The 6th Extinction (Sigma Force 10)

Drake read for a bit longer. “She was definitely not against it.”

Jenna took in a deep breath. “We should relay this to the sheriff’s department and Director Crowe. That Camry is an ’09 model. Likely equipped with a GPS unit.”

“And with the VIN number,” Bill said, “we should be able to track its location.”

“It’s worth checking out,” Jenna agreed.

Drake stood up and waved for her to follow. “In the meantime, we should get back to the helicopter. Be ready to move once we have a location.”

Jenna felt a measure of pride at being included—not that she would’ve had it any other way.

“Go.” Bill reached for a phone. “I’ll set everything in motion and alert you as soon as I hear something.”

With Nikko in tow, Jenna and Drake hurried out of the office and across the visitors’ center to the front doors. As she exited, a few cold raindrops struck her face.

She studied the skies and didn’t like what she saw.

A spatter of lightning lit the underbellies of a stack of black clouds.

Drake frowned, matching her expression. “We’re running out of time.”

He was right.

Jenna rushed for the waiting vehicle.

Somebody had better come up with some answers—and quick.

8:04 A.M.

Lisa studied the rat in the cage, watching it root in the bedding, pushing its pink nose through the wood shavings. She empathized with the tiny creature, feeling equally trapped and threatened.

The test subject sat in a cage that was divided into two sections separated by a dense HEPA filter. On the opposite side was a black pile of dust—debris from one of the dead plants.

She typed a note into the computer, a challenging task with the thick gloves of her BSL4 suit.

FIVE HOURS AND NO SIGN OF TRANSMISSION.

They had run a series of trials with various pore sizes and thicknesses of filters, trying to evaluate the size of the infectious agent. So far this was the only rat that continued to show no signs of contamination. The others were all sick or dying from multi-organ failure.

She struggled not to think about her brother, entombed in the patient containment unit across the hangar.

Hours ago, she had performed a necropsy with a histopathologist on one of the rats in an early stage of infection. Its lungs and heart were the worst afflicted, with petechiae on the alveoli and rhabdomyolysis of the cardiac muscle fibers. Its heart was literally melting away. With initial lesions manifesting so dramatically in the chest, it suggested an airborne mode of transmission.

It was why they started this series of filter tests.

She continued to type.

ASSESSMENT: INFECTIOUS PARTICLE MUST

BE UNDER 15 NANOMETERS IN SIZE.

So definitely not a bacterium.

One of the smallest known bacterial species was Mycoplasma genitalium, which topped off between 200 and 300 nanometers.

“Gotta be a virus,” she mumbled.

But even the tiniest virus known to man was the porcine circovirus, which was 17 nanometers in size. The transmittable particle here was even smaller than that. It was no wonder they were still struggling to get a picture of it, to examine its ultrastructure.

Two hours ago, a CDC technician had finally finished setting up and calibrating a scanning electron microscope inside a neighboring lab in the hangar. Hopefully soon they’d get to confront the adversary face-to-face.

She sighed, wanting to rub the knot of a headache out of her temples, but suited up she could not even brush the few hairs away that were tickling her nose. She had tried blowing them to the side before finally giving up. She knew exhaustion was getting the better of her, but she refused to leave the suite of BSL4 labs that were conducting various stages of research.

The radio crackled in her ear, then the lead epidemiologist, Dr. Grant Parson, spoke. “All researchers are to report to the central conference room for a summary meeting.”

Lisa placed a rubber palm on the plastic cage. “Keep hanging in there, little fella.”

She stood, unhooked her oxygen hose from the wall, and carried it with her through the air lock that led out from the in vivo animal-testing lab to the rest of the complex. Each lab was cordoned off from the other, both compartmentalizing the research and further limiting the chance of an outbreak spreading through the facility.

She stepped into the central hub. Every other hour, the lab’s scientists gathered in the room to compare notes and confer about their progress. To facilitate these meetings, a long table had been set up with additional monitors to aid in teleconferencing with researchers across the United States. A window behind the table looked out into the dark hangar.

She spotted a familiar face out there, standing at the glass.

She lifted an arm toward Painter and pointed to her ear. He wore a radio headpiece and dialed into a private channel.

“How’re you doing?” he asked, resting his hand on the window.

“We’re making slow progress,” she said, though she knew he was asking about her personal status, not an update on the research. She shied away from that and asked a more important question. “How’s Josh?”

She got regular updates from the medical staff, but she wanted to hear it from Painter, from someone who personally knew her brother.

“Still sedated, but he’s holding his own. Josh is tough . . . and a fighter.”

Painter was certainly right. Her brother tackled mountains, but even he couldn’t battle what couldn’t be seen.

“The good news is that it looks like the surgeons were able to salvage the knee joint,” Painter added. “Should help his recovery and physical therapy afterward.”

She prayed there was an afterward. “What about . . . is there any sign of infection?”

“No. Everything looks good.”

She took little comfort from this news. Josh’s contact with the agent had been via a break in the skin versus being inhaled. The lack of symptoms could just be due to a longer incubation period from that route of exposure.

A fear continued to nag at her.

Had I gotten his leg off in time?

Dr. Parson spoke up behind her. “Let’s get this meeting started.”

Lisa settled her gloved palm over Painter’s hand on the window. “Keep an eye on him for me.”

Painter nodded.

Lisa turned to join the other researchers. Some sat, others stood, all in their BSL4 suits. Over the next fifteen minutes, the head of each lab module gave an update.

An edaphologist—a soil scientist who studied microorganisms, fungi, and other life hiding in the earth—was the first to report. Anxiety fueled his words.