The Galilee Falls Trilogy (Book 3): Fall of Heroes (25 page)

“Joanna…”

“Nope. We need him to find the others. We need him. We need him.”

“Joanna…” Jem places his hand over my pumping fists. “He’s gone. Stop. Just stop.”

I gaze into Jem’s sympathetic sapphire eyes, and the fight goes out of me. He’s right. He usually is. My boogeyman. The only man who never lied to me. The world’s a better place without him in it, but my heart literally hurts staring at him. I’m gonna miss him.

Some villains go out with a bang. They take whole buildings, whole cities with them. But not the worst Galilee Falls has ever seen. He meets his demise without even a whimper. Perhaps that’s the death he deserved. Perhaps that’s justice. I don’t know. It’s not for me to judge. All I do know is I’ll do all in my power to make sure no one else meets this fate. I owe him that.

“Good-bye, Ryder. Give the devil a run for this money. If anyone can…”

And they say there’s no rest for the wicked.

*

One minute.

The paramedics arrived one minute too late. They performed the same acts as Jem with their defibrillator and drugs, but his soul is already gone. James Ryder was dead the moment he was kidnapped from his prison cell, it just took two weeks for the journey to end.

Now ours begins.

As the paramedics clean up and radio for the coroner, and the patrol officers who escorted them in begin to search the house, Jem sneaks off with blood and tissue samples to our lab as I prepare for the army of guests on their way. This house is an icebox, and we’ll need heat and coffee.

My new best friends Agents Devitt and Jackson storm in as the coffee drips. Judging by their scowls and narrowed eyes, I’ve just gone from host and traumatized witness to suspect. I lead the men to the library for my interrogation. I stick as close to the truth as possible, that the name Diamanda Roth came up during our last conversation for Captain Moonlight and Doris was Justin’s name for the computer. We came here to check it, and everything stays the same after that. Agent Devitt goes off in search of my missing ex, leaving me with bad cop.

“Why call Dr. Ambrose?” Jackson asks.

“I assume Ryder didn’t know how else to reach me. He knew Jem worked at the hospital and would contact me.”

“And why would he want to reach
you
?” Jackson asks, eyes hard as diamonds in an attempt to intimidate me.

As if. “He obviously thought I could help him. Or maybe it wasn’t me he wanted. Jem
is
a doctor. I didn’t get a chance to ask him.”

“You have to admit it’s suspicious he contacted
you,
someone under investigation for his abduction,” he says.

“If I did abduct him, I would have gotten rid of the body, I certainly wouldn’t have called an ambulance or you.” I fold my arms across my chest. “Look, you and I both know I had fuck all to do with this. I was a straw in your grasping hand. I don’t blame you. I probably would have investigated me too. But now there’s a dead man melting on my floor. One who said he and fifteen others were part of some Dr. Frankenstein experiment to God knows what end. And the clock’s ticking. Now you can either treat me as a suspect or you can treat me as what I truly am, a resource. A resource who has a supercomputer in this house that can get us instant answers, the same computer that helped stop Emperor Cain and dozens of others.”

“You’re talking obstruction and tampering with evidence.”

“The Marshall service deputizes superheroes all the time. You can call me ‘Guardian’ on the paperwork. Just let me do what I do best: find the bad guys and bring them to justice. Behind the scenes of course. Whatever I uncover, you’ll get the credit. Just let me walk out of this room, work my magic, and you’ll become a big damn hero, Agent Jackson. What do you say? Have some guts and get some glory.”

He stares at me, black eyes studying me up, down, sideways, as if he wants to see into my soul. I must pass muster because the tension in his face wanes. “I go with you.”

“Harry O’Hara and Terrance Cameron go with me. Just them. They already know where Doris is.”

“You expect me to trust you when you don’t trust me?”

“Only seven people on this planet know its location. And you threatened me with jail time for using it once. I’m not leading you straight to any evidence. You’ve trusted Captain O’Hara and Detective Cameron this far, and they trust me.”

His eyes narrow almost to pinpoints. “I’m leaving the room now. Perhaps you’re feeling ill as you claim Dr. Ambrose is. If you see him, tell him I need to speak to him.”

“I will.”

“Then consider yourself deputized. Unofficially unless necessary.” Jackson rises from his chair, turns his back on me, and walks out. Easier than I thought it’d be. I manage to wait thirty seconds before leaping up and hustling out toward the back living room. Our new guests haven’t made it this far yet, so I can open the fireplace and sneak into The Chamber. Jem must be in the lab because I hear machines whirring, and the door is shut. He spent a few million dollars on new equipment like electron microscopes, the newest DNA sequencer, and a bunch of other stuff I don’t know how to use. I’m on computer duty.

As Doris boots up, I watch the security feed of the mansion. Agent Devitt kneels beside the stolen car in my driveway, poking around in the glove box. I jot down the plate number. Best place to start. Okay, what have we got? Best lead is the car and the contents inside. Fingerprints, papers, any cell phones or GPS systems inside. We also have the scrubs Ryder wore. I didn’t see any writing or distinguishing symbols on his clothes but wasn’t really looking. Finally, there’s the body. I’m fairly sure Jem’s on that last one so I’ll work on options one and two. A familiar Sedan pulls up the driveway. I drove a similar one for years. Harry and Kowalski climb out.
Now
I can get to work.

Doris seems fine. Even if she’s not I have to risk it. Plate search first. Easy enough. Or not. The number isn’t in the system. How the fuck is it not in the system? I try it again. Not found. Okay, that’s odd. I pick up the phone and dial Harry’s cell. Over the security feed, I see him examining the car with Devitt.

“O’Hara.”

“It’s Jo. I’m on Doris. The license plate isn’t valid. It’s not in the DMV database. At all. Are there any documents inside the glove box?”

“Uh…” he says, glancing at Devitt.

“I’ve been deputized. Just check and get me the VIN.”

After only a second’s hesitation, Harry complies, sliding into the passenger side. “Uh, it’s registered to United Fleet Company. The VIN is GH762FH987SH. There’s nothing else in the glove box but tissues, cigarettes, and a tin of cigarette butts we’ll check for DNA. Bag and tag those,” he tells Devitt.

United Fleet is the largest fleet company on the continent. Every police department, every car rental firm, hell Pendergast uses them. That’s like a hundred thousand cars.

“We have a call into them already,” Devitt says over the line.

“I’ll see what I can do with the VIN. Call you back.” I hang up.

Come on VIN. Don’t let me…shit. Doesn’t exist either. I groan in frustration. Maybe I can hack into the fleet’s system. Lizard programed some algorithms that I just have to activate to get me past low level firewalls. But what are the chances it’ll be in the fleet system when it’s not in the DMV or tax records? I could erase them myself after hacking in. A few keystrokes and it’s like the car never was. Shit.

I pick up the phone again and call Harry, who has moved inside to examine the body with Jackson. “Yes?” Harry asks.

“VIN came up negative as well,” I say. “I think someone wiped all traces of it from every system. Probably the fleet’s as well.”

Harry informs the agents and Kowalski the bad news. Shaking his head, Jackson grabs Harry’s phone. “Are you sure?”

“License plate and VIN do not exist,” I say. “Not in the DMV or tax databases. If I had to guess someone erased them either when Ryder escaped or hell, when they started this whole plan of theirs. Talk to the fleet and I’m sure they’ll say the same thing. The car doesn’t exist. Fingerprints are our last best hope. I can run them here if you want. We have a—”

The door to the lab swings open so hard it smashes against the rocky wall. Jem, sporting an expression I’ve only seen a handful of times—absolute, utter terror—rockets toward me. Before I can ask what’s wrong, he snatches the phone from my hand. “You need to recall the paramedics who were here
immediately
.”

“What? Who is this?” Jackson asks.

“This is Dr. Jonathan Ambrose. I need you to listen to me and follow my instructions. You must order the paramedics who worked on James Ryder back this moment before they come into contact with anyone else. I need you to have the officers outside shut the car’s doors and come inside the house immediately. Only, and I repeat
only
the paramedics are allowed to enter this house once those doors close.”

“Why—”

“You also need to contact the Health Department and inform them we have a potential Code Eight of unknown origin and it needs to be treated with Level Four precautions. They’ll need to call the Infectious Disease Control Agency. Have you got all that?”

“Are you sure? How—”

“Do it.
Now
.” He slams the phone down.

I’ve been holding my breath since he uttered “Code Eight.” Every police officer had to learn the health department codes at training. An eight is one of the worst. An outbreak of a potentially fatal substance ranging from toxic waste, nerve gas, or disease. “Jem…”

“His blood, the slurry he coughed up, even the blisters, they’re teeming with a virus. A virus that was still active and multiplying in the tissue. Which means contagious. Which means…”

“Whatever they gave him, whatever they did to him, could happen to us.”

“To anyone he came in contact with,” Jem says gravely. “And then anyone they came in contact with. And so on and so on until… ‘This is how the world ends, not with a bang but a whimper.’”

It’s a damn good thing I’m sitting or I don’t think my legs would support me. I was wrong. James Ryder would be the death of me. The death of us all.

I’m sure he’s laughing his ass off in hell right now.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The Hot Zone

If you have to go into quarantine, a stately manor is a great place to do it. I thought we’d be whisked to the hospital by men in spacesuits, but since no one shows symptoms—yet—after a decon shower we’re given antivirals and told to stay in the house. With conditions. Since they shut off the water we can only use chemical toilets and clean up in their showers, or as I think of them: the hose of hell. First time I’ve showered in a driveway. As we began that torture, the Health Department set-up their mobile lab in my driveway and placed giant HEPA filters over the heater and air conditioner that apparently creates a vacuum to keep the bad air in and filter out the good. At least the quarantine zone has cable.

I got the spacesuits right though. The virus astronauts come in through the front door, which now has a plastic, airtight portal attached to a lab where all ten of us spend several hours getting poked and prodded. The same astronauts bring us food and bottled water since there’s none in the house. Had I known I’d be hosting a quarantine for several days I would have at least bought more coffee.

At least we’re not sharing the house with a corpse anymore. The spacesuits loaded him in a bio hazard body bag and wheeled him through the portal to be dissected then burned to nothing, not even ashes. The only evidence he was ever there is the now bleached white wood where his blood corroded the floor.

I’m exhausted. I was exhausted before this crap started, but of course sleep ain’t happening soon. If this thing is contagious, fuck if it’s airborne, the entire city could be infected within days. I’m trying not to panic, but I’m woman enough to admit I’m scared. Shit scared. For me, for the city, for every person inside this house. Harry has a baby on the way. Gates and Hernandez, the paramedics, are barely in their twenties. Jackson has three kids. Devitt two. Kowalski’s wife has MS. The patrol officers Abrams and Scott just got out of the academy. And now they might all start boiling in their own juices just for answering my emergency call. For doing their jobs.

Well, if we’re all stuck here in my house it’s up to me to make my guests comfortable. There are enough guest rooms for double our current capacity. The beds are made but all the furniture is covered in plastic and sheets. No one’s used them in years so even with the precautions the dust swirls around the stuffy enclosures. Every time we sneeze, a little jolt of terror radiates through my body. We know it’s the dust, or at least the logical parts of our brains do, but fear is attempting to take over the whole show. I’ll have a good freak out later when I’m alone.

Harry’s beating the dust out of his pillows when I go check on him. Like the others he’s still wearing the sweat suits the astronauts gave us when we surrendered our clothes. “Hey,” I say as I walk in. “Just wanted to see if you need anything.”

“Some Ativan would be nice.”

“Might actually be able to help you there. We’ve got a pharmacy in The Chamber.”

“The doctors said not to take anything,” he reminds me.

I wave him off. “What do they know?” I quip.

“I wish they knew more right about now.”

“Amen to that.” I smile to lighten the mood. “So, how’d Bella take the news you’re stuck in a house with your ex?”

“About as well as could be expected. She was…” He shakes his head. “I know the chances are minuscule we’re infected, but—”

“But you still want to peel off your skin and stop breathing just in case,” I finish.

“Exactly. What happened to Ryder…I’d rather die right here, right now.”

“Jem thinks the virus triggered an autoimmune response. Unless your body runs on acid too, you won’t cook like a ham as your body eats itself.”

“At least there’s that,” he says with an awkward smile. He pauses again. “I thought for sure they’d escaped. I certainly never thought anything like this was going on. Who could have? Who would want to hurt people like that?”