Resistant Page 18

  “Fuck you,” he bit out, “you stupid little bitch.” Then he moaned in pain and writhed, the tendons in his neck stretching up against the searing fire under his skin. Rory produced a syringe from her pocket and waved it at him.

  “I can make you feel better. Just admit it. Admit who the cure really was for.”

  “Not you, you fucking trash! I would’ve let you and your worthless family die before I gave you a cure.” He sucked in a breath, glaring. “The only people getting a cure are the people we want to keep around . . . got a whole committee of senators ready to screen out the refuse.”

  Rajni stepped forward and asked him, “What about me? Am I refuse? Would you have helped my family, my son?” By now, Kessler’s lips were blue. But he believed Rory would save him, and if not, well, he’d be too dead to care.

  “No.” He didn’t even offer a further explanation. He looked away to the analysts, who wore the same question in their eyes. “No,” he snarled at them as well.

  Rory looked to the screen and all pretense of drama dropped away from her.

  “Hey, Army, did you get that?” she asked lightly.

  “Recorded in high definition video and audio,” Army replied without hesitation.

  “Good. Keep the cameras rolling.” Holding the syringe out to Rajni, she asked, “Do you want to do the honors? Preferably in a soft, sensitive spot?”

  Jason Rajni shook his head, crossing his arms. “He can swell up and die for all I care.”

  Rory returned her attention to Kessler and sighed. Instead of stabbing him with it, she took his arm, found a vein, and quickly delivered the medicine.

  “By the way, you stupid son of a bitch,” she explained to Kessler as he fought for short breaths, too weak to even speak now, “Pandalus borealis is shrimp. You’re allergic to shellfish, so I made you a special dose of pureed prawn to send you into anaphylactic shock. This is nothing more than epinephrine. You’ll be fine in twenty minutes.”

  “We’ll get the video to the Resistance for dissemination to every news outlet immediately. You need to move, Rory,” Navy ordered from the screen. “You aren’t safe there.”

  “I know.”

  “Go.”

  She held his gaze for a long moment. The she bolted for the door.

  CHAPTER 37

  * * *

  Washington, DC, TEAR Headquarters

  Rory’s pockets had held two things when she left the rig: her tiny syringe full of Kessler’s special poison and her mother’s security badge. The gun she had found on the boat and hidden in her boot to prepare for the Plan F that Jeff had taught her about. But the badge was the real gamble: Would it still work? Her bet was that it would, since few things were more certain than human incompetence and laziness. When her mother had died, she thought, they probably never revoked her clearance at TEAR security central.

  She was right, at least for the first few doors. Her gut told her to run for the north end of the building, so she followed it. The maze of corridors seemed to have no end, and she had yet to find her father. Each time she heard voices, she opted for a door or hallway away from them.

  Then she reached a door updated with biometric scanners, and she was stuck. As she turned to retrace her steps, she saw Dr. Rajni jogging toward her.

  “You’re as smart as your mother. But you will need this,” he added, and handed her a badge. “I always lose mine when I have to go into the clean rooms, so I talked security into an extra. And these.” He pressed a set of car keys into her palm.

  She looked from the keys back to him and began to shake her head at the thought of what they might do to him.

  “Go. I’ll be in contact with you somehow. I’ve sent someone to take your father to my car, so you’ll meet him there.”

  Rory shook her head in confusion. “I’m too lost to get out, let alone know where the parking garage is.”

  “Take that hallway, then run straight and don’t divert until you get to a stairwell. Take it up and you’ll come out at the top of the garage. Byron will be there.” Rajni searched her face, then grasped her jawline in both his hands and pressed a warm, dry kiss to her forehead. “She must be very proud of who you’ve become.”

  “Thank you,” Rory whispered, then turned and sprinted down the hall.

  CHAPTER 38

  * * *

  Outside Woodstock, Virginia

  The communications tent had been set up in the hospital’s parking lot, as good a spot as any for a forward operating field base. The teams of retired military and intelligence specialists that Jeff had called in were preparing more large medical tent spaces to receive the survivors of the donor farm and ready them for transport back to their homes and families. Persephone was on the phones trying to find volunteer crisis counselors who might ease the terrifying revelation to each patient that they’d missed months or years of their own lives.

  The flapping of the tents’ sides hinted at a helicopter arriving, and Persephone looked to Jeff, who glanced at his wrist phone to gauge the time.

  “Yep, that’s them,” he said to a room already absent of Persephone, who had sprinted for the landing pad of the helicopter.

  When she saw Byron through the window, he grinned and gave her a smile and a thumbs-up. She could barely see Rory, but her daughter was alive. After watching the recording that Army had captured of her fight with Kessler, the fact that she had survived intact put Persephone at ease. Byron and Rory deplaned and met her for a tight hug.

  “Are you okay? God, you terrified us.” She ran her hand over Rory’s cheek and saw the ring of purple-and-blue bruises circling her neck where Kessler had choked her.

  “I’m fine. Just tired.” And, meeting her mother’s eyes, she added, “I’m sorry. But I had to take him down. He just had too much power over all our lives.”

  Past her mother she saw Navy waiting for her. She squeezed Persephone once more, then headed to him. Despite bone-deep exhaustion, she found herself running to throw her arms around him, and he lifted her off the ground when he caught her in his crushing hold.

  He leaned back to look down at her, taking in the dark circles under her eyes and the marks on her neck. She was running fingers over the cut under his eye, the bruise on his jaw. He pressed his lips to hers.

  “I really thought he was going to kill you.”

  “I thought he was going to give the order to kill you.” She gave a tired smile and added, “Nice moves with the chair.”

  He kissed her long and hard, and said in her ear as he folded her close again, “I’m not complimenting you on your skills with a syringe. That was a stupid, reckless thing to do, and you’re lucky you survived it.” Over Navy’s shoulder she saw Army walking toward her, AJ’s hand in his.

  “Rory! That was a brilliant, perfectly timed syringe move on Kessler!” he exclaimed, making her laugh and Navy groan. “I mean, like you rehearsed it.”

  She raised her eyebrow teasingly as AJ’s pale hand released Army’s strong, dark one, and Army puffed out his chest.

  “I’m her hero.”

  “I’m sure you are. Thank you. Birdy—I’m so sorry I pulled you into this mess.”

  Birdy let out one of her wonderful laughs as she folded Rory into a tight hug.

  “Based on the reaction Army got from sending that tape to a few reporters, you’re going to make me famous. I think I’ll end up owing you.”

  As Navy took her hand and led her into the communications tent, he explained what had happened during the time when she and Byron had driven to a rendezvous point where Jeff’s helicopter pilot flew to retrieve them.

  “The government is scrambling to piece together a cover to make Kessler look like a rogue operator whose actions they can dismiss. They’ll say he did all this on his own, they’ll say they didn’t know.” He searched her expression, worried that this news would break her spirit when she was already exhausted from adrenaline and several days with little sleep.

  “I wondered about that, too. So . . .” she said as
she dug in her pocket and pulled out a wrist phone, “I stole his phone while he was too weak to move. There are messages with a few senators he was colluding with. I don’t know if you’ll be able to use it. Maybe the right reporter can make some connections.”

  Shaking his head in amazement, Jeff took the wrist phone and handed it to his top analyst.

  “You got any more secret surprises?”

  Rory took in and released a very long breath.

  “No. I think I could use a break from secrets for a while.”

  CHAPTER 39

  * * *

  Stevigson Farm, Woods Hole, Massachusetts

  The Jeep pulled to a crawl at the mouth of the driveway into the Stevigson Farm, where a newly installed gate with a security pad guarded its entrance. Leaning out the driver’s door, Navy blinked into the biometric scanner as it ran a light across his iris. He sighed as the display screen read: Not Recognized.

  “Army installed this, right? Do you think he set it up without your scan in the library?” Rory asked. She was anxious to see her parents after a long two months of traveling.

  Navy nodded. “I thought he handled its programming for them.”

  She sent him a grin, then raised her eyebrows. “Maybe your viral genetic changes are manifesting in your iris! Come here, look at me closely.” She held his firm jaw in one hand and looked into his eyes to see if the dark colors still fading from his skin were appearing in a new location. The colors of his eyes were seared on her memory by now. “Nope, still amber green and—” but he cut her off with a hard, deep kiss.

  “I love you. It’s nice to be driving back in here with you.”

  “Instead of escaping with our lives?” Her aqua eyes held a teasing glint.

  “Your life,” Navy corrected. “I was perfectly safe. Other than, of course, putting my life on the line for a smart-assed brat with no sense of gratitude.”

  She kissed him again, then leaned across the driver’s seat and out the window to look into the scanner. A pleasant beep replied and the display read: Welcome home, Rory.

  “Army,” they both chuckled wryly as the gate opened. At the end of the driveway, her parents awaited them with warm hugs and the offer of hot cider inside.

  They told them both about the last two months they had spent touring labs in a dozen countries, fulfilling Rory’s promise to give lectures and leave blood samples with researchers. It was the best way to ensure that the research could continue to progress quickly, but it also satisfied the newly hired publicity specialist Jeff had assigned. He wanted to be sure that at every location, Navy and Rory were photographed and news stories were written to remind Kessler’s associates that the cure would always be public.

  Persephone was thrilled. As a researcher, she knew that the more labs that replicated the findings from the Hibernia, the more deaths could be quickly prevented. They shared the news that Jeff was relocating the Hibernia lab to a facility on Woods Hole, endowing a foundation dedicated to continued research into novel therapies like the one they were developing from Rory’s initial discovery.

  “Where are AJ and Army? I thought they would be here,” Rory asked.

  “They’ll be here tomorrow. They stopped in with another family of survivors in North Carolina and ended up making friends,” Byron explained. “Something about the Blue Ridge Mountains being beautiful with snow and Army learning to ski.”

  Navy chuckled at the idea of his old friend, a native of the tropics, conquering skis. AJ and Army had gone on a multistate tour to mirror his and Rory’s, but they were visiting survivors of the donor farm. Rory called it the healing mission: making sure the damage done to those families he and Navy had helped separate might be repaired. Making amends. Navy had wanted badly to go along, but Rory’s speaking tour was more critical. And for a while yet, he wouldn’t feel she was safe unless he knew she was under his protection. Now that they were back, they would rest, visit their families, and plan their own tour. Rory told him the healing would go both ways, and perhaps he would begin to forgive himself for what he had done to the lives he helped TEAR steal.

  With dinner being prepared by her parents—Byron had finally found the time to catch lobster—and the coldest days of winter blowing in from the northeast, Rory and Navy took a walk through the orchard.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asked her as they walked through the quiet, cold evening.

  “Nothing much. Why?”

  Navy stopped and turned to frame her face in his hands. “I know that look. It’s the one when your brain is working faster than you can find the path it’s on.”

  She gave him a lopsided smile. “I’m remembering the poets my dad made me read. John Donne. He said, ‘With new diseases on ourselves we war, and with new physic, a worse engine far.’”

  Navy gave it thought. “So, every cure has a side effect? You’re worried about unintended consequences?”

  Rory nodded. She looked out across the farm, at the bare trees trembling in the wind, their tips pointed with the buds of nearing spring. “They’re inevitable, I suppose. I just hope we’re ready.”

  She threaded her fingers into his as they continued their walk. Beyond the orchard, over the eastern shore, thunder drummed low and lightning cracked the sky.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  * * *

  Thank you for reading, for diving into a new author, a new place and time and band of characters. Your generosity of spirit is everything to me and I hope I gave back in some entertained hours. I love to hear what readers think, and encourage you to visit rachaelsparks.com to send me your thoughts or see what books are next.

  I’ve been thinking about this novel for a few years, and couldn’t seem to avoid writing about a problem becoming more frightening each year. I bow to all the dedicated researchers and activists trying to solve antibiotic resistance, a crisis that too few people recognize is already at our doorstep. Though I wanted to write, I had not actually thought to become a published writer of fiction outside my private daydreams, so I thank my husband for making a bet with me that he enjoyed losing. For giving me hope, I want to thank my early readers: my amazing mother, Deb and David, Dr. Simmons, and Susan Moeslein.

  I also extend my deep appreciation to Gold Leaf Literary Agency of Asheville, NC, who pointed me to Brooke Warner and the team at She Writes Press, and to Brooke and her crew of brave publishing professionals blazing a new path for authors, especially Samantha Strom. Crystal Patriarche, Tabitha Bailey, and the rest of the PR experts at SparkPoint Studio have my humbled gratitude for helping me tell the evolution of this story.

  About the Author

  * * *

  photo credit: Bren Photography

  RACHAEL SPARKS was born in Waco, Texas. She graduated with a degree in microbiology from Texas A&M University and her first college job was ghostwriting a nonfiction science book. After a decade-long career in Austin, Texas, as a transplant specialist, she joined a startup fighting healthcare-acquired infections. After relocating with her husband, young daughter, and mother to Asheville, North Carolina, she finally put her first novel onto the page. In her free time she serves on the board of the Asheville Museum of Science and loves to cook, brew, garden, and spend time with friends and family in between obsessively researching new science concepts, history, or new recipes.

  BOOK CLUB QUESTIONS

  * * *

  1. How is a world without antibiotics likely to function? How do you imagine its impacts?

  2. Why do you think Rory decides to believe she should leave the farm? Would you have gone?

  3. Persephone and Aurora (Rory) have names drawn from Greek fables. What overlap do you see between the lives of Persephone and Aurora and the ancient fable?

  4. Kessler is determined to find a cure even if he kills more in the process. Do you agree with that perspective? What if your own loved one, or several, had been scarred by or died of an infection?

  5. Do you think Persephone’s actions were justified?

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