chair. An emergency oxygen mask around her face kept her from biting or spitting.
We got airborne as quickly as we could, and not just because time was of the essence. We all knew that what we were doing—kidnapping an innocent foreign citizen and transporting her overseas against her will—put us in a legal gray area, to say the least.
We’d been flying for nearly thirty minutes before I remembered—in all the chaos and confusion of the past hour or so, I’d completely forgotten about my satellite phone, and the ring that alerted the pack of feral humans to our presence.
When I finally checked it, I saw I had a new voicemail, from a blocked number.
Hearing Chloe’s voice, my relief was indescribable—until I listened through to the end.
Sounding remarkably calm, my wife explained how their apartment had been overrun by animals a few days ago. How she and Eli had managed to escape after her father and stepmother were killed. How they’d spent a night in a shelter from the streets but now were safe.
“We’ll be staying with some, uh, friends for a while,” she said. “Friends of the Earth. I can’t tell you where exactly. But I also can’t wait to see you, Oz. So you can…hold me in your arms. Okay, I love you. Bye.”
I knew immediately my wife was in trouble.
One night, years ago, “Hold Me in Your Arms,” a painfully cheesy 1988 love song by Rick Astley, came on at a bar where Chloe and I were having one of our first official dates. We joked that being forced to listen to such an awful tune on an endless loop would be even worse than an animal attack. Since then, “hold me in your arms” has become a kind of inside joke between us, a code phrase we use anytime something is bad or corny or scary.
Or, in this case, I could only presume, dangerous.
My wife wouldn’t say those words unless something wasn’t right. I’m certain of it. And those “friends of the Earth” she’s staying with—who the hell are they? What is she talking about? Why “can’t” she say where she is? What is she scared of?
All I know is, I need to find her and Eli right away and get them out of there fast.
“Freitas!” I shout, marching up the aisle to his seat. “We’re changing course!”
“What in God’s name are you talking about?” he asks. “We’re en route to INL.”
That would be the Idaho National Laboratory, the federal government’s largest research facility with a dedicated biological sciences unit, nestled in the state’s secluded eastern desert. There we’ll poke and prod Helen and use every known test in existence on her.
“First we’re going back to Paris,” I say.
I tell him about the voicemail. What Chloe said. The coded message. My gut instinct that something is very wrong. And that even if I’m the one who’s wrong, my wife and son are still all alone in a foreign city overrun by wild animals.
“Oz, we can’t go there right now. It’s too far out of our way. We’ve got a feral human on board! Don’t you understand that? We have to get her to the lab ASAP.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing.
“There is no one in the world more committed to solving this crisis than I am,” I fire back, my voice rising. Sarah and some of the other scientists are starting to look over at us. “But you’re asking me just to forget about my family? Imagine if it was yours!”
Freitas sighs deeply. “I consider the entire planet to be my family.”
As a fellow man of science, I know what he means. And I respect it.
But as a husband and father, I think it’s absolute horseshit.
“You promised me—promised—that if I left the Arctic, came along on this wild goose chase of yours, and helped you people stop HAC once and for all, you’d ensure my family’s safety. Remember that?” I’m nearly trembling with rage now. “I’m not asking you, Dr. Freitas. I am telling you. Before Idaho, we are going to France!”
Freitas rubs his salt-and-pepper beard, clearly torn. Maybe I’m getting through to him. Every eye in the plane is now on us—including Helen’s beady, bloodshot ones.
“Oz…I’m sorry. I am. But, no, we simply don’t have the time or resources to—”
I slam my hand against the cabin wall—and pull out my sat phone.
“Oh, really? Let’s see how fast those resources dry up when word leaks to the press that HAC has started spreading to people now, too—and