Invasion

14

8:15 A.M.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Jesse said.

“You know what I’m saying. I mean, how long does it take three young people to get themselves together to go out for breakfast?”

“It’s Cassy’s fault,” Pitt said. “She was in the bathroom for eight years.”

“That’s untrue,” Cassy said, taking immediate umbrage. “I didn’t take as long as Jonathan here. Besides, I had to wash my hair.”

“I didn’t take long,” Jonathan said.

“You most certainly did,” Cassy said.

“All right, enough already,” Jesse shouted. Then in a more moderate tone he added: “I’ve just forgotten what it’s like having kids around.”

They had stayed the night at Pitt’s second cousin’s apartment, thinking it was the safest place. It had worked out fine with Pitt and Jonathan sharing a bedroom. The only minor problem had been the single bathroom.

“Where should we eat?” Jesse asked.

“We usually eat at Costa’s,” Cassy said. “But I think the waitress there is an infected person.”

“There’s going to be infected people no matter where we go,” Jesse said. “Let’s go to Costa’s. I don’t want to go anyplace where I might run into any of my fellow officers.”

It was a beautiful morning as they emerged into the sunlight. Jesse had them wait by the front door a few minutes while he went out to reconnoiter his car. When he saw no evidence of it having been tampered with, he waved them over. They piled in.

“I got to stop for gas,” Jesse informed them as he pulled out into the street.

“There’s still a lot of people walking around,” Jonathan said. “Just like last night. And they all have that weird shit-eating grin.”

“Foul language is no longer cool,” Cassy admonished.

“Jeez, you sound like my mother,” Jonathan said.

They drove into a gas station. Jesse got out to pump the gas. Pitt got out to keep him company.

“Have you been noticing what I have?” Jesse asked when the tank was almost full. The gas station was very busy at that time in the morning.

“Are you referring to the fact that everybody seems to have the flu?” Pitt commented.

“That’s exactly what I’m referring to,” Jesse said. Most everyone they saw was either coughing, sneezing, or looking pale.

A few blocks away from the diner, Jesse pulled over to the curb at a newsstand and asked Pitt to get a paper. Pitt got out and waited his turn. Like the gas station, the newsstand was busy. As Pitt got closer to the stacks of papers, he noticed that each was being held down with a black disc!

Pitt asked the proprietor about his paperweights.

“Cute little things, ain’t they?” he said.

“Where did you get them?” Pitt asked.

“They were all over my yard this morning,” the man said.

Pitt ducked back into the car with the paper and told the others about the black discs.

“Wonderful!” Jesse said sarcastically. He glanced at the headlines: Mild Flu Spreading. “As if we didn’t know that already,” he added.

Cassy took the paper in the back seat and read the article as Jesse drove on to Costa’s.

“It says the illness is miserable but short,” Cassy said. “At least for healthy people. For people with chronic diseases, it advises them to seek medical attention at the first sign of symptoms.”

“A lot of good that’s going to do them,” Pitt commented.

Once inside Costa’s they took a booth toward the front. Pitt and Cassy were on the lookout for Marjorie. They didn’t see her. When a boy about Jonathan’s age came over to take their order, Cassy asked about the waitress.

“She went to Santa Fe,” the boy said. “A lot of our staff went there. That’s why I’m working. I’m Stephanos, Costa’s son.”

After Stephanos disappeared back into the kitchen, Cassy told the others about what she’d seen in Santa Fe. “They’re all working at this castlelike house,” she added.

“What are they doing?” Jesse asked.

Cassy shrugged. “I asked; it was a natural question. But Beau just gave me platitudes and generalities about a new beginning and making everything right, whatever the hell that meant.”

“I thought foul language wasn’t cool,” Jonathan said.

“You’re right,” Cassy said. “I’m sorry.”

Pitt glanced at his watch for the tenth time since they’d been in the diner. “It shouldn’t be too long now before they arrive at the CDC.”

“They might be waiting for the place to open,” Cassy said. “By now they’ve been in Atlanta for several hours. With the time difference maybe the CDC doesn’t open for another hour or so.”

A family of four in the next booth started to cough and sneeze almost simultaneously. The flu symptoms progressed rapidly. Pitt looked over and recognized the pale, feverish appearance, particularly of the father. “I wish I could warn them,” he said.

“What would you tell them?” Cassy asked. “That they have an alien monster inside that’s now been activated and that by tomorrow they won’t be themselves?”

“You’re right,” Pitt said. “At this stage there’s not much that can be said. Prevention is key.”

“That’s why we’ve gone to the CDC,” Cassy said. “Prevention is what they are about. We just have to keep our fingers crossed that they’ll take the threat seriously before it is too late.”

Dr. Wilton Marchand leaned back in his high-backed desk chair and folded his hands over his expansive abdomen. He’d never followed any of his own organization’s recommendations concerning diet and exercise. He looked more like a successful brewery proprietor of the late nineteenth century than the director of the Centers for Disease Control.

Dr. Marchand had hastily called together some of his department heads for an impromptu meeting. Attending were Dr. Isabel Sanchez, head of the Influenza branch; Dr. Delbert Black, head of Special Pathogens; Dr. Patrick Delbanco, head of virology; and Dr. Hamar Eggans, head of epidemiology. Dr. Marchand would have liked to have included others, but they were either out of town or tied up with other commitments.

“Thank you,” Dr. Marchand said to Sheila who’d just finished an impassioned presentation of the entire problem. Dr. Marchand gazed at his branch heads who were looking over each other’s shoulders, busily reading the single copy of the report that Sheila had handed them prior to her presentation.

Sheila glanced at Eugene and Nancy who were sitting to her immediate right. The room had gone silent. Nancy nodded to Sheila to convey that she thought Sheila had done an excellent job. Eugene shrugged and raised his eyebrows in response to the silence. He was silently asking the question of how this collection of CDC brass could be taking this information with such apparent composure.

“Excuse me,” Eugene said a minute or so later, unable to bear the prolonged silence. “As a physicist, I have to emphasize to you people that these black discs are made of a material that could not have been made on Earth.”

Dr. Marchand picked up the Tupperware container on his desk and with lidded eyes gazed in at the two objects.

“And they are definitely manufactured,” Eugene continued. “They are not natural. In other words, it would have to be from an advanced culture... an alien culture!” It was the first time the trio had used the word “alien.” They had implied as much but had avoided being so explicit.

Dr. Marchand smiled to indicate that he understood Eugene’s point. He extended the Tupperware container out toward Dr. Black who took it and peered within.

“Quite heavy,” Dr. Black commented before handing the container on to Dr. Delbanco.

“And you say that there are many such objects in your city,” Dr. Marchand said.

Sheila threw up her hands in exasperation and got to her feet. She couldn’t sit a moment longer. “There could be thousands,” she said. “But that’s not the point. The point that we are making is that we are in the beginning of an epidemic stemming from a provirus in our genomes. In fact, it’s in every higher animal’s genome that we’ve tested, suggesting it’s been there for maybe a billion years. And the scariest part is that it has to be extraterrestrial in origin.”

“Every element, every atom, and every particle of our bodies are ‘extraterrestrial,’” Dr. Black said sternly. “Our entire makeup has been forged in the supernova of dying stars.”

“That may be,” Eugene said. “But we are talking about a life form. Not mere atoms.”

“Exactly,” Sheila said. “A viruslike organism that has been lying dormant in the genomes of Earth creatures, including human beings.”

“Which you purport was transported to Earth in these miniature spaceships in the Tupperware container,” Dr. Marchand said wearily.

Sheila rubbed her face to get herself under control. She knew she was exhausted and emotionally drained. Like Nancy and Eugene she’d not slept a wink all night. “I know it sounds implausible,” she said, deliberately speaking slowly. “But it is happening. These black discs have the capability of injecting a fluid into living organisms. We were lucky to obtain a drop of the fluid from which we have isolated a protein that we believe functions like a prion.”

“A prion only carries one of the spongiform encephalopathies,” Dr. Delbanco said with a broad smile. “I doubt your protein is a prion.”

“I said, ‘Like a prion!’” Sheila added venomously. “I didn’t say it was a prion.”

“The protein reacts with the particular segment of DNA that was previously considered noncoding,” Nancy said. She could see that Sheila was getting angry. “Perhaps it is better to say it’s functioning more like a promoter.”

“Perhaps we could take a short break,” Sheila said. “I know I could use a little coffee.”

“Of course,” Dr. Marchand said. “How thoughtless of me.”

Beau Gave King an exuberant scratching behind his ears as he gazed out over the lawns in front of the institute. From the wrought-iron balcony off the library, he and King could see a long stretch of the driveway before it disappeared into the trees. It was clogged with new converts patiently making their way to the château. A few waved up to Beau, and he waved back.

Letting his eyes roam the rest of the grounds, Beau could see his canine friends were reliably on duty. Beau was pleased. He did not want interruptions.

Turning back into the house, Beau descended to the first floor and entered the ballroom. It was jammed with energetically toiling people. Now that the space was almost completely gutted, it looked far different than it had just the day before.

The people working in the room were a remarkably diverse group from all walks of life and of all ages. Yet they were working together like a synchronized swim team. From Beau’s perspective it was a sight to behold and the picture of efficiency. No one had to give orders. Like the individual cells of a multicelled organism, each person had in their mind the blueprints of the entire project.

Beau saw Randy Nite laboring happily at a makeshift workbench set up in the center of the room. Randy’s team was particularly disparate, with ages ranging from a man in his eighties to a girl less than ten. They were working on banks of sophisticated electronic equipment. Each person wore lighted magnifying headgear reminiscent of a retinal surgeon.

Beau strolled over.

“Hey, Beau!” Randy said cheerfully, catching sight of him. “Great day, huh!”

“Perfect,” Beau answered with equal enthusiasm. “Sorry to interrupt, but I’m going to need you this afternoon. Your lawyers are coming by with more papers for you to sign. I’m having the remainder of your assets signed over to the institute.”

“No problem,” Randy said. He wiped some plaster dust from his brow. “Sometimes I think we should move these electronics away from all this demolition.”

“Probably would have been a good idea,” Beau admitted. “But the demolition is almost over now.”

“The other problem is that these instruments don’t have the sophistication we’re going to need.”

“We’ll just use what we can of theirs,” Beau said. “We knew there would be problems with their degree of precision. But what we don’t have, we’ll have to develop ourselves.”

“All right,” Randy said, although he was less than convinced.

“Come on, Randy,” Beau said. “Relax! Everything is going to work out fine.”

“Well, at least they’re making fantastic progress with the space,” Randy said. His eyes roamed the room. “It certainly looks different now. The realtor told me it had been a re-creation of the ballroom of a famous French palace.”

“It will serve a far greater purpose once we’ve finished it,” Beau said. He gave Randy a friendly slap on the back. “Don’t let me keep you. I’ll see you later when the lawyers get here.”

Stephanos picked up the soiled dishes from in front of Cassy, Pitt, Jonathan, and Jesse. Jesse asked for another “hit” of coffee. Stephanos went back behind the counter for the coffee pot.

“Did you hear him cough just before he got to our table?” Cassy asked.

Pitt nodded. “He’s coming down with it. No doubt about it. But I’m not surprised. Last time we were in here we thought his father was infected.”

“Hell with the coffee,” Jesse said. “This place is starting to give me the creeps. Let’s get.”

The group got to their feet. Jesse threw down a tip. “This is my treat,” he said. He picked up the check and headed for the cash register by the door.

“What do you think Beau is doing right now?” Pitt asked, as the group followed behind Jesse.

“I don’t want to think about it,” Cassy said.

“I just can’t believe that my best friend is the leader of all this,” Pitt said.

“He’s not the leader!” Cassy snapped. “He’s not Beau any longer. He’s being controlled by the virus.”

“You’re right,” Pitt said quickly. He knew he was touching a sore point for Cassy.

“Once the CDC is involved,” Cassy said, “do you think they could come up with a cure, like a vaccine?”

“A vaccine is used to prevent an illness,” Pitt said. “Not cure it.”

Cassy stopped and with eyes that reflected a hint of desperation, looked up into Pitt’s face. “You don’t think they could come up with a cure?”

“Well, there are antiviral drugs,” Pitt said, trying to sound hopeful. “I mean it’s possible.”

“Oh, Pitt, I hope so,” Cassy said, near tears.

Pitt inwardly gulped. There was a nasty part of him that celebrated Beau’s departure from the scene because of Pitt’s feelings for Cassy. Yet he could see how bad she felt. Reaching out he took her in his arms and hugged her. She hugged him back.

“Hey, guys, take a gander at this,” Jesse said, while blindly tapping Pitt on the shoulder. Jesse’s eyes were glued to a tiny TV set behind the cash register.

Pitt and Cassy let go of each other. Jonathan crowded in from behind. The TV was tuned to CNN and an instant news break was coming on.

“This is just in to CNN,” the announcer said. “There was an unprecedented meteor shower last night seen halfway around the world from the extreme western part of Europe all the way to Hawaii. Astronomers believe it was worldwide but could not be seen in the rest of the world because of sunlight. The cause is unknown since the phenomenon has caught astronomers totally unaware. We will bring more to you about this breaking news as soon as it is available.”

“Could that have something to do with you-know-what?” Jonathan asked.

“Maybe more of the black discs?” Jesse suggested. “It must be.”

“My God!” Pitt exclaimed. “If it is, then it’s now involving the whole world.”

“It will be unstoppable,” Cassy said. She shook her head.

“Something the matter, folks?” Costa, the owner, asked. It was Jesse’s turn at the register. Jesse’d originally lined up behind several other customers.

“Nope,” Pitt said quickly. “It was a great breakfast.”

Jesse paid the bill, and the group walked outside.

“Did you see his smile?” Jonathan questioned. “Did you see how fake it was? He’s one of the infected. I’ll bet five bucks.”

“You’ll have to bet with someone else,” Pitt said. “We already knew he was one of them.”

After a short break that Sheila and Nancy had used to go into the ladies’ room and wash their faces, the trio returned to Dr. Marchand’s office. Sheila was still exasperated so Nancy spoke.

“We understand that what we are saying is largely anecdotal and that our report is weak in actual data,” Nancy said. “But the fact is that we are three professionals with impeccable credentials who are here because we are concerned. This event is truly happening.”

“We certainly are not questioning your motives,” Dr. Marchand said. “Just your conclusions. Since we had already dispatched an epidemiological investigative officer to the scene we are understandably dubious. We have his report here.” Dr. Marchand raised a single-page memorandum. “It was his feeling that you people were experiencing an outbreak of a mild form of influenza. He described extensive consultation with the CEO of your hospital, Dr. Halprin.”

“His visit occurred before we realized what we were dealing with,” Sheila said. “Besides, Dr. Halprin had already been a victim of the illness. We tried to make that very clear to your EIS officer.”

“Your report is very sketchy,” Dr. Eggans said to Sheila, slapping it down onto the edge of Dr. Marchand’s desk after he’d read it from cover to cover. “There’s too much supposition and very little substance. However... ”

Sheila had to restrain herself from getting up and angrily walking out. She couldn’t believe how these passive intellectual midgets had risen to their current positions within the CDC bureaucracy.

“However,” Dr. Eggans repeated, running a hand pensively through his full beard, “it’s still compelling enough that I’d like to go and investigate on site.”

Sheila turned to Nancy. She wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. Nancy flashed a thumbs up sign.

“Have you circulated this report to any other government agencies?” Dr. Marchand asked. He picked it up from his desk and idly thumbed through it.

“No!” Sheila said emphatically. “We all thought the CDC was the best place to start.”

“It hasn’t been sent to the State Department or the Surgeon General?”

“No one,” Nancy affirmed.

“Did you try to determine the amino acid sequence of the protein?” Dr. Delbanco asked.

“Not yet,” Nancy said. “But that will be easy to do.”

“Have you determined if the virus is able to be isolated from the patients after they have recovered?” Dr. Delbanco asked.

“What about the nature of the reaction between the protein and DNA?” the willowy Dr. Sanchez asked.

Nancy smiled and held up her hands. She was pleased with the sudden interest. “Slow down,” she said. “I can only handle one question at a time.”

The queries came fast and furious. Nancy did her best to answer them, and Eugene helped when he could. Sheila initially was as pleased as Nancy, but after ten minutes had passed and the questions were becoming more and more hypothetical, she began to sense that something was wrong.

Sheila took a deep breath. Maybe she was just too tired. Maybe these questions were reasonable from such research-oriented professionals. The problem was that she expected action, not intellectualization. At that point they were busily questioning Nancy how she even came up with the idea of using the protein as a DNA probe.

Sheila let her eyes wander around the room. The walls were decorated with the usual profusion of professional diplomas, licenses, and academic awards. There were pictures of Dr. Marchand with the President and other politicians. Suddenly Sheila’s eyes stopped at a door that was open about a foot. Beyond the door she saw the face of Dr. Clyde Horn. She recognized him instantly partially due to his shiny bald pate.

As Sheila’s eyes locked onto Dr. Horn’s his face twisted into a great smile. Sheila blinked, and when she opened her eyes, Dr. Horn was gone. Sheila closed her eyes again. Was she hallucinating from exhaustion and tension? She wasn’t sure, but the image of Dr. Horn’s face brought back the memory of him leaving her office with Dr. Halprin. As clearly as if it had been an hour previously, she could hear Dr. Halprin saying: “I’ve even got something I want you to take back to Atlanta for me. Something I think that will interest the CDC.”

Sheila’s eyes blinked open. With sudden clairvoyance and absolute certitude she knew what Dr. Halprin had been referring to: a black disc. Sheila glanced at the CDC people in the room and it dawned on her with equivalent certitude that they were all infected. Instead of being interested in the epidemic in order to contain it, they were grilling Nancy and Eugene to find out how they had learned what they had.

Sheila stood up. She grabbed Nancy’s arm and tugged. “Come on, Nancy. Time for us to get some rest.”

Nancy pulled her arm free. She was surprised at the interruption. “We’re finally making some progress here,” she forcibly whispered.

“Eugene, we need a few hours of sleep,” Sheila said. “You must understand even if Nancy doesn’t.”

“Is there something wrong, Dr. Miller?” Dr. Marchand asked.

“Not at all,” Sheila said. “I just realized that we’re exhausted, and that we shouldn’t be taking your time until we’ve had some rest. We’ll make a lot more sense after a little sleep. There’s a Sheraton nearby. It will be best for everyone.”

Sheila stepped up to Marchand’s desk and reached for the report that she and the Sellerses had brought. Dr. Marchand put his hand on it. “If you don’t mind, we’d like to peruse this while you’re resting.”

“That’s fine,” Sheila said agreeably. She backed away and tugged on Nancy’s arm again.

“Sheila, I think... ” Nancy began but her eyes met Sheila’s. She could see Sheila’s intensity and resolve. Nancy stood up. It dawned on her Sheila knew something she didn’t.

“Why don’t we say we’ll be back after lunch,” Sheila offered. “Say between one and two o’clock.”

“I think that will work for us,” Dr. Marchand said. He looked at his department heads, and they all nodded.

Eugene crossed his legs. He’d not seen the unspoken communication between his wife and Sheila. “Maybe I’ll stay here,” he said.

“You are coming with us,” Nancy said to Eugene, yanking him to his feet. Then she smiled at her hosts. They smiled back.

Sheila led the way out of Dr. Marchand’s office. They passed through the secretarial area and down the pale, institutional green corridor.

At the elevators Eugene started to complain, but Nancy told him to stay quiet.

“At least until we get into the rental car,” Sheila whispered.

They boarded the elevator and smiled at the occupants. They all smiled back and commented on how nice the weather was.

By the time they got to the car and climbed in, Eugene was mildly irritated.

“What’s wrong with you women?” he said as he put the key in the ignition. “It took us an hour to get them interested and then poof, we have to go rest. This is crazy.”

“They are all infected,” Sheila said. “Every last one of them.”

“Are you sure?” Eugene asked. He was aghast.

“Absolutely,” Sheila said. “Not a doubt in my mind.”

“I assume we’re not going to the Sheraton,” Nancy said.

“Hell no!” Sheila said. “Let’s get to the airport. We’re back to square one.”

The reporters had gathered at the gate of the institute. Although they had not been invited, Beau had anticipated their coming, he just didn’t know which day. When the young men at the gate had informed Beau they were there, Beau told the gatekeepers to hold them back for fifteen minutes to give Beau a chance to walk out to where the driveway entered the trees. Beau did not want any reporters in the ballroom, at least not yet.

When Beau confronted the group he was mildly surprised by the number. He’d expected ten or fifteen people. Instead there were around fifty. They were equally divided between newspaper, magazine, and TV. There were about ten TV cameras. Everyone had microphones.

“So here you see the new Institute for a New Beginning,” Beau said, gesturing toward the château with a sweep of his hand.

“We understand that you are doing a lot of renovation in the building,” a journalist said.

“I wouldn’t say a lot,” Beau said. “But yes, we are making a few changes to suit our needs.”

“Can we see the interior?” a journalist asked.

“Not today,” Beau said. “It would be too disruptive for the work that is being done.”

“So we’ve come all the way out here for nothing,” a journalist commented.

“I hardly think that is the case,” Beau said. “You certainly can see that the institute is a reality and not a mere figment of imagination.”

“Is it true that all the assets of Cipher Software are now controlled by the Institute for a New Beginning?”

“Most,” Beau said vaguely. “Perhaps you should direct that question to Mr. Randy Nite.”

“We’d like to,” a journalist said. “But he’s not been available. I’ve been trying around the clock to get an appointment to interview him.”

“I know he’s busy,” Beau said. “He has committed himself wholeheartedly to the goals of the institute. But I think I could convince him to talk to you people in the near future.”

“What is this ‘new beginning’?” a particularly skeptical journalist demanded.

“Exactly that,” Beau said. “It is born out of the need to take seriously the stewardship of this planet. Human beings have been doing a terrible job up until now as witnessed by pollution, destruction of ecosystems, constant strife, and warfare. The situation necessitates a change, or, if you will, a new beginning, and the institute will be the agent for that change.”

The skeptical reporter smiled wryly. “Such practiced rhetoric,” he commented. “It certainly sounds highfalutin, maybe even true, at least the part about the mess humans have made of the world. But the idea of an institute accomplishing this out here in an isolated mansion is ludicrous. This whole operation with all these brainwashed people strikes me more as a cult than anything else.”

Beau fixed the skeptical reporter with his eyes and his pupils dilated maximally. He walked toward the man, oblivious to the people who were blocking his path. Most stepped aside, a few Beau pushed. He didn’t shove them hard but rather eased them out of the way.

Beau reached the reporter who defiantly returned Beau’s stare. The whole group of journalists went silent as they watched the confrontation. Beau resisted the temptation to reach out, grab the individual, and demand he show proper respect. Instead Beau decided he would bring this contumacious individual back to the institute and infect him.

But then Beau thought it might be easier to infect them all. He’d just give them each a parting gift of a black disc.

“Excuse me, Beau!” an attractive young woman called who’d just arrived. Her name was Veronica Paterson. She’d run down from the chateau and was out of breath. She was clothed in an alluring one-piece spandex outfit that appeared as if it had been sprayed on her lithe and shapely body. The male reporters in particular were intrigued.

She pulled Beau away from the group so she could tell him in private that there was an important telephone call for him up at the institute.

“Do you think you can handle these reporters?” Beau asked her.

“Most certainly,” Veronica said.

“They are not to go inside,” Beau said.

“Of course not,” Veronica said.

“And they’re to leave with gifts,” Beau said. “Give them all black discs. Tell them that it is our emblem.”

Veronica smiled. “I like that,” she said.

“Excuse me, everybody!” Beau called out to the crowd of reporters. “I must leave unexpectedly, but I’m sure I will be seeing each of you again. Miss Paterson will be available for your remaining questions. She will also be handing out small parting gifts for you to take as souvenirs from your day at the institute.”

A babble of questions bubbled forth in response to Beau’s announcement. Beau merely smiled and moved off. He clapped his hands, and King came bounding to his side. While Beau had been speaking with the reporters he’d had King keep his distance.

A sharp whistle from Beau brought a number of the other dogs from around the grounds. Beau snapped his fingers and pointed toward the group of journalists. The newly summoned dogs quickly moved to positions ringing the reporters and patiently sat on their haunches.

Upon reaching the house, Beau went directly up to the library. He dialed Dr. Marchand’s direct number and the line was immediately answered.

“They have left,” Dr. Marchand said. “But it was an unexpected ruse. They informed us they were going to the Sheraton, but they did not.”

“Do you have their report?” Beau asked.

“Of course,” Dr. Marchand said.

“Destroy it,” Beau said.

“What do you want us to do about them?” Dr. Marchand asked. “Should we stop them?”

“By all means,” Beau said. “You shouldn’t ask a question to which you already know the answer.”

Marchand laughed. “You are right,” he said. “It’s just this weird human trait about trying to be diplomatic.”

Mid-morning Atlanta traffic wasn’t bad compared with rush hour, but it was a lot more than Eugene was accustomed to.

“Everybody seems so aggressive here,” Eugene complained.

“You’re doing fine, dear,” Nancy said, although she hadn’t appreciated how close Eugene had come to another car at the previous intersection.

Sheila was busy looking out the back window.

“Anybody following us?” Eugene asked, glancing at Sheila in the rearview mirror.

“I don’t think so,” Sheila said. “I guess they bought the story about getting some rest. After all, it was reasonable. But what worries me is that now they know that we know! Maybe I should say ‘it’ knows.”

“You make it sound like a single entity,” Eugene said.

“All the infected people have a way of working together,” Sheila said. “It’s spooky. It’s like viruses themselves, all working for the collective good. Or like an ant colony where each individual seems to know what everyone else is doing and what they should be doing as a consequence.”

“That suggests there is networking among the infected people,” Eugene said. “Maybe the alien form is a composite of a number of different organisms. If that were the case, it would be a different dimension of organization than we’re accustomed to. Hey, maybe it needs a finite number of infected organisms to reach a critical mass.”

“The physicist is getting far too theoretical for me,” Sheila said. “And keep your eye on the road! We just came too close to that red car next to us.”

“But one thing is for sure,” Nancy said. “Whatever the level of organization, we have to remember that we are dealing with a life form. That means that self-preservation will be high on its list.”

“And self-preservation depends on recognizing and destroying enemies,” Sheila said. “Like us!”

“That’s a comforting thought,” Nancy said with a shiver.

“Where should we go when we get to the airport?” Eugene asked.

“I’m open to suggestions,” Sheila said. “We still have to get to someone or some organization who can do something.”

Sheila did a double take when she glanced at the face of the driver in the red car that had been cruising alongside them. It was now pulling ahead.

“My God!” Sheila said.

Nancy’s head snapped around. “What’s the matter?”

“The driver of the red car,” Sheila yelled. “It’s the bearded guy: the epidemiologist from the CDC. What’s his name?”

“Hamar Eggans,” Nancy said. She spun back around and looked. “You’re right. It is him. Do you think he’s seen us?”

At that moment the red car swerved directly in front of Eugene. He cursed. The bumpers had missed by millimeters.

“There’s a black car on our left,” Nancy cried. “I think it is Delbanco.”

“Oh no! They are on the right too,” Sheila shouted. “Dr. Black is in a white car. They have us penned in.”

“What should I do?” Eugene yelled in panic. “Is there anybody behind us?”

“There are cars,” Sheila said, twisting around in her seat. “But I don’t see anyone I recognize.”

The moment the words left Sheila’s lips, Eugene jammed on the brakes. The tiny four-cylinder rental car shuddered and jackknifed from side to side. Its tires screeched in protest against the pavement, as did the tires of the cars behind.

Eugene did not stop completely, but still the car behind thumped into them. But he had accomplished what he’d wanted to do. The three CDC cars had sped ahead before belatedly putting on their brakes. That gave Eugene the opportunity to turn left across traffic. Nancy screamed as she saw oncoming cars bearing down on her side of the vehicle.

Eugene stomped on the accelerator to avoid a collision and shot into the mouth of a narrow alley. It was filled with trash and several trash barrels. Its width was just adequate for the small car so that all the garbage, cardboard boxes, and barrels were met head on in a flurry of flying debris.

Nancy and Sheila hung on for dear life.

“My God, Eugene!” Nancy shouted as they hit a particularly large barrel that flipped up to bounce off the roof of the car. In the process it shattered the sun roof.

Eugene fought the steering wheel to keep the car going straight despite the rubbish and the containers. Still the car caromed repeatedly off the cement walls with an agonizing scraping sound akin to fingernails on a giant blackboard.

Toward the rear of the alley the way was clear, and Eugene hazarded a glance in the rearview mirror. To his horror he could see the front of the red car just entering the narrow byway.

“Eugene, look out!” Nancy cried, pointing ahead.

Eugene took his gaze away from the rearview mirror in time to see a cyclone fence rushing toward them. Deciding there was little choice, he yelled for the women to hold on and pushed the accelerator to the floor.

The tiny car gained speed. Both Eugene and Nancy were roughly thrown against their seat belts while Sheila bounced off the back of the front seat.

Despite trailing segments of the fence the tiny car sped out into a field churning up plumes of dust. It jackknifed several more times, but on each occasion Eugene was able to steer into the skid to keep the car from rolling over.

The vacant lot was about a hundred yards square and treeless. Ahead Eugene could see a rise stubbled with scraggly vegetation. Beyond the rise was a busy part of the city. Over the crest of the hill the tops of vehicles caught in stop-and-go traffic were visible.

With his mouth dry and forearms aching, Eugene cast another look behind. The red car was attempting to maneuver through the hole in the chain-link fence. The white car was immediately behind it.

Eugene’s hastily conceived plan was to rocket over the hill and melt into the traffic. But the terrain had other ideas. The earth was particularly soft, and as the small car’s front wheels hit the base of the hill, they dug in. The car spun to the left and lurched to a halt in a cloud of dust. All three of the occupants were severely jolted.

Eugene was the first to recover. He reached out to touch his wife. She responded as if waking from a bad dream. He turned to look at Sheila. She was dazed but okay.

Eugene undid his seat belt and got out on shaky legs and looked toward the chain-link fence. The red car was apparently hung up in the ragged opening: the sound of its tires spinning could be heard across the field.

“Come on!” Eugene called to the women. “We have a chance. Let’s get over this hill and melt into the city.”

The women emerged on the passenger side of the car. As they did so Eugene nervously glanced back at the red car in time to see the bearded man get out.

“Come on, hurry!” Eugene urged the women. Expecting the bearded man to come running in their direction, Eugene was surprised to see him retrieve something from the car. When he held it aloft, Eugene thought it suspiciously like the Tupperware container they’d brought with them to Atlanta.

Confused by this gesture, Eugene continued to watch while Nancy and Sheila helped each other up the hill. A few seconds later Eugene found himself staring at one of the black discs. To his utter shock it was hovering in midair right in front of his face.

“Come on, Eugene!” Nancy called from near the summit of the rise. “What are you waiting for?”

“It’s a black disc,” Eugene yelled back.

Eugene noticed that the disc was rotating rapidly. The individual bumps that lined the edge now appeared like a tiny ridge.

The black disc moved closer to Eugene. His skin tingled.

“Eugene!” Nancy called urgently.

Eugene took a step back but did not take his eyes off the disc in front of him, which was now turning red and radiating heat. Slipping off his jacket and rolling it, Eugene swatted at the disc in an attempt to knock it from the air. But it didn’t happen. Instead the disc burned a hole through the jacket so quickly, Eugene felt no resistance whatsoever. It had been like a knife through room-temperature butter.

“Eugene!” Nancy shouted. “Come on!”

As a physicist, Eugene was mystified, especially when a corona began to form around the disc and the color began to turn from red to white. The tingling sensation he felt on his skin increased.

The corona rapidly expanded into a glaring ball of light so bright that the image of the disc contained in it was no longer visible.

Nancy could now see what was occupying Eugene’s attention. She was about to call out to him again when she saw the bright ball of light suddenly expand to engulf her husband. Eugene’s instant scream was immediately choked off and replaced by a whooshing sound. This noise grew deafening, but only for an instant; then it was cut off with such suddenness that Nancy and Sheila felt a concussive force like a silent explosion.

Eugene was gone. The rental car was left as a curiously twisted hulk as if it had been melted and pulled toward the point where Eugene had been standing.

Nancy started to run back down the hill, but Sheila grabbed her.

“No!” Sheila yelled. “We can’t.” There was now another ball of light forming next to the wreck of the car.

“Eugene!” Nancy cried desperately. Tears had burst forth.

“He’s gone,” Sheila said. “We have to get out of here.”

The second ball of light was now expanding to envelop the car.

Sheila grabbed Nancy’s arm and pulled her off the top of the hill toward the busy city. Ahead of them was heavy traffic and, even better, thousands of pedestrians. Behind them they heard the strange whooshing sound again and another concussion.

“What on earth was that?” Nancy asked through tears.

“I believe they thought we were in the car,” Sheila said. “And if I had to guess, I’d say we just witnessed the creation of a couple of miniature black holes.”

“Why haven’t we heard from them?” Jonathan asked. He’d become progressively more worried as the day drew to a close. Now that it was dark, his concerns magnified. “I mean, it’s even later in Atlanta.”

Jonathan, Jesse, Cassy, and Pitt were in Jesse’s car cruising along Jonathan’s street. They’d passed his house several times already. Jesse was nervous about making this visit, but he’d relented when Jonathan insisted he needed some more clothes and his laptop. He also wanted to make sure his parents hadn’t called and left some kind of message on his computer.

“Your parents and Dr. Miller are probably terribly busy,” Cassy said. But her heart wasn’t in the explanation. She herself was worried.

“What do you think, Jesse?” Pitt asked as they came to Jonathan’s house for the third time. “Do you think it’s safe?”

“It looks clear to me,” Jesse said. “I don’t see anything that looks like a stakeout. All right, let’s do it, but we’ll make it fast.”

They pulled into the driveway and killed the headlights. At Jesse’s insistence, they waited for another few minutes to see if there were any changes in the neighboring homes or vehicles parked on the street. All seemed peaceful.

“Okay,” Jesse said. “Let’s go.”

They went in the front door, and Jonathan disappeared upstairs to his room. Jesse turned on the TV in the kitchen and found cold beer in the refrigerator. He offered one to Cassy and Pitt. Pitt accepted. The TV was tuned to CNN.

“This just in,” the reporter announced. “A few moments ago the White House canceled the multinational summit on terrorism, saying that the President has come down with the flu. Presidential press secretary Arnold Lerstein said that the meeting probably would have gone on as scheduled without the President except that, by coincidence, most of the other world leaders seemed to be suffering from the same illness. The President’s personal physician made the statement that he is convinced the President has the same ‘short’ flu that has been decimating Washington over the last few days and should resume normal duties in the morning.”

Pitt shook his head in dismay. “It’s taking over our whole civilization the same way a central nervous system virus takes over a host. It’s going for the brain.”

“We need a vaccine,” Cassy said.

“We needed it yesterday,” Jesse said.

The phone startled everyone. Cassy and Pitt looked at Jesse to see if they should answer it. Before Jesse could respond, Jonathan answered it upstairs.

Jesse charged up the stairs with Cassy and Pitt at his heels. He ducked into Jonathan’s room.

“Hold on,” Jonathan said into the phone, seeing the others. He told everyone that it was Dr. Miller.

“Put her on the speakerphone,” Jesse suggested.

Jonathan pushed the button.

“We are all here,” Jesse said. “You’re on a speakerphone. How did you fare?”

“Miserably,” Sheila admitted. “They led us on. It took several hours before I realized that they were all infected. The only thing they were interested in was how we’d found out what was going on.”

“Christ!” Jesse mumbled. “Was it hard to get away? Did they try to detain you?”

“Not initially,” Sheila said. “We told them we were just going to a motel to get some sleep. They must have followed us because they intercepted us on our way to the airport.”

“Was there trouble?” Jesse asked.

“There was,” Sheila admitted. “I’m sorry to say we lost Eugene.”

The group looked at each other. Everyone had a different interpretation of what “lost” meant. Jesse was the only one who knew for certain.

“Have you looked for him?” Jonathan asked.

“It was like the hospital room,” Sheila said. “If you know what I mean.”

“What hospital room?” Jonathan asked. He was getting panicky.

Cassy put her arm around Jonathan’s shoulder.

“Where are you?” Jesse asked.

“At the Atlanta airport,” Sheila said. “Nancy is in kind of a bad way as you might guess, but we’re coping. We’ve decided to come home, but we need someone to call up and prepay some tickets for us. We’re afraid to use our credit cards.”

“I’ll do that right away,” Jesse said. “We’ll see you as soon as you get back.”

Jesse hung up and dialed the airline ticket office. While he was making the arrangements, Jonathan asked Cassy directly if something had happened to his father.

Cassy nodded. “I’m afraid so,” she said. “But I don’t know what. You’ll have to wait until your mother comes back to find out more.”

Jesse hung up the phone and looked at Jonathan. He tried to think of something kind to say, but before he was able he heard the sound of skidding tires. From the front window came an intermittant flash of colored lights.

Running to the window Jesse parted the curtains. Outside in the street behind his car was a city police cruiser with its lights flashing. The uniformed occupants were just in the process of getting out, along with Vince Garbon. All had German shepherds on short leashes.

Other police department vehicles appeared, some marked, some not, including a paddy wagon. All pulled to a stop in front of the Sellers house and unloaded.

“What is it?” Pitt asked.

“The police,” Jesse said. “They must have been watching the place. I even see my old partner or what’s left of him.”

“Are they coming here?” Cassy asked.

“I’m afraid so,” Jesse said. “Kill all the lights.”

The group frantically raced around the house and turned out the few lights they had turned on. They ended up in the darkened kitchen. Flashlight beams from outside stabbed through windows. It was an eerie image.

“They must know we are here,” Cassy said.

“What are we going to do?” Pitt asked.

“I don’t think there’s much we can do,” Jesse said.

“This house has a hidden exit,” Jonathan said. “It’s through the basement. I used it to sneak out at night.”

“What are we waiting for?” Jesse said. “Let’s go!”

Jonathan led the way, carrying his laptop. They moved slowly and silently, avoiding the flashlight beams that came in through the kitchen bay window. Once they got to the cellar stairs and had closed the door, they felt a bit less vulnerable. But it was difficult going because of the absolute darkness. They were not willing to put on any light because the cellar had several small windows.

They moved in single file. They all hung onto each other to avoid getting lost. Jonathan led them to the back wall of the basement. Once there he opened a massive door that rumbled on its hinges. Cool air flowed out over their ankles.

“In case you are wondering what this is,” Jonathan said, “it’s a bomb shelter that was built back in the fifties. My parents use it as a wine cellar.”

They all entered and Jonathan told whoever was last to close the door. It settled into its jamb with a solid thump.

As soon as the door was closed, Jonathan switched on a light. They were in a cement passageway lined with wood shelving. A few cases of wine were haphazardly scattered about.

“This way,” Jonathan said.

They came to another door. Beyond the second door was a step down into a room twelve feet square with bunk beds and an entire wall of cupboards. There was also a well head and a tiny bathroom.

A second chamber had a kitchen. Beyond the kitchen was another solid door. This door lead to another corridor that eventually led outside to a dry river bed behind the Sellerses’ house.

“Well, I’ll be!” Jesse commented. “Just like the escape route from an old medieval castle. I love it.”