“And what was that delivery system supposed to be for?” Kate asked.
“It was supposed to deliver a set of genes targeting specific human cells,” Ron said.
“Hold up,” Sammy said. “What kind of genes are we talking about?”
“The genes were made to reverse the effects of VX-99 and X9H9.”
“Oh, my God,” Kate muttered. Then she recalled where she had heard of the company before. “I remember OrgoProct’s reports years ago during the Great War. They were one of the many labs that tried to find a cure for X9H9 back when I was also searching for it. The government was enlisting every lab, every scientist they possibly could. But obviously OrgoProct didn’t succeed, did they?”
“I don’t think so,” he said. “The last report was sent two days before you developed the bioweapon called VariantX9H9.”
Kate winced at the name of the bioweapon, guilt eating at her for what she had created. It was meant to destroy the monsters that X9H9 had created. It worked, killing most. But it also had unintended consequences, turning those that survived into the Variants that plagued the world today.
All of that seemed like a lifetime ago, but now it was more relevant than ever.
“Can I see that last report?” Kate asked.
She took the paper from Ron, skimming through the lengthy graphs and tables of data until she reached the final summary.
We’re losing time. Most of our staff has succumbed to X9H9, including myself. I don’t have the luxury to prepare for human trials, so instead I will try our cure on myself. I can already feel the fever settling in and the nausea. If this is the last transmission from us, you will know we failed. OrgoProct’s efforts to reverse the genetic effects caused by X9H9 will have failed. The angel of death will have swept through the final survivors in Los Alamos National Labs.
I only wish we could have had more time.
-Charles Morgan, OrgoProct Chief Scientific Officer
“Los Alamos?” Kate asked.
Ron nodded. “Like many research companies, they were frequent users of Los Alamos National Laboratories. Much of their early research creating computational models of X9H9 and VX-99 took place there.”
“I see,” Kate said. “So this Charles Morgan? Is he our guy?”
“Sounds like he might’ve died after he administered his own drug, huh?” Sammy said.
Ron shrugged. “There’s no way to confirm it.”
“But if he was trying to reverse the genetic effects of X9H9 at the same time we deployed VariantX9H9 across the nation, what if there was some kind of genetic interference?” Kate asked. “What if our bioweapon negatively interacted with the effects of his?”
Ron nearly stumbled. “You’re saying…”
Even Sammy followed their train of logic now. “Chimeras. His engineered drugs reversed some of the genetic changes as intended, but your VariantX9H9 made other changes.”
“It’s just a theory,” Kate said. “It might be entirely wrong.”
“But it fits, I think you might be onto something.” Ron looked at the ceiling as if deep in thought. “Maybe I can run some simulations, see if this theory holds any merit.”
“Okay,” Kate said.
Ron started to head toward the stairs.
Something else bothered Kate. Thanks to Ron’s list, they were able to explain the various hives of New God and mastermind activity they had discovered throughout the Allied States. But there was one city name that she hadn’t heard.
“Ron, wait,” she called out. “Was OrgoProct located in Vegas? Is that why there’s so much Variant activity there?”
Ron looked at his notebook. “No, OrgoProct was in Santa Fe, close to Los Alamos.”
“Were any of those research groups you mentioned in Vegas?”
“Not a single one.”
“Then why are the New Gods there, especially if OrgoProct was in New Mexico?”
“I don’t know,” Ron said.
Kate wanted to be satisfied with the revelations he had uncovered, but the fact they had found no connections between the New Gods, Vegas, and any of these researchers and their respective research groups nagged at her.
They were missing something, and there was almost no time to find out what.
“We’ve got to tell Ringgold,” Kate said. “I don’t know if this Charles Morgan is our guy or if OrgoProct somehow became the epicenter of the New Gods in Los Alamos, but soldiers are dying in Las Vegas and if the Prophet isn’t actually there, it’s all for nothing.”
— 13 —
Timothy crouched in the darkness. Gunfire sounded from nearly every direction. The flash of tracer fire coursed through the black night, and beasts howled and roared.
So far, the attacks had come in random intervals from packs of three or four.
Timothy glanced at the Wynn hotel though his NVGs. While the name was still visible, most of the front glass façade had shattered. Only sporadic panes of glass remained. Each of the dark rooms was a potential sniper position for collaborators or Scions.
Every step felt like it could be his last, his nerves tight from the potential of a sniper bullet.
While Wong was on point and Boyd watched their back on rearguard, Ruckley remained closer to him, watching the windows and rooftops.
Ahead he saw another hotel that had fallen into utter disrepair. The letters on the building’s side said “SURE ISLAND”.
Wong paused next to a military truck with deflated, rotten tires. Claw marks scarred the paint. He pointed to his eyes, then toward their right to what looked like the entrance to a mall nearly forty yards away.
Webbing stretched from the broken glass doors and windows, curling over the concrete. There was no mistaking the shadows moving within the structure. Pale creatures crawled over the tangled vines.
Ruckley pulled out her infrared binoculars and scanned the neighboring buildings. Then she gestured toward a sight that Timothy recognized from his briefings: The Grand Canal Shoppes at the Venetian.
That was their target.
Ruckley handed the binos to Timothy.
Another squad of soldiers was hunched down across the street. She exchanged hand signals with the other team lead.
Dozens of Variants crawled over
