THIRTY-TWO

AS DAWN CRESTED over the jungle, streaks of orange light snuck through the foliage and shot to the ground like laser beams. One of the beams struck King’s closed eye. He twitched. Both eyes opened and darted back and forth. They were alone. The three of them. Huddled together between two large tree roots, covered with large palm leaves, both for camouflage and for fending off the rain, which had stopped only an hour before.

After backtracking through the dark to Queen and narrowly avoiding being shot by her, the three had taken the weapons, backpack, and flashlights and fled from the VPLA camp without a word spoken about what they’d endured. They walked through the dark and rain for three hours, heading ever up, deeper into the Anna-mite range, where they finally decided to stop and rest. All three fell asleep within minutes, even Sara, whose mixed-up senses usually made sleep under the best conditions a challenge.

King looked to his right and found Queen facing the other way, her sleeping body curled up away from him like an angry lover. From this perspective she was the same Queen he’d grown to love like his now-dead sister . . . but he knew she’d changed. Become a darker version of her former self. He had yet to see the brand on her forehead, but he knew it was there. And he would have to be careful of how he reacted to it. Had this happened to his actual sister, King might have felt a deep sadness. It was an appropriate response to such a horrible act. But this was Queen. Compassion wouldn’t go over well and might earn him a swift kick in the groin. He made a mental note to not even glance at it when she finally let him see. Better to ignore its existence. Treat her the same.

Weight shifted against his body to the left. Glancing over, he saw Sara’s sweet face resting against his shoulder. She had long dark lashes he hadn’t noticed before, but they were offset by the dirt on her cheeks and her normally spiky hair lying matted against her head. She’d gone from sophisticated scientist to dirty tomboy. Still beautiful, though, he thought. He wondered what it would be like waking up next to that face under more . . . comfortable circumstances.

For a moment he wondered what he looked like. Though he’d been tortured, like Queen, the remaining pain from his ordeal resided in his muscles. No one would see it. But his shaggy hair felt heavier than normal. Probably filled with mud, he thought. His clothing clung wetly to his body. He rubbed his cheeks. The stubble on his face was longer than usual, almost a thin beard, and his goatee itched to be trimmed.

King almost laughed when he realized that for the first time in his career as a Delta operator, he was concerned about his physical appearance while in the middle of a mission. But then he saw a backpack lying next to Sara and remembered that she was more than a pretty face. She was Pawn. And the cure to Brugada—possibly the fate of the world—depended on her success.

He leaned over and gently tapped his hand against her cheek, ignoring how soft she felt, and refocused on his job. “Pawn, wake up.”

Sara groaned. He took her shoulder and squeezed. “Ouch. I’m awake, I’m awake.”

Sara sat up, rubbing her eyes, and issuing a grunt that sounded like “yug.”

“You can complain later,” King said. “You need to analyze the blood sample in the pack.”

Sara groaned as her body ached. She looked at King, his hair messy and clumped with dirt. She grinned. “Got any more espresso?”

“I think the major general drank it all.”

King watched Sara smile. Times like this, despite the insanity surrounding them and her mind-boggling intellect, she seemed like a normal person. But she wasn’t. Not quite. “So what is it with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“The sniffing. The listening. You sense things before I do.”

“Intimidated?”

Truth was, he did find her a little unnerving. He’d made a career from his fast reflexes, keen senses, and sharp mind. She seemed to have him beat on all counts. She just didn’t know how to use a gun.

She brushed aside the hair stuck to her forehead. “Sensory Processing Disorder. Or Sensory Integration Dysfunction. Depends on who you’re talking to. It’s a neurological disorder, which means no one understands it yet.”

Her hair fell back onto her forehead. Losing patience, she shook it with her hand and pushed it aside again. “The brain and nervous system are made up of billions of neurons—excitable nerve cells. They communicate with each other through synaptic transmission. Chemical and electrical impulses—electrochemical signaling. Sensory neurons are how the body dialogues with the mind, relaying information on stimuli experienced by our bodies. When a sense, say hearing, detects something, neurons send these signals to the brain following paths that are hard-wired when we’re young. Picture a train track. When we’re children the branches can be shifted back and forth, but as we age the tracks rust into place. Sometimes they rust in the wrong direction and some of the information running from the ears reaches the part of the mind that processes and translates physical touch to our mind. A lot of the information still gets to the right place—I can hear—but I often feel sound too.

“Sounds interesting, but you wouldn’t think so if you got a headache every time you smelled perfume, or when it rains. I hear distant noises like they’re right next to me. A honking horn is like a punch in the chest. When I see a cute dog, or baby, my gums hurt.”

“That’s . . . weird.”

“It’s annoying is what it is.”

“Whatever it is, it’s kept us alive a few times.”

Sara brightened. Was that a compliment? Before she could ask, King changed the subject.

“When she wakes up,” he said, motioning to Queen and then at his forehead, “don’t mention her—”

King’s sentence stopped short as a fist struck him hard on the left shoulder. He grunted in pain. Queen stood up next to him. “Don’t treat me like I’m some sissy crybaby, King. And don’t ignore it.”

Ignoring it turned out to be impossible. The brand, still fresh, stood out bright red against her white skin.

“How’s it look?” Queen asked.

King and Sara couldn’t help but be curious. They stood and looked closely. King wanted to say something about how it looked painful. How it needed antibiotics. Maybe some aloe. Something to . . . make it better. Turned out Sara knew exactly what to say.

“Looks pretty badass.”

Queen reached up and touched it. She winced as her fingers brushed against the singed flesh. “Hurts like a bastard.” Then she was done. “What’s the game plan?”

King looked at Sara. They both looked at Sara.

“I’ll test the blood sample.”

“And then?” King asked.

“If it’s good . . . If it’s good we’ll get out of Dodge.”

Queen picked up one of the AK-47s stolen from the VPLA soldiers she’d killed. She inspected it as she spoke. “And if it’s not?”

“We stay. Until we find a solution.” Sara looked at them. “Or we die.”

Queen laughed. “Watch out, Pawn. You hang around us too much longer; you might just grow a set of balls. Then King won’t want anything to do with you.” She chuckled and walked away. “I’ll keep watch.”

After a quick, uncomfortable shared glance with King, Sara set to work. She opened her backpack and removed her equipment. The vial of blood. Her laptop. And a small battery-powered VFT, or virus field test. Just one of the handy devices the CDC utilized in the field that most hospitals didn’t yet know existed.

Sara powered up the laptop. When the screen blinked to life, the Linux penguin appeared, and a digital chime rang out. A surreal quiet descended in the jungle. Birds stopped calling and insects ceased humming. The foreign noise of the laptop cycling to life sounded more unusual in the jungle than the explosions or gunshots routinely ignored by the wildlife. Sara disregarded the sudden silence and continued working. After plugging the analyzer into the USB port, Sara turned it on. Using a small dropper, Sara took a drop of blood from the vial and squirted it into the analyzer’s cylindrical sample tube. After resealing the vial of blood, she closed the VFT top and flipped a switch. A gentle hum filled the air as the VFT went to work.

“So what does that do?” King asked. “Look for viruses?”

“It looks for the antibodies created by the human body when it defends itself from a virus. This one has been updated to find the antibodies for our new bird flu, but it will still find anything else this woman might have been exposed to.”

“How long will it take?”

“Just a few minutes.”

Results began coming in. Sara looked at the scrolling text, which listed every antibody in the woman’s system, giving a comprehensive breakdown of the bugs she’d been exposed to before her death. The list was extensive, and refreshing quickly. Sara would have to go through them one by one, looking for the new flu. The results from the test came fast, but analyzing them might take some time. The last remnants of sleep faded as her eyes opened wide. She thought she’d seen the something and fought to scroll up the screen as the list refreshed again and again. But she couldn’t find it.

Not before all hell broke loose.

Queen barreled back into camp, her AK-47 missing and her eyes wide. The jungle shook behind her.

Sara stood. What the hell could have disarmed Queen and sent her running?

The answer came from above. All at once, bodies fell from the trees. They moved so fast, Sara couldn’t make them out. Blurs of motion, like a net of bodies, fell over King and Queen, driving them to the forest floor. She saw tan skin. Orange hair. And then nothing. Still conscious, Sara realized something had been placed over her head. The attack, for the most part, had been nonviolent. She wasn’t hurt. Just subdued.

Her mind spun with fear, but not for her life. She was becoming numb to the sensation of being near death. She felt afraid for the sample. The laptop had been so close to delivering an answer. The mission was almost over. And now she had no idea what would happen to the sample and her equipment. Would it be stolen? Destroyed? Taken with them? What she knew for sure was that time was running out. If they didn’t succeed, millions of people could die—or worse, everyone could die. And right now, with the sample gone and the three of them once again in bonds, the latter, more terrifying option seemed more likely.

King and Queen suffered the same humiliating fate: captured without a fight or a shot being fired. If word of this debacle ever got out at Bragg there would be no end to the teasing. If they survived.

As King and Queen stopped struggling, accepting their fate and waiting to see what came next, the three were lifted off the ground and carried through the jungle. Their captors’ movements were silent and swift. In the silence, Sara’s senses took in the faint noise of feet on earth. There was something odd about the way they moved . . . about the way they breathed. She slowly reached out with her hands and felt the one carrying her. She felt skin, soft and damp. Then hair. Thick. Dirty. Like a German shepherd. The hair covered most of her captor’s back.

Sara’s eyes went wide beneath the hood that had taken her sight. Oh God, she thought, they’re monsters!