Sealed In Part 8

"Bet this is her stuff." Heather reached deeper into the trunk; as she pulled items out to view she paused. "The side is loose."

Roman looked. "It's not loose. It's a compartment."

"No way," Heather said with excitement. "A secret compartment?"

Roman nodded.

"He's got something in here. Maybe my mom is right."

Roman paused. "Stop. She is not. It's just ..." The side flap folded over as if it were supposed to. Silver cases were revealed, no bigger than four inches. They lined against the case.

"Drugs?" Heather asked.

"No way."

"Should we open one?"

Roman hesitated. "Bet it's money or gold."

"Oh, he's probably worth a fortune. And you just aren't supposed to know. Go on."

Roman pulled out one of the cases. He opened it, and inside were six silver tubes that looked exactly like cigarettes. Same size and shape; in fact, they were made that way, down to the part that resembled a filter.

"What are they? Just metal cigarettes. Oh my G.o.d, Roman, your dad invented the first E cigarette."

"Weird." Roman lifted one. He touched the mimicked filter end and it turned. "Oh wow."

"Drugs." Heather nodded. "Or secret scrolls."

Roman took off the filter and tapped it on his hand. "Nothing. Just this." He pulled out a wire. The size of a Q-tip. Straight on one end, the other was a small gla.s.s coil. "Son of a b.i.t.c.h, you're right. He invented the first electronic cigarette. Wow."

"Kind of a letdown." Heather said.

"Yeah, but ..." Roman stopped when he heard the footsteps above them.

"Roman?" The woman's voice called out. "Are you here?"

Roman cleared his throat. "Be right up."

"s.h.i.+t. Vivian." Heather cringed. "You think she'll tell your dad?"

"No, but let's get back up there."

Hurriedly, as a team, they returned things to the way they were, or so they thought. In their haste, they neglected to notice two things.

One, Roman never replaced the key.

The other ... when he hurriedly replaced the coil back into the metal tube, he never noticed that he broke the tip of the gla.s.s spiral.

FLASH FORWARD.

Ground Zero 4

December 23rd

Hartworth, Montana

For the first time in his career, Edward had to pause to throw up, and then he downed a drink. His examination of Vivian Morris went about as far as it could go before he got sick. It wasn't just the sight and smell of her, it was the thought of what had occurred.

"I need an investigative team," Edward told Dr. Lange, head of the Centers for Disease Control, in his first telephone conversation to headquarters. "Body removal and another team of virologists. We have to trace this thing. We need to find out exactly what it is."

"You've only been there three hours, Ed. What in the h.e.l.l ..."

"Over eight hundred bodies. One just thawed enough for me to examine ... my G.o.d, Bill." Edward grabbed his flask. "This woman ... these people ... this ... thing. I'm scared to death."

At first, his soft laugh carried over the line, then Dr. Bill Lange breathed outward. "You're very serious."

"Yes. Yes, I am. Bill." Edward paused to take a sip. "I don't even know if I'll end up with it, for as much precaution as I've taken. This thing is like nothing I have ever seen. Nothing. And it's fast, my G.o.d, is it fast. Last phone call out of this town was placed a few days ago; that's when I guess the town died."

"When did it hit there? Any guesses?"

"No more than a week."

"Jesus."

"Tell me about it," Edward said. "I just did my first examination, and I got sick. Sick, Bill. Underneath what was left of her skin ... and I say what was left because the victim either scratched her skin away or it tore from within. And what was beneath it ... it was like tar, looked like tar and smelled like bile. Everything inside was destroyed. Internal organs barely recognizable. They were mush. If there was any blood left in the victim's body, it was too thick to run through the veins and just seeped through any bodily orifice it could find."

"Where ... where did it start?" Dr. Lange asked. "Any idea?"

"I'd be guessing," Edward replied. "But I'd say it was inhaled. Maybe it started as a respiratory ailment, who knows, but it hit the digestive system and ate through it like acid."

"Septicemia?"

Edward laughed. "We need a new word for it. Trust me. Septicemia is a walk in a park compared to this. And you know what the worst part is?"

"There's worse?" Dr. Lange asked.

"Oh, yeah. The brain. Barely touched. That tells me the victim knew every single thing that was happening to them. This woman felt every single ounce of pain and sickness, and my guess is she went through an agony that was inhumane."

"I'm disbursing as many units as I can to you. They'll be there by the end of the day," Dr. Lange said. "Have you tried the neighboring communities?"

"I am keeping the State Police at bay and out of those towns just in case. I'm scared. There's a town thirty miles north of here, one forty miles east. The last phone call went to Lincoln. Those are small towns. But Billings ... it's only ninety miles away."

"This. .h.i.t fast; do you think it broke boundaries?" Dr. Lange asked.

"It should have under normal circ.u.mstances," Edward said. "But these aren't normal. You have everyday folks, dead cowboys in pickup trucks with shotguns on every single road leading in and out of town. This makes me wonder if there is a BSL-4 lab around here. Maybe a resident here brought in the germ, knew it was released, and they shut down and sealed in the town. Set up an aid station, prepared for it. Kept it down until everyone died."

"Someone knew it was this bad?"

"Without a doubt. My only hope is they shut down this town fast enough." At that instant, Edward's eye lifted to the opening of the lab door. "My team just returned. Let me call you back."

Dr. Lange told him he was a.s.sembling more teams, and the conversation ended.

Using the intercom, Edward told Harold to double disinfect, then waited for him to walk into the office portion.

He knew by the look on Harold's face that he had more information.

"We found a whole bunch of bodies," Harold said. "Maybe a eighty or more."

"There's eight hundred plus people in this town, of ..."

"No." Harold stopped him. "Let me finish. We found a bunch of bodies. Apparently infected ... but they didn't die of our sickness. They were shot."

Edward was barreled over by the news. "It can't be."

"Single shot to the head. Men, women, children."

"Someone finished off the town."

Harold shook his head. "Nope. Someone killed the people who weren't going to die from the illness."

Edward ran his hand down his face with a hard sigh. "What the h.e.l.l? Why?"

With his question came a thump on his desk. Harold tossed a sealed bag; in it was what looked like a journal."

"What is it?" Edward asked.

"Your answers," Harold replied. "Someone doc.u.mented everything. I only skimmed through, but I'm pretty certain," he pointed to the journal, "that right there solves the mystery of what happened to this town."

Chapter Six.

Hartworth, Montana

December 16th

Vivian Morris was done for the day. She thanked Bonnie for the pie she brought with her at her appointment and apologized for the wait. But Bonnie was the last patient of the day. Vivian cleaned up the waiting area, pulled the charts for the next day, and powered down the computer.

As she did a sneeze reverberated through her entire body. "Oh man," she said out loud. "I hope I didn't catch what Mr. Stevens had. Jeez." After rubbing a tissue under her nose, she told herself it was just some dust, and grabbed her coat.

"Dr. Paltrov," she called out. "Dr. Paltrov."

"In my office," he replied.

Vivian stepped to his office door. "I'm leaving. I'll see you in the morning. Everything is shut down."

"Thank you." He nodded as he sat behind his desk. He looked tired and worn; then again, he was pus.h.i.+ng seventy and put in long hours. "Vivian, did my son call while I was with patients?"

"No, he didn't." she replied. "They probably, got there, checked in, then headed to the concert."

"More than likely. Thank you."

"Goodnight." She started to leave and paused when she felt a draft come from the other hall. She peered down, saw the culprit then popped her head back into the doctor's office. "The bas.e.m.e.nt door is opened, it's bringing a draft. Want me to close it?"

"The bas.e.m.e.nt door is ... is open?" He questioned.

Vivian nodded.

"No, I will get it. Thank you."

"No problem, good night," she said again, pulled the door closed, and walked out.

Val listened to the sounds of her leaving and stood up immediately. He didn't recall leaving the bas.e.m.e.nt open when he left for his rounds a few hours earlier. He was so busy when he returned he never thought about it, but Val had to check it out.