The 6th Extinction (Sigma Force 10)

She nodded, remembering how the organism had sterilized the soil to a depth of two feet.

“But why did Hess create it?” Lisa asked. “What’s its purpose?”

“Are you familiar with eVLPs?” Lindahl asked.

She shook her head.

“We were discussing the subject just before you arrived,” Edmund explained. “It stands for empty virus-like particles. It’s a new field of experimental study, where you strip the DNA out of a virus until only its outer shell remains. There are advantages to this in regards to vaccine production.”

She understood. Those empty particles would stimulate a strong antigenic or protective response without the risk of the vaccine agent making you sick.

“But that’s the least of it,” Lindahl said. “Once you have an empty shell, you can build from there. Add organic or even inorganic compounds, like those graphene fibers.”

“And once you create that shell,” Edmund added, “you can fill it with whatever wonders or horrors you want. In other words, the perfect shell becomes the perfect delivery system.”

Lisa stared again at the face of that monster.

What was hidden inside there?

“And you think Dr. Hess accomplished something like that?” Lisa asked. “That he built this virion from scratch in his lab and put something inside it.”

Lindahl leaned back. “We already have the technology. Way back in 2002, a group of scientists at Stony Brook synthesized a live polio virus from nothing but chemicals and a known genetic blueprint.”

Edmund huffed. “The project was sponsored by the Pentagon.”

Lisa heard the not-so-veiled accusation in his voice. Dr. Hess’s work was funded by the military, too.

Lindahl ignored the implication. “And in 2005, a larger influenza virus was synthesized in another lab. In 2006, the same was accomplished with the Epstein-Barr virus, which has the same number of base pairs as smallpox. But that’s child’s play compared to today. We can now manufacture organisms a hundredfold larger and at a fraction of the cost.” He snorted dismissively. “You can even buy a DNA synthesizer on eBay.”

“So what exactly did Dr. Hess put in there?” Lisa asked.

Before anyone would hazard a guess, Lisa’s radio buzzed. From the reactions of the other two men, they heard it, too.

It was Painter. The urgent stress in his voice quickened her heart. “We just heard word from Yosemite,” he reported. “The suspected saboteur is dead.”

Dead . . .

Lisa closed her eyes, thinking of Josh. Amy Serpry had been their only lead, the only way to discover more details about Dr. Hess’s work.

“From the initial report,” Painter continued, “she likely died of the same disease we’re battling here. The National Guard, along with an outbreak response team, is en route to lock down the grounds around the Ahwahnee. We also possibly have new exposure victims. Ranger Beck and Gunnery Sergeant Drake. Along with the ranger’s dog.”

Oh, no . . .

Painter continued with additional instructions and safeguards. The CDC was to set up another quarantine area in the hangar, in time to accept the incoming victims.

Once he was done, Lisa switched to a private channel.

“How badly were they exposed?” she asked.

“Jenna and Drake never stepped inside the cabin, and according to Drake, it was raining with the wind at their backs, so they may be okay.”

“And the dog?”

“He went inside the cabin and snatched up a mouse that may have been sick.”

So the husky likely had mucosal contact with the virion.

She stared again at the monster on the screen.

Poor dog.

14

April 29, 4:04 P.M. GMT

Brunt Ice Shelf, Antarctica

As ice groaned and cracked beneath him, Gray gaped at the sight of the massive bulk of Halley Station passing overhead. Its giant skis scraped down the slanting surface of ice, beginning the slide toward a tumble into the frigid Weddell Sea.

On the far side of the station, that blasted fracture line still smoked and steamed from the fires of those buried munitions. The chunk of the ice holding the station continued to tilt away from the larger expanse of the Brunt Shelf.

Gray pushed to his feet and yanked the British pilot up. “Move it! Both of you!”

Kowalski gained his legs unsteadily, searching around. “Where?”

“Follow me!”

Gray took off, digging his boots into the snow-swept ice, climbing the ever-steepening slope as the station slid behind him. The surface was rough enough for adequate traction, but a few times, he slipped to a knee or a hand. Using the steel butt of his assault rifle as a crutch, he fought to move faster. They had only seconds to act. He shouldered his way into the fog of steam and smoke billowing down from the blast zone. Visibility dropped to an arm’s length.

He prayed his sense of direction held true.

Another few steps, he let out a breath of relief—but only a small one.

The shape of a Ski-Doo appeared ahead. The rumble of its engine grew louder as he stumbled toward it.

Thank God, Jason had the foresight to leave it warmed up.

Gray reached the three-man Ski-Doo and swung his leg over the seat—but before he could settle into place, Barstow waved him back.

“Who’s the expert here? I’ll drive. You and your buddy ride shotgun.”

Gray didn’t argue, trusting the arctic pilot had more experience than he did with these snow machines. As Kowalski climbed on behind him, Gray pointed over the nose of the Ski-Doo, toward the widening fracture ahead.

“We’ll have to—”

“Got it,” Barstow said and gunned the engine.

Snow and shredded ice shot from behind the rear treads, and the Ski-Doo leaped forward. Their only hope was to try to vault over that gorge and reach the solid ice on the far side. The odds were slim, especially with their vehicle overloaded, but to remain here was certain death.

Gray hunkered lower.

Kowalski swore loudly.

Then Barstow made an abrupt sharp turn, catching Gray by surprise, almost throwing him out of his seat. The back end of the Ski-Doo skidded into a fishtail until the nose was pointed away from the fracture zone. The engine roared louder, and Barstow sped the craft down the steep slope. They cleared the steamy fog and burst into the open. It now looked like they were chasing the slowly sliding station.

Gray yelled, “What’re you—?”

“Let a man drive!”

Barstow hunched over the handlebars, trying to eke out more speed. Gray had no choice but to follow his example.