Triple Threat - James Patterson Page 0,45

not to share.

“You’re right. Trying to trap one of these animals? That is suicide. Thankfully, that’s not why we’ve come to South Africa.”

My told-you-so internal celebration is brief. I start to get nervous. Why are we here?

“There have been rumors,” Freitas continues, “that the…‘affliction’…has started spreading. To humans.”

Huh? I glance around the vehicle at Sarah and the others. This is clearly the first time any of us are hearing that rumor.

“There have been unconfirmed sightings,” Freitas says, “matching similar classified reports from elsewhere around the world—which I’ve convinced Washington to suppress—of a group of rabid individuals living in the Suikerbosrand Nature Reserve. Locals now consider them to be the most dangerous creatures in the area.”

Freitas pauses solemnly. Then adds: “We’re here to capture one. And prevent this global epidemic from entering an even more devastating phase.”

My jaw is literally hanging open. Sarah and the others are stammering.

What the hell is this guy talking about?

For the past umpteen years, the planet has been battling HAC, Human-Animal Conflict. It’s animals whose behavior has been going haywire, thanks to the abundance of petroleum-derived hydrocarbons in the environment being chemically altered by cellphone radiation waves. It’s animals who have been rising up and attacking innocent people because human scents have been chemically altered, too, and are now perceived as attack pheromones. And it’s animals—and only animals—who are susceptible to this because Homo sapiens lacks the highly sensitive vomeronasal organ almost all other creatures possess that detects airborne pheromones in the first place.

This isn’t just some personal hunch of mine. It’s the accepted theory about the animal crisis within the mainstream scientific community—and it has been for quite some time. It’s been tested and duplicated in labs around the world.

Now we’re talking about Human-Human Conflict? No. No way. It’s anatomically impossible. Absurd. The fact that we’re even chasing after this urban legend at all is a ridiculous waste of time and resources. If it’s true, yes, of course, it would upend our entire understanding of what’s been going on. But it can’t be. Right?

“I understand this is a lot to process,” Freitas says. “And frankly, I’m praying that the rumors turn out to be false. But you can understand why the government insisted we come and find out for certain. Because if the stories are correct, and if it spreads…”

He trails off and shakes his head. The doomsday scenario he’s alluding to—millions, maybe billions of people suddenly turning on each other like vicious beasts—is too horrifying to even say out loud.

Through my window I see we’ve reached the outskirts of the city. The buildings are beginning to thin out and the landscape is looking more verdant.

Soon we’ll be arriving at the nature preserve, so I take out my satellite phone and try calling Chloe and Eli in Paris one final time.

It’s not that I won’t have service inside the park. It’s that apparently, I’ll have my hands full trying to track and tranquilize a goddamn feral human being.

The line rings and rings. I’ve been calling for hours now and there’s still no answer. Even for an optimist like myself, it’s getting harder and harder not to worry.

Not just about my family. About the future of the human race.

Chapter 15

We’ve been trekking along this jungle trail for less than fifteen minutes and already I’m drenched with sweat.

Kabelo and Dikotsi, and a few other local guides are at the head of our group, hacking away at vines and tree limbs with huge machetes to help clear our path. Still, the underbrush is dense and uneven. We’re all lugging heavy gear and carrying firearms. The midday African sun is directly overhead, beating down on us without mercy.

Freitas puts a pair of high-powered binoculars to his eyes, awkwardly shifting the McMillan M1A assault rifle slung over his shoulder. The man may be a brilliant scientist, but he’s clearly not very comfortable toting such a bulky weapon.

To be fair, neither am I. Especially since mine has a bayonet.

“Remember,” Freitas says, addressing the team. “These are people we’re after. Not animals. We have no idea how the sickness will have affected them. Whether they’ll be savage or intelligent. Whether they’ll attack unarmed or with weapons. Whether they—”

“Oh, give it a break, doc!” I exclaim. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t listen to this nonsense. We’re facing a serious global crisis here, and you’re making us hike through a dangerous jungle in search of the living dead? This is nuts!”

“I don’t disagree, Oz,” Freitas replies. “After the order came in, believe me,