Toxic (80 page)

How many intelligent species did it contain?

The Lynian who had saved her walked up to her.

"I want to talk to him," Elaine said.

Richardson protested.

"He won't hurt me," she assured him, throwing her leg over the security barrier.

Loyal to his direct ways, the alien didn't bother with human courtesy forms.

"Our time is now limited. The mercenaries have satellites and surveillance drones, and will attack this platform sooner or later."

At least he wasn't being indirect.

"I doubt that we can move the laboratory and vats so quickly."

The creature pointed to Richardson. "Is he in charge of Site A?"

She confirmed it.

"So, I need to talk with him. I need to see the facilities. You're going to work with the Säzkari."

Thrown off-guard by the efficiency of his actions against her, she remained silent. He didn't even ask her opinion.

A powerful, animal voice erupted all of a sudden. It was that of the third alien, which looked like a dinosaur.

"I understand that you are a sort of doctor."

From her courses on biology, she remembered that reptiles had an array of different sizes, ranging from small, carnivore raptors to immense herbivores. He was a lot bigger than her and with one punch, he could decapitate her. His armor amplified that massive effect.

"Um... Yes, I'm a nurse."

"OK. There's only a little time for you to show me your revival procedures."

The scales, the bony lips, the claws and the split pupils evoked the features of a reptile without a doubt. Maybe if that comet hadn't hit Earth... She interrupted her thoughts, remembering that the impact crater was in the waters of the Gulf. Elaine lowered her eyes towards the surface.

"I hope I haven't offended you," the alien excused himself. "In fact, this is the first time I have addressed a living human."

"Uh, no," the nurse stuttered, completely lost.

"The site belongs to Florida Power and Light," Jon explained. "It fed all of the south of Florida with its two nuclear reactors and two thermal power plants."

Hector watched the presentation, but kept from sharing his feelings or mentioning the past. The area resembled a prison and he had already tasted that universe of cameras, walls, watchtowers and bars. Even if none of it worked, the memory was poignant enough to give him a feeling of disgust.

"It held up to the hurricanes?"

"The reactor casings were designed to stand up to winds up to three hundred seventy-eight kilometers per hour, much more than the maximum speed of those cyclones."

"You seem quite well-informed for an oil-field worker," the Colombian remarked.

"We tried to get one of the thermal plants back up online again. A task which was obviously impossible without a working digital system. At least we tried."

The trafficker frowned, watching the men unloading the bags of drugs from the speedboats grounded on the concrete ramp. Under cover, he spotted three vehicles under camouflage canvas sheets. These guys were organized and each one knew his job. They found themselves beside two immense reservoirs, which without a doubt contained the fuel for the plants.

Once the unloading and reloading was finished, they set out in groups of four per vehicle. Hector got in the pickup in front with Jon. The model must have dated back to the seventies, before the widespread use of onboard electronics.

"These are good, American mechanics. We maintain them," Jon said, "but we'll need more spare parts soon. Nothing is forever, eh?"

They left the area and drove around the cisterns, whose colors were faded by the effects of the weather. Rust trickled down the joints between the metal sheets. The road turned to the right and covered the area, which was previously dedicated to energy production, if they could judge by the transformers, which were in terrible state.

Further along, Hector raised an eyebrow as they passed by the statue of a tyrannosaurus beside a stop sign.

"Rumors have it that some of the aliens look like them."

"Not the one you have back there," Hector said.

"No."

The convoy drove at full speed along Palm Drive. They passed a former tourism complex lost in the middle of conquering vegetation. Hector noticed several wandering shadows on an abandoned tennis court.

Bruce, his hands on his hips and his breath short, turned towards the colonel.

"We can't cross it. It's too dangerous. We might run into an alligator."

The trail had led them to a drainage canal. Florida was nothing more than a giant swamp, and channels like this one crisscrossed its surface. Masters swore. Dan and his men were on their heels. However, the young man was right.

"I agree; we're going to go to the left."

They ran along the dirt trail bordered by palm trees for almost four hundred meters before reaching an intersection. The space allowed for the passage of 4x4 vehicles and Masters didn't like that. Disappearing into the scenery seemed like a better idea to him. There, in the middle of nowhere, he had the impression of making his enemies' job easier. Concrete light posts ran along the ditches in two interminable parallel lines that were lost in the distance. Sections of cables hung loosely to the ground.

"That way," Masters decided.

The road probably led away from residential areas, he thought. He couldn't see them but behind the wall of vegetation, there were probably subdivisions. They needed to find a place to hide.

"The problem with abandoned neighborhoods," Bruce revealed, "is the L-Ds."

"It's that or those madmen," Alva whispered. "In our position..."

"It'll be night soon," Masters added. "We can't spend the night outside. Because of that, we need to get to finding a safe place right away. Exploring is time-consuming and with two kids, we can't do it last minute."

The biologist and the diva nodded. Dewei and Alison approved the group's decision with a glance.

"And the nutjobs that are after us?"

"For the moment, they're behind us. If we keep a low profile, maybe they will leave us be."

The singer laughed. "Really? Do you actually think so?"

"We don't have a choice, so let's go."

Masters climbed the embankment and forced his way through the tangle of bamboo and trunks. They ended up at a property. The crossbars of a playground were withstanding the attack of plants, which found them to be the ideal frame. The empty pool was strewn with debris of all types. They crossed the garden on their guard and then the road between the two houses.

An unhinged gate led outside, to a dead end. The group gave themselves a moment beside the traffic circle marking the end of the road. Their gazes scrutinized the postcard eaten away by time. America had cloned this sort of residential area in millions of examples, propagating the bewitching dream of a golden life in the suburbs. There were no longer any lawns attended with maniacal care. The houses were collapsing and cracks were broken into the asphalt among the remains of sedans.

"Separating is too risky, so keep close. Keep your eyes open."

He took a moment to look at each of the tired faces.

"We also need to find weapons. Knives, machetes, axes; anything to defend ourselves if things go wrong. I prefer to use the 45 as a last resort. On one hand, I barely have any ammo and if we use it, we're going to arouse the L-Ds and the guys who attacked us."

Each house they visited took away from their allotment of minutes and none of them met Masters' criteria. The ideal hideout had to have a second floor, a clear view and not be in a cul-de-sac, which excluded the numerous dead ends. Unrelentingly, they approached the entrance to the subdivision. Alva demanded that they stop somewhere finally. She seemed to be at her rope's end.

The house was located in front of a playground. Barely fifty meters separated them from a street, which led to the neighborhood beside them.

"That's strange," Bruce shared. "We haven't run into any L-Ds. It's as if they've been cleared from the area. Normally, there are always a few hanging around, but here, none."

"Don't speak too soon. We're far from getting out of this mess."

The colonel inspected the house, an improvised javelin in his hand. The wood lance, although rudimentary, would be enough to slay an L-D. The four rooms and the bathroom seemed to be in an acceptable state to him, more so than the rooms on the ground floor.

He took the room closest to the stairs and gave the next one to Dew and Alison. He preferred to know they were together, just beside his room. Bruce took the third room and Alva the last, at the end of the hallway.

"Nobody leaves," Masters ordered.

"What are we going to eat?" Alison then asked.

"I'm going to see what I can find in the kitchen," Alva proposed.

The colonel furrowed his eyebrows but left the singer to her initiative. He thought it was a good idea for her to be occupied rather than to stay in the room to brood over her withdrawal.

The convoy had to slow down and then come to a complete stop. For the third time, the men got out of the pickups to move a wreck from the road. Hector helped. The car finally rolled onto the shoulder before crashing into the briny water of the ditch. Behind the undergrowth, the Colombian made out pillars supporting sets of spotlights.

"What was there?"

"The Homestead race track," Jon told him.

"Stock-car races?"

"The good old days. The smell of tailpipes and the revving of motors... Let's go, back on the road."

Further along, after the intersection leading to the sports complex, the road became a four-lane highway. They ran into a few abandoned vehicles but their path was clear, as if someone had cleared the passage, Hector thought.

The sheik's ass appeared on the left, two or three kilometers away. According to the alien's information, the group had chosen to hide out in a property surrounded by a wall and moat. On paper, the place seemed to have an acceptable level of security. Therefore, his friends had no reason to leave it.

Once they were there, he though in disillusion.

The pickups slowed down while approaching the bridge. The gate and the numerous tattered or decapitated corpses didn't indicate anything good. Only the worst.

"
Madre de Dios
," the Colombian muttered, observing the scope of the carnage.

"I don't want to be the bird of ill omen, but it looks like your friends had a bone to pick with a horde."

One vehicle remained outside and its occupants got into position to defend the point of entrance. The two others went into the property. When they discovered the state of the facade, Hector closed his eyes.

The men deployed around the building. The trafficker climbed the stairs and stopped in the middle of the patio covered in pieces of bodies. Two legs remained standing on their own, cut off just above the knees.

"My mistake. The problem wasn't the zombies," Jon realized.

"High-caliber, isn't it?"

"Fifty caliber, roughly. Serious firepower."

Inside, the chaos told the same story. The bullet holes on the walls, the broken furniture and the dried guts testified to the violence of the attack. In one room, Hector found a backpack, which he showed to Jon, who remained staring at a wall filled with Chinese characters and numbers.

"Was there a Chinese person in your group?" the leader of the expedition asked.

Hector hesitated. He had promised to not mention him, but maybe he would learn something more about the Asian.

"
Sí
. This backpack belonged to him."

He held it out to him.

"The
chica
picked him up in Key West. He didn't speak and communicated with the group by writing in a notebook."

Jon discovered the notebook and skimmed through it.

"Where did you find him exactly?" he asked after having turned a few pages.

"In the port at Key West. According to Elaine, he was walking in the middle of the quay. But, that's not even the strangest part..."

"Shit!" Jon cut him off suddenly.

"What?"

Jon ran out in a hurry. He ran up to one of his men. The Colombian followed him up to in front of the house.

"Is there a problem?"

"Your friend is Dewei Li-Peng."

Hector wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve.

"When did you find him?"

"I don't really remember," the Colombian hesitated.

"Try; this is important," Jon urged him.

"That's what the
chica
always said. That he's important."

"Because she's right. Dewei came out of one of our vats."

The news nailed him to the spot.

"You mean that..."

"What I mean is that we need to get him back right away."

"How did you lose him?"

"He escaped when we were on land. We wanted to see if Dewei could readjust to his environment. He didn't speak and the doc thought we needed to stimulate him."

"What happened?"

"A group of zombies," Jon left off. "Dewei and the doctor were isolated. We discovered the remains of the doc in an alley, but not a trace of our subject, as if he had flown away."

That sure seemed like the Asian, Hector thought.

"Yeah, he does that a lot."

"Why didn't Elaine say anything about him?" Jon asked in a suspicious tone.

"
No lo sé
. The
chica
has her reasons. She wanted to protect him, I imagine."

Spacious and equipped with an island and numerous drawers and cupboards, the kitchen was typical of the American family model, a dream now shattered. Alva swept away the broken dishes on the tile with her feet. One of the doors of the refrigerator was hanging from its hinges. The two sinks were filled with indescribable filth, the color and smell of which made her scowl. There were still the top cupboards, she told herself, raising her eyes. She repressed the shaking in her arms. Her withdrawal was coming back. Even stronger than the first crisis, she predicted.

She managed to open the first one. The package of cereal that she grabbed groping around fell on the floor. A trio of cockroaches scurried out of it. The diva put a hand to her mouth and walked to the French door, which she stepped over before puking up bile onto a balcony invaded by uncontrolled weeds.