Maggie frowned. “I thought results were sort of the goal.”
“They are, in the general sense, but there are negative and positive results from any analysis. Look at this.” Mahir tapped the paper, shoving it toward Maggie. “Every time a new viral substrain is identified—every time—it comes immediately after a spike in the local death rate. Buenos Aires. San Diego. Manchester. It isn’t a coincidence, and it isn’t confined to any specific country or part of the world. It’s everywhere, and it’s every time.”
Becks shook her head. “What does that prove? Maybe the new strains are more virulent when they’re first getting started, and they’re killing all these people.”
“Unlikely.” He produced another sheet of paper, this one with a brightly colored pie chart on it.
“Eye-catching,” I said, tugging it closer to my side of the table.
“That was the intent.” Mahir pulled another copy of the chart from his file and handed it to Alaric. “This shows the aggregate causes of death among the people with reservoir conditions killed immediately prior to the identification of a new substrain.”
“These wedges are too small to read,” said Alaric.
“My point exactly. There is no dominant cause of death among the victims in these regions. They just… die. They get hit by cars, they fall from ladders, they take their own lives, they die. As if it were any other day, as if theirs were any other deaths. The pattern is in the absolute lack of a pattern, and it’s everywhere, and a month later, there’s a new strain of Kellis-Amberlee running about, more virulent than the one that was in that region prior to the deaths. Three to five years after that, the first reservoir conditions linked to the new strain start showing up, and then it’s another two years before the cycle starts over again.” Mahir removed his wire-rimmed glasses, wiping them on his shirt. “Dr. Connolly, would you care to tell me what conclusions you draw from this data?”
“I can’t make any firm determinations without studying the material more thoroughly, but…” Kelly wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, voice hitching a little as she continued: “I would say there are no naturally occurring viral substrains of the viral chimera generally referred to as Kellis-Amberlee.”
“What are you talking about?” I demanded. “He just said there were new strains appearing all the damn time. This dead professor dude made his career studying them. They ve to exist.”
She didn’t say they don’t exist, Shaun. She said they don’t occur naturally.
Georgia sounded subdued, even resigned, like this was the answer she’d been expecting all along, like the part of me that kept her with me understood perfectly and was just waiting for the rest of me to catch up. I went very still, the skin tightening into goose bumps along my arms as I looked, helplessly, at Mahir. He looked back, waiting. They were all waiting, and they all knew I’d get there if they just gave me a minute. They knew George had the answers, and I… well, I had her.
“They exist, but they aren’t natural,” I said.
“Exactly.” Mahir picked up another folder and started passing its contents around the table. “These are CDC analyses of the structure of Kellis-Amberlee. They were acquired legally; they’ve all been published for public use. People have been trying for years to figure out how something this intricate and stable has been able to mutate without once creating a strain that behaved in a manner different from its parents. The answer is simple: It can’t, and it hasn’t. Every strain after the original has been created in a laboratory and has been released following what can only be an intentional culling of the individuals afflicted with reservoir conditions. It’s a bloody global study, and we’ve all been invited to participate.”
Silence fell hard. None of us knew enough to say that he was wrong, except for maybe Kelly, and she wasn’t saying anything; she was just sitting there, tears running slowly down her cheeks as she looked at the papers covering the table. That, maybe more than anything, told me that Mahir’s conclusions were correct. After all the years she had spent living the CDC party line, if Kelly could have argued, she would have.
Becks was the one to eventually break the silence, asking, “So what do we do now?”
“Now?” I stood, slapping my palms down on the table. “We get packing. We’re hitting the road in the morning. All reports will be made while mobile—I don’t want us to be sitting ducks when the shit comes down.”
“Where are we going?” asked Alaric.
“The only place I think we might have half a chance of breaking into that’s going to have the resources to tell us where we’re supposed to go next.” I looked challengingly at Kelly. She didn’t look away. Instead, she nodded, acceptance blossoming in her expression.
“We’re going to Memphis,” she said.