Zoo II (3 page)

My God, these scientific
conferences are dull.

I’d forgotten how absolutely painful they can be. Even when the topic is literally the fate of the planet, the only thing these bland professors and rumpled “experts” seem to know how to do is drone on and on. And on.

It makes me want to pull my hair out. Worst of all, we’ve been at this for almost five hours now, and I haven’t heard one single presenter offer any useful new information or viable solutions.

If this really is a confab of the finest minds in their fields…we’re screwed.

A team from Senegal, for example, discussed the inconclusive results of some recent biopsies of the brain tissue of rabid elephants. A Brazilian electrical engineer spoke of her lab’s failed attempt to use gamma radiation waves to block the effects of cellphone signals on animal pheromone reception.

A group of officers from Moscow’s Valerian Kuybyshev Military Engineering Academy outlined a Kremlin-backed plan to carpet-bomb any and all major underground animal breeding areas. When I angrily interrupted to explain that the American government had tried an almost identical bombing campaign just a few months ago and that it had failed spectacularly, the committee chairman cut the feed to my microphone.

Thank goodness it was time for a fifteen-minute break.

Right now I’m standing in the hallway outside the main meeting room, mainlining some desperately needed caffeine and sugar: a muddy cup of coffee and a rich, gooey Cadbury chocolate-caramel bar.

Sarah is reviewing her notes for a presentation she’s giving later about what she’s dubbed HMC—Human
Microbial
Conflict—which she believes, based on her research, will be the next, even more terrifying stage in all this madness.

Freitas, meanwhile, is sitting on the floor, talking animatedly on his smartphone and tapping wildly on his iPad. I don’t have the foggiest idea to whom or what about—but by the look of it, it’s important.

“Feeling nervous?” I ask Sarah when I see she’s reached the end of her pages.

“Of course,” she replies. “
Exceedingly
nervous.”

“Don’t worry about it, you’ll do great. Just try to imagine that every chubby, balding, pasty scientist in the audience is wearing nothing but his underwear. Actually…no, don’t do that. That’s a pretty disturbing picture.”

Sarah smiles and shakes her head.

“Thanks, Oz. But I’m not nervous about giving the presentation. I’m terrified…about what my
data
show. If you think wild
animals
attacking humans is bad, just wait another few months or so, when I predict wild
bacteria
will join in. There’s no way to bomb something microscopic.”

“Good God,” I mumble, rubbing my temples. The prospect of that sounds beyond horrific. “One crisis at a time, please.”

Suddenly Freitas leaps up from the ground and hurries over to us, waving his iPad in the air. Given the glint in his eye, I can tell he’s overjoyed about something.

“They’re in! The latest worldwide AAPC numbers!”

“Isn’t that just a bunch of old fogeys?” I ask.

Freitas doesn’t like my joke. The acronym, he says, stands for animal attacks per capita. It’s a metric he invented to measure the rate of animal-related incidents and deaths in different countries around the world.

“Over the past few weeks,” he explains, “rumors have been flying that all nations are
not
created equal. At least not when it comes to HAC. Allegedly, some have begun seeing a marked decline in attacks, while others have experienced a skyrocketing.

“So,” he continues, “I ordered a team of DOE statisticians to crunch all the millions of data points we had and turn them into an easy-to-digest format.”

He hands me his iPad. On it is a map of the world shaded every color of the rainbow.

“Uh, okay,” I reply skeptically, skimming it. “So it looks like…Finland, Japan, South Korea, and Egypt are seeing fewer attacks. But Brazil, Indonesia, and Canada are seeing more. Big deal. Where does this get us? It doesn’t tell us why—or what any of these countries have in common.”

“No, it sure doesn’t,” Freitas responds. “Which is exactly what I want us to find out. Now come on!”

He turns and starts jogging down the hallway—away from the conference room.

“Dr. Freitas!” Sarah calls out, confused. “Where are you going? Our break’s almost over. I have a paper to present!”

But Freitas doesn’t slow. Instead he glances back and calls out, “Forget your stupid presentation, this is way bigger! We’ve got a plane waiting to take us to Bali!”

Bali? Is he serious? According to his own data, Indonesia has seen a massive spike in animal attacks recently—and
that’s
where he wants to take us?

But when I glance down back at the map on the iPad still in my hands, I see that in the past month, the island of Bali has actually had almost
zero
reported attacks.

That has to be some kind of mistake. Doesn’t it?

Or could the key to solving HAC really be right under our nose?

I grab Sarah’s arm and practically drag her down the hallway after Freitas.

The day just got a hell of a lot more interesting.

Chloe is in her
old childhood bedroom, lying in her old childhood bed. Eli is curled up in the crook of her arm. The little boy is dozing soundly. Obliviously.

But for Chloe, try as she might, sleep just won’t come.

She’s been living in her parents’ fortified apartment complex for only a few days now, but already she’s started losing her mind.

Maybe it’s because the air inside is so oppressive and stale: to prevent wild animals from entering, each and every window, chimney, and vent has been double-locked, triple-sealed, and completely boarded up.

Maybe it’s because her elderly parents’ health has started to deteriorate so rapidly and unexpectedly. Since the last time she saw them, her mother has grown increasingly forgetful, and her father’s mobility has become severely limited.

Maybe it’s because the apartment’s food and supplies are stretched so thin. The government’s biweekly rations delivery is inexplicably two days late, so the family is down to their last can of beans, a few shriveled tomatoes from their indoor hydroponic garden, and half of a stale, moldy baguette.

Or, maybe it’s because the sounds echoing across the city each night are so utterly terrifying. Screeching cats. Growling dogs. Yowling foxes. Shrieking vultures.

Screaming humans.

As Chloe snuggles Eli a bit closer, her mind drifts to Oz. She’s still mad at him for tricking her into staying with her parents in Paris. But of course she understands. He did it out of love. Frankly, had she been in his shoes, their roles reversed, she’d probably have done the same.

Now she just prays that he’s safe. They spoke briefly earlier today; he’d called from a plane, somewhere over the Pacific. Something about going to Mali. Africa? No, that wouldn’t make sense. But the connection was lost before she could ask more.

Chloe feels her eyelids finally getting heavy. She’s just about to doze off when a pounding on the front door practically shakes the apartment’s walls.

Eli jolts awake and begins to cry with fright. As Chloe comforts him, she looks over at the clock on her nightstand: 3:18 a.m. Who could it possibly be at this hour?

No one good,
Chloe thinks to herself.

She reassures her son she’ll be right back and slips out of bed to investigate.

The pounding continues as she passes through the kitchen—and grabs a glistening chef’s knife, just in case. Marielle has been woken up, too, but Chloe gestures for her stepmother to stay back and let her handle this.

“
Monsieur Tousignant!
It is the gendarmerie, with rations. Open the door!”

Chloe looks through the peephole. She sees two soldiers standing outside in the eerily dim hallway. One is carrying an assault rifle, the other a cardboard box. Both wear black fatigues and body armor.

Chloe exhales with relief. She sets down the knife, unlocks the deadbolt, and opens the door.

“Bonsoir,”
she says. “Thank you very much for finally coming. I can take them.”

She reaches for the box of food, but the soldier pulls it away.

“I am sorry,
mademoiselle
. This is to be delivered to Jean-Luc Tousignant only.”

“It’s fine. I’m Chloe Tousignant, his daughter.” She glances up and down the hallway, making sure the coast is clear. “Now please give me the rations and shut the door, before an animal manages to—”

“You could be Marie Antoinette, for all I care,” the other soldier snarls. “It does not matter.” He holds up his smartphone, which is connected to a tiny digital fingerprint scanner. “The thumbprint of each recipient is required for delivery verification.”

Chloe can’t believe this. “He’s in bed. He’s sick. The man can barely walk! And I have a four-year-old son who’s very hungry. Please.”

The first soldier gives her a sympathetic look, but he won’t back down.

“The rules are the rules. I am sorry. If you want the rations, your father must accept them personally. If not, we have many more deliveries to make tonight.”

Chloe groans in annoyance. French citizens are dying in the streets, they’re starving in their homes, and the army is worried about sticking to protocol?

“
Merde!
Fine! Wait here while I—”

Chloe suddenly sees two beady little eyes appear on the hallway ceiling.

In an instant, a furry four-legged animal squeals and leaps down at her.

She bats it away—a giant raccoon just inches from her face.
“Non!”
she yells as it lands on its back on the floor, then quickly rights itself and comes at her again.

Chloe screams and struggles to fight it off as it scrambles up her legs and torso toward her head, its claws digging into her flesh every inch of the way.

The soldier holding the box of rations drops it and frantically comes to Chloe’s aid. He rips the rabid animal off her and flings it into the apartment. His partner swiftly aims his rifle and sprays a flurry of gunshots, killing the creature instantly.

Chloe is out of breath. In total shock. Her legs and chest are crisscrossed with bloody scratches. She’s otherwise unharmed, but scared. And furious.

“Merci,”
she snaps at the soldiers—as she scoops up the box of rations they dropped and slams the door in their face, before either has a chance to protest.

Chloe locks the door and grips the box tightly. Marielle, who witnessed the entire episode, is too stunned to say a word. All she and her stepdaughter can do is stare at the raccoon’s bloody carcass, and the trail of bullet holes along the floor and wall.

And be thankful that Chloe is still alive.

This must be what
heaven looks like.

A pristine coastline, dotted with swaying palm trees, stretching as far as the eye can see. White sand, finer than baby powder. Blue water, clear as glass. The sun warm, the breeze cool.

But best of all?

We’ve been standing out in the open for nearly fifteen minutes now, less than half a mile from thousands of acres of lush tropical forest, brimming with wildlife…

And there hasn’t been a single animal attack yet.

I have to admit, it’s more than a little eerie. But it’s also an incredible relief, a feeling I can barely describe. A definite cause for hope.

“Careful with that,” Freitas says to one of the porters. They’re unloading our crates of scientific gear off the hotel shuttle from Ngurah Rai International Airport. Along with Freitas, Sarah, and I, sorting the equipment to be brought to our rooms, are Dr. Ti-Hua Chang, an epidemiologist from the Chinese Ministry of Health; Dr. Woodruff, an immunologist from the University of Illinois; and a few other scientists I’ve exchanged only a handshake with.

Actually, “rooms” is an understatement. They’re more like personal luxury villas, designed in the style of traditional Balinese wooden huts. Built on stilts, they’re perched directly above the sparkling water. Absolutely gorgeous.

Which could describe the entire hotel. Definitely not the kind of lodging that stingy old Uncle Sam would normally spring for. But thanks to the worldwide economic slump and the island’s drastic drop in tourism, Freitas was able to score these stunning accommodations for his team for pennies on the dollar.

They’re also in a prime location, on the beach and also near the jungles where we’ll be doing the bulk of our testing. Our goal is simple: figure out why animals are running amok around the rest of the world but here in Bali are living with humans in harmony.

I take a quick break and shake out the front of my t-shirt. It’s already damp with sweat and clinging to my chest. Not that I’m complaining or anything, but after all those months in the frigid Arctic, I can’t remember the last time I was this hot and sticky.

Feeling thirsty, I look around for something to drink. There’s a tiki bar on the other end of the open-air hotel lobby, but it looks empty and closed. Maybe there’s a water fountain nearby. Or, heck—the sea looks so clear, maybe I’ll just drink that.

“Indonesian iced tea, sir?”

A trim young Balinese man in a crisp white uniform is suddenly by my side. He’s holding a silver platter on which sits a tall glass of amber liquid with a twist of lemon.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more tempting beverage in all my life.

“Wow, yes, thank you. You guys are mind readers!”

I gulp down the sweet, refreshing tea so fast, rivulets of it trickle down my chin.

“Not mind readers, sir. We are simply very good at treating our guests well. And so is our wildlife, as you can see.”

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, my top lip cold against my warm skin.

“I sure can,” I say, intrigued by the hotel attendant’s words. Perhaps he knows something that will point us in the right direction. “Any idea why that might be?”

The man thinks for a moment, furrowing his brow.

“Well, most Balinese are Hindu. And most Hindus are vegetarian. We believe in practicing nonviolence against all life forms. Perhaps our animals feel the same way.”

I stifle a laugh—at least I try to—which I hope doesn’t offend this friendly hotel employee bearing the divine iced tea. He can’t be serious, can he? I’m no world religion scholar, but I’m pretty sure there are plenty of Hindus and vegetarians alike in places like India, Pakistan, Nepal, Malaysia. And those countries are reeling from some of the worst animal attacks on the planet.

“Interesting theory” is all I say, placing the empty glass back on the tray and extending my other hand to shake. “I’m Oz, by the way. Thanks again.”

“My name is Putu. Welcome to Bali. I hope you find what you are looking for.”

That makes two of us.

The porters are wheeling the last of our gear to our villas. I know Freitas will want us to head out as soon as possible to begin running tests. So first, I take out my new international satellite phone, issued to all team members so we can stay in constant touch no matter where in the world we go. Thrilled to see I have a few bars of reception, I scroll down my very short list of contacts until I find the one I so desperately want to call: “
Chloe ~ Paris
.”

“Did he tell you what time the bar opens?”

I look up. Sarah has walked over to me. She’s carrying an industrial metal laptop case and wheeling a crate of empty test tubes and plastic specimen bags.

She’s also stripped down to cargo shorts and a tight gray tank top. Like me, her skin is glistening with sweat. But unlike me, on her it actually looks pretty sexy.

“Sorry. I didn’t ask. And with so few guests, I bet they don’t even open it at all.”

“Too bad,” Sarah replies. “I was thinking, after we spend the day trekking around the island, we could…have a drink. Compare notes.”

Huh? I don’t believe it. Is star CDC biologist Dr. Sarah Lipchitz…hitting on me?

I can’t tell if that glint in her eye is professional curiosity or something more. Sure, it’s a scary time to be single and alone in the world. But Sarah knows I’m happily married. This is a path I definitely don’t want to go down—especially with a woman as smart and dangerously cute as she is. Maybe I’m reading too much into it.

“Maybe, uh…another time.” Then I hold up my satellite phone. “Excuse me.”

I step into a quiet corner of the lobby and dial. It rings. And rings.

Finally, I hear a click. The sound of rustling. Then a familiar voice.

“Allô?”

“Chloe? It’s Oz! Can you hear me? How are you and Eli doing?”

The connection is awful, full of crackling static. I can barely make out what my wife replies.

“We’re fine but…and food is low…and animals keep trying to…please hurry…”

“Chloe, honey,” I interrupt, “I can’t understand what you’re saying. I’m going to hang up. Give Eli a hug for me. I love you both. And…I will hurry. I promise.”

I wait for her to answer, but all I hear is more white noise. Then the line goes dead. Which gives me a sudden sinking feeling deep in the pit of my stomach.

My wife and child are under siege in Paris and I’m here in paradise.

I’d better get to work.