Onset: Chloe's new medicine, #1

By E L Russell and E C Russell

OnSet, a five-star first book of three in the Cohort Series of science fiction, high-tech, mystery thrillers is about Chloe Russo's quest for discovery through genomic engineering that will change medicine and the course of human development.
As a wheelchair-bound graduate medical researcher, her legs paralyzed in a cycling accident, she discovers secrets of the genome to unlock the mystery of human evolution and immortality. Her awakening and emergence to a new human species, Homo Evolutis, leads to life-threatening persecution by the government and paramilitary factions that want to weaponize her new powers.
With the help of her evolving cohort, specifically Dr. Michael Kregg, a gifted psychiatrist, Chloe works to elude dark forces and use her research for the good of mankind.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Entanglement Publishing
• Release date: Dec 3, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393001188

E L Russell

Editorial Reviews About the Authors Enid and Enos Russell hail from Houston and sincw 2010 have published 15+ high-concept science fiction and techno-thriller novels, as well as 10+ Short Stories. Our first question is always, "What could go wrong?" Educated in mathematics and research, I have spent ten years writing White Papers advising corporations on emerging technologies. My latest research has resulted in a series of novels and short stories about the ability to re-program inheritable genetic code, curing disease through self-healing, waging war, and acquiring immortality. Our protagonists, powerful women scientists, medical researchers, are members of the next human species, Homo Evolutis. We publish through Entanglement Publishing. --This text refers to the paperback edition.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The race

W atch out for the twins from Pittsburgh, Chloe. They trained all summer in those hills.

Yeah, and me without a rear-view mirror. Chloe grinned at her own trash talk and checked her chain while she rubbed a section with an oily rag and wiped her hands. You and I both know there’s only one other cyclist here worth even a glimpse. She spun a tire and checked its treads.

Her friend made binoculars with her hands to scan for that possibly distinguished cyclist among the 80 or so contestants checking their equipment.

Funny, Chloe laughed in spite of herself. Like we don’t both know it’s you, Kelly, but note I said, ‘Glimpse,’ nothing more.

As they jostled their bikes through the parking lot to the staging area, Kelly said, Come clean, Chloe, we’ve split wins all season. It’s my turn today.

Yeah, right. Not today, girlfriend. You will eat my dust. Good race, girl. An air horn signaled the imminent start and the racers elbowed for position.

She nudged up her bike to the front. That’s woman to you, kid. Kelly could dish her own trash talk.

Chloe hooted and adjusted her helmet over her sleek brown hair, fixing her eyes on a spot twenty meters down the road. She stretched her long athletic body and flexed well-developed shoulder muscles. All out in three pumps. She tensed like a jack-in-the-box ready to spring.

The start sounded and her body shot into action. Tendons flexed and tungsten strained with the first circle of the wheel. As she flew past her first checkpoint, she noted with satisfaction that the pack had fallen back. So much for the Pittsburgh twins.

Eighty racers had entered, but in Chloe’s mind, it was a two-woman race. Kelly was always her toughest competition and today would be no different. There would be time to renew their friendship after the race. The challenge of beating her was only one of many flames that fueled her fire to win.

Chloe was stoked. She thrived on competition. The satisfaction of a powerful start, the freedom in speed, even the exhaustion at the finish, she loved it all. The exhilarating speed made her feel like she could fly. She stretched for her personal best, in practice and in competition.

Police cars and red traffic cones loomed ahead, marking the ninety-degree turn to the reservoir. Careless navigation could send a biker in a slide over the low wall into the deadly deep reservoir water.

Chloe knew the lane she wanted and drove hard, leaning into the turn. The spectators on the reservoir wall zipped by in a colorful blur and the commotion of police whistles and shouting didn’t phase her focus.

Kelly? Chloe felt her near. She was closing the gap. Odd how Chloe always knew when Kelly was near. She pushed herself harder. Kelly doesn’t usually make her move until the end of the race.

Chloe lowered her head and dug in for more speed. From the corner of her eye, she saw the front wheel of a Kelly’s bike in the narrow space between her and the reservoir wall, challenging her lead.

Chloe’s muscles fought her demand for more speed and she lost ground. Then, everything went wrong.

Kelly shouted.

Chloe’s screams vanished into an explosive roar that assaulted her senses, draining all sound into oblivion. The void, replaced by a wall of heat, washed over her like liquid fire. She struggled to maintain her balance as peddles defied feet and handlebars refused purchase.

Pain.

Panic.

She sucked hard for air the scorching blast had blown away.

Darkness prowled the perimeter of her vision and she felt her body melting.

Something… a hand… a foot… smacked and shoved her left shoulder hard to the right to send her crashing toward oblivion. Then a huge, hot, unyielding monster slammed and catapulted her through the air.

Blackness stole her vision …… her consciousness… her pain.

Chapter 2

Two years later

Former detective Dave Westfield popped his gum in cadence with his hammering heart. Wiping sweaty palms on his hospital scrubs, he double-checked the angle of the security camera to be sure he was in a blind spot. The squawk in his earpiece fired his reflux and he swallowed hard.

Two minutes out. You have the package?

Yea. Sweat pasted this hospital scrubs to his torso and crotch. Texas summers are too damn hot to stand around in a concrete garage.

Wait, the voice said.

Right. The delay, the heat, and the danger of discovery compounded his irritation. At first, his little break-in had seemed simple compared to the chunk of money they offered, but then they demanded more. He heard stories and back room rumors of bad things happening to people who dealt with them. They called him late last night to demand all the info today or he would die.

They said it was simple. Walk in, grab the files, and walk out and nobody gets hurt.

He sluiced the sweat of his forehead with already-soaked handkerchief and tried to eliminate the sound from his brain of the squealing tires fighting the continuous left-hand turn up the parking garage ramp. He inhaled a couple of antacids and wished he'd brought another pack.

The tinny voice in his ear erupted, Level two.

Westfield's body spazzed at the sudden sound and he threw his hand to his chest. Yes, two.

Be ready to hand us the ear piece and the envelope. The voice was female, flat, and toneless. Yet, it held expectation, menace. In the hot and humid garage, its lack of inflection was chilling.

Afraid, but daring, he asked, My money?

The same dead voice demanded, When we make the exchange.

Thank God this gig is over. He closed his fist in triumph. He wanted to finish the job and be free of them, whoever they were.

Dave edged toward the outer side of the ramp. Its walls covered with black tire streaks and chipped concrete, spoke of failed turn ratios. He felt the black limo cruise up from behind, slowing.

He removed his earpiece and pulled a square manila envelope from under his sweaty scrub top. The black limo cruised slowly by. He hesitated, unable to see through its tinted glass. Then the rear window opened halfway to reveal a small black-gloved hand waving a white envelope.

Pay day! He walked backwards up the ramp, matching the limo’s progress. Holding the damp goods and earpiece in one hand, he reached for his money with the other.

The limo accelerated slightly and Dave turned sideways to keep up. He caught the flash of reflecting sunglasses in the dark shadows of the limo’s back seat, but no face. The hand snatched his offering, dropped his payment to the oil-stained concrete, and accelerated away.

He swore as he ran to pick it up. Hah, Darkwood, you can kiss my ass. I got your prints now, you bastards. With this insurance, you can’t screw me over now.

With relief, he listened to the diminishing distant squeal of tires and stuffed the money in his thigh pocket. He couldn’t wait to leave this hell hole and hurried his climb toward the closest elevator. Out of shape and out of breath, he had to stop at a No Pedestrians sign to lean on the ramp’s wall and take the pressure off his overworked lungs.

Concentrating on catching his breath, Dave jumped at the sudden appearance of a beautiful young woman. Uh. He sucked in his gut and stood taller. Where the hell did you come from?

Although dressed in a black leather jacket and tight jeans, she didn’t look affected by the heat. Without a word, she extended a black-gloved hand to him.

Breathless? she cooed.

I’m Dave Westfield, Sucking air through a sweaty smile, he ogled the cleavage in her half unbuttoned blouse, and reached to shake hands.

I know, she purred. Then she surprised him by painfully locking her grip on his arm.

Hey! What the… let go! He yanked hard but couldn’t pull free.

Unperturbed, the woman smiled a lazy grin and held his arm with ease. Without a word, she located his payment with her other hand and stuffed the money in a pocket of her tight jeans. We don’t want a money trail, now do we?

Raising an eyebrow, she twisted his arm toward the restraining wall. Dave’s inability to resist escalated the pain and fear. What the hell! He unsuccessfully kicked at her legs and tried to hit her with his other arm.

The more he thrashed about, the more her smile deepened. Finally, she knocked his arm aside so hard she broke it. Then she grabbed his waist band with her other hand and in slow motion, effortlessly rolled him over the top of the wall. The mystery woman neatly dropped him head first toward the cement floor four stories below. She watched as he screamed all the way down.

---

Back in the limo, the woman, neither breathless nor ruffled with her encounter with double-dealing Dave, tore open the small sweat stained envelope and carefully examined its contents. She shouldered her phone to her ear and said with satisfaction, Colonel, I have the scans. They’re on a DVD with a written message from our man inside.

‘Read it."

Of course, colonel but this would all have been much tidier if you had just let me do it.

Come now, you can’t do everything, he cajoled. The rest of us would feel useless.

Not in the least placated, she read, ‘I have confirmed that the candidate has the special brain tissue we seek. I await your instructions.’"

Succinct.

She listened on the phone as she repackaged the items. Yes, the team’s in place. They are monitoring the candidate and can initiate extraction at any time. She took the phone off her shoulder. Of course. Our mole will let us know the minute they schedule the candidate for treatment.

Chapter 3

The race to work

Chloe knew she was driving too fast … again … but she was late for the first day of her summer internship. Her Aunt Doris had insisted she needed to go to Houston to have the best learning opportunity and Shannon, her adoptive mother had agreed. For both of them, she wanted to make a good impression. Not a good start, she muttered.

The hospital’s right across from the campus," her aunt had said, meaning across from Rice University. The directions had sounded easy enough but the problem she had reminded her about was that the Houston medical center had tons of hospitals. Even though Chloe had recovered from her accident there, MD Anderson Cancer Center was only one hospital among a maze of others.

Go south on Montrose until you run into a circle around a big fountain. You can’t miss it. If you go too far, you’re in the zoo.

Damn, she thought. There it is. The damn zoo. She doubled-back by making a semi-legal u-bee through a gap of approaching traffic, aimed for the fountain for the second time, and then accelerated around it.

Through breaks in the dense canopy of oak limbs, she caught glimpses of the university on the right and, as promised, a zillion medical buildings on the left. Crap, I’m so late I’ll be fired before I start.

As she waited impatiently at a string of red lights, she saw a sea of medical personnel in scrubs, construction workers in hard hats, and joggers in considerably less, saunter, hustle, or run to their destinations. Just past eight thirty and the radio said the heat index made it feel like 92. Ugh, she grumbled. Even so, I’d rather be with the joggers than dressed up for first impressions.

Thrilled to see help, she flagged the traffic cop. MD Anderson?

Left ahead and move it. He yelled back, waving her on.

She sped through the dark opening to underground valet parking and pulled into the first empty slot. She hit the switch that began the transformation of her van into a landing craft. Then she unlocked her chair, backed up, spun around, and quickly rolled toward the rear of the van and the descending ramp. This takes too much freaking time! She frowned with impatience. Everything takes longer when you’re waiting in a damn chair. She bounced up the curb, hit the button on her key chain closing the ramp, and tossed the keys to the attendant without stopping to smile.

Trying not to sweat, Chloe pulled the wheels with her strong arms and manipulated her way down the labyrinth of patient-filled hallways. Her silk blouse and dress pants were so alien to her usual attire of shorts and a t-shirts, she felt like a fraud. Where’s the blasted Patient Services Office? She glanced at her watch. Twenty-five minutes late. Aunt Doris will shoot me if I screw this up. Why the heck was she so insistent on MD Anderson in Houston? Staying home and interning at Johns Hopkins would have been so much easier.

Crossing yet another intersection of halls, she passed a small sign that pointed down a side corridor. Jeez. I almost missed it. Doubling back, she made the turn smiled to see it empty. I’ll be making up time here. She grinned and set her titanium wheels spinning toward the end of the corridor. How she loved going fast. Relishing the feeling of freedom, she pushed herself for maximum speed and set her long, brown hair flying.

Her euphoria didn’t last. Blinded by a patch of reflected sunlight halfway down the corridor, she didn’t see the man backing out of a door directly in front of her. She grabbed her racing wheels with all her strength and too late, shouted in panic.

She careened into the man, buckling his long legs. He landed in a heap on her lap and knocked the air from her lungs with a whoosh. Her arms automatically wrapped around him as they headed for certain collision with the door ahead. We’re gonna get killed!

Frantic, she let go of him with one hand and managed to reach a wheel rim to slow and turn her chair. Her effort saved them from a bone crunching crash but they still slammed into the door with a jarring thud. Chloe’s vision grew fuzzy and blackness closed in. She pushed at the jumble of arms and legs.

Off, she wheezed, can’t breathe.

Someone forced the door partly open, pushing the wheelchair back, and said, Michael? What’s happened?

Squeezing the last vestige of air from her lungs, the man pushed off Chloe’s lap. Woo-ee! he hooted, wiping tears of laughter off his face, That was some ride.

Chloe’s jaw dropped. How is that funny? She couldn’t believe he could laugh as she still sucked in air. She wheezed, 'Fraid I’d break your neck... thought you were a goner. Her eyes caught his. Are you nuts?

No, No, I’m fine.

An older woman with concern on her face placed a hand on Chloe’s shoulder. Are you hurt, my dear?

Gulping air, Chloe nodded and managed to say, Um… fine.

The tall man with the handsome face and dancing brown eyes bent down to examine her scowling expression. You do look a bit… off. Your eyes are glazed and you’re red in the face. Take deep, slow breaths.

Duh, she thought, her mind beginning to clear. With her mouth open, gasping for air, she felt like a fish out of water. She watched him straighten up. He’s good looking for a lunatic, she thought, apropos of nothing. I tried. To warn you. She talked in short sentences so she could breathe in-between. Where'd you come from? She wheeled her chair to look down the hall for a door. Turning back, she said, "I am sorry,"

No problem. I’m Michael Kregg. Amusement still filled his eyes as he reached out to shake her hand. I must have knocked the breath out of you pretty good.

Do you think? Chloe cocked