“It’s okay, Rick,” he said, and the man’s frantic gaze landed on his. “Daniel’s virus can’t kill Inderlanders. You’re based on a human genome, so you’ll get a rash and a fever, but you won’t die. Even if you overdose.”
“Are you sure?” he whispered, and Kal nodded.
“Absolutely,” he said, smiling until the hard edges of fear left Rick. “Weres are so far from their human ancestry that they will hardly notice, and witches not at all. The undead, your master? He won’t get sick either. He’ll be pleased with you when you tell him, yes?”
Rick’s shoulders slumped as he took a shaky breath. His eyes fell to his hands, his fingers tangled together, and he set them on his knees. That fast, he found his mask, the need to dominate and subjugate forcing his fear of his future back to the recesses where it would linger until the pressure of darkness and loneliness forced it bubbling to the surface again.
Tossing his hair back, Rick rose, the terror safely hidden. But Kal could see it. The living vampire fixed his tie, then his hair. “Then all I have to worry about is why a perfectly safe virus is spreading through Vietnam, killing humans like the black plague’s evil twin.”
Lip twitching, Kal glanced at the field of goo. “Killing? Impossible. I saw the dosage.”
“Wolfe says the military docs say it found a carrier.” Rick shuddered as he fixed his cuffs, the beginnings of a rash peeping past them. “It has a place to grow, somewhere acidic to multiply and condense its toxin. The government wants to send a focus group. I don’t know what to tell them to do to avoid getting sick.” He looked up, the fear still lurking at the back of his eyes. “If you see Daniel, tell him he’s under arrest. I’m supposed to put him under quarantine.” His eyes closed. “People are dying in the streets in ’Nam. It’s spreading like wildfire.”
“But it can’t,” Kal stated, and the fear returned to Rick as he realized Kal’s earlier promise might be hollow.
“There’s no pattern to it,” Rick said. “Even when accounting for the Inderland immunity. Like an angel of God strolling through the cobbled streets, it’s taking out entire human families, skipping others. No pattern, none at all.”
“But not Inderlanders,” Kal said, his shoulders stiffening. It shouldn’t be killing anyone. And how was it spreading? Trisk’s tomato? he thought, immediately dismissing it. He’d made her tomato susceptible, not a carrier and able to serve as an incubator. The dosage must be wrong. That would account for the utter destruction of Trisk’s field as well.
Rick’s face was haggard. “Inderlanders? So far, no reports of death,” he said, taking his handkerchief and swabbing the back of his neck. “So far.” He looked at the handkerchief, hand shaking as he saw little drops of blood on it. “Shit.”
“I worked on the dosage calculations. It shouldn’t have any effect outside the building,” Kal said, and Rick laughed, a hint of hysteria in it.
“It’s hitting the entire country,” he said, rising unsteadily. “They’ve blocked travel in and out. The local Weres and witches are keeping the area together, setting up camps, keeping the food supplies, law in place. We’re all going to die,” he said, lurching to put his hand on the doorjamb. “Even if this doesn’t kill us, we’re all going to die.”
“It can’t do this,” Kal said, but Rick wasn’t listening, head down as he mumbled.
“Die,” Rick said, stumbling into the hall. “I’ve got to find a hole. No one is going to bury me properly. I have to do it myself.”
Kal looked at the decay-blackened field. He was sure he hadn’t miscalculated the effective dose. The only answer remaining was that he’d accidentally made Trisk’s tomato into a carrier. My God. What have I done? he thought, then shoved it down. No one knew it was him. No one ever would.
“Rick? Rick!” he called as he leaned into the hall, and Rick turned, staggering to hold himself up against the wall, though he couldn’t possibly be that sick—yet. “Have you told anyone Trisk’s field is infected?” Kal asked.
Fear flashed through Rick’s eyes, fear at what his master would say when he found out Rick had failed to keep their people safe. “Not yet. I wanted to talk to her first.”
Thank God. Kal steeled his expression. “I think it’s Dr. Cambri’s tomato, not an incorrect dosage, that’s causing the deaths,” he said, and Rick’s eyes flicked to the office behind him. “The T4 Angel is a cash crop in ’Nam. You saw her seed field. It’s putrefying. If Trisk’s Angel tomato is a carrier, we have to eliminate it before it can spread any farther. Do you keep records in your office of who it’s been sold to?”
“I don’t know. Why?” Rick asked, and Kal stifled a surge of impatience.
“We have to burn the fields,” he said, the rotting vegetation somehow smelling stronger in the hallway than in his office. “Starting with Dr. Cambri’s seed field and ending with every field in the third-world countries. How long will it take to get a list of who’s growing them?”