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  IMMUNE

  Michael McBride

  Immune copyright © 2015 by Michael McBride

  All Rights Reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Michael McBride.

  For more information about the author, please visit his website: www.michaelmcbride.net

  Also by Michael McBride

  NOVELS

  Ancient Enemy

  Bloodletting

  Burial Ground

  Condemned

  Fearful Symmetry

  Innocents Lost

  Predatory Instinct

  Sunblind

  The Coyote

  Vector Borne

  NOVELLAS

  F9

  Remains

  Snowblind

  The Event

  COLLECTIONS

  Category V

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  IMMUNE

  IMMUNE

  Michael McBride

  For Brennan

  Special Thanks to Shane Staley at DarkFuse/Delirium; Brian Keene; Gene O’Neill; Bill Rasmussen; Jeff Strand; Zach McCain; my amazing family; and all of my readers, without whom this book wouldn’t exist.

  TODAY

  Weapons of Mass Destruction and Biodefense Office

  U.S. Department of Homeland Security Headquarters

  Nebraska Avenue Complex

  Washington, D.C.

  “Well, Dr. Stokes, you’re certainly more than qualified for the position, but I would be remiss if I didn’t ask the obvious question.” Dr. Albert Hannon leans back in his chair and laces his fingers behind his head. He’s little more than a silhouette against the window behind him, which is fine by Stokes, who is too nervous to look the older man in the eyes. The Director of the WMD and Biodefense Office has been on the news so many times since 9/11 that Stokes has his face ingrained into his memory. He’s waited his entire life for this moment and can’t afford to blow this opportunity. “Why did it take so long to earn your medical degree? You’re nearly forty and only now entering the field. I have applicants—albeit less qualified ones— barely over half your age.”

  “It took me a while to find my identity.”

  Stokes offers a smile he hopes looks more genuine than it feels as he unconsciously rubs the scar on the webbing between his thumb and index finger. He repositions his leather-bound resume on his lap and slides his right hand into his pocket, where he closes it around the small plastic bag and the object inside of it.

  “I should say so.” Stokes can feel the older man’s invisible eyes pierce his and is thankful not to be able to clearly see them. Perspiration blooms from his pores. He runs his left hand through his thinning hair before he betrays his discomfort. “Tell me, why does an immunologist, who could probably make ten times the salary this position offers in private practice, want to sign on with a government agency like the DHS?”

  Stokes has rehearsed the answer so many times it rolls smoothly off his tongue.

  “To protect my country from the all-too-real threat of bioterrorism.”

  “That’s a stock answer. You can do better. Why do you want to join Project BioShield?”

  Stokes extracts the object from the plastic bag and feels its smooth contours in his palm as he contemplates the answer he’s waited nearly two decades to give.

  JULY 3, 1991

  Mineral Springs, Colorado

  Elevation: 8650

  Population: 1036

  11:53 PM

  “We should really get you back before your dad has a coronary,” Penny Davis said. She gave his hand a squeeze and hopped down from her perch on the rock. “The last thing we need is for you to be grounded tomorrow night.”

  “He’s probably still at the hospital.” Landon Crane flipped his bangs out of his hazel eyes and stared down through the canopy of pines and aspens toward the slumbering town at the foot of the mountain. Mineral River curved around the dark buildings of downtown. Headlights sporadically passed on the highway beyond its far bank. None of them veered onto the off-ramps that connected the dying town to its lifeblood. “He’ll never even notice if I come in late.”

  “You keep saying that, but he always does. That’s why you have this ridiculous midnight curfew.”

  “I’ll sneak in through the gatehouse. I just, you know, want to spend a little more time with you tonight.” He climbed down, nuzzled up to her from behind, and kissed the slope of her neck. “Don’t you want me to be just a little late?”

  “I don’t want to risk not being able to go see the fireworks with you tomorrow night.”

  “You could see some fireworks tonight…”

  “Yeah, but they’ll last more than thirty seconds tomorrow.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Look.” She turned around and took him by the hands. The way the moonlight caressed her, she was positively breathtaking. Her blonde hair shimmered. He found himself trapped in her fathomless azure eyes. “We head off to college in forty-one days. That’s it. And then we’ll be hundreds of miles away from here and free to do whatever we want anytime we want to do it.”

  “Anytime?” Landon smirked. “Can I get that in writing?”

  “Would you just hurry and get your ass home before you spoil our last summer of freedom?”

  She started down the path that zigzagged through the forest to the river hundreds of feet below them. Above them, the stone crown of Mt. Frazier stood against the stars like a cresting tsunami preparing to crash down upon the small town.

  “Wait!” He ran after her and took her by the hand. “There’s something that I…I was waiting to give this to you tomorrow night, but…”

  Landon held out his closed fist. He slowly opened it to reveal a heart-shaped locket that glinted gold in the celestial light.

  “It’s beautiful,” Penny whispered. She searched his eyes with an almost inquisitive look, then gently lifted it by the chain. “What’s this for?”

  “It’s a promise,” he whispered. “Open it.”

  She tilted the locket out of the shadows and opened it. Inside was a picture of both of them taken before their Senior Prom, cheek-to-cheek, smiling as only young lovers could.

  “I’m going to marry you, Penny,” he said.

  With trembling hands, she handed him the necklace and lifted her hair so he could slip it around her neck. When she turned around, tears glimmered in her eyes.

  “You’re going to be late tonight,” she whispered as she took him by the hand and guided him off into the trees.

  JULY 4, 1991

  Mineral Springs, Colorado

  Elevation: 8650

  Population: 1036

  1:36 AM

  Landon stayed low against the bank as he followed the river out of the woods and toward his house. He could smell the sulfurous hot springs uphill to his left and see the steam rising over the red ceramic roof of the Historic Mineral Springs Spa, which had long ago been a tuberculosis sanatorium. All of the resort’s windows were uncharacteristically dark for this point in the season, and there wasn’t a single car in the parking lot. After years on the market, the spa had finally sold, and for the last several months, the new owners had brought in a steady stream of construction vehicles, but, as his father had said, no amount of upgrades or renovations would salvage the hotel from this dawning recession. Not unless there was a resurgence in tuberculosis like there had been in the late nineteenth century, when cure-seekers from all across the country had flocked to the front
range of the Rocky Mountains to take advantage of the healing powers of the mineral springs. The town had risen from sickness, and thus it seemed only fitting that it should die a slow, painful death. As it was, his father had to drive more than an hour to reach the nearest hospital, when once upon a time his practice had flourished here in the town of his birth. Of course, that had been when the population was four times what it was now. Back before the quarry ran dry and the processing plant closed. Back when his mother had still been alive.

  The field that separated his house from the resort had gone feral, but if he were to stand up, he would clearly be able to see his father’s bedroom window over the bank. The two-story Spanish Colonial-style home had served as the original sanatorium until it had been overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of black lung sufferers, necessitating the construction of the much larger treatment facility directly surrounding the miracle springs. Originally, the sick had been housed in the drafty old rooms in the stucco house where his family had lived since before he was born. Due to the contagious nature of the disease and the customs of the time, the afflicted were led from the house to the river via an underground tunnel, where they were then covered with burlap and guided below the high lip of the bank to another underground tunnel that led to the springs, hidden from the sight of the good, God-fearing men and women of Mineral Springs, and then back again after dark. The entrance to the tunnel on his property was at the back of the gatehouse, which was nowhere near a gate and didn’t really qualify as a house. It was more of a shack that appeared perpetually on the brink of toppling forward into the river and constantly flooded with the spring runoff from the high country. For as long as he could remember, his father had been threatening to tear it down, but the historical society always intervened. Landon was thankful for that, especially tonight.

  He silently lifted the padlock from the latch and swung the door open on hinges he kept well oiled for just this purpose. The musty scent welcomed him into the darkness. He felt along the wall until he found the flashlight where he had left it and clicked it on. The column of light illuminated racks of rusting garden tools to either side before settling on the door set into the manmade hill. He opened it and followed the crumbling concrete stairs down into the constrictive tunnel, which was still supported by the same ancient wooden cribbing. Fifty yards later, the light showed him the doorway leading into his basement. All he had to do now was slip inside, kick off his muddy shoes behind the hot water heater, and sneak upstairs and into bed. No one would ever be the wiser. He’d done this so many times that he could do it as silently as a mouse.

  Again, the hinges didn’t make a sound as he shoved the door inward. He clicked off the flashlight, stepped out of his Adidas Sambas, and started toward the stairs—

  “Where have you been?” a voice asked from the darkness.

  Landon’s heart leapt into his throat. He closed his eyes and sighed.

  “Out.”

  “It’s two in the morning.”

  “None of my friends have to be in until two.”

  “It was your choice to have a midnight curfew.”

  “My choice?”

  “Your actions determined it.”

  “My actions? I’ll be eighteen in three weeks. That makes me an adult. And adults don’t have curfews.”

  “It takes more than a birthday to make you an adult.”

  “Not in the eyes of the state.”

  “Just because they’ll try you as an adult doesn’t mean you are one.”

  “Will you just get off my back? In a month and a half I’ll be in college and none of your petty little rules will matter.”

  “Which means you still have to abide by my petty little rules for another—”

  “You wouldn’t be riding me like this if Mom were here.” Landon regretted it the moment he said it. They were words he couldn’t take back, words that could cut like knives.

  “Well, she’s not.” His father’s voice was soft, pained. Landon was thankful he couldn’t see the expression on his old man’s face. His mother’s passing had nearly killed his father, who, as a physician, hadn’t seen the esophageal cancer that had taken her life coming in time to save her. By the time the first symptoms manifested, the disease had already metastasized to the point that she’d only been given a couple of months to live. Landon once overhead his father telling his uncle that he relived her agonizing, pain-filled final days every time he closed his eyes, analyzing every detail for the clues he should have caught. It was obvious he blamed himself. And not-so-secretly, Landon blamed him, too. His father was a doctor who saw her every day. He should have been the first to recognize her failing health. “So you’re stuck with me. For just another month and a half. And then you’re free to go ruin your life however you see fit.”

  Landon heard footsteps ascending the stairs.

  “Dad…”

  Light flooded down the staircase as his father opened the door and stepped out into the parlor.

  Landon hung his head and started up the stairs to the main level in time to hear the sound of a door close on the level above him.

  7:42 AM

  Landon stared out through the window over the kitchen sink as he washed the breakfast dishes. The hammer had fallen hard, but the night before had definitely been worth it. A wistful smile crossed his face. He remembered Penny looking up at him from the grass, perspiration glistening on her cheeks and her upper chest. Her taste was still in his mouth and he could swear that he could still feel the warmth of her breath on his lips. So he wouldn’t be able to leave his father’s side at the community picnic tonight. Big deal. At least he’d still get to go. Maybe he could even steal a few minutes alone with Penny while the fireworks were going off. All in all, it could have been a whole lot worse.

  He still felt badly about what he had said. Surely his father understood the words had been said in anger and that he hadn’t really meant them, but his old man had still seemed so distant over breakfast. He had simply dropped his punishment and then left him alone to tidy up the mess. At some point, Landon would apologize for it. For now he knew that there were some things that just couldn’t be taken back, and there needed to be an interval of healing before they could be broached again. He could only imagine what it must be like to be his father, working seemingly night and day at Pine Bluffs Memorial to afford this lifestyle, not to mention the college tuition for a son who wanted nothing to do with him, all the while dealing with the fact that the love of his life had died in his arms and there had been nothing he could do about it. But it wasn’t like he had a monopoly on misery. Landon missed his mother, too. Missed her every minute of every day.

  A flash through the ponderosa pines caught his attention. He scrubbed the last cereal bowl and set it on the top rack in the dishwasher. Wiping his hands on the dishtowel, he opened the kitchen door and stepped out onto the porch. A dozen olive-colored Jeeps and panel trucks rumbled down the off ramp from the highway and crossed over the river, where he lost sight of them through the trees.

  The opening line of the new Skid Row song rose to his lips.

  “Outside my window there’s a whole lot of trouble comin’…”

  The rumble of engines grew louder as they approached.

  11:36 AM

  Landon finished helping Mr. Thompson load the sheets of drywall into the back of his dirty F-150 and swiped the dust from his hands onto his jeans. The old handyman offered him a dollar, which he discreetly tucked into his front pocket. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the owner of the hardware store, Mr. Booth, hadn’t seen. The greasy prick frowned upon taking tips, and somehow thought that four bucks an hour wasn’t an insulting wage without the occasional supplementation.

  He walked around the side of the building and sat on the curb in front of the store beneath the window where he couldn’t be seen from the inside. Across the street in Acacia Park, preparations for the night’s festivities were well underway. A stage fringed with red, white, and blue streamers had been
erected at the northern edge of the vast expanse of lawn, to the right of the bandstand. Banks of speakers framed the podium. On the far side of the cattail-ringed pond, he could see several men in Army fatigues setting up the firework cannons. The convoy he had seen this morning nearly filled the western parking lot by the baseball diamond by itself.

  The sight of all of the military transport vehicles felt out-of-context. Mineral Springs had always been a patriotic town, like most rural communities with more traditional values, but its support had always been from afar. The sudden military presence felt almost like an invasion. He couldn’t help but think of Red Dawn, perhaps the greatest movie of the Eighties. Next to Die Hard and Better Off Dead, of course. He chuckled. If anyone wanted to take Mineral Springs, they wouldn’t even need half the manpower they brought to set up the celebration. He was fine with the promise of the barbecue and fireworks on the Army’s dime, just as long as he didn’t have to think about the reason for them.

  Travis James had been that older kid that all of the younger kids aspired to be. He was the epitome of cool, the kind of guy around whom the world seemed to revolve. He’d been quarterback of the football team and the star pitcher on the baseball team. The prettiest girl in school had always been on his arm, and every other girl would have killed for her position. His future as someone special had been written in ink. There had even been one late-summer afternoon when he had allowed Landon to play a pick-up game of football with the high school kids that had felt like the defining moment of his life at the time. And afterward, Travis had even collared him and told him that he had “some serious talent.”