Zoo II (10 page)

“She’s coming! Run!”

Clutching Eli in her arms, Chloe follows the command without question as screams and gunshots ring out nearby.

She quickly falls into step with a stream of other scientists and lab personnel all racing down a long corridor tinged with the smell of smoke.

Running for their lives.

All across the biological sciences wing, red lights are flashing and a shrill alarm is blaring. The warning system was designed to be used if a poisonous chemical or deadly pathogen was accidentally released into the air.

Today it’s sounding for an even more terrifying reason.

A feral human being—captured in South Africa and brought here for study, nicknamed “Helen”—has just escaped.

The chaos began only minutes ago. As a distracted researcher was preparing to conduct a brain biopsy on her, Helen somehow managed to swipe a scalpel off the instrument tray, cut through her restraints—then slice open the scientist’s jugular vein.

A rabid woman on the loose with a surgical blade would be scary enough. But Helen is scary
clever,
too. When armed guards charged into the research lab, she leapt out from a hiding spot, overpowered one, stole his pistol, and gunned down the rest. Then she took to stalking the halls, shooting at anyone and everyone she saw.

Chloe can feel her heart thudding in her chest. Eli is crying and clutching onto her tight. People are pushing and shoving. It’s chaos.

And the smoke and gunshots are getting closer.

Chloe had first heard rumors while she was still living as a virtual prisoner among those freakish cult members in France that the animal affliction had begun spreading to people. Given her science background and all she knew about HAC, she dismissed it as utter nonsense, scientifically impossible. Just more of their crazy ranting.

But soon after she and Eli were rescued by American security forces and put on a plane to be reunited with her husband, she learned that Oz was on his way back from Japan, where he’d just captured a feral human.

Suddenly it didn’t sound so crazy after all.

Chloe rounds a corner, which leads to an indoor courtyard of sorts, one that branches off into four separate corridors.

The scientists scramble every which way, but Chloe wants to be smart. She wants to run to an exit—not run in circles. She’s only been at the lab for a few days and doesn’t know her way around. Standing paralyzed, she debates where to go…

“Chloe, this way!” A familiar voice.

Dr. Sarah Lipchitz—a young biologist Chloe met when they first arrived. She’d tried to bond with Chloe over their shared “love” of Oz. At first Chloe was put off by this younger, perhaps prettier, woman who wouldn’t shut up about how wonderful her husband was. Of course Chloe believed that Oz had remained faithful, and it was clear that Sarah was just feeling sad and lonely and scared. Chloe had begun to warm up to her.

And thank God she did. That woman might just save their lives.

With Sarah in the lead, the group dashes down the center-left hallway. Sure enough, they soon spot a bright red
E
XIT
sign above a door that clearly leads outside.

Suddenly, a bullet streaks by and ricochets off the wall, just inches from Chloe’s head.

She screams and glances behind her. Helen must be looking for a way out, too: half-screaming in some African language, half-roaring in rage, she’s coming up behind them!

“Keep running, don’t stop!” Sarah urges. Chloe runs, pulling Eli at her side.

They finally reach the exit and burst outside into the hot desert evening.

“One of the Jeeps!” Sarah yells. “They leave the keys in the ignition. Go, go!”

The women and Eli scurry over the asphalt in a parking lot filled with official laboratory vehicles. They make it to one of several tan SUVs. Sure enough, it’s unlocked.

They all pile inside: Sarah behind the wheel, Chloe in the front seat, holding Eli on her lap.

Helen, still running after them, fires twice more—shattering the rear windshield—as Sarah starts the engine and burns rubber.

The Jeep is heading straight for a metal checkpoint gate that is both unmanned and closed tight. They’re picking up speed—but so is Helen.

Right above those ominous little words
O
BJECTS IN
M
IRROR ARE CLOSER THAN THEY APPEAR
, Chloe sees the feral woman starting to sprint—fast enough to leave Usain Bolt in the dust. She’s gaining on them.

“Now what?” Chloe shouts. “We’re trapped!”

Sarah keeps the pedal to the floor. “Just hang on!”

At the very last second, she cuts the wheel away from the checkpoint and the Jeep barrels straight through the chain-link fence.

At least they’ve made it out of the burning facility, but Helen has, too.

She continues chasing them, getting terrifyingly close. She fires the last few bullets in her pistol, striking the back bumper and popping a rear tire. The Jeep keeps going, picking up more and more speed, Sarah finally putting some real distance between them.

Chloe spins around in her seat just in time to watch the feral human reach a point of  frustration and slow down—then abruptly change course and run instead toward the vast desert surrounding the blazing, smoking lab.

“
Mon dieu!
” is all Chloe can whisper in relief. Panting heavily, her pulse racing, she adds, “
Merci,
Sarah. You saved us.”

The two women trade a look and glance back at Helen. She’s already disappeared into the dry expanse.

After failing to reach
a single soul inside the Idaho lab, I’ve started freaking out. A
lot
. It seems more and more likely that something awful may have happened there.

And that Chloe and Eli might be in danger.
Again
.

So I change tack. Googling the number on the iPhone the nurse lent me, I call the Department of Energy’s main switchboard. Finally I speak to a human being…in media affairs. All he’ll tell me is that, yes, there’s been a recent “incident” at the lab and “multiple persons are still unaccounted for.”

Unaccounted for?
Not what a guy wants to hear when he’s three thousand miles and half an ocean away, and his wife and son might be involved.

“Get dressed, Mr. Oz,” says Captain Fileri, marching back into my room. He tosses me a pair of sneakers, khakis, and a blue button-down to replace the flimsy hospital gown I’m wearing. “We’re wheels up in thirty minutes.”

Fileri explains he’s just spoken with the White House. Despite the recent loss of nearly two-thirds of the Animal Crisis Task Force scientists, Washington is scrambling to keep the team’s critical work moving forward. They’re assembling a whole
new
group of experts, and they’re ordering me to return to DC via military plane to be among them. Immediately.

“That all sounds fine and dandy, Captain,” I say, “right after we make a quick pit stop to pick up my—”

“That’s a negative,” Fileri snaps. “The command is to evac you and Dr. Freitas off the island and back to the capital. No detour, no delay. There just isn’t time.”

It’s very clear to me that the captain isn’t going to budge on this. I know he’s just following orders. And I know the country—the world—still does need my expertise.

But I also know that Chloe and Eli need me more. And the last time I put my work ahead of my family, I nearly lost them forever. I am
never
going to do it again.

So I put on my best poker face and say: “All right, sir. I’ll be ready in a minute.”

As soon as Fileri leaves, the clock starts ticking.

For me to make my escape.

I throw on the
fresh clothes, grab my still-damp wallet from the meager personal effects on the table, pocket the iPhone (sorry, nurse!), and quietly lock the door to my room. Then I hobble over to the window.

I pry off one of the wooden boards meant to keep out animals and see I’m on the third floor—way too high to risk jumping down safely.

So I decide to do what I’ve seen in old movies so many times. I’ll use my bed linens to make a rope.

Nuts, I know, but what other choice do I have?

I strip the bed and hastily knot two sheets together as tight as I can. I tie one end to the railing, toss the other end outside, and carefully start to climb down.

I’m about halfway down when, damnit, one of the sheets rips.

I fall into some bushes, intentionally rolling and tumbling to soften the impact of the fall. I may be a little scuffed up, as if I wasn’t already, but I’ve made it.

Now I just have to slip aboard the next commercial flight to the mainland…just as soon as I figure out where the hell the airport is.

I search in Google Maps, but the screen doesn’t move. I try again. Still nothing. Seriously?

But then I hear a loud rumbling overhead—and see a jetliner flying dangerously close to the ground. Is it going to crash? No. It’s coming in for a landing. Which means the military facility and the airport are just blocks apart.

Keeping an eye out for both wild animals and military police, I race across the base. A lot of the chain-link fence along its perimeter looks damaged by—what else?—attacks from feral creatures, so I find an opening, slip through, and keep running as fast as I can until I reach the airport. It’s not hard to find it, since hundreds, maybe thousands, of people are cramming into the terminal, desperate to get off the islands. Which won’t be easy. Since the animal crisis has dragged on, the number of flights all around the world has gone down dramatically, while the cost of flying has skyrocketed.

I get in a long ticket line and wait. I’m terrified that any second, Captain Fileri will burst through the doors and drag me back to the base.

Finally it’s my turn to speak to an agent. I breathlessly explain my situation and how badly I need to get to Salt Lake City—the closest major city to the lab—to make sure my wife and son are okay.

But the agent barely lets me finish. The next available direct flight to anywhere in the Rockies, she tells me, isn’t for four days.

My heart sinks. My eyes tear up. I beg and plead. Isn’t there
any
other option?

The agent purses her lips and types rapidly. Maybe I’ve gotten through to her.

“There’s a plane leaving for Vancouver in twenty minutes, if you can make it. From there you can connect to San Francisco. Then to Chicago. Then double back through Phoenix to Salt Lake. You’ll be traveling for over thirty-six hours straight but—”

“I’ll take it!” I exclaim, slapping a credit card down on the counter. By some miracle, my cards were undamaged in my wallet.

And I need all
three
of my credit cards to split up and cover the whopping price: $29,487. Insane, but worth every penny.

The agent hands me my ticket and I take off like a rocket through the packed terminal. I somehow manage to make it through security and reach the gate seconds before the boarding doors close.

I scream in terror
as I’m jolted awake in my seat—and grab the unfamiliar hand just inches from my throat.

But then I relax and let it go. And turn beet-red from embarrassment.

It was just the flight attendant tapping me on the shoulder, asking me to bring my seat to the upright position. We’ll be landing soon in Salt Lake City.

The past forty-plus hours have been a blur of exhaustion, stress, and actual pain. The meds I was given at the military hospital in Hawaii have long since worn off, and my entire body is throbbing. Add to that multiple layovers and multiple delays in multiple airports, each more chaotic than the next…plus the constant threat of a feral human attack at any moment and…well, you get the idea. Not exactly a pleasure trip.

Seeing all the other passengers whip out their smartphones after we landed in Vancouver, it dawned on me. I felt so stupid for not thinking of it sooner. My wife doesn’t have a cell I can call, but of course I still know her email address.

Using the nurse’s iPhone, I logged into my personal account for the first time in weeks and fired off a quick note, praying that Chloe
would think to check her email, too.

About six hours later, when I landed in San Francisco…no response.

But then,
another
six hours later, after we touched down in Chicago…I dabbed away tears of joy at the sight of my wife’s name in my inbox. Still more tears came as I read about the terror that went down at the lab and their harrowing escape.

As soon as the plane’s wheels make contact with the tarmac and my journey finally ends, I leap up out of my seat, race down the jet bridge, sprint through the busy terminal, and burst outside into the hot Utah afternoon.

The curbside pickup area is total mayhem. Cars honking, cops shouting.

My iPhone died hours ago, before I could arrange any kind of specific meet-up time and location with Chloe. I need to charge it, badly, but first I want to find some ground transportation. I’ve come so far, and my family is
still
so far.

Then something catches my eye: a handmade sign with the words
J
ACKSON
O
Z.

It’s being held up by Chloe, standing in front of a tan Jeep as if she were a chauffeur, a megawatt smile plastered across her beautiful face.

Eli is clinging to her leg. “Daddy!” he yells, letting go and bounding up to me.

He leaps into my arms. I squeeze the boy so tightly I’m afraid he might pop. Covering his messy hair with kisses, I carry him to Chloe and wrap her in the hug as well.

And the three of us just stay like that. Half-laughing, half-crying.

No words. Just unimaginable relief.

And infinite love.

Finally we pull apart, sniffling, wiping our eyes.

“So, how was your little vacation,
mon amour?
” she asks with her trademark smirk. I’ve missed that so much. To answer, I give her a long, deep kiss.

The front door of the Jeep opens and out steps Sarah. Like my wife and son, she looks tired and stressed and grimy but also relieved to see me. The feeling is mutual, especially since Chloe told me in her email that Sarah helped save their lives.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” I say as we embrace.

“
I
do,” Sarah answers, pulling away to look at both Chloe and me. “No more crazy expeditions to far-flung corners of the globe. No more unnecessary tests. No more big government agencies telling us what to do. And no more delay.”

Chloe understands where Sarah’s going with this and picks up the thread.

“
Oui!
Feral human attacks are on the rise. And with the president’s task force in ruins…yes, we will need equipment and a laboratory and new specimens…but the three of us—working
together
this time, Oz—may be the best shot the world has at finding a cure.”

I smile, feeling a real sense of hope and optimism I haven’t in weeks.

“I couldn’t agree more. And I think I know where we should start.”