“I moved out here after living in the big city for ten years,” Julie said.
“Big city?”
“San Francisco. I was right in the middle of everything,” Julie answered. “It was great at first, but it wears on you after awhile.”
“Yeah, I bet,” Ben said.
Julie laughed. “Well, sure, I guess any city’s big to someone like you.”
Ben thought about the statement — really a question — for a moment before responding. “I didn’t always live out in the middle of nowhere,” he said. Before Julie could interject, he added, “but I guess I always wanted to.”
The truck drove on, passing yet another neighborhood filled with one- and two-story houses painted either brown, tan, or beige. White picket fences separated them from one another, and perfectly manicured lawns signaled a strict HOA governed the neighborhood.
“So the park is a great job for you,” Julie said.
Ben nodded, looking out the window. For the first time during their trip, he was only a passenger in the vehicle. Julie had offered to drive from the office to her apartment.
“It is,” Ben said. “I guess, I mean it was.”
“It’s going to be fine,” Julie said, trying to convince herself more than anyone else. “We’ll figure this out.”
After passing the neighborhood stretching over the road on their right and left, Julie turned onto a smaller country road, and Ben saw the houses and white fences recede in the distance. Fields and farms now replaced the neighborhoods on each side of the road.
“I thought you lived in an apartment,” Ben said as he watched a group of cows.
“I do,” she answered, “but it’s just the upstairs room of a converted barn. I rent from the family that owns it.”
As she spoke the words, she turned and began driving down a gravel road. Up ahead, a crop of tall pines surrounded a house and a few buildings, among them a large barn. It was worn, as if the barn hadn’t been kept up for many years.
“It looks worse on the outside,” Julie explained. “They stopped using it as a barn in the ‘70s, but converted it back in 2003. It’s completely renovated inside, and has everything I need.” She pulled into the long driveway that led to the farmhouse and barn, and the truck lurched over potholes and rocks strewn over the single lane. “It’s quiet and helps me relax.”
The phone in Ben’s pocket buzzed. He reached for it and stared down at the number. Recognizing it, he answered. “Hey — how’s it going?”
A few moments later, “What? Are you okay — how long ago?” He paused again. “Where are you now?”
Julie looked over at her passenger as the truck slid onto a gravel driveway in front of the barn. She shut off the engine, but waited inside for Ben to finish his conversation.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m coming — I’ll leave now.” He hung up the phone and put it back in his pocket.
“Where are we going now?” Julie asked.
“You’re not. You’ve got work to do here. I need to get to Twin Falls though.”
“Like hell I’m not. We’re in this together, remember?”
He didn’t actually remember when they’d decided they were in this together, but he let it go. “Listen, that was Diana Torres, the person I sent that sample to. Something must have gone wrong.”
Julie remained quiet. “She’s infected, and I need to get to her…” his voice trailed off.
To her credit, Julie didn’t intrude by asking more questions. “Ben, I’m sorry. I’m going with you. Let me get some stuff from the house, and then we’ll get to the airport.”
“No, I don’t fly. It’s less than a day’s drive from here anyway. Besides, it doesn’t sound like there’s much I can do about it.”
Julie wanted to ask, in that case, why it mattered that they go visit her. Again, she was quiet.
“That’s fine, you can come. Hurry up in there — we need to get on the road.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Dr. Malcolm Fischer gasped again.
I’m alive.
His eyes were open, blinking, as if trying to clear a veil from in front of them. The room was the same, but it was dark now. Darker, anyway. The lights were off, but there must have been some light trickling in through the door’s rectangular window that was getting into the room.
He lifted his head to check. Yes, that’s where it’s coming from.
And then: I just lifted my head.
Malcolm wondered if he was dreaming. How do we check that? Then he remembered. He lifted his right hand and pinched his left.
He could feel it.
There were no pins and needles this time, no probing behind his skin. He was awake, and fully. He blinked a few more times and tried to sit up.
He let out a groan as his right arm pushed off the bed. He looked down at the location of the pain — his shoulder. There was a large purplish welt where he’d ripped out the needle with his teeth, and he could see that he hadn’t done a great job: the small metal needle was still resting on his skin, the end slightly poking into his arm.
He reached with his left hand and gently slid it back. It came out easily, and a little spot of blood followed close behind.
He swung his legs off the table, waiting for the slightest noise.
No beeping. No instruments in the hospital room seemed to be trying to alert their masters that their subject had awakened.
He put his feet on the ground and tried to stand up. Malcolm’s body immediately collapsed, and he lay for a moment on the floor before trying to stand up again.
How long have I been here? He tried to remember. The last time he’d woken up, he had been asleep for six months. Not enough time to have completely atrophied.
He forced himself to stand again. Shaky, but he was balanced. He then focused on the tubes that were in his body. He noticed a reader on his finger — wasn’t this the one that tracked his heart rate?
If he removed everything, he knew the machine would start beeping again, sending the alarm that his heart had stopped.
What to do?
He couldn’t start switching off the machines, either. They were obviously going to be tracking the data from the machines, and if the machines suddenly went offline one after another, they’d be in here in seconds.
He looked around. Nothing to use as a weapon, really, unless he was James Bond.
And he wasn’t James Bond.
Besides, what could he do? There were at least three doctors around, and possibly the beasts who’d brought him in. Three- or more-on-one didn’t sound like good odds.
He did have the element of surprise, though. Unless there was a silent alarm emanating from one of the machines, they — whoever they were — had no idea he was awake.
What had they said? “The chemical usually renders the patient comatose for around four to six months” or something like that?
He thought about it for a moment. They had also said headquarters was coming tomorrow morning. If they had come, they surely would have noticed the giant welt on his arm, and the misplaced needle that should have been sticking properly out of it.
That meant he had only been asleep for a few hours.
He’d done it.
Malcolm did a small fist pump, more to test the motion of his right arm than anything. He was awake, but he still needed to get out of there, and fast.