But it was too late. The pistol was coming out. Howie swung with all his strength and knocked the other man on the side of the head. He thought it would be like in the movies-a hard thump, like a baseball bat knocking against wood. Instead, the man’s head was soft. And the blow was more like a fist hitting a melon, and he thought he could feel the side of the man’s skull crack.
The soldier was down, twitching, and then he went limp. Howie dropped the rolling pin and kicked away the pistol that was in his hand. He bent down over the man and checked for a pulse. He still had one. Howie tried to wake him up but couldn’t. The keys to the jeep were in his pocket, and Howie took them and held them tightly in his palm. He stood up, completely clueless as to what to do, when he heard another sound coming from outside-a jeep pulling to a stop.
He grabbed the pistol and ran around the house like a burglar trapped by a family coming home. He took the stairs to the second floor two at a time as he heard the voices of men entering the house. A brief silence was followed by shouting and the sound of boots stomping across linoleum.
Howie ran into a bedroom and to the window that looked down on a pool surrounded by a tall wooden fence. He ran back through the hallway and found another bedroom. This one looked out over the front lawn. He ran back to the window over the pool. As he opened it, he heard the men calling for additional troops and requesting a medic.
He crawled out on the sill and peered down. The drop was at least ten feet. He hung by his fingers to give him as much length as possible and then dropped. He hit the pool deck hard, sending a shock through his ankles. They stung, but he got up and ran toward the jeep as quickly as he could. The men were all inside the house, tearing it apart, looking for him. He jumped into the driver’s seat and had to try three keys before he found the one that started the jeep.
Leaving as quietly as possible, he saw that one of the choppers had broken away from the rest and was headed his way.
25
Samantha was behind Dr. Olsen as he showed them an electron microscope prototype that he proudly told them had cost the military twenty-seven million dollars. It could enhance an image half the width of a hydrogen atom, making it the most powerful microscope in the world.
Samantha glanced inside. The image had a faint green tint. Bouncing around next to each other were what looked like bright-purple beanbag chairs. They contorted and then straightened again as they rubbed and bumped each other.
There were three ways to make a vaccine. The first was to weaken the pathogen. The virus, which would be too weak to reproduce, was then injected into the recipient’s body. An immune response would still be generated, creating the antibodies that fought that virus for, typically, the rest of the recipient’s life.
The second method was to destroy the virus and then insert the husk into the patient. Since the immune system had seen and could recognize the shell, the body would produce antibodies. The benefit was little risk of infection to the recipient.
And the third way was to remove one part of the virus and use that particular piece to elicit an immune response. This way worked well because the body only recognized a full, healthy virus, not just one part, and developed all the antibodies it would have during a full infection.
Sam thought that injecting a live or even weakened poxvirus into a recipient was too dangerous. If Olsen was smart, he would be using destroyed husks.
Sam had seen Agent X under an electron microscope, and she knew she was looking at an active virus, but it wasn’t behaving normally. The virus was slow and seemed out of sync. Perhaps she was anthropomorphizing it, but she thought the virus was acting differently than it had the last time she’d seen it.
She deduced that Dr. Olsen must have chosen the first method of vaccine creation and had weakened the virus so that it could not reproduce.
“Have you done a phase three trial?” she asked, stepping away from the microscope.
“No,” Olsen replied. “In fact, we haven’t been able to do any substantial phase one studies. We’ve just never seen an organism like this. We maintain samples from the Oahu outbreak, but the ones found in the patients here are already different. In the span of a month, it’s mutated.”
Duncan had a look into the microscope. “I don’t think this will work.”
“Why not?” Olsen asked, seeming puzzled that he hadn’t received a more positive reaction.
“The virus is too strong. It’ll be able to replicate.”
“We’ve monitored it after weakening, and it hasn’t been able to. I think the chances are slim to none.” He looked to Sam for confirmation. “What do you think?”
“I think Duncan’s right. We don’t fully understand what we’re dealing with. Until more extensive studies can be performed, I wouldn’t give anyone the vaccine.”
He thought a moment and then said, “Dr. Bower, do you know why we dream?”
“No.”
“An honest answer. I like that. There are over eleven hundred published theories as to why we dream, and that’s all they are. Theories. Science cannot even answer the simple question of why we dream, something Cro-Magnon man quite possibly asked himself, and we’ve been unable to answer since. So if, with all our knowledge, we cannot even say why we dream, how are we supposed to know for certain what an organism one billionth our size will do? We just have to take our chances.”
Sam nodded toward the microscope. “Viruses aren’t like other organisms, Clyde. They’re as old as life itself and have lived through every cataclysm that has wiped out most other species. They adapt, they hide when threatened, and some people believe they can even feel pain. And this one we have is the deadliest I’ve ever seen. How can you even think about injecting it into people? Weakened or not?”
“Because that’s all I have.” He checked his watch. “The first batch of volunteers should be here shortly to accept the vaccine. I could really use a good pair of extra hands to administer it.”
“I’ll help.” She paused. “There is one other thing. My sister was here, and I’ve lost contact with her.”
His brow furrowed. “I’m sorry. If she’s in one of our camps, she’ll have to stay there for the time being. There’re plenty of guards and food, and she won’t be mistreated. But I can’t get her out right now.”
“You can’t, or you won’t?”
“I suppose if you want to put it that way, then I won’t.”
“Why is this even necessary? Just have quarantine zones for the infected. You don’t need to put everybody in prison.”
“That’s the order from on high, so that’s what I’m going to do. Sorry, Sam. You know I want to help you. But she has to stay where she is.”
“Can you at least tell me where she is so I can check on her and see if she needs anything?”
He thought a moment. “Okay, I’ll find out. Just give me her name and birthday.”
26
In the middle of the night, Samantha stretched and decided she needed some caffeine if she was going to stay up, giving doses of the vaccine. Since the vaccine hadn’t gone through the proper clinical studies, she was uncomfortable injecting it into human subjects. But she’d thought about it on the drive out of the medical center to downtown and couldn’t think of another option. If the vaccine worked, it would prevent an enormous amount of suffering. But if it didn’t, if Duncan was right and the virus was strong enough to replicate in a weakened state, everyone vaccinated would be infected.
She sat in the passenger seat this time, and Duncan was in the backseat. She glanced over at him, and his head was leaned against the seat. He was sleeping, even though the jeep bounced around as if they were on an unpaved African road rather than a highway in Los Angeles.
Duncan was a decent man, and she knew he cared for her deeply. They had some points of contention, particularly religion. She saw it as an unnecessary extravagance. Why put in all that time and effort worshiping ghosts that likely didn’t exist? Atheism was as illogical to her because it was a belief system built around a negative of something that was non-verifiable. She had gone to a meeting at a local atheist organization, but she’d found it just as formulaic as the religious services she’d been to.