Enfield, Dr. Saxon Belcraft felt as utterly dazed and blank as the cop had looked. On impulse, recalling the squawk of the police radio, he twisted the dial of his own. A burst of rock music. A deodorant commercial. A country singer wailing. He snapped it off.
Red neon flashed ahead. ENBARD MO EL. The building looked shabby and deserted when he slowed for it, no cars in sight. He drove on to look for a phone, for any news from Enfield, perhaps a room for the rest of the night.
A yellow light slowed him again, blinking in the middle of the road. His headlamps picked up two farm tractors and a battered station wagon parked in position to block the pavement. He stopped and rolled the window down.
A thick rank scent swept over him, the jungle reek of weeds and undergrowth the tractor wheels had crushed. Nothing moved anywhere. The hot night seemed oddly quiet till he heard the throb of a helicopter far overhead. A sudden searchlight blazed into his face.
“Listen! You at the barrier!” A bullhorn behind the searchlight, hoarsely braying. “Stop where you are. Turn back now.”
He climbed out of the car and stood squinting into the glare, trying to shield his eyes.
“Get this! You by the car. You are in an emergency safety zone, created under military authority, now policed by Task Force Watchdog. The flasher marks the perimeter. Exit forbidden. Get back and stay back.”
“Why?” He blinked into the blinding light. “What’s hap—”
“Warning! The perimeter is closed. Turn your car. Get away and stay away!”
He tried to shout again, but his voice had dried up. For a moment all he could hear was the chopper’s steady beat.
“Get this!” the bullhorn boomed. “You on the road. You are a suspect carrier. You are confined to the quarantine zone. If you don’t move, we’ll obey orders. Fire to kill!”
He backed away. The searchlight followed. Still blinded, he felt the car jolt off the pavement. He stopped till the beam went on to light a narrow bridge and pick up black shadow-clots of brush and trees in a shallow valley below. He saw no movement anywhere. The bullhorn gone silent, all he could hear was the chopper’s throb, the heart of the dark. When he could see, he drove back toward Enfield.
Suspect carrier?
The words echoed in his mind like a tolling gong. The city’s knell, perhaps his own. The darkness settled suddenly on him, suffocating. All he could see was the yellow flasher, growing fainter in the rearview mirror. Breathing hard, he shuddered.
Could he get out?
With luck enough, perhaps he might. Whatever the forces on the perimeter, they must have been called up on very short notice. Perhaps he could find some back road not yet watched. If he drove without lights, perhaps the chopper couldn’t follow. Or would the crew have infrared detectors?
At worst, he might abandon the car and strike out on foot. The moon had been full last weekend—-the night Midge left, he had walked under it for endless hours, fighting the truth and the pain. Now it would be rising soon after midnight, perhaps in time to help—
That panic impulse died. The shape of danger was still invisible, remote enough to be denied. Speaking to Jeri only this morning, he had heard no desperate alarm.
He left the headlamps on. Deliberately, he took a deep breath and slowed the car, searching for all he could recall about EnGene. Pharmaceutical reps calling at the office had told him more about it than he had ever heard from Vic.
A pioneer among the hopeful new outfits set up to exploit genetic engineering, it was rumored to be creating miracle endorphins and interferons, magical antibiotics, and fabulous new vaccines, but no EnGene salesman had ever called on him to offer any such wonders.
Had Vic been involved? Perhaps with some synthetic microbe meant to heal but somehow turned malign? He shook his head, trying not to consider that. The imagined perils of genetic research had always alarmed a few crackpots, but
Red neon flashed ahead. ENBARD MO EL. The building looked shabby and deserted when he slowed for it, no cars in sight. He drove on to look for a phone, for any news from Enfield, perhaps a room for the rest of the night.
A yellow light slowed him again, blinking in the middle of the road. His headlamps picked up two farm tractors and a battered station wagon parked in position to block the pavement. He stopped and rolled the window down.
A thick rank scent swept over him, the jungle reek of weeds and undergrowth the tractor wheels had crushed. Nothing moved anywhere. The hot night seemed oddly quiet till he heard the throb of a helicopter far overhead. A sudden searchlight blazed into his face.
“Listen! You at the barrier!” A bullhorn behind the searchlight, hoarsely braying. “Stop where you are. Turn back now.”
He climbed out of the car and stood squinting into the glare, trying to shield his eyes.
“Get this! You by the car. You are in an emergency safety zone, created under military authority, now policed by Task Force Watchdog. The flasher marks the perimeter. Exit forbidden. Get back and stay back.”
“Why?” He blinked into the blinding light. “What’s hap—”
“Warning! The perimeter is closed. Turn your car. Get away and stay away!”
He tried to shout again, but his voice had dried up. For a moment all he could hear was the chopper’s steady beat.
“Get this!” the bullhorn boomed. “You on the road. You are a suspect carrier. You are confined to the quarantine zone. If you don’t move, we’ll obey orders. Fire to kill!”
He backed away. The searchlight followed. Still blinded, he felt the car jolt off the pavement. He stopped till the beam went on to light a narrow bridge and pick up black shadow-clots of brush and trees in a shallow valley below. He saw no movement anywhere. The bullhorn gone silent, all he could hear was the chopper’s throb, the heart of the dark. When he could see, he drove back toward Enfield.
Suspect carrier?
The words echoed in his mind like a tolling gong. The city’s knell, perhaps his own. The darkness settled suddenly on him, suffocating. All he could see was the yellow flasher, growing fainter in the rearview mirror. Breathing hard, he shuddered.
Could he get out?
With luck enough, perhaps he might. Whatever the forces on the perimeter, they must have been called up on very short notice. Perhaps he could find some back road not yet watched. If he drove without lights, perhaps the chopper couldn’t follow. Or would the crew have infrared detectors?
At worst, he might abandon the car and strike out on foot. The moon had been full last weekend—-the night Midge left, he had walked under it for endless hours, fighting the truth and the pain. Now it would be rising soon after midnight, perhaps in time to help—
That panic impulse died. The shape of danger was still invisible, remote enough to be denied. Speaking to Jeri only this morning, he had heard no desperate alarm.
He left the headlamps on. Deliberately, he took a deep breath and slowed the car, searching for all he could recall about EnGene. Pharmaceutical reps calling at the office had told him more about it than he had ever heard from Vic.
A pioneer among the hopeful new outfits set up to exploit genetic engineering, it was rumored to be creating miracle endorphins and interferons, magical antibiotics, and fabulous new vaccines, but no EnGene salesman had ever called on him to offer any such wonders.
Had Vic been involved? Perhaps with some synthetic microbe meant to heal but somehow turned malign? He shook his head, trying not to consider that. The imagined perils of genetic research had always alarmed a few crackpots, but
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