Disease X
by N.J. Croft
Copyright © 2020 by N.J. Croft. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Prologue
Alaska
Ten years ago
Something jolted Lieutenant Blake awake from a familiar nightmare. Panicked, she bolted upright, her heart thudding.
What the hell?
She forced her breathing to slow as she became aware of her surroundings, the low murmur of voices, the dull roar of the engines. She was on a plane to Moscow. She’d drawn the duty at the last minute—security detail for some Russian visitor flying home. A politician, or maybe a scientist from the look of him. He must be important to get this sort of attention.
She got to her feet and glanced around. The plane’s twenty-two seats were taken by two of her guys, in uniform, and then a load of suits.
All around her, people were stirring, some standing, but no one seemed particularly concerned. Maybe they’d hit turbulence and that’s what had shaken her awake? The pilot had warned them the weather was expected to get rough.
Leaning back against her seat, she opened up the shutter and stared through the small window. It was around three in the morning, and outside was total darkness. Maybe once the sun rose, there’d be—
An explosion rocked the cabin, and the plane lurched sideways, hurling her forward. She flew through the air, crashing into the seat, knocking the breath out of her lungs in a whoosh.
The lights went out. The plane listed to the side. Unable to gain her footing, she slid into the wall. Even in the darkness, she could sense the rush of air outside.
They were falling fast.
Is this it?
Pain clutched at her chest, squeezing, her heart racing as her adrenaline spiked. An image of her daughter flashed before her eyes. Only four years old. She’d grow up without her mother.
Abruptly, their downward momentum slowed, and the plane leveled out, the lights flickering on, off, then back on. A loud buzzing rang in her ears, some sort of alarm, and she struggled to her feet. She looked around, assessing the damage. A couple of people were clearly unconscious, while others were just getting to their feet. Most seemed dazed but unhurt.
Oxygen masks dangled from the ceiling. She ignored them and moved to the window. No longer total darkness. Outside, chaotic orange and red lights flared and flashed under the wing.
No, not lights. Flames. The engine was completely engulfed.
Resting her hand on the seat in front of her, she breathed slowly, her training kicking in. She pulled the shutter closed and strode toward where her sergeant was talking with one of the civilians.
“Davis, make sure the injured are secured in case of further…turbulence.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Next, she headed to the cockpit. She rapped on the door, and a second later, it opened from the inside and the copilot stood there—an air force captain from his uniform. Blood trickled from a cut on his forehead.
“What happened, sir?” she asked.
“I have no clue, Lieutenant, except we’ve lost one of the engines. Maybe something hit us. A lot of the instruments are down. We’re trying to assess the situation right now.”
“Have you called in?”
“We can’t get out a signal. Either the weather is too bad or something is blocking us.”
“Well, let me know if you get anywhere. And can you cut that alarm?” She didn’t want people panicking.
He nodded curtly and shut the door in her face.
A second later, the buzzing ceased.
Her mind itched to fix the situation, to assure the safety of everyone on board, but there was nothing else she could do.
A few seats ahead, the Russian was speaking animatedly to one of the suits, hands waving in the air. Her eyes narrowed when she heard the word “snowcap.” It resonated in her mind, the memory familiar but just out of reach.
And important.
The nose tipped downward again. She staggered but managed to keep her feet.
A voice came over the audio system. “We are attempting an emergency landing. Please take your seats and fasten your seat belts. Assume the brace position. We are going down.”
She took one last look around. The unconscious had been strapped into their seats. It was the best they could do for now, though unlikely to make a difference. While she was unsure of their exact location, they were somewhere over Alaska. In horrendous weather conditions. Their chances of survival were pretty low, but she was beyond fear.
Training fully engaged now, her mind was numb.
The plane lurched, and she stumbled against someone, her hand on his shoulder. The Russian. His face was pale.
Snowcap.
What did it mean?
She got back to her own seat and fastened the seat belt. They were moving faster now. Shouldn’t they be slowing down?
A shudder ran through the plane, a loud clunking sounded from somewhere beneath them, and their downward trajectory leveled a little. Bending over, she clasped her hands behind her head.
The roar grew to deafening, filling her mind, the cabin vibrating around her.
She kept her eyes wide open, staring at the gray floor.
Then another alarm rang out, shrill, urgent. She tightened her arms as a screech filled the air.
Everything went black.
When she came to, she was lying on her side, her lungs saturated with the stench of burning metal. And fuel. Her heart hammered as she fumbled to release the seat belt. All around, she could hear moans, cries for help.
They weren’t moving. They were down, and she was alive.
Her seat had come free, but she didn’t think she was seriously damaged. She blinked, unable to see anything in the darkness. Light shimmered at the edge of her vision. Orange and red.
Fire.
She pushed herself up and turned to look around, trying to make sense of the chaos.
The plane had broken in half. The back section was burning. The front end was just…gone, a jagged hole through which she could see a solid white curtain of snow.
They had to get out of there before the fuel tanks blew.
She scrambled to the open edge and peered down, unable to make out anything beyond the swirling flakes.
They were alive—at least some of them.
All they had to do was stay that way until rescue arrived.
Chapter One
Present day
The Yucatan Province, Mexico
Sister Clara placed the medical kit in the back of her four-wheel drive and slammed the door.
It was early, but the sun was hot and sweat trickled down her spine beneath the thin cotton of her habit. She had a sudden memory of skiing in Aspen when she was seventeen. The chill air, the flakes of snow swirling from the sky, the bright chatter of the beautiful people. That was twenty years ago and still so clear.
She’d murder for snow right now.
Inside, the car was like an oven, the air almost too thick to breathe. The heat from the leather seat burned through the material of her skirt, and she shifted, pulled it down, and switched on the engine. No air-conditioning. That hadn’t worked in years.
The drive to Iznájar took twenty minutes along an ocher dirt road. The village was small, with around three hundred inhabitants, and the surrounding land poor. The people existed by subsistence farming, growing a little maize, vegetables, keeping chickens and pigs.
Never exactly busy, the place seemed even quieter than usual, and the school was closed as she drove past.
She pulled up outside the church house where she carried out her clinics and sat for a moment looking around. Usually Maria opened the place before she arrived and would come out to greet her. Today, nobody.
Wiping her forehead, she blew out her breath as she caught sight of Maria, hurrying across to the car. She climbed out of the vehicle. “Hola, Maria.”
“Sorry, Sister Clara. I was with Rosita. She had a small accident.”
Rosita was the primary school teacher, the only outsider in the village. That explained why the school was closed.
“Could you have a look at her before we start the clinic?” She glanced around. “Though there doesn’t seem to be…” She shrugged. “I don’t know where everyone is. I’ll take you to Rosita, then go ask around.”
While the village was small, there were always pregnant women to be seen, and usually the rest of the women would come along for a chat and to practice their English. The clinics were as much a social occasion as anything else.
Clara grabbed her medical bag from the back seat and followed Maria to the small house next to the school.
“They shouldn’t have bothered you, Sister,” Rosita said as Clara entered the bedroom. “No es nada. Just a sprain.” She tried to push herself up, winced, and collapsed again. Her skin was flushed and her lips tight with pain.
Clara glanced down and immediately saw the problem. Rosita’s right ankle was swollen and discolored. After placing her bag on the chair by the bed, she sank onto the mattress. “Can you feel this?” She squeezed the big toe.
Rosita winced again, then nodded.
“And can you wiggle your toes?”
“Yes.” They wiggled. So likely she was right, and it was just a bad sprain. Clara almost smiled. Her diagnostic tools were limited in this environment. Luckily, in this case, more wasn’t needed. “I’ll wrap it up for you.”
She opened her bag and found a bandage, started winding it around the ankle tightly. “So what happened?”
“I don’t know. I was coming home last night and suddenly I felt…dizzy. Next moment, I was falling over my stupid feet and was on the ground.”
Clara studied her for a moment. She was definitely a little flushed. And a small tic was jumping in her cheek. Reaching out, Clara rested a hand on her forehead. Slightly warm but not too bad.
“Anything else? Did you hit your head?”
“I don’t think so. I do have a headache, though. Since I woke up this morning. At the base of my skull.”
“Hmm, maybe you’ve picked up a bug.” Meningitis, maybe? “Can you touch your chin to your chest?”
Rosita lowered her head.
“Does that hurt at all?”
Rosita shook her head. “No.”
Well, that was good news. While meningitis was quick to attack and usually deadly, it would have presented with incredible pain when tilting the head down sharply. “Probably just a minor bug. I’ll give you some painkillers. They should help. Let me know if anything gets worse.”
“I will.”
As Clara came out onto the street, Maria returned. She had a frown on her face. “Everybody is sick,” she said.
“What, all of them? Problems with the babies?”
“No. At least I don’t think so.”
Two hours later, she went back to the Land Rover and grabbed a bottle of water from the cool box in the back. Leaning against the vehicle, she sipped the water, then rolled the bottle across her forehead.
Everyone she had seen so far had the same symptoms as Rosita. Nothing serious. Clearly some sort of bug. All she could do right now was hand out painkillers, but she was nearly out and she still had several visits to make.
Somehow, she didn’t think she’d be getting back to the mission that night.
Maria offered her a bed, and for the first time in an age, Clara slept through the night. No crisis of faith, or worries about the future, or whether she actually liked God anymore.
…
She was awoken early by a banging on the door. Maria pushed her head around as Clara blinked sleepily, trying to get her brain to work. “What is it?”
“Juanita. I think she’s losing the baby.”
Clara had gone to bed fully dressed, just taking off her headdress. Now she grabbed it from the small rickety table by the bed and swung herself to her feet while she jammed it on her head. Her bag was by the door, and she picked it up on her way out.
Juanita was curled in on herself, arms wrapped around her stomach, moaning. She looked up as Clara entered. Sweat sheened on her forehead, tears rolling down her face.
The sheets were stained with fresh blood, so much blood. “See if you can find some ice,” she said to Maria. Something told her it was too late—if not for Juanita, then for the baby. The pregnancy had been coming along perfectly. Presumably this bug that was going around was responsible. That was often the case; it was the vulnerable who succumbed.
For a moment, she felt like crying as she rubbed her eyes. Then she took a deep breath and got to work.
Ten minutes later, Juanita lost the baby. It was quick, and there was no time to do anything. And she was still bleeding. She needed to be in a hospital. Clara called the nearest hospital and tried to organize an ambulance. They promised they’d come as soon as they could, but she wouldn’t hold her breath. The hospital was three hours away.
An hour later, she called to cancel it. Juanita was gone.
How in this day and age could someone bleed to death just for want of an ambulance and help?
She left Juanita’s young husband crying quietly by the bed, a sense of hopelessness filling her; then she walked out into the sunshine and looked around. Growing up, she hadn’t even known places like this existed. Despite spending a lot of her childhood in third-world countries, she’d been sheltered from the nastier aspects of life. Her father had been a career soldier and her mother had been in love with her father, so she followed him everywhere.
They took her with them when they could, and she’d lived in compounds around the world, with servants and holidays in luxurious places. She’d believed it was normal.
Now she winced at her youthful naivete. Time to see what was happening. She had a strange sense of foreboding, as though change was coming.
But from where?
Maria was waiting for her, squinting in the sunshine, rubbing a hand around the back of her neck. Clara looked at her sharply. “Are you okay?”
“Headache.”
She pulled out a bottle of painkillers and handed her a couple with a sense of helplessness. All she was doing was treating the symptoms and hoping those affected would fight off the infection. At least no one was getting worse.
It was spreading, though. She worked her way through the village, going from house to house, stopping only briefly for a lunch of beans and tortillas and then carrying on. At least half the village was sick, though they were all still functional, only Rosita off her feet with the sprained ankle.
By late afternoon, Maria forced her to pause for a rest. She sat in the shade of a tree, sipping water. There were protocols for these things, but, despite the mild symptoms, she couldn’t shift the sense of urgency. Finally, she pulled out her phone and called a contact she had in the World Health Organization regional headquarters in Mexico City.
“Hi, Owen, it’s Sister Clara. We met in Atlanta last year.” They’d been at a conference together. “I have a situation here. A village all down with some sort of bug.”
“Any deaths?”
“One woman lost her baby and died of complications. She was fine before, so I presume it’s tied to the infection.”
“That’s a leap.”
“I don’t think so. I just wondered if there were any other reports.”
“Not that I’ve heard, but I’ll check.”
She rubbed her forehead. “If I send you a couple of blood samples and details of the symptoms, would you run a few tests? I just have a feeling about this. I’d like to at least know what I’m dealing with.”
“You need help?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Okay, send them, and I’ll push them through for you as soon as possible.”
…
The next morning, as Clara got out of bed, she swayed, a wave of dizziness washing over her. She reached out and rested her palm on the bed for balance.
A dull ache nagged at the base of her skull.
Looked like she was going to experience whatever this sickness was firsthand.
Dread settled across her shoulders like a shroud.
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