He loved watching himself kill women. Their fear was so real he could actually taste it. He didn’t hate women, at least no more than he hated men; they were just better fear factories. In his dream, he had just finished cutting off the clothes of a screaming blonde when a powerful consciousness outside the reality of his dream interrupted him. It wasn’t human, and it came from a plane of existence far beyond human thought. It was his plane, his special world, and something had invaded it. He left the blonde behind. She would wait; she had no choice. He had sacrificed her to his demon three years earlier. His mind floated upward — at least, it felt upward — but it could have been downward or sideways as far as he knew. It was a familiar trek, and he didn’t need to worry about directions. He reached the Barrier, which marked the limit of human thought and existence. Beyond, it was a world that until now had been his and his alone. He had been the only one to ever breach this barrier, the only one to sever the bonds that confined consciousness to a physical reality. The key was to relax, and the barrier would open. Try to force it, and it would forever remain closed. It had taken him months to learn this simple trick. His mind became a void, free of thoughts, emotions, memories, and finally existence, only to re-form an instant later in his new, special world. Except now, it was someone else’s world.
He was on a beach, and he hated the beach. The sun, the heat, the bugs, the salt, the sand, the wind — he loathed everything about the beach. He tried to change it with a thought, but nothing happened. It should have changed, but it didn’t. She had control. Amanda. So his question was answered. She had evolved just as he had. He wasn’t alone anymore. He had thought about this moment for more than six months, from the moment he learned of her.
A blast of hot wind suddenly knocked him down. He rolled down a small hill, but the wind seemed to follow. Four more times he was brushed by it, and each gust seemed hotter than the last. Reisch didn’t know the rules of this new reality, but it was becoming obvious that Amanda did. A lone figure appeared at the crest of a dune, and for a long moment, they stared at each other. At first, he couldn’t see her clearly, and he suspected that was her intent. She was caught off guard by his arrival and was naturally cautious. He reached for her mind, but she blocked him. He could feel her suspicion and a good deal more. Hostility and anger were tempered by curiosity. He sifted through her emotions, and a part of him was disappointed that there was no fear. He wasn’t ready to reveal his true form or intent, and instead, projected his usual dark and sinister guise, which had, up until this point, reliably provoked some degree of terror. She moved closer, and he could see that she now felt comfortable enough to reveal her true self. She was older than he had expected, but still very lovely.
“I know who and what you are,” Reisch said in a slightly threatening tone. He wanted to regain the upper hand. Amanda simply stared back at him with a questioning look. He repeated himself, only louder, and she still didn’t understand. She mouthed some words at him, and now it was Reisch who didn’t understand. Out of nowhere, a wave of hostility struck him, the heat of animosity prickling his skin. He looked back at Amanda, but her questioning expression hadn’t changed.
“Why did you do that?” he demanded, but her only answer was an even stronger wave. His face actually felt singed. This was getting out of hand. He took a step toward her, but she didn’t back away. She looked more than frustrated and started to speak again, but all he could hear was a screeching sound. The screeching only got worse as a third wave of hate hit him. He stumbled backward from the intensity of it. Somehow, she could cause him pain, a great deal of pain. A blinding rage overwhelmed him, and he lunged for her.
That was the last thing he remembered before waking up in his hotel room, blind, unable to move his right arm, and screaming. He was certain that somehow his arm had been torn off and that his upper body had been set on fire. He rolled to his left and continued rolling until he found himself on the floor entangled in the sheets, his maimed arm beneath him. He tried to move, but it only made the agony worse. He was going to die on the floor of a cheap hotel room, wrapped tight in bed linen, screaming in pain, and there was nothing he could do about it. He felt the blackness starting to envelop him. He struggled with all his remaining strength, but the pain and the darkness overwhelmed him.
Chapter 11
There was no doubt in Nathan Martin’s mind: EDH1 had mutated into a new virus, and now it was working its way through the population of Colorado. They would do more testing, get fresh specimens, and do their own cultures, but he knew in his heart that none of it would disprove what he already knew. It had taken the FBI less than an hour to determine that Amanda Flynn’s e-mails originated from an Internet café in Boulder, Colorado. There wasn’t much mystery in figuring out from where this new strain had come. Agents were looking for her all over Boulder and Denver; with a snowstorm stopping all travel, they had a reasonable shot of finding her. They had to find her; he didn’t even want to imagine the consequences if she remained at large.
“You’re late,” said his secretary, suddenly popping her head into his office and then just as suddenly disappearing. He had assembled most of his staff and all the department heads of his section for a meeting. It was the second one of the day; the first had been with his boss and the secretary of health by videophone. Both had listened to his hastily prepared presentation politely, but neither was overly impressed with his dire conclusions. He was told that if he wanted to mobilize his section, that was his prerogative, but until he had something more substantial, they were hesitant to provide more resources. Their response was eerily similar to the one he had given Amanda just a few hours earlier, and the irony did nothing to improve his mood.
“I know,” he said gruffly, in no mood to spar with his secretary. He spent several more minutes finishing his organizational plan, then stood and gathered his notes. No one was going to be happy with this, but that didn’t matter. All the pet projects, all the special interests were about to be put on hold until he said otherwise. This new virus was most definitely a special pathogen, and it was his responsibility to deal with it. The secretary had made that abundantly clear; he was to do whatever it took to investigate and eliminate the threat from this new virus, and he was going to do it without outside help. It had been an excellent political maneuver. Martin would receive all the blame for not preventing the disaster after being given a ”free hand,” and the secretary all the credit for having mobilized the Special Pathogen Section personally.
“Politicians,” he scoffed. He shut down his computer and grabbed his coat, hoping that after the meeting he would get a chance to get home before dark. Looking at his watch, he was surprised to see that it was already after six. He glanced out his window and watched as the final rays of the setting sun disappeared into the dusk. “So much for that hope,” he said as he left his office.
“Dr. Martin, these men are here to see you, and they are very persistent,” his secretary said while scowling at two tall and very determined-looking marines. Martin took the whole scene in at a glance and was reminded of a high-school principal being called upon to discipline two football players.
“At ease, gentlemen, and come back tomorrow, I don’t have time for the boy scouts.” Martin turned back to his secretary, who continued to glower at the soldiers. “Martha, I’m going home after the staff meeting. I sent all department heads an e-mail outlining their new responsibilities. I would like you to call each of their secretaries in the morning and get them to—”