Deadline
Page 112
Then again, hadn’t that been the case all along?
The sun was starting to burn a smoky line along the horizon when we hit the outskirts of Memphis. I clicked the radio on, cranking the volume as the scrambler grabbed the nearest station and blasted Old Republic through the van. “Classic rock!” I shouted to Kelly. I had to shout or she wouldn’t have been able to hear me. “That’s awesome! I hate this shit!”
Judging by the loud swearing now coming from behind me, Becks and Mahir hated it even more. “Turn that crap off!” shouted Becks, smacking me hard on the back of the head.
I grinned as I turned the volume down. “Good morning, sunshine.” Kelly was hiding a smile behind her hand. That was good. The more relaxed we all were going into this, the better our chances of getting out alive. “Sleep well?”
“I should shoot you in the bloody head, dump you on the side of the road, and go back to the motel for another six hours of not being in this van,” said Mahir.
“That’s a yes. Water’s in the cooler. Who needs caffeine pills?”
Everyone needed caffeine pills. Kelly handed them out, three to a person. We all gulped ours, me with Coke, Mahir and Kelly with water, and Becks dry. I didn’t say anything. Some people blast pre-Rising rock music, some people put on lab coats, and some people try to prove they’re the biggest badass around. If it made her feel better, I didn’t have a problem with it.
The maintenance lot was just as easy to access as Kelly said it would be. Only one blood test was required to pass the gate, and it was conducted by an unmanned booth. “Can’t say I think much of their security,” I said. “Portland was a lot harder to get into.”
“Portlad was also open when you went there,” Kelly said. “Trust me. It only gets worse from here.”
Somehow, I didn’t want to argue with her about that.
I parked as close to the building as I dared, maneuvering the van into a space tucked mostly behind a large steel generator cage. Becks was out before I’d even turned off the engine. She turned in a slow circle, pistol out and held low in front of her, where she wouldn’t be slowed by the process of trying to draw. Mahir followed her out, looking less immediately aggressive as he took up his position next to the van. I glanced to Kelly.
“You ready for this?”
“No,” she said, and got out of the van.
I sighed. “Am I ready for this?”
No, said George. But it’s too late to turn back now.
“I guess that’s fair.” I opened the ashtray and dropped the keys inside. If I didn’t make it out of the building, the others wouldn’t need to worry about trying to hotwire the van before they could escape. “Check this out.”
I opened the door and got out.
We must have made an odd sight as we made our way across the parking lot. Kelly took the lead for once, her white lab coat glowing like a banner in the dimness of the early-morning light. Becks walked close behind, covering her. She was wearing camouflage-print cargo pants, running shoes, and an olive-drab jacket with Kevlar panels sewn into the lining. She actually had her hair up, pulled back in a tight bun that would look lousy on camera but was less likely to get in her eyes than her usual waves. Mahir walked almost alongside Becks, his white running shoes the only thing keeping him from looking like a visiting professor from Oxford, and I brought up the rear in my usual steel-reinforced jeans, cotton shirt, and tweed jacket. Not exactly the sort of group that normally goes parading into the Memphis CDC before the sun is all the way up.
The first door was locked with an actual, manual lock, the sort that requires a key to open. “No blood test to get in?” asked Becks, incredulous.
“Not at this stage,” said Kelly, digging in her purse. “If you’re going to amplify on the property, we’d much rather you did it in the clear zone between the parking lot and the labs. That way we can catch or kill you at our leisure, and you don’t eat the staff.” She produced a key.
“Practical,” said Mahir.
Kelly unlocked the door and we entered the CDC, Becks now taking point while I stayed at the rear. Our effective noncombatants would walk between the two of us for as much of the trip as possible. Our little formation wouldn’t stop a sniper, but it might give us a chance to react before they both went down.
Taking civilians into a fire zone, said George. What would your mother say?
“That I should keep the cameras rolling,” I muttered, and kept following Kelly.
That first door led to a narrow hallway, which opened after about ten feet into a wide concrete corridor that looked like it had been sliced from a pre-Rising bomb shelter. Turbines hummed in the distance. There were no windows and no natural light; instead, huge fluorescents glowed steadily overhead, protected by grids of steel mesh. Kelly kept walking, forcing the rest of us, even Becks, to hurry if we wanted to keep up.
“What is this?” asked Mahir, looking warily around.
“Isolation zone. If we lock down, this area goes airtight, and the negative-pressure venting system kicks in. It can be flooded with formalin from the central control center, or manually from any of the booths along the walls. In case of an outbreak, the doors to the main building open and the security system starts trying to herd the infected here, where they can be kept until we decide what to do with them.”
“Ever hear of just shooting the damn things?” asked Becks.
“We have to get our test subjects somewhere.” The statement was matter-of-fact; this was, for Kelly, another part of what it meant to work for the CDC. “We all sign body release waivers when we accept our employment offers. As soon as you amplify, you become company property.”
The sun was starting to burn a smoky line along the horizon when we hit the outskirts of Memphis. I clicked the radio on, cranking the volume as the scrambler grabbed the nearest station and blasted Old Republic through the van. “Classic rock!” I shouted to Kelly. I had to shout or she wouldn’t have been able to hear me. “That’s awesome! I hate this shit!”
Judging by the loud swearing now coming from behind me, Becks and Mahir hated it even more. “Turn that crap off!” shouted Becks, smacking me hard on the back of the head.
I grinned as I turned the volume down. “Good morning, sunshine.” Kelly was hiding a smile behind her hand. That was good. The more relaxed we all were going into this, the better our chances of getting out alive. “Sleep well?”
“I should shoot you in the bloody head, dump you on the side of the road, and go back to the motel for another six hours of not being in this van,” said Mahir.
“That’s a yes. Water’s in the cooler. Who needs caffeine pills?”
Everyone needed caffeine pills. Kelly handed them out, three to a person. We all gulped ours, me with Coke, Mahir and Kelly with water, and Becks dry. I didn’t say anything. Some people blast pre-Rising rock music, some people put on lab coats, and some people try to prove they’re the biggest badass around. If it made her feel better, I didn’t have a problem with it.
The maintenance lot was just as easy to access as Kelly said it would be. Only one blood test was required to pass the gate, and it was conducted by an unmanned booth. “Can’t say I think much of their security,” I said. “Portland was a lot harder to get into.”
“Portlad was also open when you went there,” Kelly said. “Trust me. It only gets worse from here.”
Somehow, I didn’t want to argue with her about that.
I parked as close to the building as I dared, maneuvering the van into a space tucked mostly behind a large steel generator cage. Becks was out before I’d even turned off the engine. She turned in a slow circle, pistol out and held low in front of her, where she wouldn’t be slowed by the process of trying to draw. Mahir followed her out, looking less immediately aggressive as he took up his position next to the van. I glanced to Kelly.
“You ready for this?”
“No,” she said, and got out of the van.
I sighed. “Am I ready for this?”
No, said George. But it’s too late to turn back now.
“I guess that’s fair.” I opened the ashtray and dropped the keys inside. If I didn’t make it out of the building, the others wouldn’t need to worry about trying to hotwire the van before they could escape. “Check this out.”
I opened the door and got out.
We must have made an odd sight as we made our way across the parking lot. Kelly took the lead for once, her white lab coat glowing like a banner in the dimness of the early-morning light. Becks walked close behind, covering her. She was wearing camouflage-print cargo pants, running shoes, and an olive-drab jacket with Kevlar panels sewn into the lining. She actually had her hair up, pulled back in a tight bun that would look lousy on camera but was less likely to get in her eyes than her usual waves. Mahir walked almost alongside Becks, his white running shoes the only thing keeping him from looking like a visiting professor from Oxford, and I brought up the rear in my usual steel-reinforced jeans, cotton shirt, and tweed jacket. Not exactly the sort of group that normally goes parading into the Memphis CDC before the sun is all the way up.
The first door was locked with an actual, manual lock, the sort that requires a key to open. “No blood test to get in?” asked Becks, incredulous.
“Not at this stage,” said Kelly, digging in her purse. “If you’re going to amplify on the property, we’d much rather you did it in the clear zone between the parking lot and the labs. That way we can catch or kill you at our leisure, and you don’t eat the staff.” She produced a key.
“Practical,” said Mahir.
Kelly unlocked the door and we entered the CDC, Becks now taking point while I stayed at the rear. Our effective noncombatants would walk between the two of us for as much of the trip as possible. Our little formation wouldn’t stop a sniper, but it might give us a chance to react before they both went down.
Taking civilians into a fire zone, said George. What would your mother say?
“That I should keep the cameras rolling,” I muttered, and kept following Kelly.
That first door led to a narrow hallway, which opened after about ten feet into a wide concrete corridor that looked like it had been sliced from a pre-Rising bomb shelter. Turbines hummed in the distance. There were no windows and no natural light; instead, huge fluorescents glowed steadily overhead, protected by grids of steel mesh. Kelly kept walking, forcing the rest of us, even Becks, to hurry if we wanted to keep up.
“What is this?” asked Mahir, looking warily around.
“Isolation zone. If we lock down, this area goes airtight, and the negative-pressure venting system kicks in. It can be flooded with formalin from the central control center, or manually from any of the booths along the walls. In case of an outbreak, the doors to the main building open and the security system starts trying to herd the infected here, where they can be kept until we decide what to do with them.”
“Ever hear of just shooting the damn things?” asked Becks.
“We have to get our test subjects somewhere.” The statement was matter-of-fact; this was, for Kelly, another part of what it meant to work for the CDC. “We all sign body release waivers when we accept our employment offers. As soon as you amplify, you become company property.”
