After several seconds she heard the familiar buzz of the dial tone. Good old automated telephone company. Still working. She dialed a number and spoke briefly to the voice that answered on the other end. Then she hung up and went back to the window.
Clouds were gathering. There was going to be a storm.
Chapter 28
The alarm buzzed.
Corey reached across Dena and slapped the clock into silence before he was fully awake. He lay back for a moment, eyes closed, allowing the sleep to drain out of him. Dena lay on her side, facing away from him. She did not stir when the alarm went off. He shifted his body over closer to hers. The day was hot and muggy. Dena’s skin was very warm and moist against his.
He lay against her for five minutes with one hand resting on the smooth swell of her hip. He felt himself getting aroused. Dena did not stir. She deserved the rest, he thought. She probably had not slept through a full night in weeks.
Still, he had to wake her up. They both had things to do that morning. And maybe, he thought with a lascivious grin, she would be in the mood for a little morning sex.
He moved his hand to her bare shoulder and rocked her gently. She gave him a little moan of protest but did not awaken.
“Dena,” he said softly, “time to get up.”
She moaned again, a little more loudly.
“C’mon, rise and shine.”
Dena rolled over onto her stomach. She raised her head and looked at him blearily through a damp tangle of blond hair. Her eyes seemed unnaturally bright.
“Hi, there.” She gave him a sleepy smile and started to drift off again. Then, abruptly, she turned her head to peer at the glowing red numbers on the digital clock.
“Oh, God, look at the time. You should have woken me up.”
“I just did,” he said.
She turned back and smiled at him again, more alert now but not quite focused.
“Right,” she said, and kissed him quickly on the nose.
So much for morning sex, Corey decided.
She peeled back the covers and sat up, swinging her long legs out on her side of the bed. She groaned. “What did you give me to drink last night?”
“You brought the C–C, remember?”
“Oh, yeah.” She raked the hair out of her eyes with her fingers. “Where did you hide my clothes?”
“You left them over there on the chair.”
Dena stood up, stretched her arms, and walked to the chair, where her clothes lay in a folded pile.
“Are you always so neat?” he asked.
“It’s a compulsion. Can I take a shower?”
“Sure.” He got up and found her a bath towel on a shelf in the closet.
When he came around to where she was sitting to hand her the towel, Dena hugged her arms and shivered.
“Is it cold in here?” she said.
He looked at her curiously. “No.”
“I must have had a chill.” She stood up and took the towel from him, fashioning it into a sarong.
He gave her a leer. “Are you in a big hurry?”
“Why, do you have something in mind?” She let her eyes range downward. “Oh, yes, I see you have. But I’d better get to work. Maybe we can do something about that later.”
Corey watched with open admiration as Dena scooped up her clothes and walked into the bathroom. She was a woman who knew how to move. He heard the cough and hiss of the shower starting up, and he smiled. The comfortable domesticity of the scene made him feel good but at the same time a little bit nervous. He had the crazy feeling that if they got out of this brain-eaters business, he was going to marry this woman. If they got out.
He pulled on a pair of jeans and made a halfhearted pass at straightening the bed. He touched the pillow that still bore the indentation of Dena’s head, and he smiled again.
The shower stopped, and in a few minutes Dena came out. She was dressed in the white pants and short-sleeved blouse she wore under her laboratory smock.
“It is cold in here,” she said. “Do you have the heat on?”
“There isn’t any heat,” he said. “And it’s probably eighty degrees outside.” He stepped closer and took hold of her arm. “What’s this?”
Dena looked down at the raw patch on her elbow. It was surrounded by reddened, slightly puffy flesh.
“I scraped my elbow the other day. It looks like there may be a low-grade infection. I’ll put something on it in the lab.”
The tone of her voice did not quite match the casual words. Corey kept hold of her arm and looked at her.
“Where did you get this, Dena?”
She let a beat go by before she answered. “When I went over to Carol Denker’s house.”
“On the day the brain eaters got to her?” Corey asked. He felt a clutch deep in his gut.
“Yes,” Dena said levelly. “But that doesn’t mean — ”
“And you’ve got chills,” Corey interrupted.
She nodded without speaking.
“Oh, Jesus.” Corey blinked and turned away for a moment.
“Let’s not be hasty,” Dena said. “The odds are all in favor of its being just a simple chill or a touch of the flu….”
Their eyes met, and she could not finish the sentence.
“Yeah, that’s the odds,” he said tonelessly.
“And if the worst is true, then I’ve got them, and it won’t change anything to stand here worrying about it. At least I’m close to the people who’re looking for a cure, so maybe I’d better get to work.”
“Yeah, right,” Corey said. He turned away quickly so she would not see what was in his eyes.
The black limousine slid up to the gate at Biotron, and the uniformed security men converged on it cautiously. The guards were no longer Biotron employees. Too many of them had been lost to make up an effective force. In their place were agents from the Department of Justice and the intelligence arm of the Defense Department. In spite of the oppressive weather, they were dressed in full uniforms with jackets and ties.
Two of them took up positions on either side of the car, their hands inconspicuously near their guns. A third approached the driver’s window.
Since the arrival of Dr. Kitzmiller and the brain-eater task force, the guards had brusquely turned away all would-be visitors to the plant. This car, however, looked important. It was a hired limousine with a chauffeur in full livery. Considering the difficulty of getting any kind of transportation during the emergency, this would have to be a VIP. Behind the tinted glass, three men could be seen in the wide back seat. They wore dark, heavy suits and expressions to match.
The senior security man leaned down and touched his cap as the chauffeur made the side window whisper out of sight. The smallest of the three men in the back seat leaned forward.
“I am Viktor Raslov of the Soviet agricultural delegation. I wish to speak with whoever is in command here.”
“I’m Lieutenant Purdue. How may I help you?”
“I don’t mean in command of the guards,” Raslov said testily. “I want the man who is in charge of the operation.”
“That would be Dr. Frederich Kitzmiller,” said the lieutenant. “Is he expecting you?”
“He is not. Open the gate, please.”
“I’ll have to check with Dr. Kitzmiller first.”
Raslov worked his facial muscles. “Then do so,” he said.
Lieutenant Purdue walked to the guard shack and dialed the extension of Lou Zachry’s phone. Standing orders stated that no calls except class A emergencies were to be routed directly to the laboratories.
“Raslov, you say?” Zachry repeated into the phone. With an effort, he shifted his thoughts away from another urgent problem to concentrate on what the lieutenant out at the gate was saying.