Deadly Memory (Living Memory Book 2), page 20
“Wow, it’s good to get out of there,” he said. He stretched his arms over his head, then looked at her. “What?”
“You gave me a heart attack! I thought I’d find you on the floor.”
“Nope. I’m feeling a lot better. The time passed quickly, in fact. Charlie’s been telling me—or showing me, I guess—his memories of his life, and I’ve been telling him about Jesus.”
“Wait,” Samira said. “You’ve been evangelizing the dinosaur?”
Her father shrugged. “We were just talking. They have a concept of God in his culture, but not a personal one, not someone you could know or talk to. He does understand the idea of sin and evil, though, so I was telling him how Jesus—”
“Enough, I get it. I’m glad you’re doing so much better.” She looked at Charlie. “Did you...heal him?”
Charlie nosed his way to the open door and stuck his head out, breathing deeply of the fresh air. His claws scraped on the corrugated metal floor of the container. “Not heal. Slow sickness only. He feeling better, but not for always.”
“What do you mean?” Dad said. “You made me feel better? How?”
“While he was showing you his memories, he was sifting through the chemicals in your body,” Alex said. “He’s got that amazing sense of smell, and then the ability to produce tailored chemicals of his own. He’s like a walking pharmaceutical research lab.”
“That’s amazing,” Dad said. “Could he do that for others? We should bottle whatever chemical he’s using and send it to the hospitals.”
Samira shook her head. “That’s what we just rescued him from. Other people using him as a drug synthesis machine.”
“But if he can help people survive this disease?”
“First of all, he’s standing right here,” Samira said, growing angry. “He can understand you just fine. So if you want to convince him of something, talk to him, not me.”
“I’m sorry, I just—”
“Second, we’re trying to get him to a place where if he’s willing, he might not only be able to heal the symptoms for a few people, but mass produce a cure that could reach the whole world. But first we have to get him away from the people who want him to be a weapon. Understand?”
“Got it,” Dad said.
Samira looked around, making sure no one could see the dinosaur poking its snout out of the back of their truck. She went into the store and gathered an armful of trail mix, protein bars, and bottles of water. At the last moment, she remembered to pay with cash instead of her credit card. At some point, money was going to turn into a problem.
Back outside, she saw Alex coming out of the post office, and frowned. What had he been doing in there? “Ready to go?” he asked.
“One more thing,” she told him. “I have a call to make.” She pointed at the side of the convenience store, where a payphone stood.
“There are still places with payphones?” Alex asked. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Time moves slower in a town like this,” Samira said.
She dug a few quarters out of the Isuzu’s cupholder and walked over to the battered phone. She lifted the black receiver, slid a quarter into the slot, and dialed one of the numbers she’d written down earlier. A tinny ring sounded from the plastic earpiece, which was already making her ear sweat.
“Hello, this is Evelyn.”
“Dr. Soderberg?”
“Yes.”
“This is Samira Shannon.”
“Yes, Dr. Shannon! I’ve been trying to reach you. Your tip about the horseshoe crabs was an excellent one. They moved heaven and earth to get me some a few hours after I asked, and they do appear to be immune, as you predicted. The infected ones and the uninfected ones seem equally healthy.”
“So you believe me. That this virus is from the Permian.”
“It seems a likely possibility, though not at all one I’m pleased about. It’s going to be a long road to crack this one. We’ve never seen anything like it.”
“What if I told you I have someone who has not only successfully slowed the progress of the disease in a patient’s body, but has a pharmaceutical lab that may have the capability to cure it altogether.”
“It sounds like a miracle, if it’s true,” Soderberg said. “Who are we talking about? What lab?”
“I can’t tell you that,” she said. “There are problems. Political problems.”
Silence from the other end. Then: “What can you tell me?”
“I’m on the run from the government. The science that might give us the cure? They wanted to use it as a weapon. I got out and took it with me.”
“And the person you’re talking about, the scientist or doctor who’s had some success attacking the virus; he or she is with you?”
“It’s more complicated than that, but essentially, yes. He’s with me.”
“And this lab you’re talking about? Where is that?”
Samira sighed. “I can’t tell you.”
“I see.” A pause. “And what do you want from me?”
“I want you to come with us.”
“And you can’t tell me where?”
“Not unless you’re coming. I can’t risk it. But I hope you’ll agree to come. We have a chance to beat this thing, and if we have an infectious disease specialist with us, I think our chances will be better.”
“What about your miracle-working scientist?”
“He’s not exactly a scientist. He’s...well, you’ll see.”
“You can’t tell me.”
“No.”
“But you want me to drop everything, all the work I’m trying to do here to find a cure, and run off to join you in a dangerous and probably illegal venture in an undisclosed location, based on the word of a person I’ve never met and only spoken to on the phone twice.”
“I understand,” Samira said. “It was a pretty big ask, but I had to try. I hope you find a cure there; I really do.”
“I’ll be honest with you,” Soderberg said. “It’s not going well. The more we spin our wheels, the more all of the frightened government officials around us interfere in the process. We’re working eighteen-hour days, but the biggest break we’ve had is the immunity of the horseshoe crabs. Which, I don’t have to point out, came from you.”
“I’m glad it was helpful.”
“Look,” Soderberg said. “I’m sure you have good reason for what you’re doing. Stay in touch. If you have any lab results you can share, any more insights, anything at all, please let me know. Can I call you on your cell if I have questions?”
“I threw my phone off a cliff. So...no.”
“You’re not kidding, are you?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“You’re making me nervous, Dr. Shannon.”
“You and me both.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
They drove for hours across flat and sandy Nevada, the Rockies never seeming to get any smaller behind them.
“What was that letter you sent?” Samira asked.
Alex didn’t look away from the road. “Letter?”
“Come on, you know what I mean. The letter you sent at the post office.”
“It was a letter to my family. To let them know why they might not see me for a while.” He glanced at her. “Don’t worry, I didn’t give any details. They’ll be able to tell the post office it came from, but we’ll be long gone by the time it gets there.”
“Your family?” Samira asked. “You know, we’ve been working together all this time, and I don’t think you’ve once mentioned them.”
His expression didn’t change, but his fists tightened on the steering wheel. “I have twin girls. They live with their mother. I have visitation rights on the weekends.”
She could tell there was a lot of emotion and hurt behind those few sentences, but she didn’t press. “I’m sorry,” she said.
He let out a breath. “Don’t be. She was right. I was all about work, and I was never home for them. And here I am, doing it again.”
“How old are they?”
“They’re eight.” He smiled. “Little princesses, the both of them.”
“You’re making the world safe for them,” she said.
“I hope so.”
Three black SUVs skidded to a halt in front of the Beaver, Nevada post office. Everson stepped out, scanning the surroundings for danger. Not that he expected any. The fleeing scientists had stopped here briefly, at least according to one Kenny Buck, who worked in the Beaver post office and had reported two quarantine runaways that matched the description of Samira and Alex to the virus hotline. The Denver quarantine had been lifted, but Kenny apparently didn’t know that. He’d been regularly reporting any strangers who showed up in town coming from that direction.
The sun shone brightly in a cloudless sky. Everson felt a trickle of sweat run down from his temple. He didn’t understand why anyone lived here, in this nothing town with no trees and no attractions and nothing to recommend it but the postcard-perfect view of the Rockies in the distance. A town like this, everyone knew your name and everything about you. Everson hated that feeling.
“They stocked up on food,” a soldier said, coming out of the convenience store. “No security cameras, but Mr. Buck confirmed there was a Black woman with them, and I get the idea that’s pretty rare around here.”
“Just food?” Everson asked. “No weapons?”
“Nah. They sell some ammunition in there, but no guns. All they bought was food.”
Michelle came out of the post office holding a letter.
“What’s this?” Everson asked.
“This is why they went into the post office. Alex sent a letter to his family.”
“Open it.”
Michelle shook her head and handed the letter to Everson. “Federal crime.”
“And I’m a federal officer.” He took a K-Bar from its sheath at his side, sliced the envelope open, and pulled out the single, handwritten sheet.
Madison and Avery,
I know it's been a while since I visited. Too long. Your mom takes care of you better than I ever could, but that's no excuse. Remember the last time I was there, when we painted the garage together? I still have some paint under my fingernails. I miss you terribly, but I’m sending this to tell you that I'm not going to be able to make it for your birthdays. In fact, I'm not sure when I'll be able to come again. I got in some trouble, and there are people looking for me. I'm going to have to go away for a while, and I don't know when I can come back. I know I'm doing the right thing, and if I could tell you what I’m doing, I think you would be proud of me. My one regret is not being able to see the two of you.
Give love to your mom,
Alex
Everson grunted and slipped the note back into its envelope. He handed it to Michelle.
“Anything good?”
“Just that they’re leaving and not planning to come back. But we already knew that.”
“What should I do with it?” she asked.
He nodded toward the post office. “Get our friend Mr. Buck to put some kind of “damaged in transit” sticker on it, drop it in a larger envelope, and send it on to Alex’s family.”
Another soldier rolled down the window of his SUV and said, “Sir, you’re going to want to hear this.”
Everson ducked inside, back into air-conditioned comfort. The interior of the vehicle looked more like a tactical command unit than a suburban family car, with reconnaissance and communications equipment installed in the dashboard and weapons racks in the back. The soldier pushed a few buttons, and a woman’s voice with a Hispanic accent came over the speaker system.
“Kit! Wow, how have you been?”
“What am I listening to?” Everson asked.
The soldier paused the recording. “This is Gabriela Benitez, one of Samira Shannon’s known associates. We’ve been tapping her phone. You remember we heard Samira call Gabriela late last night, right after she called her sister, Bethany.”
“Yes, all that nonsense with Pinky and the Brain.”
“Right. Some kind of rudimentary code that we couldn’t decipher, probably based on shared experience. We just got a break on that.”
The soldier restarted the recording.
“It’s so good to hear from you,” Gabriela’s voice said. “We didn’t even get to say goodbye.”
“It’s been a crazy time,” a man’s voice replied.
“We’ve identified that as Dr. Chongsuttanamanee, a Thai paleontologist from Samira’s team,” the soldier said.
“Did Samira tell you the plan?” Gabriela asked.
“Yes. That’s why I’m calling, though. I can’t reach Samira.”
“She threw away her phone. She’s afraid they could track her with it.”
“Right. The problem is, I don’t have the specifics on where to meet up with her. Tijuana’s a big place. She said you’d know, something about an old cartoon called Pinky and the Brain?”
Gabriela laughed. “Yeah, we went to the beach down there, and Arun didn’t think he needed sunscreen, and I wouldn’t let him hear the end of it.”
“Okay. What beach?”
“It’s south of the major tourist beaches, called Playa del Rosarito. There’s no harbor to speak of, but Samira said you’d be able to get a small boat right down to the sand.”
“Well, not me personally, but yeah, they can do that. She said Thursday at noon. If I can’t contact her, though, how can I know she’s on schedule?”
“Just have to trust her, I guess,” Gabriela said.
Everson smiled. Samira thought she was so smart. Always questioning the importance of his methods, chafing against the rules, arguing for openness and transparency. Now here she was, with a textbook case of sloppy operational security leading to complete intelligence failure. Samira, at least, had thrown away her phone and used simple coded references, but without disciplined security by her entire team, the information had leaked.
Tijuana. Playa del Rosarito. Thursday at noon.
With that information and the direction they’d traveled so far, he would stop her for sure, maybe even before she reached the border.
“Three ports of entry to get across to Mexico,” he said. “San Ysidro is the most likely, but let’s get people to all three. Much easier if we intercept them before they leave the country. Contact the customs authorities there with the license and description of their vehicle. I assume you’ve provided that to California Highway Patrol as well?”
“It’s done,” the soldier said. “They’re mobilizing a thick presence on southbound Routes 5 and 15 from LA to San Diego. They know to detain but not to look inside the truck.”
“Hopefully we’ll catch up to them before they get that far,” Everson said. “Let’s roll out.”
Samira and Alex raced southwest through Nevada, heading toward California and the still-distant Mexican border. Samira, taking her turn behind the wheel, was starting to doubt the wisdom of this plan. At one point, a police cruiser blazed past them, sirens wailing, and she thought they were finished. She felt exposed on the barren highway, without so much as a tree to hide behind. She kept imagining she heard the chop of helicopter rotors following them from the sky.
Finally, she pulled to the side of the road across the street from a community of dusty mobile homes.
“What are you doing?” Alex asked.
Samira pointed off to their left. “Elk. He hasn’t eaten since the lab.”
“Shouldn’t we get farther south first?”
“I don’t know when we’ll get another chance. And the farther south we go, the bigger the risk.”
“Okay. He’ll have to be fast, though.”
He was fast. Two dozen elk watched, unperturbed, as Charlie ran through the grasses toward them. Dominated by his scent, they didn’t move even as he struck the smallest and tore out its throat. He ate his fill quickly, then trotted back to the truck.
By that time, a small crowd had formed in front of the mobile homes, shielding their eyes from the sun and looking incredulously at the dinosaur climbing back into the truck.
“Mission accomplished,” Alex said. “Let’s get out of here.”
“We’re getting some chatter,” Michelle said. She was working the SUV’s comm equipment from the passenger seat, a pair of headphones over her ears. “Multiple calls from a trailer park outside Twin Falls, Nevada, reporting a velociraptor or a giant bird-monster hunting and killing elk out on the plateau.”
“Did it escape?” Everson asked. “Is the thing running loose now?”
Michelle put a hand to one ear, cocking her head to listen to the headphones. “Doesn’t sound like it. They reported it being loaded into a truck. Local law enforcement sounds skeptical. Don’t think they’re responding very quickly.”
“Get them moving,” Everson said. “Contact police in the next several towns south, too. We’ve got them boxed in now. Nowhere to run.”
Samira stepped on the gas, pushing the truck as fast as she dared. Those people from the mobile home community were going to start telling people what they saw. She didn’t think any of them had been close enough to get a credible photo from a phone, but the story might make the news anyway. Everson would know they’d been there soon, if he didn’t know already.
The truck rattled and bounced alarmingly, but she didn’t let up. If they blew a tire, they’d be done for, but she had to risk it. This was the critical part of the trip. Either they would make it, or they’d be caught. The only thing she could do now was drive.
Everson jumped out of the helicopter behind the police barricade, three hours’ drive south of the mobile home community where Samira and the dinosaur had been spotted. Only an hour had passed since the first photos had hit social media: blurry, low-resolution shots from a distance of a large creature feeding on an elk. There was no way they could have gotten past this point already, no matter how fast they were driving. They could take other roads, of course, but he had checkpoints posted on all of those as well, and the border authorities on high alert, just in case they somehow slipped past. Everyone had been warned that this was a biological terrorism threat and likely Julian virus infection: do not approach, do not investigate the vehicle, do not allow suspects to get close. Just hold them until the professionals arrive.
