Second Nature

Chapter 57

57 

Eberhard spoke a clipped order into his chin mike of his Racal biohazard suit and a squad of soldiers in orange spacesuits identical to his entered the inn to begin a sweep of all the rooms. 

The hard-plastic of his faceplate had fogged. A fan circulated filtered air through the inflated, rubber-lined suit, but as he sweated, the interior climate felt more and more like the tropics in monsoon season.  

His eyes roamed from face to face in the crowd of over a hundred people. Gen was not among them. No report yet from Alpha team sweeping through the inn. The stink of rubber and sweat did not make the wait more bearable. Gen, please be here; don't make me look bad again. 

People in the crowd were still shouting questions. "What happens when you get sick? Is there a cure?" 

"I cannot answer your questions at this time," he said. "The quarantine lasts twenty-four hours. You will be informed in due course of any other information you may need to know." Then, into his chin mike: "Baker Team, move them out."  

A squad of spacesuited men stepped forward.  

A burly man in an Evinrude cap and overalls shot Eberhard the middle finger. "You and the governor can kiss my ass," he shouted above the noise. "I done my time in 'Nam, Green Beret, two tours, and I ain't taking orders from you, and I ain't going to no quarantine." 

Eberhard nodded to a nearby soldier with his rifle already raised; the soldier fired a tranquilizer dart into the man's chest. A woman cried out. The man jerked backward, teetered a few seconds, then keeled over, knocking down three people next to him like bowling pins. Someone started sobbing. 

"Non-cooperation of any kind will not be tolerated," Eberhard said. "You will proceed-" 

A voice broke in over his headphones. "Sir, this is Alpha Team Leader. Sweep completed. The house is empty, except for one man. He, uh, appears to be infected, sir." 

Eberhard's heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean, infected?" 

"You'll see. We're coming out the front door now." 

A woman shrieked and clapped a hand to her mouth, pointed at the inn's entrance. The crowd turned to stare at a big man who staggered out onto the porch, two soldiers in orange spacesuits following. Blood painted the man's face and shirt crimson. One ruined eyeball dangled from its socket. He dragged a mangled foot. 

Eberhard felt a sickening jolt of adrenaline and his pulse began to race. Gen's mitobots did this? The flesh of the man's face looked like bloody ground beef. He was being taken apart, cell by cell. 

"It's Eddie," someone shouted, "Fairchild's bodyguard. Look what the virus did to him." 

Eddie lurched down the top stairs, stumbled, and pitched forward onto the gravel walkway. The crowd backed away in horror. 

Eberhard raised the bullhorn to his helmet's faceplate. "Folks, do not panic." As if he'd given them their cue, people started screaming and fleeing down the hill. Baker Team hurried behind, guiding the rushing herd toward the quarantine units tucked under the heavy-lift helicopters waiting on the beach. 

Eddie scrabbled onto his good leg, pushed himself up from the gravel, and hobbled forward. Pebbles stuck to the raw hamburger of his face. His wrecked mouth twisted in pain and rage.  

Eberhard had never felt so grateful to be in a stuffy biohazard suit. The guy was a walking infection-a biowarfare weapon. He had to get him isolated from everyone else for at least twenty hours, until the mitobots in his tissues shut down.