It was after three in the morning, and she was still in the lab. Saul was going to kill her. Ordinarily, he gave her a lot of leeway. He was just as invested in the cure as she was, after all. But even he drew the line at all-nighters. As her self-appointed guardian, he made sure she didn’t run herself into the ground, workaholic that she was. He got overprotective at times. Domineering. But Tara didn’t mind. It was nice to have someone around who cared about her. Someone who had her back, no matter what.
Tara frowned. “Speaking of which, where is Saul? He should’ve dragged me out of here ages ago.”
Working on auto-pilot, she backed up her latest research and tucked the removable hard drive into her pocket. She’d learned her lesson in the Congo. Now she carried her work with her wherever she went. It was too valuable to lose, no matter how many times she hit a wall. The virus was tricky. It kept adapting, learning, changing.
In the Congo, it became airborne, which enabled it to spread rapidly across the globe. Especially with the seventy-two hour incubation period. Sick people were able to travel and work in the early stages, infecting others. The remaining population proved resistant to the airborne strain, but none were immune to a bite. The concentration of the virus in a zombie’s saliva was too potent. At times, she despaired of ever creating a real, workable vaccine and cure, even with her latest success story: Dylan.
Tara pushed back her chair, ready to call it a night when the sirens went off. First one, then another, and another until they formed one uniform wail designed to alert all inhabitants of a breach.
Terror ran down her spine with an icy touch. Not once since she’d gotten to Fort Knox had there been a breach. “Oh, no. This is bad. This is really, really bad. Saul, where are you?”
Tara gripped the stock of the sawed-off double-barrel shotgun she carried at her waist. Saul had taught her how to use it. Since she was no great shot, he reckoned the shotgun was her best bet. It would obliterate anything close to her without needing any real expertise. She also carried a knife and a bandolier filled with extra shells, though she’d never had to use it. Not with Saul around.
She was about to leave when the lights went off, plunging the lab into darkness. Tara froze, her heart on in her throat. She reached out with her free hand and edged her way around her desk. She had to find Saul. Who knew how bad the breach was?
As she inched her way in the general direction of the exit, her foot hooked on a stray wire. With a yelp, Tara tipped forward, arms windmilling in a failed attempt to stay upright. She crashed to the floor, and her head connected with the corner of a table. Her brain exploded with white-hot agony, and stars filled her vision.
She lay crumpled on the floor, one hand pressed to her temple while she fought to stay awake. It was a doomed effort. The tiled floor was cold beneath her cheek, inviting her to relax. To let the pain fade away as her consciousness dipped into oblivion. With a faint moan, Tara gave up the struggle.
***
She leaned on the wooden railing of the boat, staring down into the dark green depths of the Congo river. It hid a myriad of dangers as she’d experienced first-hand a couple of days before during their narrow escape. Crocodiles, hippos, tiger fish, and who knew what else?
She hated it. Hated the jungle with its predatory creatures and hostile inhabitants. Hated the mosquitoes and gnats that plagued her existence. Hated the heat, the sun, and the oppressive humidity. Most of all, she hated that she was stuck in the middle of nowhere while the whole world was going to shit, and she could do nothing about it. All those hours spent researching the Vita virus, and for what?
“Are you okay?” Saul asked, interrupting her thoughts.
Tara scratched at an insect bite, the spot already raw and suppurating. Just one more sore to add to the many others marring her tender skin. “I’m alright, I guess.”
“No, you’re not.” His dark brown eyes surveyed her, cataloging every misery she was experiencing with shrewd calculation. “You’re not made for this country. This environment.”
“No, I’m not. It’s awful. How can anyone live here?” Tara complained with an audible groan. “How can you?”
Saul shrugged. “It’s in the blood. You’re born to it, or it calls to you.”
“The only thing calling to me is a cold shower and a soft bed.”
He chuckled. “It’s not always this bad. Africa has many great and wonderful things to offer, as well.” He rested one hip on the railing. His muscled frame was relaxed in the same way as a panther at rest — calm one second and in full-blown action mode the next.
Since their camp had been overrun, she’d gotten to know him much better. In many ways, he was a wonder: Skilled at arms, fighting, and survival tactics. Ideally suited to the hostile environment of Africa. Even the zombies didn’t appear to faze him. To him, they were simply another danger to add to an already long list.
In other aspects, he was still a mystery. She didn’t know much about his history, and he wasn’t prone to sharing either. Not a big talker, she’d gotten used to long periods of silence between them. It didn’t bother her. They understood each other, and that was enough.
One of Saul’s men cheered as he wrestled a colossal fish onto the deck, and Saul nodded with approval. “We’ll eat well tonight.”
The soldiers spent most of their days fishing. It was a means to
