Hey,
Thanks to everybody that has read and reviewed so far.
I thought I had fixed the formatting problem, but obviously I haven't. Thanks to Poet for pointing it out to me.
By the way, this is the penultimate part….
Hallways Part 9
"Son of a bitch had this buried real good."
"Guess it didn't fit in with his aesthetic plan for the building." Powell grunted with effort, moving boxes and other obstacles from the front of the air conditioning unit. It was older, dirtier than the newer model he had tested earlier. He cursed himself for missing it.
Connor nodded, although Powell doubted that his words had had much impact. Connor was lost in his own world, piecing through the problem. "They put the poison in this system, because they knew it would always be running. Systematically poisoning all the residents."
"So why don't we have more people showing symptoms?"
Connor smiled, edged like a knife. "Pure luck. It's more aggressive at higher temperatures."
"Well, here we go." Powell hit a switch, watching as the blades slowed to a halt. He unscrewed the covering, lifting it down, running a tool across the blades. His eyes widened and he held up the tool, coated in a fine white powder.
Connor's face fell, his eyes closing. "Shit." He opened up a connection. "Natalie. We found the source. It looks like cordillia."
xxxXXXxxx
He was tired of fighting, tired of resisting. His legs refusing to obey his commands, stumbling from one infected room to another, his brain lagging a step behind him, Patricia Ashton's faith haunting him like a ghost, following after him.
He could feel it working on him, spreading its infected talons through him, clawing at his lungs and throat.
Miles gave up.
The cough that had been brewing ripped through him, cutting and tearing.
He watched in horror as his visor dimmed, washed with crimson, speckles of his own blood clouding his vision.
xxxXXXxxx
He could hear his daughter coughing. Delirious. Crying got her mommy, crying for her daddy.
And Michael Ashton couldn't even stand, couldn't go to her to comfort her.
He could feel it inside him, spreading, attacking. Michael coughed again, trying to stifle it behind his hand. He didn't want Patricia to know her daddy was sick as well.
It swelled within him, pulsing, bursting out of him. He could hear Patricia coughing, the sound echoing his own.
And he couldn't do anything to help her.
He couldn't do anything to comfort her as she coughed out her last breath, choking on her own blood.
xxxXXXxxx
"What if it's cordillia?"
Eva could hear the shrug in Connor's voice even if she couldn't see it. "If it's cordillia, then there's nothing we can do, other than contain it. Every infected person in this building is going to die. All we can do is try to contain it. You'll have to control the story. Make sure that he knows what he can and can't publish."
"I know what to do, Stephen." She hoped he hadn't heard her emotions in her voice at the thought of dealing with Patrick Washington.
Did he think of her? After she had left his room?
What did he think of her?
She ran her hand through her hair, brushing it away from her face. "The perimeters secure. Only our people have crossed the lines." She hesitated for a second, not sure she wanted her question answered, not after he had told her. "How much time?"
He didn't reply for a second. His answer, when it came was brutal and honest, his voice forcibly stripped of emotion.
"Hours."
xxxXXXxxx
Faster.
She had to work faster.
It was easier now that she had a source to work with. Easier to try and find something that might stop the fucking thing.
Especially now that Miles…
Faster.
She had to work faster.
She turned back to her microscope, frowning in concentration. "What the?" She punched open the line. "Stephen, it's not cordillia. At least not the strain they used in LA. It's weaker, not as aggressive."
God help them if they had used THAT strain.
"I can beat this thing, Stephen."
"Get me a vaccine, Natalie. Quickly."
