraig.

"
Rocks, bottles, soccer balls, whatever they can find."

One part of Kraig marveled at Cecily
's cool, calm demeanor. Her voice hadn't cracked once, she was always in control, never flighty or panicky. Another part of Kraig didn't marvel— this was exactly the sort of situation that turned her on.

"
We're out," said Cecily. "So what's the body count up to?"

Kraig frowned. Cecily had probably been sure that Kraig would have the figure
directly in front of him, burned onto his retinas. Which it was. Kraig told her the latest number.

Cecily whistled.
"Do you have any more information on the victims?" she asked. "Are they getting any warning signs?"

"
Not much. Not enough to make it to a hospital, as far as I can tell. Your breathing suddenly gets irregular, that's what people who've seen some of the victims say. It's like all of a sudden you're out of breath and you start gasping. A little while later you're history."

Hyperventilation followed by unconsciousness. The terrible last minute of the victim played out in Kraig
's mind.

"
You think artificial respirators would do any good?" asked Cecily.

"
It would keep people alive for a while. But if the brainstem is shot to hell...." Kraig didn't finish. Breathing would be the first to go, but other vital functions would soon follow. Respirators would only buy a tiny bit of time. "Too many logistic problems. If I could get them there, distribute them in the zone, maybe it would do some good. I'll check. But it's like handing out hazard suits. There aren't enough to go around, and the power packs have a limited life."

This thing struck too quickly, thought Kraig. Like lightning. Too fast for the creaky government supply system to respond. We need three weeks just to get organized. Damn shame, but that
's bureaucracy.

"
I want you to stay out of the zone for now," said Kraig.

"
No problem. Lisa and I and the rest of the team will go back to our isolated rooms and sit on our thumbs."

"
Sorry, Cecily. There isn't much you can do now."

Kraig killed the connection. He opened another connection at once.

Cyan lights came on in the office. Kraig lifted a finger like a conductor's baton, waving it in the air. "Reef, maestro, the reef! Give me the reef!"

The white mustache appeared on the LCD. It looked irritated, frazzled.

Din-din's getting cold but you can't motor on home yet, eh?
"Chet, the zone's heating up."

"
I watch the news," said the director bluntly.

"
Our field team says mobs are forming."

"
So I see."