Sacramento was currently under Accidental Release Protocol, which was very much like a voluntary martial law without the military. The story was that Global Genetics had undergone an accidental release due to yesterday’s fire. Residents within the drift area had been advised to stock up, sit tight, and boil their water. Hanging a towel in a front window would bring help, as the phone lines were no longer working. People were being asked not to come into the hospital, as care was likely better at home. Red Cross wasn’t expected until later today, but government troops were setting up outside the perimeter and would start a door-to-door sweep at sunup. Employees of Global Genetics had been told to remain home and wait for instructions until it was better understood what had been released. Incidences of sickness had popped up in Nevada as well as San Francisco, and even Las Vegas, but so far, only Sacramento was under quarantine.
Licking the last of the batter from the spoon, Kal checked his baking again. “Ten minutes?” he guessed aloud, setting the bowl in the sink and taking his coffee into the living room. There was a toy horse on the coffee table, and he shifted it to make room for his feet. He’d bought it for the boy downstairs, currently under house quarantine with the mumps and bored out of his little-boy mind. Kal could sympathize, having endured a childhood that often had him in the hospital and away from friends. It was a strong, dark, mane-flaring horse, and he hoped DJ liked it.
His smile widened when Orchid slipped in through a side window, her wings clattering and a faint yellow dust slipping from her as she stopped short upon seeing him. “You’re up early,” she said as he settled in front of the TV. “It’s not even sunup yet.”
“No need to adhere to a human clock today,” he said, marveling at her wings as she carefully cleaned the dew from them. There was a basket of clean laundry at his feet, his clothes from yesterday washed and dried in the communal laundry downstairs. It was unlikely that his laundry service would be functioning anytime soon, and letting them molder about with decayed tomato and accelerant hadn’t been an option. He’d left them for Lilly to iron and fold.
I should probably at least fold them.
Orchid landed on the rim of the basket, and his eyes shifted to the TV. It was black and white. He missed his color TV. “So,” the small woman prompted, “whatcha doing today?”
Her disapproval was obvious in her sickly green dust and in how her hands were set on her hips. “Taking DJ that toy horse I bought him,” he said, his lip twitching as he remembered Rick’s twisted body, moving even as he burned. “Waiting it out,” he added, his eyebrows rising when he noticed the announcer had a rash, badly hidden under pancake makeup.
Orchid rose up, shifting to his shoulder. “It’s spreading fast,” she said, her dust turning yellow as she saw the rash as well.
Kal nodded, taking a last sip of his coffee before he set it aside and pulled the basket closer. Orchid darted off, but she didn’t go far. “Faster than I’d expect,” he admitted. His clothes smelled pleasingly clean, and he searched out the socks, making a pile on the couch to fold last.
“You think it’s airborne?” Orchid asked, and he shrugged, setting his shirt aside to iron.
“Perhaps.” He frowned in thought, remembering George’s clean skin. “Not everyone in Global Genetics seems to have caught it. But it’s popping up in odd places.”
“Like Carson City.” The pixy dropped to the basket, tugging until one of his socks came free and she ferried it to the pile on the couch.
“Trisk could have taken it there,” he admitted. “But San Francisco?” Kal’s brow furrowed. It was as if healthy tomatoes, those picked weeks ago, had been exposed to the virus and suddenly become toxic. Had he erred in using the hairs as a connection point? Was the virus attacking the picked fruit as well as the plant? Fruit that could then acquire the virus while it sat on produce shelves or a truck driving through town? “And Las Vegas?” he questioned softly as the reporter was replaced with a map of the western U.S., ominous red dots showing where signs of the virus were now appearing.
“All roads lead to Vegas,” a bitter, masculine voice intoned, and Orchid darted into the air, inking a bright red in shock.
Kal spun, rising to his feet when he saw the shadow of a man in his front entry. “Saladan,” he blurted, recognizing the unmoving figure in his black suit and white shirt.
“I’m sorry, Kal,” Orchid gushed, clearly embarrassed. “I didn’t hear him come in.”
Saladan removed his sunglasses and dropped them in a shirt pocket with a pointed slowness. “I didn’t want you to.”
The faint purple glow about his fingers was mirrored on the door handle and lock, and incensed, Kal felt his eyes narrow. “You broke my lock with magic—” Kal yelped, dropping to the floor when Saladan flicked an aura-laced ball of energy at him.
“Hey!” Orchid shouted, the tiny woman pulling her garden sword and hovering over Kal. “You got a problem, stinky britches?”
“Not with you,” Saladan said, and Kal froze when a room-wide bubble snapped into place. It shrank even as Kal sat up, slithering over him with an icy feeling. Orchid darted up, then to the left, then down as the bubble condensed until she was trapped in a globe the size of a beach ball. It was an incredible show of finesse, and Kal’s jaw dropped.
“Let me out!” Orchid demanded, her dust pooling up to show the bottom of the sphere as it slowly drifted.