Triple Threat - James Patterson Page 0,64
landing soon in Salt Lake City.
The past forty-plus hours have been a blur of exhaustion, stress, and actual pain. The meds I was given at the military hospital in Hawaii have long since worn off, and my entire body is throbbing. Add to that multiple layovers and multiple delays in multiple airports, each more chaotic than the next…plus the constant threat of a feral human attack at any moment and…well, you get the idea. Not exactly a pleasure trip.
Seeing all the other passengers whip out their smartphones after we landed in Vancouver, it dawned on me. I felt so stupid for not thinking of it sooner. My wife doesn’t have a cell I can call, but of course I still know her email address.
Using the nurse’s iPhone, I logged into my personal account for the first time in weeks and fired off a quick note, praying that Chloe would think to check her email, too.
About six hours later, when I landed in San Francisco…no response.
But then, another six hours later, after we touched down in Chicago…I dabbed away tears of joy at the sight of my wife’s name in my inbox. Still more tears came as I read about the terror that went down at the lab and their harrowing escape.
As soon as the plane’s wheels make contact with the tarmac and my journey finally ends, I leap up out of my seat, race down the jet bridge, sprint through the busy terminal, and burst outside into the hot Utah afternoon.
The curbside pickup area is total mayhem. Cars honking, cops shouting.
My iPhone died hours ago, before I could arrange any kind of specific meet-up time and location with Chloe. I need to charge it, badly, but first I want to find some ground transportation. I’ve come so far, and my family is still so far.
Then something catches my eye: a handmade sign with the words JACKSON OZ.
It’s being held up by Chloe, standing in front of a tan Jeep as if she were a chauffeur, a megawatt smile plastered across her beautiful face.
Eli is clinging to her leg. “Daddy!” he yells, letting go and bounding up to me.
He leaps into my arms. I squeeze the boy so tightly I’m afraid he might pop. Covering his messy hair with kisses, I carry him to Chloe and wrap her in the hug as well.
And the three of us just stay like that. Half-laughing, half-crying.
No words. Just unimaginable relief.
And infinite love.
Finally we pull apart, sniffling, wiping our eyes.
“So, how was your little vacation, mon amour?” she asks with her trademark smirk. I’ve missed that so much. To answer, I give her a long, deep kiss.
The front door of the Jeep opens and out steps Sarah. Like my wife and son, she looks tired and stressed and grimy but also relieved to see me. The feeling is mutual, especially since Chloe told me in her email that Sarah helped save their lives.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” I say as we embrace.
“I do,” Sarah answers, pulling away to look at both Chloe and me. “No more crazy expeditions to far-flung corners of the globe. No more unnecessary tests. No more big government agencies telling us what to do. And no more delay.”
Chloe understands where Sarah’s going with this and picks up the thread.
“Oui! Feral human attacks are on the rise. And with the president’s task force in ruins…yes, we will need equipment and a laboratory and new specimens…but the three of us—working together this time, Oz—may be the best shot the world has at finding a cure.”
I smile, feeling a real sense of hope and optimism I haven’t in weeks.
“I couldn’t agree more. And I think I know where we should start.”
Chapter 35
Nothing like flying forty hours on five different planes, then taking a six-hour road trip through the sweltering Nevada desert.
But, hey, I’m not complaining. I’m alert and fired up and feeling great. I’ve got my wife by my side, my little boy dozing in the backseat, and the beginnings of some actual working theories about the feral humans and how to cure them.
“I agree with you, Oz,” says Sarah, “that the pheromones that feral humans give off must be different from normal humans’. When animals get one whiff, they all go running. But how do you explain the tissue death we saw in Helen’s brain? Pheromones affect behavior, mating, aggression. Not brain damage. It’s impossible.”
“Actually, it is not,” Chloe offers. “Research has shown that cells can die in response to pheromones