* * *
An hour later, Jared stepped out from the office and joined them.
“She’s asleep,” he announced, and plopped down next to Jack. They were sitting cross-legged in a circle not far from the office.
“Now that we’ve got this place secure, we were just talking about our options from here on out,” Jack said, bringing him up to speed on what the rest of them had discussed for the past twenty minutes.
“What do you mean?” Jared asked.
“What to do. About everything.”
“Including Anna, or only about her?”
“Whether this is the best place for all of us to remain, and for how long,” Carla advised. “Food. Supplies, like sleeping bags, batteries. Communication with the world. And yes, Anna.”
Jared didn’t respond, and Jack didn’t know how best to tell him the rest. He caught his brother’s attention by raising his eyebrows.
Joe nodded. “Jared... Carla has an idea. I mean, we all do. We don’t know much about this infection yet, and it got us thinking.”
“What’s the idea?” Jared stared at the marble floor.
“Well, she was bitten on the ear, right? Her dad said it didn’t look too bad. It hasn’t spread through her body, and definitely not to her brain yet. Not so far.”
Jack watched the boy; he remained still, but he was listening. Listening for any glimmer of hope.
Joe continued, “You know how sometimes, like if you get bitten by a snake, you have to cut off the blood flow so the poison doesn’t get into your bloodstream? Well, we were wondering if it might be the same type of thing with this.”
“My infection seemed to move slower,” Jack added. “I don’t know why I was spared what happens to most victims, when the change happens swiftly.”
“What’s this got to do with Anna?” Jared raised his head and looked Joe dead in the eye. “You can’t tie a cord around her ear. It wouldn’t work. I don’t like where this is logically headed....”
“Son,” Jack said gently, “is my angel showing signs of sickness yet?” Jack could have gone and looked himself, but it was hard to face her, and he had to think straight.
“No,” said Jared, almost inaudibly. “I don’t think so, anyway. She doesn’t want to eat, but that’s how she is when she’s really upset. It’s not a physical rejection of food... not yet. She did finally drink the water you brought her.”
Jared nervously watched the rest of them exchange knowing glances. “What are you thinking now? I know you’re planning to try something to stop the blood flow. Right?”
“It’s a bit more drastic than that,” Carla’s voice was soft and strong at once. “We’re thinking we should cut off her ear.”
Chapter Three
The Agent dressed in black set the box of machine gun magazines into the back of the SUV and wiped the sweat away from his face. The vehicle was full. He covered his vast array of weapons with a tarp and closed the back hatch. He was ready for war.
Just after noon, he could reach his destination in an hour, depending on traffic. He’d done his homework; he had detailed maps of the Griffith Observatory, the L.A. Zoo and the surrounding areas. He’d searched Joe Carter’s file and had printed out photos of the brother, Jack, and the niece, Anna. Procuring civilian clothing and shoes suitable for hiking, he was especially pleased to find night vision goggles, bugs to plant so he could listen to them, and a bullet-proof vest.
All he needed was fresh food. Never mind the instant meals he’d packed, he wanted one good meal. Even if it was the last one. From the information he’d gleaned from previously secure military sources online, he understood the world outside was out of control. Stopping at a diner, or even a drive-thru, was risky business.
He glanced toward the building he had just left. Surely, there was a mess hall. He couldn’t eat the refrigerated food, as it had been too long without electricity to keep from spoilage, but there should be plenty of canned and packaged goods.
Just one more time, he told himself. For better or worse, he picked up his backpack and machine guns and headed back inside.
* * *
As expected, the kitchen was in disarray. Hash browns, eggs and bacon lay on the huge commercial stove top, gathering mold while flies swarmed. The agent, whose name was Cole, took in the sight of broken dishes, overturned pots, and dried blood on the floor. It was a miracle the stove had been turned off during the melee. Otherwise, he could be looking at a charred mess instead.
He sat one of the guns down and crossed to the refrigerator. He covered his nose and mouth with his free hand; the spoiled odor was overwhelming. The fridge door had been left open, void of any meat. Moving quietly into the storage room nearby, he listened while his heart pounded violently in his chest.
Seeing only institutional sized cans of food, Cole chided himself for thinking he could find a nice little can of chicken soup or chili. He’d have to make do with a couple of large beef stews. He unzipped his pack and deposited them as quietly as he could, grimacing at the weight.