'No, it was something else,' Pitt said. 'A scraping noise.'
Jonathan reached up and felt the top of his head. 'Something's fallen on me. Dust or something.' He looked up. 'Uh oh, there's someone up there.'
Everyone looked up. Only now did they appreciate that there was no ceiling. Above the rafters it was darker than below in the room. But now that their eyes had adjusted to the low level of illumination they could just make out a figure in the attic space, standing on the joists.
Pitt reached down and snatched up a tire iron from the debris on the floor.
'Drop it,' a raspy voice called down. With surprising speed the figure dropped out of the attic by swinging down on one hand. In his other hand he held an impressive Colt .45. He studied his visitors with a steady eye. He was a man in his early sixties with ruddy skin, curly gray hair, and a wiry frame.
'Drop the club,' the man repeated.
Pitt abandoned the tire iron by tossing noisily onto the floor and held up his hands.
'I'm Jumpin Jack Flash,' Jonathan said excitedly while repeatedly tapping his chest. 'It was my name on the Internet. Are you Dr. M?'
'I might be,' the man said.
'My real name is Jonathan. Jonathan Sellers.'
'I'm Dr. Sheila Miller.'
'And I'm Pitt Henderson.'
'Were you checking us out?' Jonathan asked. 'Is that why you were hiding up in the rafters?'
'Maybe,' the man said. Then he motioned for his three guests to move into the storeroom.
Pitt was hesitant. 'We're friends. Really we are. We're normal people.'
'Get!' the man said while extending the pistol toward Pitt's face.
Pitt had never seen a .45 before, particularly not from the point of view of looking directly down the dark, threatening barrel.
'I'm going,' Pitt said.
'All of you,' the man said.
Reluctantly everyone crowded into the dark storeroom.
'Turn around and face me,' the man said.
Fearful about what was going to happen, everyone did as he was told. With throats that had gone completely dry they eyed this sinewy man who'd literally dropped in on them. The man returned their stare. There was a moment of silence.
'I know what you are doing,' Pitt said. 'You're checking our eyes. You're looking to see if our eyes glow!'
The man nodded finally. 'You're right,' he said. 'And I'm pleased to report, they don't shine at all. Good!' He bolstered his .45. 'My name's McCay. Dr. Harlan McCay. And I guess we'll be working together. I'm glad to see you people, really I am.'
With great relief Pitt and Jonathan shadowed the man out into the sunlight where they shook hands enthusiastically. Sheila followed but seemed irritated over the initial reception. She complained that he'd terrified her.
'Sorry,' Harlan said. 'I didn't mean to scare you, but being careful is a product of the times. But that's all behind us now. Let's get you over to where you'll be working. I'm afraid we don't have a lot of time if we're going to have any effect whatsoever.'
'You have a lab or someplace to work?' Sheila questioned. Her mood brightened.
'Yeah,' Harlan said. 'I got a little lab. But we need to drive a ways. It'll take about twenty minutes.' He opened the van's slider and climbed in. Pitt got behind the wheel. Sheila took the front passenger seat, and Jonathan joined Harlan.
Pitt started the van. 'Where to?' he asked.
'Straight on;' Harlan said. 'I'll let you know when to turn.'
'Were you in private practice before all this trouble?' Sheila asked as the van pulled out into the road.
'Yes and no,' Harlan said. 'The first part of my professional life was spent at UCLA in an academic position. I was trained in internal medicine with a subspecialty in immunology. But about five years ago I realized I was burned out, so I came out here and started a general practice in a little town called Paswell. It's just a blip on the map. I worked a lot with Native Americans on the surrounding reservations.'
'Immunology!' Sheila commented. She was impressed. 'No wonder you were sending us such interesting stuff.'
'I could say the same to you,' Harlan said. 'What's your training?'
'Unfortunately mostly emergency medicine,' Sheila admitted. 'I did do an internal medicine residency, though.'
'Emergency medicine!' Harlan commented. 'Then I'm even more impressed with the sophistication of your data. I thought I was communicating with a fellow immunologist.'
'I'm afraid I can't take the credit,' Sheila said. 'Jonathan's mother was with us then, and she was a virologist. She did most of the work.'
'Sounds like I shouldn't be asking where she is now,' Harlan said.
'We don't know where she is,' Jonathan said quickly. 'She went to a pharmacy last night to get some drugs and didn't come back.'
'I'm sorry,' Harlan said.
'She'll contact me on the Internet,' Jonathan said, not about to give up hope.
They drove for a few minutes in silence. No one wanted to contradict Jonathan.
'Are we heading for Paswell now?' Sheila asked. The idea of being in a town had a lot of appeal. She wanted a shower and a bed.
'Heavens no,' Harlan said. 'Everybody's infected there.'
'How did you manage to avoid being infected yourself?' Pitt asked.
'Dumb luck at first,' Harlan said. 'I happened to be with a friend at the moment he got stung by one of those black discs, so I avoided them like the plague. Then when I got an inkling of what was happening and that there wasn't anything I could do, I took to the desert. I've been out here ever since.'
'How does being out here in the desert account for the data you were requesting and sending?' Sheila asked.
'I told you,' Harlan said. 'I got a little lab.'
Sheila looked out her side of the van. The featureless desert stretched off toward distant mountains. There weren't any buildings, much less a biological laboratory. She began to worry about how many marbles Harlan McCay was dealing with beneath his shock of gray hair.
'I do have a bit of encouraging news,' Harlan said. 'Once you were able to give me the amino acid sequence of the enabling protein, and I was able to make some, I've developed a rather crude monoclonal antibody.'
Sheila's head spun around. She studied the leathery-faced, blue-eyed, stubbled desert man with disbelief. ''Are you sure?' she asked.
'Sure I'm sure,' Harlan said. 'But don't get bent out of shape, because it's not as specific as I'd like. But it works. The main point is that I've proven the protein is antigenic enough to elicit an antibody response in a mouse. I just have to select out a better B lymphocyte to make my hybridoma cell.'
Pitt hazarded a quick glance at Sheila. Despite having had a number of advanced biology courses, Pitt had no idea what Harlan was talking about or even whether he was making sense. Yet Sheila was obviously extraordinarily impressed.
'To make a monoclonal antibody you need sophisticated reagents and materials, like a source of myeloma cells,' Sheila said.
'No doubt,' Harlan said. 'Take a right up here, Pitt, just beyond that cactus.'
'But there's no road,' Pitt said.
'A mere technicality,' Harlan said. 'Turn anyway.'
Cassy awoke from a short nap, got up from the bed, and went to the large, multipaned window. She was in a guest room on the second floor of the mansion facing south. To the left she could see a line of pedestrian traffic coming and going on the driveway. Directly ahead, her view of the grounds was limited by a tall, leafy tree. To the
