Spiral

Dylan had stood at the waterfall’s bank for a long time, looking into the gorge, as if he saw the chief plummeting downward. “If I were falling, would you save me?”

“You can count on that, buddy.”

A SPARKLE, A SENSATION, LIKE A SILVERFISH IN MOONLIGHT.

Pain.

Her leg ached, the left one, for a reason she couldn’t remember. Her breathing was labored, her lungs constricted, unable to get enough air.

Dylan. Where is Dylan?

She jerked awake, eyes open, wincing at the onslaught of bright light. A wave of nausea hit her. She closed her eyes and clenched her teeth, breathing hard, fighting it off. The nausea crested, faded. She opened her eyes just a slit this time, let the light in slowly, titrating the light, until she could take its full force.

She was strapped to a table tilted about thirty degrees from the horizontal. Above her was a high ceiling, round, a half-dome, I-beam struts holding up what looked to be sheets of painted white metal. She tried to sit up, but she was held by a gray elastic band tight across her chest. She was handcuffed at the wrists to the table on which she lay.

Maggie looked around the room. In front of her were a pair of workbenches, one covered with electronic equipment: an oscilloscope, soldering irons, and spools of wire. The second was empty. Hanging above the workbench on a pair of hooks were two masks. Gas masks, she realized.

Maggie strained at her bonds, looked as far to the left as she could manage. She saw a pistol on a cabinet ten feet away with an unusual, larger-than-normal barrel. Next to it was a pair of cylinders the size of a roll of mints, each with a needle protruding from the end. A tranquilizer pistol. Beyond it she could see the top half of a large transparent sphere that looked to be made of glass, perhaps two feet in diameter.

She turned to the right and immediately froze. She could just make them out from the corner of her eye. On a metal table not a foot from her head.

She stared at them, fear like a hand slapping her. Five MicroCrawlers.

Next to them was a pair of tweezers, the objects laid out on a square of white cloth like dentist’s tools.

Maggie pulled at her bonds, fighting off panic.

A door opened and closed, the sound coming from the direction of the stairs. Then footsteps.

Maggie felt a chill run through her as Orchid came into view. “You’re awake,” Orchid said flatly. She wore a skintight black outfit, with black gloves. Her hair was cut short, like a man’s. She looked beaten up. The side of her face was black and blue. The fingers of her right hand were taped together.

“Where’s Dylan?” The words came out like a croak, her throat parched.

Orchid grabbed a water bottle. “Open,” she said. Orchid poured in half a mouthful.

Maggie swallowed, coughing. But the water was soothing.

“Where is my son?”

Orchid didn’t respond. Instead she stood and went to a bench across the room. She returned with one of the gas masks Maggie had seen hanging on the wall. Orchid laid the mask on Maggie’s chest. It had a large, clear faceplate and dual particulate filters emerging from each side, like truncated tusks.

She leaned over Maggie, looking directly into her eyes. “How much do you know about the Uzumaki?”

“Screw you. Where is my son?”

Maggie saw a flash of rage cross Orchid’s eyes. She raised her arm and struck Maggie brutally hard in the chest with the base of her open palm, driving it into her sternum. Maggie gasped, the pain radiating outward as though she’d been cracked open. She saw spots before her eyes and was afraid that she would vomit.

Orchid said, “A word of advice. This is not going to be pleasant for you no matter how it goes. It’s your choice how bad it has to be. Now answer my question. How much do you know about the Uzumaki?”

Maggie was still breathing hard, her breastbone throbbing. She couldn’t come up with a good reason not to answer. “Look, before yesterday, I’d never heard of it.”

“Do you know the pathways of infection?”

“Ingestion,” Maggie said. “From what I know, it’s by ingestion.”

Orchid nodded. “That’s right,” she said. “Through the stomach. That is one possibility. But there is another one. Do you know what it is?”

“Inhalation,” Maggie said. “Spores.”

“Correct.”

Orchid picked up the gas mask and placed it on Maggie’s face. She pulled the straps around the back of Maggie’s head, tightening them, making the fit snug. She was methodical, careful, checking the seals with her fingers.

“Blow out,” she said. “It’s important that this fits properly. Exhale as hard as you can. Quickly.”

Maggie quickly exhaled, sending a fresh wave of pain through her chest. The mask swelled slightly but held its seal.

“Again. Harder. First breathe in.”

Maggie slowly inhaled. She smelled the rubber and plastic, heard the underwater sound of the air hissing through the particulate filters.

“Now. As hard as you can.”

Maggie exhaled hard. Again the mask swelled, but the seals held.

“Good.”