The Girl Who Was Supposed to Die (19 page)

“When the animal tests went well, people at the lab volunteered to be part of the preliminary clinical human trials before we ramped up vaccine production. So your dad and I are okay, at least as far as being exposed goes. We're already immune. But we have to get our hands on the vaccine for Max. We can't go back there ourselves. I'm sure our security cards have already been deactivated and our pictures are posted at the front desk.”

“You mean you want me to go…” I let my words trail off.

“Yes. To Z-Biotech. You can use Elizabeth's ID to get in.”

“Why can't we just tell the police what happened and make them get it for us?”

“We can't take that chance, Cady. The window is already closing. What if Kirk decides to destroy the vaccine?” I hear the despair in my mom's voice, how thin the edge is between her and a breakdown. “If he knew that Max had been exposed, he would do it just to punish us.”

There must be a way that won't involve going in the lion's den. “Don't you know how to make the vaccine yourself?”

“It takes months to grow. Even the batch that's in production now won't be done for another week. Max has to have it by tomorrow or it will be too late.”

I think of the guy Elizabeth told us about, the one who died on the way to his girlfriend's funeral. Who drowned in his own blood. Then I take a deep breath.

“What can I do?”

 

CHAPTER 38

DAY 2, 8:54 P.M.

 

At Home Depot, it takes what's left of Ty's money plus most of what we took from Elizabeth's purse and Brenner's wallet to buy a janitor's cart, cleaning supplies, an industrial-size broom, two sets of dark blue coveralls, two painter's caps, and a yellow sign that warns in English and Spanish about wet floors.

On our way out, I spot a pay phone. I tell the girl who answers the phone at Fast Fitness that the car that was stolen from their lot earlier in the day is now in the parking garage of the Winchester Hotel in Portland. I hang up when she starts asking questions.

I hurry back to where Ty is unloading the cart. What we really need is a van, but what we've got is Elizabeth's Avalon. We barely manage to squeeze everything in the trunk, and that's only by folding down the back seat. It takes two tries to get the lid closed. Then, still standing in the parking lot, we pull the coveralls on over our clothes.

Ty and I are going to be the new cleaning service for Z-Biotech. We're hoping that Kirk Nowell is more worried about taking care of loose ends than he is about protecting his home base. According to Mom, Elizabeth's employee ID badge should get us in the front door as well as into any of the locked rooms we need to visit. Everyone at Z-Biotech has a certain level of security, but Elizabeth's clearance is the highest level. Her ID badge will let us into everything, from the gate around the parking lot to the front door to all the laboratory spaces. Once we're in the building, there's just one security guard at night, and Mom's pretty sure he spends most of his time sitting at the front desk doing Sudoku.

“Do you know any Spanish?” I ask Ty as I take the on-ramp for the freeway.

“Si. Un poco.”

I think that means, “Yes, a little.” And with his dark hair and eyes, Ty could be Hispanic.

“Then you should be the one to talk to the security guy. But mostly in Spanish.” I remember the cleaners I've seen in various public bathrooms. All of them seem to have come from other, poorer countries. “My French won't sound right.”

I grip the steering wheel harder and straighten up. It's hard to believe that it's been less than two days since I returned home for my phone and walked into a nightmare. Hard to believe that I've known Ty for only about a day. I'm wired and tired, so tired I probably shouldn't be driving. I take another slug of the four-shot Venti-size mocha I got from the Starbucks next to the Home Depot. We used the last of the money to buy coffees and muffins. The muffins were gone before we got back to the car.

The industrial area where Z-Biotech is located is deserted at night. The building sits in the middle of a parking lot, which is surrounded by a tall, metal fence topped with razor wire. I hold my breath when I put Elizabeth's ID card up to the reader in front of an automatic rolling gate, but after a second or two, it rattles open and then closes behind us. The parking lot is empty, except for a small orange pickup with silver duct tape holding up one side of the bumper. Ty nudges me and points at the white letters on the tailgate that spell out D-A-T-S-U-N. It seems like a sign. I hope it's a good one.

We park at the far edge of the lot, out of sight of the glass front door. I pull my cap low, and we get out of the car. After we load up the janitor's cart, Ty begins to push it toward the door. At every step, the gun digs into my belly. Ty also has a gun tucked into his waistband.

The brown plastic box of a second card reader is mounted to the left of the glass door. In the lobby, a short, round man with a bald head and a close-cropped black beard sits at a desk. He is staring down at a thin paperback, his pen poised. He hasn't seen us yet.

I'm the cleaner, I tell myself. My name is Ilsa. We're here because we underbid Z-Biotech's last janitorial service. The only way we'll make a living is to work thirteen hours straight, seven days a week. America is not like I thought. My hands are red and rough, even though I wear the yellow rubber gloves.

The guard doesn't even look up until the door clicks as Ty waves Elizabeth's ID card over the reader.

“Hey,” he says as Ty walks in and I follow, bumping the cart over the threshold. “What are you guys doing here?” He pushes back from the desk and stands up. He's got a belt that holds a half dozen black holsters and cases, but not, as far as I can see, one for a gun.

“
Nuevo
cleaning service,” Ty says, with a sort-of Spanish accent. He hefts the broom to underline what he's saying. I stare at the carpet, think about my cracked hands, about how I'm looking forward to going home and putting my feet up.

The security guard still looks uncertain, but Ty is already heading back toward the hall. We're almost all the way there when I see the man pick up the phone. And suddenly I'm no longer Ilsa. I'm Cady, and I've got a gun in my hand, and I'm barking, “Put down the phone!”

The guard is as slow to react to my command as he was to decide there was something wrong with us. For a long moment I wonder what I'll do if he actually starts punching numbers.

But the phone finally clunks back into its cradle. The guard raises his hands. “Please don't hurt me,” he says, his voice shaking.

“Just do what we say, and everything will be all right.” Through an open door behind him, I see what looks like a small conference room, with a half dozen chairs around an empty table. “Get in there,” I say, gesturing with the gun. Ty pushes the cart with one hand while he grabs the twist of thin yellow nylon rope we bought at Home Depot with the other.

The guard walks ahead of us. There are already half moons of sweat under the arms of his light blue uniform shirt. I wonder how much he knows about what really goes on here, or if he knows anything.

While I hold the gun, Ty quickly searches the guard. He tosses the equipment belt and the contents of his pockets onto the cart, and then ties him up. The final step is to wrench the phone from the wall, the way we did at my house. We're getting to be old hands at this, so it doesn't even take that long.

We push the cart down the long hall, past the large room that holds the primary-colored toys and plastic furniture of the day care, then past a small cafeteria and a few offices. When we reach the elevator, I press the button for the third floor. Where my mom said the vaccine is, the vaccine Max needs to live.

 

CHAPTER 39

DAY 2, 9:22 P.M.

 

The first time I was in a lab was when I was twelve and came here for Take Your Daughter to Work day. Now that I've had high school chemistry, I know how impressive Z-Biotech's lab area is. Computers, gleaming microscopes, glass barriers with glove inserts, rows of glassware from tiny bottles to big beakers, stainless steel sinks operated by foot pedals, and hoods to keep any airborne contaminants from leaking into the room.

Tyler takes an audible breath. “The air seems weird in here.”

I wonder if he's thinking of the masks and gloves we chose not to put on. My mom said we didn't need them, and I want to be in and out of here as fast as possible.

“There's negative airflow. It keeps the air coming inside the room instead of going out.” If there was any kind of spill in here, it wouldn't spread through the vents to the rest of the building.

Rows of stainless steel doors line two of the walls. But not all of them belong to coolers I realize as I pull open the third one over and warm, moist air rolls out. Inside are racks and racks of white eggs.

Ty whistles. “So each one of those eggs has been injected with hantavirus?”

“I guess so.” Despite the warm air, I shiver. “How long did Elizabeth say it takes to grow the vaccine?”

“Months, wasn't it?”

Ty's eyes meet mine. It's like we're sharing the same thought. We're here to get the finished vaccine for Max, but if Z-Biotech can't offer this vaccine after it's finished growing, then it can't put its plan into place.

I close the door, then tap the temperature gauge above the warmer. “Look at this sensor. The eggs have to be incubated at a certain temperature. Three degrees hotter and they'll go into a danger zone.”

Ty squints. “I think that's three degrees Celsius. Do you know what that is in Fahrenheit?”

“Six? Ten? Whatever it is, it can't be that much. And then they'll start to cook.”

I start scrabbling around on the janitor's cart where Ty dumped the contents of the guard's pockets. I remember seeing a red and white pack of Marlboros, so there must be a lighter, right? At first, I'm looking for something lightweight, plastic and colorful, but I don't find it amid the coins, sticks of gum, and car keys. Then I realize what the guard really has is an old silver Zippo. I flip open the lid and thumb the wheel. A bright orange flame appears.

Ty and I grin at each other. Then I snap the lid closed, snuffing the flame.

Ty lifts the shredder off a wastebasket sitting next to one of the desks and starts pulling out handfuls of paper confetti, perfect for feeding a fire.

“How do you like your eggs?”

“Hard cooked.” I smile. “You get that going while I find the finished vaccine for Max. And then let's get out of here.”

At the other end of the room, I pull open the third door from the left, the one where my mom said I would find the vaccine. This time it's a real cooler. The shelves are crowded. I push small plastic bottles from one side to the other. With every second, my anxiety level increases. What if they moved the vaccine to another room? What if someone has knocked it over or used it up? My mom thought it was on the top shelf, but I don't find it there. Not on the second either. It's not until I check the third shelf that I find it. It doesn't look like much, just a clear plastic bottle with a handwritten label that reads
HV VACCINE
. Suddenly, the band that's been constricting my heart loosens.

I'm ready to drop it into the insulated lunch bag we brought from home to keep the vaccine cool, but my thoughts keep turning. When the first workers show up tomorrow, they'll untie the security guard. And Nowell will hear about how two teens broke in. He'll know who we are. What he won't know is why we were here, why we came to the last place he'd expect us to be. He'll hunt for clues explaining why we were here by looking for what's missing. If he figures out it's the vaccine, he might guess it's my brother who's in trouble. He knows my parents are already vaccinated.

The less Nowell knows or guesses, the better. I need to throw him off the trail. I think of a plan.

A minute later, I hear a door close. I think it's Ty shutting the door to the warmer, but when I turn to look at him, his expression is frozen. I know, even before I follow his gaze, that we're in big trouble.

A man is standing in the doorway, holding a gun. With a swept-back mane of silver hair, he's dressed in a well-cut dark suit that goes a long way to hiding his bulk. I look down at his feet. At the sight of his oxblood shoes, my blood chills.

He smiles at me, a smile that stops before it reaches his cold gray eyes. “Well, hello, Cady. Like a bad penny, you just keep turning up. Only this time you've brought a friend.” Kirk Nowell's familiar voice sounds cheerful. It's the voice of a morning TV show host. But the look in his eyes gives him away, calculating and mean.

“I have a little problem,” Nowell says. “Elizabeth isn't answering her phone. And yet she's here at the lab in the middle of the night. When she's supposed to be getting you to reveal your parents' whereabouts. And then I realized that someone must be using her ID badge.”

“How did you know anyone was here?” I ask. My voice pleases me. It's as calm as his.

His laugh sounds like something breaking. With his free hand, he taps a phone protruding from his breast pocket. “There's an app for that.” The false smile leaves his face.

My expression doesn't change. I won't let him see how afraid I am. Not just for me but for Max and Ty. If I don't bring back the vaccine, Max will die.

The only reason I won't bring back the vaccine is if I'm dead myself.

Which seems just like the kind of thing Nowell wants.

I can already imagine him adding another chapter to the story he's been writing about me. He'll say I broke in here looking for animal tranquilizers or stuff to steal, and that during a confrontation he was forced to kill me and the one-step-up-from-homeless guy I had picked up along the way. And after he's managed to hunt down and really kill my brother as well as my parents, he'll work out a way to make it look like I did that, too. Killed them as part of my drug-addled spree. Just like I supposedly killed Officer Dillow.