Repairman Jack [05]-Hosts (50 page)

Oh, dear Lord! Lizzie's recital! It starts in less than two hours! I'll miss it!

She pawed through her shoulder bag for her cell phone but when she found it, the battery was dead. And the charger was at Jeanette's. She leaped to her feet and was reaching for Jack's kitchen phone when it began to ring. She snatched it up.

"How's it going, Kate?" Jack's voice.

"As well as can be expected." She didn't want to go into the recital business. How would Lizzie ever forgive her?

"The storm had me worried. I thought I'd give a call."

"Aren't you a good brother. So far, so good."

"Do me a favor, will you? Hold the phone up to the microwave."

"Are you serious?"

"I just want to know it's still running."

She did as requested.

"Satisfied?"

"At least now I know I'm talking to my sister. The other reason I called is I ran into Jeanette at her place."

"Jack, you didn't—"

"She got away. But she gave me an idea. If they're all gathering at Holdstock's, I might be able to work something that will give you a little more breathing room."

"What?"

"I'd rather not say. Not because you'll object to it—"

"But because you don't want the Unity to know."

"Well, yeah."

"It's safe, Jack. I know from experience the Unity has no idea what's going on while the microwave is running."

"I'd still rather keep it to myself. But I'll call you as soon as I get it done—if I get it done."

"Okay." She was unhappy not knowing but she didn't see that she had much choice. "In the meantime I have to call home and my cell phone's dead. Okay if I use yours?"

"Call away. Talk to you later."

Kate cut the connection and immediately began dialing Ron's number. They wouldn't have left yet. How was she ever going to explain this to Lizzy? What could she say to—

An ear-numbing crash of thunder shook the kitchen and the lights went out.

"Oh, no!" Panic spiked Kate's heart as she jumped to her feet in the suddenly dark kitchen. "Oh please, God,
no
!"

Twelve seconds before the Unity seized her again—and she couldn't see the clock. What could she do? She couldn't think, couldn't—

The overhead fluorescents flickered, almost died, then returned to full brightness.

Yes!

But the microwave remained off. Kate all but leaped on it. The clock display was blinking
12:00
. Never mind that. The timer buttons. Her trembling fingers found the numerical pad. Press them, jab them, stab them, any numbers, just get it going again: 8-8-8-8. Now START. Find START. There!

As her fingertip darted toward it—

The hum.

The warmth.

The glow.

The Voice.

Kate! You're still there? Tonight you must
—

And then she hit the START button. If her finger had not already been on it, she might not have pressed it. Might never have tried.

As the oven hummed to life, Kate sagged against the counter, weak with relief. She sobbed. Once.

Too close. More unsettling was how quickly the Unity had gripped her. Kate hadn't been watching a clock but she was sure the oven had been off less than twelve seconds. Which could mean only one thing: she was becoming further integrated. The Unity's contact might be broken by the microwaves, but the virus was still doing its nasty work inside her head, invading more and more of her brain cells.

I'm lost, she thought. Without a cure, I'll be gone.

What had the Unity said?
You're still there
? It had sounded surprised. And pleased.

Kate closed her eyes and tried to sift through the residue that had seeped through with the words. Why surprised? And then she knew: Jack had lied to the Unity about her whereabouts. It must have thought he'd locked her away somewhere.

She realized with a start that it was glad to know where she was because it probably was sending someone for her. Not too much to worry about if they were. No one without a power saw and a sledgehammer was getting through Jack's front door.

And then she realized that the Unity had lied to Jack, sending him in the wrong direction. They weren't meeting at Holdstock's as originally planned. They needed a set amount of time in close contact for the Great Leap, and it had been decided—whether by them or for them, Kate couldn't be sure—to find an isolated location where they would not be interrupted. Or disrupted. Holdstock had become the object of further police interrogation, might even face incarceration—the thought of losing another member before the Great Leap terrified the Unity. Luckily they'd found the perfect spot, a place owned by another member. The exact location hadn't yet come through… all Kate could glean was something about "Joyce's rental property"…

But the word
tonight
… so laden with emotion… mostly anticipation about the Great Leap, but concern as well… and something new there…

Kate closed her eyes, took a few deep breaths, and tried to relax enough to let the residue seep to the surface where she could see it.

Slowly it came… tonight… the Great Leap… a mutation.

"Dear Lord!" she cried aloud.

Tonight the virus would mature enough to change itself, mutate within all the members into an airborne strain.

And then the plan goes into motion: As soon as the mutation is complete, all the members of the Unity will fan out to the transportation hubs—Grand Central Station, Penn Station, La Guardia, JFK, and Newark airports—where they'll go from gate to gate, especially targeting the international terminals, coughing, sneezing, touching, spreading the virus far and wide. They will continue this day after day, week after week, until the Unity has worldwide scope.

And from there it's a simple matter of geometrical progression. Jack's nightmare will become reality… starting tonight.

She had to tell Jack! Had to stop them!

Kate picked up the phone from where she'd dropped it, then realized she had no idea of how to reach him. And even if she did, what could she tell him? All she knew was that the Unity would gather at "Joyce's rental property"… but where was that?

She did know the Unity wanted to bring her there.

And she also knew now that she could not outrun it. Distance meant nothing. It wasn't like an FM signal where once you passed over the horizon you lost reception. Once it got its hooks into you it always knew where you were and what you were doing and thinking. Because you were part of it. Just like putting your hand behind your back: it's out of sight but you still know where it is and what it's doing.

Only microwaves interfered with the connection, and only temporarily. What would happen if she stayed by the microwave oven tonight? Would her virus mutate anyway? She sensed it would not. But if not now, then surely later.

And then she'd be like the rest, traveling around, spreading the virus… going back home to infect Kevin and Elizabeth…

No! She would not be part of that.

She'd kill herself first.

But would that change anything in the long run? She was surprised how willing she was to die rather than spread this virus. But all she'd accomplish was the death of the only person not integrated into the Unity who knew what was going to happen tonight. The Unity would go on, the virus would mutate without her, and Kevin, Lizzie, the whole world would be sucked into her hell.

She couldn't allow that, had to stop them, was ready to die trying, but had no idea what to do.

With cold terror weighing upon her, she slid back to the floor and sat hugging her knees to her chest.

Please call back, Jack. You'll know what to do, I know you will.

10

Sandy peered around the corner of one of the plywood-box bungalows that were stacked up and down these sandy lanes like Monopoly houses. Luckily they were mostly empty; probably occupied during the summer and that was it. With barely a few yards of gravel and sand separating the houses, hiding places were scarce.

He'd parked near the end of a parallel street where he could hear the surf rumbling on the far side of the dunes. He'd moved between the bungalows until he found Holdstock's car parked in front of a bright yellow box, distinguishable from its neighbors only by its color. He'd been about to move closer when Terry emerged with a heavyset brunette built like a Rottweiler and the two had driven off in her car. Sandy had run back to his car to follow, but by the time he'd reached the highway they were out of sight. Since Terry had left his own car behind, Sandy had decided to wait.

Good thing, too. A few minutes ago the pair had returned with grocery bags.

Do I risk it? Sandy wondered as he eyed a lighted window on the east side of the tiny house, the only lighted window in sight. With the neighborhood so deserted, who'd know? Besides, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

He wished he'd brought a jacket, though. The salty breeze flowing over the dunes blew cool and damp. Faint flashes from the storm they'd left behind in the city flickered to the north. He hoped it stayed up there. He was chilled; he didn't need to be wet too.

Sandy decided on a circuitous route around to the house, removing his shoes for the final approach to minimize any noise on the gravel. The cold stones jabbed him through his socks but he gritted his teeth and kept moving. Finally he reached the window and peeked inside.

Eight chairs had been arranged in a circle in the front room. A small round table in the center was laden with cheese, crackers, chips, and dips. More than two people could put away. Obviously they were expecting company.

A party? Sandy thought. Is that why I followed Terry here—to snoop on a party? But then he supposed cult members had to eat like anyone else.

Hey, maybe they were planning an orgy. That would be cool. Then again, maybe not if Terry and the Rottweiler woman were any indication of the looks of the participants.

Sandy looked around for liquor but saw only bottled water. Okay, so it was an alcohol-free cult. But was it talk-free too?

The silence was deafening. No radio, no stereo, no TV. Terry and the woman sat in two of the chairs, staring into space, not speaking a word, seemingly unaware of each other's existence.

It gave him the creeps.

Lights flashed on the street—Sandy ducked into a crouch behind a nearby propane tank as tires crunched on the gravel. He heard car doors open and slam, shoes scuffing on the stones, the front door opening. He looked back inside and saw two men and two women enter. Neither Terry nor the first woman greeted them, or even acknowledged their presence. The newcomers said nothing as they helped themselves to the food and took their seats, leaving two empty. One of the new-comers placed a black-framed photo on one of the empty seats but it was angled so that Sandy couldn't the face.

Fascinated, he kept watching. This was the most bizarre scene he'd ever witnessed.

11

"
Nu
?" Abe said. "In such weather you're out? You're dripping on my floor. Even rats are smart enough to stay inside on a night like this."

Jack looked around. They had the store to themselves. The storm was keeping people indoors, and Abe did not encourage repeat business in his off-the-street sporting goods customers anyway.

"Got a bit of an emergency," Jack said.

"Before you go on…" Abe reached under the counter and came up with a paper-wrapped parcel. "See what you think of this."

Jack unwrapped it and found a tiny automatic pistol. He turned it over in his hands. He liked the feel of it. It ran maybe five inches from its muzzle to its concealed hammer, and couldn't have weighed much more than a pound.

"Looks like a .380."

"Correct," Abe said. "An AMT. Smallest U.S.-manufactured .380 ACP."

"So it's not a .45."

"Right. It's a backup. A .45 for backup you don't need, especially using those frangibles you like. And it's got a five-shot clip. Carry it with a round chambered—as you should—and you've got six shots. For you I've pre-loaded it. The first three rounds are your beloved MagSafe Defenders in .380. The last three are hardballs. Whatever you need you've got, and you can use the same ankle holster as the Semmerling. Like a glove it will fit."

Jack thought of his little Semmerling and felt a burst of irrational sentiment. They'd been through a lot together. He felt as if he were deserting an old friend.

"I don't know, Abe…"

"Don't be a shnook. The AMT gives you more rounds and is a true blowback autoloader. No more of this jerking the slide back and forth for every shot. And most important, I can get you parts—replacement barrels and firing pins I've stocked already. Can't say the same for the Semmerling."

Everything Abe said made sense. The Semmerling had to go. Reckless even to keep it around, let alone carry it.

"All right," he said. "You've sold me."