“What does this have to do with the kids?”
“My personal theory is that some new kind of therapy inserted new genes into the kids and that those genes had some sort of cascade effect, possibly operating at the Epigenetic level as well. We think surviving the Bell is a matter of having the right genes and turning this ‘Atlantis Gene’ on — that’s the key. It’s strange, the therapy operated almost like a mutation “
“Mutation?”
“Yes, a mutation is simply a random change in the genetic code, a genetic dice roll if you will — sometimes it pays off big, imparting a new evolutionary advantage and sometimes… you get six fingers or four! But this one provided immunity to the Bell. It’s so fascinating. I wonder if I could speak with Dr. Warner. It would be incredibly helpf—”
“Forget Dr. Warner.” Dorian rubbed his temple. Genetics, Epigenetics, mutations. It all added up to the same thing: failed research, no viable therapy for immunity to the Bell, and no time left on the clock. “How many subjects can your bell room hold?”
“Ah, we usually limit each trial to 50 subjects, but maybe 100, maybe a little more if we pack them in.”
Dorian gazed at the monitors. A cadre of white-coat-clad egg heads were corralling a new cohort of subjects into the lounge chairs, then hooking them up to clear plastic bags of death. “How long does it take to run?”
“Not long. Five or ten minutes is about as long as any subject goes.”
“Five or ten minutes.” His voice was just above a whisper. He leaned back in the chair, turning the idea over in his mind. Then he stood and took a step toward the door. “Start processing all your remaining subjects through the Bell — as quickly as you can.” Dr. Chang stepped forward to protest, but Dorian was already halfway out the door. “Oh, and remember, don’t destroy the bodies. We need them. I’ll be in the nuclear section, Doctor.”
CHAPTER 51
Immari Corp. Train
Outside Burang, China
Tibet Autonomous Region
Kate sat in silence, watching the green countryside fly by at 90 miles an hour. Across from her, David shifted a little on his side of the closed train compartment. How could he sleep at a time like this? He would have a crick in his neck from sleeping like that. Kate leaned forward and nudged his head a little.
Even if her nerves weren’t going crazy, Kate’s legs hurt too much to sleep. David’s brisk pace on their hike from the plane’s “landing site” to the train station had taken its toll. And so had the sprint inside, to the bank of lockers and #44, which had been their salvation.
Inside the locker they found two outfits — a security outfit for David and a white coat for Kate. There were ID badges too — Kate was now Dr. Emma West, research associate in ‘Bell Primary - Genetics Division,’ whatever that was. David was Conner Anderson. The pictures on the IDs didn’t match, but they only had to run them through a swipe machine, like a subway or credit card reader, to get on the 10:45 train — apparently the last train of the morning.
As they boarded the train, Kate had turned to David and said, “What now? What’s the plan?” David turned her back around and said, “Don’t talk, they could be listening. Follow the plan.”
“The Plan” wasn’t much of one — her goal was to find the children and get back on the train. David would take out the power and join her. It wasn’t even half a plan. They would probably be caught before they got off the train. And he was sleeping.
But… he probably hadn’t slept much the night before. Had he stayed up to see if the men searching the cottage would find the entrance to the bomb shelter? How long had he laid on that concrete floor? And then the three hour flight in that vibrating antique death trap of a plane. Kate wadded up some of the clothes from her bag and put them between his face and the wall.
Another thirty minutes passed, and Kate felt the train slowing. In the corridor, people were making a line.
David grabbed Kate’s arm. When had he woken up? Kate looked at him, panic creeping into her face.
“Stay calm,” he said. “Remember, you work here. You’re taking the kids for a test. Director’s orders.”
“What director?” Kate hissed.
“If they ask that, tell them it’s above their pay grade and keep walking.”
Kate tried to ask another question, but David yanked the compartment door open and shoved Kate into the moving line. By the time she looked back, he was several people behind her and moving the other way — putting distance between them. She was alone. She whipped her head back around and swallowed a few times. She could do this.
She moved with the flow of people, trying to act casual. The workers were mostly Asian, but there were quite a few Europeans, possibly Americans. She was a minority, but she didn’t stick out too much. There were several entrances to the giant facility, each with three lines. She spotted the entrance with the most white coats and drifted over to it. She stood in line, waiting to swipe her card, trying to get a glimpse of the badges around her. ‘Bell Auxiliary - Primate Housing.’ She looked in the line beside her. ‘Bell Control — Maintenance and Housekeeping.’ What was she? Bell something. It had genetics in it. She had the overwhelming fear that if she glanced down at her fake badge that someone would point at her and scream “Impostor! Get her!”, like a playground kid calling you out for peeing in your pants.
Up ahead white coats were marching forward, scanning their badges like automatons. The line was moving quickly — just like the train station. She now saw something else —six armed guards. Three were spread out, one stationed at each line, scrutinizing every face. The other three loitered behind a chain-link fence, drinking coffee and talking quickly, horsing around with each other like officemates the day after the super bowl. Each man had an automatic rifle slung over his shoulder as casually as if it were a messenger bag with inner-office memos.
She had to focus. The badge. Kate slipped her card out and sneaked a peak — ‘Bell Primary - Genetics Division.’ In the line beside her, she saw a tall blond man, 40ish, holding a card with the same division. He was several people behind her. She would have to wait for him to get through, then follow him.
“Ma’am—”
They were talking to her!
“Ma’am.” The guard pointed to the wide post with the magnetic card reader at the top. Beside her people were swiping and hurrying past.