Extinction Horizon

-14-

A lean African-American officer waited on the steps outside the decontamination facility.

“Welcome to Plum Island. I’m Lieutenant Colonel Jensen,” he said. He reached out and shook Beckham’s hand first with a powerful grip.

The master sergeant was still shaking from the cold shower and chemicals he’d endured during decon, and the distant roar of jets and explosions echoing through the night sent chills down his spine. He never thought he’d hear the sounds of war on their home turf.

After brief introductions, Team Ghost followed the two Medical Corps officers away from the decontamination building, talking as they walked.

“Bombing our own cities?” Riley asked.

Smith stopped in his tracks and massaged the wedding ring on his finger. “None of you know, do you?”

Beckham cleared his throat from the rear of the group. “Know what?”

“The President has declared Martial Law nationwide. The Medical Corps is in charge of Operation Reaper.”

“What the hell is Operation Reaper?” Riley asked.

Jensen crossed his arms and with a stern face said, “The fight to save the country.”

“Necessary sacrifice to stop the spread of the virus,” Smith added. “With strategic bombing, civilian casualties will be kept to a minimum.”

“Those bombs didn’t look strategic to me,” Horn said.

“The virus is spreading too fast,” Jensen replied. “The military is doing everything it can to limit loss of life.”

Riley jumped in, “How is this thing spreading so fast?”

“Incubation period ranges from minutes to hours,” Smith replied in the same calculated tone. “Once we get you to the barracks, you will receive a full briefing.”

“Barracks?” Horn asked. Even in the dim light Beckham could see the man’s cheeks reddening.

“Plum Island is now on lock down. Only evacuees with the highest level of clearance will be authorized to land here. You guys are lucky as hell. You were the last bird in before the lockdown.”

Horn immediately stepped forward. “Better check on that, because we’re headed back to Fort Bragg.”

Jensen shot Horn a strict glare and then said, “I need to brief the CDC doctors you evacuated earlier. Major Smith will escort you to the barracks.”

“Yes, sir,” Smith said. He swept a finger over his nose and watched Jensen hurry off toward another building before regarding Horn with a smirk. “You heard the man. Your orders are to head where you’re told to head and stay put where you’re told to stay put. No one’s allowed in or out now without authorization.”

Beckham watched Horn’s face turn cherry red. He knew the look well. Horn was about to explode.

Taking a deep breath, Horn took a second, guarded step toward the man. With his chest swelling, he leaned closer until he was face to face with the officer.

“My family is waiting at Fort Bragg, so we are leaving,” Horn replied. “And no one is going to stop us.”

“Command will have to authorize that.” Stepping back, Smith folded and said, “Follow me.”

Beckham spat on the ground. “Let’s go.”

Horn hesitated, his features forming a mask of frustration.

“Staff Sergeant Parker Horn. That’s an order,” Beckham said sternly.

The operator glared at him and then reached for a cigarette in his chest pocket. “I heard you the first time,” he replied. Snorting in Smith’s face, Horn turned and walked toward the final dome-shaped building.

A pair of armed soldiers stood guard. They saluted and moved aside. The double steel doors opened to reveal men and women from every branch of the military. The personnel filled the room, some in groups talking in hushed whispers, others huddling around televisions watching the news. Beckham narrowed his eyes, taking in the view quickly. The space was a warehouse of cots and gear. It looked like they were in this for the long haul.

“Find an empty bed and it’s yours,” Smith said. “There will be a briefing at 2300.” He looked at Horn one more time before leaving.

Beckham tossed the new gear bag they’d assigned him after decon onto the nearest empty cot and loosened the strap to his new MP5. He placed the weapon on the bed and then looked for Horn. The man’s face was still red.

“Listen,” Beckham began to say.

Horn raised a hand. “Not now, man. Not now.”

Beckham wouldn’t argue with Horn, not when he was fuming. It was futile. Times like these he still wondered how the man had ever passed the intense psych evaluations required for all Delta Force Operators.

“Just give him a few minutes,” Riley whispered. He jerked his chin toward a crowd of Marines surrounding a television. “Want to check the news?”

“Not really,” Beckham replied. He walked with Riley anyway.

“He’ll be all right,” Riley said when they were out of hearing distance from Horn.

“Eventually,” Beckham replied. “How are you holding up, kid?”

Riley fidgeted with his bandana. “Man, this shit is fucked up. I’m worried about my parents. They’re in the dead center of this thing.”

“Hopefully they made it out of Des Moines before things got really bad.”

“I sent them an email on day two. Told them to head to my brother’s house in Arkansas. He lives in the country. Real isolated community.”

“The perfect place to ride this thing out.”

They maneuvered their way into the crowd of Marines and found a spot to watch the news. Beckham tapped a tall man on the shoulder.

“What’s CNN say?” he asked.

The young Marine twisted and offered up a nod.

“It’s the zombie apocalypse. Same thing they’ve been saying for days,” the man said. “You just get here?”

“Yeah.”

The man eyed Beckham’s uniform again and stuck out a hand. “I’m Staff Sergeant Johnson.”

“Master Sergeant Beckham,” he replied, shaking the man’s hand.

Johnson stiffened a bit and brought his hands to the small of his back. “What brought you here, Master Sergeant? If you don’t mind me asking?”

“Evac,” Beckham replied. “You?”

Johnson grinned. “Security. We’re here to keep those things from getting in.”

Beckham regarded the man with a cocked brow. “You haven’t come face to face with one yet, have you?”

The smile faded on the man’s face. “No, Master Sergeant.”

“Find me after you do. See if your opinion has changed,” Beckham said. “Assuming you survive.”

Johnson gulped and nodded.

The PA system barked to life before the Marine could respond.

“Attention, all personnel. Please make your way to the front of the room. Colonel Gibson’s briefing will begin in ten minutes.”

Riley and Beckham exchanged confused looks.

“Gibson’s here?” Riley said.

Beckham blinked, trying to make sense of the announcement. He remembered the USAMRIID symbols all over the base. Gibson was the commanding officer of the Infectious Diseases Division. It would make sense for him to be here, but the rest of it didn’t add up. Plum Island didn’t make sense. The construction was brand new, like it was planned, and the mission at Building 8 had been off, the intel shaky. Was it possible Gibson’s presence was just a coincidence, or was there something else going on? If he found out that the colonel was connected in a sinister way to the outbreak, he was going to…

Beckham’s knuckles popped.

“Boss?” Riley asked. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

Hesitating, Beckham waited for the crowd to shuffle away from the television. Riley inched closer and asked again in a low voice.

“Something’s fucking off,” Beckham replied. “I don’t know how everything’s connected yet, but something’s definitely fucking off.” He’d been an operator for over a decade. His job was reading people and situations. He was damn good at it, and he had his doubts that Plum Island and Building 8 were just a coincidence.

There was no trace of satisfaction as the revelation hit Beckham. He felt nothing but disgust. If he was right, then the virus seizing the nation was human engineered. But he knew he needed evidence for such a bold claim. Evidence that had burned the moment San Nicholas Island and Building 8 was vaporized.

Beckham cursed.

“We better find Big Horn,” Riley said, eyeing Beckham.

Nodding, Beckham followed Riley back to their cots. Horn was resting, his eyes fixated on a ceiling fan above.

“You ready to hear how bad things are, Boss?” Horn asked. He sat up and popped his knuckles.

Beckham felt a lump form in his throat. He had a feeling they were going to hear more than just what was going on outside—they were going to learn Plum Island was their new home for the foreseeable future.

The decon had gone smoothly, but Kate couldn’t seem to put her mind at ease. It was swimming with questions. Nothing was adding up. Plum Island, the virus. None of it made any sense. She reached into the pocket of the pants they’d given her and clutched the small data drive as she followed Lieutenant Colonel Jensen toward one of the white dome structures. Ellis was waiting outside.

“You all right?” Kate asked, scanning her colleague.

“I’m fine,” Ellis said. He shivered.

“Doctors,” Jensen said. “I’ll give you a tour of your lab.”

Kate stared up at the building, marked with a sign that simply read “1.”

“This is where you will work and live,” Jensen said. He opened the double doors and gestured for her and Ellis to go inside. “You will be assigned a private room later. They are located on the other side of the building.”

They took a metal staircase to an observation deck. At the top a single glass wall separated them from the rest of the staircase. The facility took her breath away. Designed in the shape of a hexagon, the space was unlike anything Kate had ever seen.

Below were five other compartments all built around a central storage area. Scientists performed tests from the safety of their compartments outside, utilizing the automated robots inside the middle room.

Banks of LEDs hung from the dome ceiling, spreading an intense white glow over the space below. Everything about Building 1 was impressive, and Kate felt clean just looking at it.

“As you can see, the building is split into six compartments. We are overlooking Section 1. That’s Toxicology,” Jensen said, pointing. He swept his finger from room to room, identifying each space.

“Doctor Lovato,” he said sternly. “You have been promoted to lead of Section 3. Your job is to figure out what we are dealing with and then find a cure. Doctor Ellis, you will assist her.”

Kate nodded. She’d heard what he said but was so captivated by the technology she could hardly think. She couldn’t get over the fact the building looked brand new, like it had been built for a purpose, like USAMRIID knew this was all going to happen.

Shaking the paranoid thought away, she said, “I’d like to get started.”

“Of course, Doctor,” he replied. “This way.”

They moved back down the stairwell and took a left at the bottom of the stairs. Jensen paused to remove a key card from his pocket and then waved it over the surface of a security panel. “We’ll get cards for you and Dr. Ellis shortly. We just haven’t had time. Everything’s been so rushed.”

The door chirped and unlocked. Jensen led them into the decontamination chamber. Inside, a wall with several windows separated them from a series of individual glass cylinders. The entire space smelled like chemicals, a scent Kate had grown used to. There was another scent, too. She took a breath. It was a minty smell, reminding her of a dentist’s office.

Jensen pointed to several rows of plastic curtains. “Suits are beyond those.” He checked his wristwatch and said, “I need to get going. I’m sure you know the drill. A technician will help you once you are inside.”

Kate nodded. “Thank you, Lieutenant Colonel.”

Ellis took a step forward, but Kate reached out and grabbed his wrist.

Jensen raised a skeptical brow and straightened his beret before leaving the room.

“What did you do that for? I had a few questions,” Ellis said.

Kate held his gaze. “Something’s wrong.” She scanned the walls for cameras and saw one angled down at them.

Narrowing her eyes, Kate studied her colleague. It was then she realized he had no idea what was going on. The facility seemed normal to him, or if he had any suspicions he wasn’t talking.

“Let’s get to work,” she said.

“Wait.” Ellis reached out and patted her on her right shoulder. “I saw where this all started,” he said. He took in a short breath. “Dr. Medford created something awful, Kate. Our worst nightmare.”

Kate remembered Michael’s final words.

In order to kill a monster, you will have to create one.

Massaging her temples, she tried to think. What did he mean? Did he want her to create something even worse, something that could kill the virus?

“Let’s suit up,” Kate said. “It’s time to stop talking and figure out how this thing works. We’re running out of time.”

Ellis ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “You’re right, and you’re in charge now.”

The chirp of crickets and low hum of generators filled the night. Colonel Gibson walked briskly across the island with Lieutenant Colonel Jensen at his side. Guilt ate at him with every step. With every moment that passed, the virus continued to spread. More people would die. The country was tearing itself apart, and it was his fault. The only thing that motivated him to keep working was the hope of finding a cure. Plum Island housed some of the brightest scientists in the world. If anyone could find a way to stop the viral monster Doctor Medford had created, it would be someone here, under his command.

He knew the truth would eventually come out. And when it did, he would own up to his sins, but for now he had to keep going to minimize collateral damage. To keep the ship sailing, Plum Island had to survive. For the sake of the entire human race.

With his hand shaking, he stopped and reached for a cigarette as he examined the six dome-shaped buildings built in a hexagon layout. Industrial light poles spread a carpet of white light over the base, revealing what two years of careful planning had accomplished.

“Sir, we should keep moving,” Jensen said.

The man was an invaluable asset to him. He was a soldier of soldiers, always completing objectives, never questioning orders. He would have been perfect to help on the VX-99 program, but Jensen was also an ethical man. His eyes had a way of deceiving him when he received difficult orders. For that reason Gibson had never brought him in on what he was doing at Building 8.

“One before we go in,” Gibson finally replied with a cigarette stuck between two fingers. He took a drag and looked out over the base. Beyond the buildings, dozens of guard towers protruded out of a two-story wall. He couldn’t see the electrical fences topped with razor wire on the other side, but he knew they were there. He’d approved the layout two years ago.

He’d led the design team that hired an architect specializing in maximum-security prisons. Gibson’s request was simple: keep people out. And while most security firms worked to keep prisoners from escaping, this architect had gone to great lengths to ensure no one would ever get inside without authorization. From the looks of it, he’d done a remarkable job.

“Sir, you’re late to your briefing,” Jensen said behind him.

Gibson nodded and took a drag. He was trying to buy himself more time, still unsure what he would say. He’d considered telling them the truth, that this was human engineered and that, at the end of the day, he was the one responsible. Morale was already failing and he didn’t particularly want to be lynched in a courtyard. Although part of him knew he deserved such a fate.

Wedging the cigarette between his lips he took in one final, long drag. With his eyes halfway closed, he saw a chopper flying low over the ocean toward the island.

Exhaling he said, “You see that?”

Jensen took a step forward and narrowed his eyebrows. “Yes, sir, but I don’t remember any authorized flights.”

“Looks civilian,” Gibson replied, noting a single floodlight sweeping over the water.

Jensen instantly removed his radio. “Air Defense, this is Lieutenant Colonel Jensen, over.”

“Copy, this is Air Defense. Go ahead.”

“We have an unidentified helo heading westbound en route to home turf.”

The chopper hovered over the ocean on the west shore of the island. Gibson watched it closely. His hands shook nervously at his sides. He shoved them in his pockets, hoping Jensen hadn’t noticed.

“Copy that, we see it and are communicating with the pilot. It’s full of refugees from New York. Please advise. Over.”

Jensen grunted before bringing the radio back to his mouth. With an annoyed tone he said, “Tell them they can’t land. We aren’t taking refugees. Over.”

The chopper continued to hover, the lights bobbing up and down over the shoreline.

The radio clicked back on. “Sir, they say they need medical support.”

Jensen shot Gibson a concerned look, but the colonel offered no trace of reassurance. Orders were clear. They couldn’t risk infection.

With a sigh, Jensen brought the radio to his mouth. He hesitated and then said, “Tell them we will shoot them down if they attempt to land.”

There was another brief pause, more static joined the chirping crickets.

“Copy that, sir.”

Gibson waved Jensen forward and they continued down the path to the barracks. With one eye on the distant beam of the chopper he took in another drag.

For a moment he thought of the passengers and the overwhelming fear they were experiencing. There were probably kids on board, but in the end it didn’t matter. They simply couldn’t risk compromising Plum Island.

He winced when two rockets streaked away from a pair of guard towers. The first shot raced past the chopper, but the second hit it in the side. The aircraft exploded in a bright orange fireball.

“Jesus,” Jensen said, raising a hand to shield his face from the heat.

Gibson dropped his cigarette and suffocated it with his boot. His heart thumped and his chest tightened. He could feel the color rushing from his face. What he’d just witnessed was only the beginning. His gut sank as an explosion ripped through the fiery wreckage on the beach.

“We better go, sir,” Jensen urged.

With a nod he followed the man to the building.

“What the hell was that?” a panicked guard asked as they approached.

Jensen held up a hand. “A necessary precaution, soldier.”

The man stood to attention when he saw the officers but kept his gaze on the fire raging in the distance. He said nothing further.

A second guard opened the doors, and Gibson walked into the room. Inside, the barracks swelled with commotion. Hundreds of uniformed men and women were talking anxiously.

“Room, atten-tion!” Jensen yelled.

The chatter quickly diminished and faded into a few hushed whispers. A female Marine in the front of the crowd said, “Sir, was that an explosion?”

Gibson gave his second in command a short approving nod.

“What you heard was a precaution,” Jensen said. He kept his tone calm and measured. “There was a civilian helicopter with infected on board. They were warned not to attempt a landing before they were shot down.”

Gibson pulled his hands from his pockets and crossed his arms in an attempt to control his nerves. Sucking in air through his nostrils, he nodded at Jensen and stepped up to the podium.

He swept his eyes over the room with a commanding gaze. Then, positioning the mic, he said. “I am Colonel Rick Gibson, Commanding Officer of the U.S. Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases. Tonight I carry a heavy burden. Tonight I have grave news to share with you all.”

The room was completely silent.

“In just four days an outbreak of a new and deadly virus has swept our nation, spreading to every corner. It’s made its way to Mexico and Canada. All of our efforts to stop the infection have failed. In a last ditch attempt, the Air Force was authorized to conduct strategic bombing runs in most major cities.”

He paused to let the information sink in. The room was packed with frightened soldiers and scientists—men and women that had families outside. The news was devastating, and seeing the horrified looks only intensified the guilt slowly devouring him.

Gripping the sides of the podium, he continued. “There’s no easy way to say this, but you all deserve to know the truth. Millions of innocent civilian lives have already been lost in an attempt to stop the spread of the virus, and millions more will perish in the coming days.”

Chatter erupted, panicked voices ringing out from every corner of the room. Jensen stepped forward with a hand raised and the crowd quieted.

“There is some good news,” Gibson continued. “Fortunately, we find ourselves in one of the safest locations in the world. This facility is fully equipped and ready to develop, test, and manufacture a cure for the virus. And the scientists amongst you are the most capable in the world. Your job,” he said looking out over the crowd, “is to find a cure.”

Gibson stepped back from the podium and crossed his arms. “There are also some of the country’s most experienced and most highly trained soldiers in this room. Your job is to protect the integrity of this installation.”

As he continued, he felt the strength he’d known as a commander returning. In that moment he was the man he’d been weeks before, the colonel that wanted nothing more than to protect America from her enemies.

“Make no mistake,” he said, his voice deeper now. “You will all face tough orders. You will be forced to make hard calls, and you may be forced to kill in order to survive. Some of you have already faced such challenges and some of you have not. If we fail, this could very well be the end of the human race. This could be our extinction event.”

Clearing his throat he said, “But our country is not lost yet, and the scientists in the adjacent buildings are working tirelessly to find a cure. I believe that in the end we will prevail. Things will not be easy, and victory will come with a high price. I hope you are all prepared to make sacrifices, for I believe this is the only way we will survive this new war.”

The irony wasn’t lost on him. He’d always imagined future war to be fought on foreign soil, never on American. The abrupt surge of strength he’d felt vanished as reality once again set in. Folding his arms, he waited for questions.

A hand shot up toward the back row.

Gibson pointed at the man who stared back with eyes radiating anger.

“Go ahead, son.”

“Master Sergeant Reed Beckham with Delta Force Team Ghost. I’m wondering if you could tell us more about the infection and where it originated?”

A sudden chill ran down Gibson’s legs. He coughed into his sleeve as he made the connection. Team Ghost, the Delta team he’d sent to Building 8. They were here. He couldn’t fucking believe it.

“The virus originated in a U.S. lab. On U.S. soil. We’re still putting the pieces together and will inform everyone when we know more. Until then, I’ve put this installation on lockdown, and I ask you all to stay in your barracks until further notice.”

Gibson stepped away from the podium and Jensen took his place.

“Ranking officers and NCOs, take charge of your personnel. That is all,” the man said before he and Gibson exited the building.

Kate stared through the glass panel separating her from her new office. A trio of USAMRIID scientists huddled around a monitor on the other side. They were busy trying to find a cure to the virus that had transformed Javier into a monster and killed Michael.

A sudden memory of their final moments flashed before her, and for the first time in her life, she felt the debilitating sensation of anxiety. So much had happened in such a short amount of time. How could she even begin to work?

Don’t start now, she thought. She had to be strong. She couldn’t let them die in vain.

When she looked back through the glass, one of scientists had twisted and looked at Kate as if they could sense her presence.

To her surprise, the person waved. Squinting, Kate saw a woman even younger than her staring back through an oversized visor. She gestured for Kate to come inside.

Taking a deep breath, she finished putting on her suit.

Ellis pulled on a pair of gloves with a snap. “You ready for this?”

She nodded and took in her first breath of filtered air. There was a minty scent to it, the same one she’d picked up on before, and she didn’t hate it.

“We better get started,” he said, walking past her.

He punched in the access code that Smith had given them and waited. The glass door chirped and then hissed open.

An intense white light flooded over them as they walked side by side into the first compartment. The woman that had waved approached them. Kate couldn’t believe how young she looked and wondered if she was even in her thirties.

“Welcome to Plum Island. I’m Cindy Hoy with USAMRIID,” she said, looking at Kate and Ellis in turn. “I’ve been assigned to your division. I’m very sorry to hear about the loss of Doctor Allen.”

“Thank you,” Kate said. “If you could show us our stations, I’d really like to get started.” Her tone leaked apprehension. She cringed at the sound, hardly even recognizing her own voice.

“Absolutely. Please follow me,” Cindy replied, gesturing them forward with her right hand.

They crossed the room with urgency to another glass door marked RESTRICTED CLEARANCE.

Cindy punched in her code and then waved her card over the security panel. “Only about ten people on the island have access to this room.”

The door unlocked with a metallic click, and they stepped through in single file. Inside, they approached a single round station with four monitors positioned on top. Kate could see right away that this was not the type of lab she was used to working in.

“Everything’s automated. Although, you can bring samples inside the lab, hence the positive pressure suits or space suits, whatever you want to call them,” Cindy said. “All samples are housed in bio cabinets.” She pointed at the cylindrical glass room in the center of the building.

Kate could see the robotic arms moving back and forth inside, vials and test tubes in their mechanical claws.

Cindy pointed at the lab station. “These computers will allow you to control the robotic interfaces that will in turn conduct tests for you. The idea is to—”

“Cut down the risk of accidents,” Kate said, finishing the woman’s thoughts for her.

Cindy nodded. “That’s the idea.”

Ellis ran a gloved hand across the sleek surface of the desk. “I’ve never seen a lab like this.”

“I helped with the design,” Cindy replied. “My background is in virology, but I also have a degree in engineering. Odd, I know.”

“Makes sense,” Kate said, finally understanding why the military had hired someone so young. The woman was a rare find in a field dominated by men and fossils that never seemed to retire.

Cindy dropped her hands to her sides and joined Ellis at the station where she typed in her user name and password. A screen with the USAMRIID symbol popped up. “Before we get started, I think you should see some images of patients.”

“We’ve seen some of them,” Kate said. She and Ellis gathered around the monitor as Cindy typed in several commands. A picture of an elderly man emerged on the screen. He lay in a hospital bed, clutching his right arm and wincing in pain.

“See anything odd about this guy?”

Ellis shook his head. “Not besides the nasty bite wound on his forearm.”

“That’s because he exhibited no symptoms from the injury for nearly two hours. He carried the disease to Atlanta. So did a handful of other victims.”

She clicked the next image to reveal the corpse of a middle-aged man lying on a gurney. Only the man no longer looked like a man. Cindy scrolled through the pictures, talking as she moved. “These pictures were taken from the autopsy CDC doctor Ted Lucas performed before Chicago was overrun. We’re calling this person Patient 4.”

Kate focused on a headshot and the same pale bulging lips she’d seen on the other infected.

“As you can see, the victims’ lips have evolved to form a sucker,” Cindy said, zooming in. “If you look close enough you will see tiny hair-like spikes that allow the mouth to clamp onto flesh.”

“How is that possible?” Ellis asked.

Cindy shook her head and continued to the next slide. The screen filled with another headshot. Patient 4’s lips were held back with clamps to show bright red receded gums and a mouthful of sharp yellow teeth.

“It’s important to point out that all victims seem to exhibit some level of intelligence centered on a basic task. Primarily, the need to kill and feed. Fortunately for us, the virus does damage the frontal lobe, cutting down on a victim’s ability to do things like drive cars or shoot weapons,” Cindy said.

Kate crossed her arms and focused on the picture, shuddering inside her suit. “Ebola typically debilitates victims so they can’t perform even the most basic of functions. In the final stages of hypotensive shock, or low blood pressure, most victims can hardly even open their eyes.”

“This is much different than what you have seen in the field, Doctor Lovato,” Cindy replied, glancing up with strained features. “In fact, victims are able to see better than the average person. The virus has affected their eyesight. Look at this,” she said as she brought up another picture.

“This is Patient 4’s eye.”

Kate and Ellis gasped simultaneously. The peeled-back eyelid revealed a dual membrane and a pupil that had morphed into a yellowish vertical slit reminiscent of a reptilian eye.

“How?” Ellis whispered. Then he mumbled something to himself that Kate couldn’t make out.

Cindy cut to the chase. “That’s why you’re here.” Pointing at the screen, she said, “Due to the connection with VX-99, scientists have given the new strain of Ebola a new name. They are calling it X9H9, or the Hemorrhage virus.”

“The perfect storm,” Ellis added.

Kate flinched at the sound of Michael’s final words as they replayed again in her head. She still didn’t know what he’d meant. What could be worse than what Medford had already created?

“So the question now is what do you two know about the Hemorrhage virus?” Cindy asked.

Reaching for the drive in her pocket, Kate said, “We’ve already sequenced the genomes of the virus and discovered the fourth gene is different than the outbreak in Guinea. I believe Doctor Medford found a way to modify the glycoprotein in an attempt to stop the virus from attacking all of the endothelial cells. This, in turn, prevents the victim from bleeding out internally.”

Cindy nodded twice.

“But we still don’t know what is causing the other symptoms or changes. And I need to know exactly what we’re dealing with before I can start work on developing a vaccine,” Kate added. She began to speak more rapidly as she compartmentalized the task for the team.

“It’s quite obvious that the virus did not naturally mutate. We know Doctor Medford was experimenting with VX-99 chemicals. I need to know how that happened. Cindy, that’s your job.”

“On it,” she replied.

“Ellis, you’re with me,” Kate continued. “It’s time to infect some mice with a sample of the virus.”