Infected (13 page)

“He just wanted it to be safe.”

“Safe!” Sheila spat the word as if it were a curse. “
Safe
doesn’t exist for people like him and me. We knew that when we signed on. Your mother knew it too. But you should
know this: I didn’t have anything to do with his death. And neither did the government. Ours, anyway.”

“Then who did it? Let me guess, you thought you had everything you needed. Maybe you were afraid he’d want in on your little deal and you didn’t want to share.”

Sheila exhaled sharply in frustration. “Carina, listen to reason, let me help you—and that boyfriend of yours too. I’m the only person who can get you out of this alive. What else are you going to do, take your chances with your little computer genius when I’m offering you the resources of one of the most powerful research organizations in the world?” Her tone turned bitter. “I guess I’ve forgotten how powerful young love can be.”

Carina pressed the end button.

Her heart raced with emotions, none more powerful than her fury at Sheila’s last comment. Maybe because it was true. Carina
had
doomed Tanner, and it was love that had made her do it. Her grief had been overwhelming, once it sank in that Walter was never coming back. And Tanner had been there for her, his every word, every touch a comfort. She hadn’t hesitated. She’d lost herself in his love and those few hours had made her stronger and kept her going, had made it possible for her to wake up the morning of her uncle’s memorial service and know she would somehow get through it.

Tanner had saved her—but would it cost him his life?

“Did you hear all that?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

“Most of it. Enough.”

“I shouldn’t have hung up on her. She’s our only link to the antidote.”

“You can always call her back, once we figure out a safer place to meet. I mean, we can’t risk her coming here—even with all of Walter’s protections, the minute we let them in the door, we’re sitting ducks.”

“But even if we figure out a better place to meet, I don’t have anything to give her besides the key—and what if what she’s looking for isn’t in the locker? Uncle Walter never told me where his research is stored. I always assumed it was somewhere on the lab’s servers.”

“It probably was, until he decided it wasn’t safe there. It could be anywhere—there’s VPNs in a dozen different countries that could never be traced. Virtual private networks,” he added automatically. Tanner was used to having to translate his computer terms for people. “You’re sure he never gave you passwords, codes, anything?”

“Very sure. I mean … one of the greatest things about him was that he was always direct. If there was something he wanted me to know, he just said it. But maybe that’s what’s stored in the locker, right? I mean, if Walter had wanted the research destroyed forever, he would have done that. But instead he wants to make sure the Army Criminal Investigation team or whatever it was called gets it. He must trust them to keep the virus out of the wrong hands.”

“I had the same thought. And something else—Walter might have kept the antidote around, right? I mean, after seeing what was on that video …” His voice trailed off, and Carina shuddered involuntarily. The images of the man attacking
himself, blood running between his frantically clawing fingers, would not soon go away. “All I’m saying is that he must have kept a backup supply of the antidote somewhere. And it isn’t here.”

“At least not where we can find it.” She sighed. “He must have never dreamed I would need it.”

“Or maybe he just couldn’t bear to think about the possibility. Even Walter’s entitled to a little denial.”

“Well … we don’t have many other options, right? If there’s nothing in the locker that can help us, we can try to go to the lab. I might be able to figure out how to get into Walter’s office, since it’s not in the secure part of the building.” As she said it, though, she realized how unlikely it was that such a plan would work: the lab wasn’t near a BART stop, and they didn’t have a car. Carina knew where Uncle Walter kept his spare keys, but that would mean a trip to the house, which Sheila was undoubtedly having watched. And besides, the lab used fingerprint recognition at most of the entrances, even the nonsecure office wing. “But if it gets close to thirty-six hours, we’re going to have to throw ourselves on Sheila’s mercy.”

“No. It’s not going to get that far. After we check the locker, if there’s nothing there, we call that Major Wynnside guy. Maybe he can do something. Find Sheila, or someone else at the lab, force them to produce the antidote.…”

“Yeah, sure,” Carina agreed readily, but she knew they were both thinking the same thing: that would take time. Even if the major had all the resources of the armed services at his disposal, finding Sheila and forcing her to give
them what they wanted—especially since they were working from inside the system, unlike the rogue agents who’d killed Walter—would take too long to save them.

“Okay.” She took a deep breath and ran her fingers through her newly shorn hair. “I guess it’s time to go.”

It was only two BART stops to the Civic Center station. Carina and Tanner slouched in seats at opposite ends of the nearly empty car, trying to look bored. Carina’s legs had begun to jitter uncontrollably, and she tried to force them to be still by pressing down on them without drawing attention to herself. Tanner had the backpack containing the laptop, disposable phone, and money, and as much of the nonperishable food and water as he had been able to jam in the pack. Carina had the letter and keys in a pocket of her shorts. She scanned the other riders, unable to stop feeling like they were watching her. If a Calaveras Lab security team had suddenly burst through the doors between the cars, she wouldn’t have been surprised.

It was almost one in the morning. Some of the passengers looked like they were returning from second-shift jobs, dozing or listening to music—Carina could hear it clearly even through their earbuds, the many small sounds in the car competing inside her head. Other passengers looked like they’d been partying, dressed up for an evening out, and she could detect half a dozen different perfumes.

The Civic Center station was relatively empty, the
booths shuttered, trash skittering along the stained concrete floor as the train rushed down the track. Carina and Tanner followed the signs to the long bank of lockers deep within the underground station. No one else was in the corridor.

“I’ll go,” Carina said as they stared down the empty hall. Her heart was hammering in her chest. “You stay here. If anything happens … Tanner, you have to run, seriously.”

“You’re out of your mind.” He smiled when he said it, but Carina had no doubt he was serious. “You’re my ticket to fame and fortune.”

If they’d had more time, she might have argued. Instead, she approached the locker warily, looking for anything out of place. It was one of the smaller ones, near the top, and her hand shook as she slid in the key.

It turned easily. Nothing happened: no explosion burst from the small space. Carina wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but as she reached inside, she felt great relief nonetheless.

An envelope. Her name in Walter’s handwriting. It was becoming a treasure hunt, like the ones Emma’s mother had set up every year for Emma’s birthday when they were little. All around town, Mrs. Choi hid clues in places like the ice cream shop and the post office, concluding the search with cake and balloons in the park. How Carina had envied Emma, who never seemed to understand how lucky she was. On Carina’s birthday, her mother usually gave her a gift certificate, a practice she’d started before Carina was old enough to go shopping by herself.

Carina shook her head to push away the memory. There
was something else in the locker: a small device that looked a little like a car remote, with a display flashing a series of numbers. She handed it to Tanner, who examined it carefully. “I think this—”

He was interrupted by the sound of footsteps echoing around the corner. Running.

Tanner jammed the device in his pocket and grabbed her hand. “Run!”

Carina glanced over her shoulder as she pivoted and took off. Black jackets. Short hair. The stone-faced expressions of the two muscular young men matched those of every Calaveras Lab security team member, even if she couldn’t identify these two. But she was sure they wouldn’t stop until they caught Carina and Tanner one way or another.

They careened down the corridor, bland cinder-block walls flashing by. Carina was aware of her lungs filling with air, her muscles stretching and flexing, her heart pumping blood through her veins. But now, knowing that her body was playing host to a virus that heightened her senses and increased her strength, it was almost as though she were seeing herself from another dimension. She anticipated her feet hitting the floor with perfect precision. She felt the arc of her arms’ motion both in real time and, somehow, in slow motion, envisioning their perfect concordance. She willed herself to lengthen her strides, to cover more distance, and she could sense the thousands of tiny adjustments, brain to nerves and muscles, that made it happen. And beside her, Tanner was keeping pace, his own form flawless.

As horrifying as it was to know that she had been injected
with a deadly substance, and despite the fact that she was being pursued by armed gunmen, it was exhilarating to push her body to its limits. Down a flight of stairs, through another corridor, past signs indicating an exit up onto Hyde Street. There it was, the turnstile that led to freedom, and their pursuers had fallen behind; she couldn’t even hear their footsteps. Carina skidded to a stop, Tanner doing the same beside her. The turnstile was a spinning column of steel bars, eight feet tall—and it was chained and padlocked.

USE GROVE ST. EXIT AFTER 9 P.M. M–F
read a sign looped through the chain.

Now she heard the footsteps, quickly gaining on them.

Tanner grabbed the bars and pushed, making a guttural sound of frustration, and as Carina watched, he actually managed to bend two of the bars. She couldn’t begin to imagine how much force it would take to bend steel, but it wasn’t going to help since there was no way the thing was turning while the chain was on.

“Tanner, stop!” she shouted, grabbing his arm. “We need to figure—”

She stopped abruptly as the two men came into view, holding weapons, aiming as they ran. Darts again, presumably, though Carina was sure that by now they’d adjusted the dose to account for the virus, and whatever they shot her with would make her drop like a stone. And what about Tanner? There was no reason for them to be careful with him.

“… heading south, blocked at exit,” she heard one of them bark into his wrist, and then an all-too-familiar voice
screaming at them to hurry. Even through the static Carina could tell it was Sheila, and the hairs on her neck stood up. How could she ever have trusted her?

“Hang on,” Tanner muttered, turning to the trash can pushed up against the wall. The top, made of metal, was a domed shell that covered the can and kept the plastic liner in place. Tanner ripped it off.

The motion spun him, his own strength giving him momentum. A ping sounded, and Carina knew that one of their pursuers had fired and almost hit Tanner with a dart. Instinctively she ducked and pressed herself against the wall. A second dart whizzed past, inches from her shoulder. If it hadn’t been for her almost preternatural responsiveness, she would have been hit.

Fear segued to anger. Carina was growing tired of being pursued and shot at by people who didn’t even know her. As Tanner dipped one shoulder in the elegant, graceful motion that she knew was the windup to his discus throw, she turned and ran directly at the closer man.

Tanner spun and released, the can lid leaving his hand at the same moment that the man took aim at her. Carina heard a growling scream that she realized was coming from her own throat as the man began to squeeze the trigger. She was able to see the twitch of his finger even though he was ten feet away, as though her vision were being sharpened and magnified inside her mind, and as she braced to be hit, her momentum too great to veer away, there was a loud crash and he was knocked sideways, the lid connecting with his torso.

He grunted in pain and dropped the gun. It went off when it hit the floor, the dart striking the ceiling. Tanner had run at an angle, and as the other guard tried to take aim, Carina saw him bank off the wall, running halfway up the side until his body was parallel to the floor. Carina dove for the gun, absorbing the impact and letting it carry her along. She slid right past the first man, who was doubled over, moaning. The gun was small, short-barreled, and lightweight in her hand; she jammed it into the pocket of her shorts as she scrambled to her feet.

Tanner landed, as light as a panther. The guard was clutching his face, staggering toward them. She could hear Sheila’s voice coming through the device on his wrist, demanding to know their status.

“What did you do to him?” Carina asked as they ran back the way they’d come.

“Kicked him in the mouth,” Tanner said. “Not much finesse, but it worked.”

Carina was trying to figure out how his foot had connected with an object—a man’s face—that was five feet off the ground. He must have managed a kick as he came off the wall, a maneuver requiring such precision that Carina would have thought it impossible.