Outbreak at Kings Bay: Dr. Mohr's Outbreak, #1

By Elle Harris

Four Star author offers readers a series that enthralls with chaos, conspiracy and survival. This post apocalyptic series contains romance, spice and also fits the bill for a fast paced thriller. 

 

    Things take an unexpected turn at Kings Bay naval base during an outbreak of a weaponized virus. As a CDC Dr. works to save humanity, a startling side effect becomes apparent in some of the mysteriously immune. As society falls apart, someone from her past she'd rather forget unleashes more havoc. Can she save the human race without the King Pin of the apocalypse finding her?

 

 Beta Reader Reviews:

             "I can't put this series down! Can't wait for the next book." Melanie

            "These books are the perfect length for a glass of wine and a hot bath after the kids have gone to bed." Jayne

            "This book is spicy, but there's still a good storyline. Which is unusual for the post apocalyptic genre." Will 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elle Harris
• Release date: Jan 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215068922

Book preview

I would like to thank readers who wrote reviews urging me to keep writing. I would like to thank my son for his invaluable insight on the post-apocalyptic genre. If it weren’t for him, these books wouldn’t exist.

Dear Reader,

First and foremost, thank you for your support. If you’re a UK reader, I apologize in advance for the Americanized grammar in this series. (Seems the British readers do not care for Americanized grammar, and that’s completely understandable.) Since I am unable to become a Brit and learn their grammar conventions, this will have to do for now. Someday we hope to fund a British editor for British editions of the books, but for now there isn’t room in the budget. I’d say I’ve still spun a decent yarn with this one. As always, feel free to contact me on social media or send me an email. We are actively begging for reviews. Well almost begging. Definitely praying. Doing rain dances. Charging our magical rocks by the light of the full moon. Just in case you weren’t aware, it takes about 50 reviews on a book before the algorithm at book reviewers begins to take note of particular book. So please post your honest review. Let other readers know what you liked and didn’t like. FYI, in case you aren’t aware, on Tiktok’s book community, booktok, Book fairies are a thing. It’s where you post a book wishlist on your bio, and readers are randomly chosen to receive free book mail. Who doesn’t love free books?!?!?!? So follow me and other independently published authors on Tiktok. Also a few times a year all the indies join together for a massive listing of free books all on the same day. It's worth checking out booktok.

If you would like to join my newsletter for free books, recipes, and updates on releases, please drop me a note at [e-mail]

I share my release news with the newsletter as well as other authors free book and new releases in the same genres.

Best wishes, 

Elle

Outbreak at Kings Bay

Chapter 1

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Elizabeth

Elizabeth sat in Dr. Mohr’s office, anxiously tapping one manicured index finger on a seemingly innocuous bio-canister. She shifted uncomfortably in the posh leather seat. What if it’s not the right one? What is taking him so long? She looked around his lavish office. Stuffy leather and mahogany dominated the small windowless space. The opulence of the interior of Dr. Mohr’s office was in stark contrast with the impoverished Wuhan street where the lab was located. One wrong turn in this neighborhood, and I could wake up in a bathtub somewhere missing a kidney. Shuddering, she shifted her attention to the canister. Just then, the office door opened and Dr. Mohr bustled in with an assistant in scrubs. Dr. Mohr looked exactly the same to her. The last ten years had not left him with a single new wrinkle.  She stood to greet him, smoothing the wrinkles in her pantsuit.

Dr. Gupta, such a monumental moment. He clasped both of her hands in his.

Dr. Cho, please take the canister to bio-containment 2. Please follow the Ebola protocol and upload the canister into the system for verification, please.

Right away, sir. She whisked the canister away, leaving Elizabeth alone with Dr. Mohr.

He shut the door behind him and leaned his back against the door. He exhaled, and a rumble of giddy laughter reverberated around the room.

Elizabeth, do you know what this means? He hurried over to his desk and began tapping away on his iPad. A big screen on the far wall came on. A British mechanical voice interrupted her before she could answer.

Specimen analysis complete. Mohr# 924. A perfect match.

Thank you, Clementine, please reverify.

Straight away, Dr.Mohr.

Dr. Elizabeth Gupta, it’s now time to begin Phase 1. He paused dramatically after each word.

Right now, sir?

Yes! Head to Kings Bay please, with Brock. My assistant will get you both new identities, passports, and airline tickets.

Are you sure we’re ready?

We’ve never been more ready. It’s been over ten years since we lost our sample of the virus. Ten years is long enough, don’t you think?

On it, sir. I’ll be in touch.

She smiled at him flirtatiously before quickly leaving. Memories of his legendary temper from years past were still fresh in her mind. She was replaceable. It was never a good time to anger Dr. Mohr.  Slipping back out of his office, she heard him speaking to someone quietly. His voice was a hoarse whisper. Against her better judgment, she stopped and listened.

Madam Vice President, I am happy to report that phase one is a go. Yes. Right now. We are ready. Yes, ma’am, the one. Virus #924. Our final candidate. You remember them unfortunate incident in Ukraine with Byron and Asad. It’s a long story, but we’ve successfully recovered an active sample.  I can have a batch of vaccinations up to you for your family and team in about 24 hours. The list, ma’am? Yes, it is ready. Please make sure Hunter is up to speed. It will be all hands-on deck.

Chapter 2

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Resurgence

Harper

Dr. Harper Greene sat in her lab scrutinizing flu samples at the CDC. Grumbling in frustration, she stared out at the ocean waters as the surf pounded Jacksonville Beach. A stray hair brushed against her neck insistently. Exhausted and irritated, she sniffed the air. She smelled dirty hair and the unmistakable scent of human body odor. Who is that who stinks?!?? Oh God, it’s me. Annoyed, she snatched all the hair up and pulled it into a ponytail at the nape of her neck. Nothing made sense about the influenza death samples she’d received yesterday. This strain was almost identical on a molecular level to a lethal influenza virus she’d seen ten years prior in the Laghman Province in Afghanistan. It can’t be. She shook her head in disbelief as horror and panic seeped deeper into her mind.  She looked again in the microscope at her sample. I’ve missed something. I must’ve. She pulled her head up from the microscope and pushed her rolling desk chair around. She began hastily digging through a large file cabinet. After some rifling, she finally located the document she wanted.  It was the molecular analysis of the victim’s blood sample from 10 years ago. She compared the more recent results side by side. Frustratingly similar, but slightly different. Hmmm. Could the differences be attributed to advances in molecular analysis that had occurred in recent years? Both samples could indeed be the same virus.

She shook the document in disbelief and buried her face in her hands in defeat. Lifting her head, she gazed back out at the water as it lapped the shoreline. Boy, was I confused about what I was getting myself into. Allowing herself a moment to reminisce over her early years, she thought back to when she’d just finished her residency at Vanderbilt in Immunology. She saw a younger, dewy-eyed version of herself. So full of hope, promise, and contentious expectations. She saw her mother’s tears of joy the day she graduated at the top of her class. She recalled taking the job at the CDC full of altruistic hope to make a difference. Nothing prepared her for what she saw on her very first CDC outing in Afghanistan. He eyes welling up with tears, she allowed her mind to slip back into the memory of the most challenging day of her entire life. Hoping she might remember some detail that would help them figure out this latest virus. The memory was vivid and full color as if it had just happened yesterday.

As the red cross van pulled up at the village, she immediately heard a woman wailing before the van even came to a stop. Pulling on her biohazard suit, she yanked the door open and ran towards the sobbing while still zipping. She walked into a mud hut and locked eyes with a woman who was crying tears of blood. She clutched a dead infant to her chest with ashen skin mottled with shades of blue. He was spattered with a mix of his bright red blood as well as his mother’s. The woman’s crying slowed to a whimpering sob as she began to struggle to breathe, likely just as her infant had. She sank to the dirt floor of the shack, still clutching her dead baby. Chortling gasps escaped as she fought to breathe. Her body ravaged by a virus she had no hope of fighting. Blood began to spray from her lips and nose with each beleaguered breath. Her lungs filled with blood from destroyed capillaries so quickly Harper had no hope of even administering CPR. Blood gushed from her mouth in a torrent. She locked eyes with her, the anguish and fear of watching her child die frozen forever on the woman’s face. The virus had consumed the woman literally before her eyes.

After interviewing the few remaining living villagers, the only visitor they recalled having was a tall Syrian man with dark hair and brilliant blue eyes about a week before. He was handsome and wore traditional Afghan clothing, but it appeared very new and unworn. He traded honey in exchange for some of their pottery. They needed honey more than pottery and didn’t bother to look a gift horse in the mouth. All but one family in the village had traded for honey. This family’s matriarch was a withered old woman. Long in the tooth but as sharp as a tack. In her native language of Pashto, she explained that she was distrustful of this stranger and his new clothes. She’d said that men who sold honey for a living never had brand new clothes. It just wasn’t that sort of living. Honey sellers were an unusual sort even by Afghan villager standards. Generally, dirt poor. She refused the honey despite her family’s ardent protests.

She remembered how strange it was that the virus didn’t spread past the village that day. It was in stark contrast with the transmissibility and lethality. The virus was contained by the remoteness of the location and the sheer isolation the geography created. The village was encircled by mountainous terrain and roads little better than a goat path. They rarely had visitors. Hence the reason the man with the honey stood out to the old woman. Someone from another nearby village would not be wearing brand new and spotless clothing. It was almost as if the blue-eyed man was testing out the lethality of the virus. As if it were a bio-weapon.

A knock at her office door startled her back to reality. She swiveled around in her office chair as her boss gingerly opened the door. His weathered but kind face was full of concern. Dr. Hadley’s few strands of remaining gray hair were combed over his bald head. The strands did nothing to cover the liver spots and bulbous size of his head. He was never what you would call a handsome man, and advanced age had not been kind. His eyebrows were white and bushy, with one sagging eye lid causing a thick tuft of white hair to partially obscure his left eye. His ears seemed to pin up great sagging folds of skin that hung down around his chin. A large hunch in his back was visible under his white lab coat. One beefy hand gnarled with age and arthritis gripped a hand-carved mahogany cane.  He’d modified the cane's foot with a four-pronged hydraulic swiveling head he had designed himself in his spare time. She remembered he had said it was nearly impossible to take a fall if you were holding that cane. It had a patent pending, and several retailers were hounding him to pick it up for their store. His body might be frail, but his mind was still razor-sharp.

****

Dr. Hadley took a moment to look over Dr. Greene. Her long mouse brown hair looked dark, oily, and unwashed. He’d always thought her eyes were a lovely shade of hazel and green, wide-set. But today, they were framed by thick purplish circles. There was a gauntness in her cheeks, evidence that she was pushing her body to the limit. Her face tapered to a small chin and her neck was long and delicate like a reed. She was very tiny in stature with small shoulders and minute hands. She looked vulnerable as she swam in swaths of the fabric of her lab coat. Her lips were drawn and tight. Her smile typically lit up her face and the room in a way that was unexpected from such a plain package. He knew there would not be any smiles today from her after all that had happened. She appeared to have aged a decade in the past two days. The last thing he wanted to see was Harper pushing herself into a nervous breakdown. She was one of the best Dr’s he’d encountered in his sixty years of practice. He’d long ago made peace with the fact that Harper was brighter than he was. She was a jewel for the CDC, and they were beyond lucky to have recruited her at all. Her lack of interest in material things had been the only reason she’d ended up at the CDC. Bright minds like hers were usually millionaires working for pharmaceutical companies. But not this goody two shoes sort of girl. His fatherly instincts began to kick into high gear.

Harper, you look like hell. You’ve been here for three days. You won’t find the answer to this by depriving yourself of sleep. Why don’t you go home to the Greenefield on Cumberland Island? See your mama. It’s right by the Kings Bay Naval base anyway, and that’s our only lead right now. If you hurry, you can still catch the last ferry. Then she won’t have to send Gerald to pick you up. I’ll have the commander at the base send someone to pick you up in the morning. They’ve got the body in their sick bay, and they quarantined the entire area. We will have to assume for now that they’ve done as we asked them with the quarantine. That they’ve taken it seriously.

Tears welled up in her hazel eyes.

I have to figure it out, Dr. Hadley. Could you imagine the devastation of this virus spreading to the mainland?

She tried unsuccessfully to hold back a wail.

I keep remembering that baby in Afghanistan. His mother’s face. It’s the most horrible way I could think of someone dying.

Harper, you couldn’t find your way out of a paper sack in the state you’re in right now. Let alone save humanity. Go home. Get some rest. Have a drink with your Mom. Decompress. Allow yourself a moment to be human. He was irritated. He thumped his cane down so hard it shook the floor.

What if the virus gets off the island while I’m having a drink. As if I’m some irresponsible party girl? Or while I’m sleeping. That would be great. I can see the headlines right now, CDC Dr partying it up while killer virus kills off the Eastern seaboard.

Dr. Hadley dug around in a cabinet and located a box of tissues. He slapped it down on the desk next to her. It made her jump. He leaned in and leveled his gaze with hers.

Woman, get yourself together. Go home to your Mama. This virus will still be there tomorrow. The base has been correctly quarantined. I double and triple confirmed. Unless it was too late already when we found out, if that’s that case, it’s certainly not our fault.

She blew her nose and wiped her eyes. Wrapping her hands around her coffee mug, she downed as much as she could. Her mind began to clear. Dr. Hadley retreated towards the door.

Harper, you’ll be able to perform an autopsy there. They will cooperate. But just between you and me, you need to be prepared for some arrogant Navy guys full of bluster and chest-pounding. Push right back, girl. Harder. Lord knows you’ve got it in you.

We have to figure this out before it wipes out an entire city. Or worse.

Well, it hasn’t been an entire village this time. It was one sanitation worker at the Naval base. Which also doesn’t make sense. You’d think if this virus turned back up, it would have been carried back by deployed soldiers. We have no sick soldiers and one dead janitor. Thank goodness the military folk there are well trained on biological weapons and containment. Or everybody would already be dead. He stamped his cane down on the floor with a harrumph.

You can’t help anyone sitting in this lab for days with no sleep. Also, just between the two of us, since everything happened with Brock and that sub-contractor, you’ve been, well, edgy. He pointed his chin up and widened his eyes. Then he frowned, stamping his cane down for emphasis, causing the loose skin around his neck to waggle.

****

You didn’t have to fire Brock, Dr. Hadley. I can handle myself. I’m not some damsel in distress who needs rescuing.

She stared defiantly back at her boss. Her tears were drying up, and anger began to bubble up. She felt disgusted that everyone felt sorry for her since the Brock incident.

Yes, I did. His judgment was lacking. Can’t have a senior CDC physician humping every ass in the office. The great sagging folds of skin under his chin waggled with every word. His gravelly voice dripped with disgust.

You do have a point there with flawed judgment. But it was just two asses, mine and hers. That’s hardly every ass in the office. But it was fine when he was only sleeping with me, huh? She crossed her arms in mock annoyance, but she felt a slow smile sneaking across her face. He was a funny old bird.

As you said, you can handle yourself.

She tilted her head to the side and studied Dr. Hadley. She knew a stalemate when she saw it. He wasn’t going to back down. She looked down at her shoes for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice had the usual calm timbre everyone came to expect from her. She glanced down at her hand and the pale white tan line left on her ring finger.

You know, I truly thought we were going to get married. Brock was looking at buying out a retiring pediatrician and running his own practice. We looked at building lots for our dream home on the beach. We watched home renovation shows on Sunday mornings. I just, I had no idea he was such a bastard.

"Don’t overthink it, Harper. Men are assholes. Well, most of them, that is. Just thank your lucky stars you didn’t marry him and build that beach house. Pop out a couple of kids. Then find out he was a bastard humping the whole office that you are stuck with for eternity."

On that uplifting note, Dr. Hadley shuffled out. A break from work began to have its appeal. Before heading out, she packed up her laptop, some files, a few samples of the new virus, a fledgling antiviral, and a few of the old virus samples. They were secured in stainless steel bio-lock containers with enough warnings that no one in their right mind would open one. She waived a weary goodbye at the security guard at the front desk and walked outside in the salty air. She squinted at the bright Florida sunshine for a moment on the way to the car. Her eyes had not seen natural light in days. She peeled off her lab coat and dropped her bag and purse in the passenger seat of her aging sedan. She stopped at her apartment and grabbed a change of clothes and her toiletries, tossing them in a tattered backpack. She hopped in the shower, eager to wash off the stress of several days in the lab. She was halfway to Cumberland Island before the sun set.

She made the ferry just as Dr. Hadley suggested and watched the sun sink into the ocean from the boat. A little of the stress of the last few days dissipated with the sun’s warmth as it fell into the horizon. The sea breeze and damp ocean air caressed her bare skin. Sea gulls flew across the water in search of a meal. Their wings were beating steadily in the fading sun.

Before she knew it, the boat ride was over, and she was sorry to see it end. As the ferry pulled up to the dock, the first thing that struck her was the eerily beautiful live oak trees. They brought back so many wonderful childhood memories of growing up here on the Island. A memory popped into her mind of her mother running the only hotel on the entire island as a single parent. She knew she’d been fortunate to spend her days swimming in the ocean, playing with wild ponies, and reading in the warm ocean breeze. It was almost a fairytale childhood.

She grabbed her backpack and work bag and set off for The Greenefield Inn. It was a twenty-minute walk at best.  In the dark, the Live Oaks took on a creepy quality that shook her even as an adult. Soon she could see the porch lights, and a flood of relief permeated her mind. The island and the hotel were long rumored to be haunted, and after growing up here, she couldn’t disagree. 

She climbed the grand front steps of the hundred and fifty-year-old mansion. Peeking through the window, she saw couples in evening attire enjoying predinner cocktails in the front ballroom. Their lives were devoid of a bizarrely savage viral outbreak and philandering fiancés. She recognized one dazzling blonde as an actress she’d seen on the big screen on a date with a dazzlingly handsome young man. He twirled her around playfully as they pretended to waltz. They were laughing and carefree. Couples were flirting, enjoying their stay on the island with no cell access, no internet, or Wi-Fi. Her mother had called it being actual humans. Freeing yourself from the tethers of modern life came with a hefty price tag.  The hotel was a thousand dollars per night per person. All three meals were served at the hotel by a classically trained French chef. They offered a full bar, wildlife tours, historical tours of the Dungeness ruins, kayaking, fishing, and biking. For a hundred years, the uber-rich had been coming to the Greenefield to enjoy a vacation in anonymity. It was the sort of place where families had to talk to each other over the dinner table. Children had to put away their electronics. People young and old played outside. They walked the beach barefoot and felt the sand between their toes.

She walked in the front door and walked past the laughing, chattering guests and headed for the kitchen in the back of the house. No one even noticed her come in. They probably think I’m the maid, she thought. Laughing to herself. The old floors creaked just as she remembered them when she was little. She pushed open the door to the kitchen, feeling bone-weary to her core. She felt the emotional turmoil of the Brock situation she’d been dealing with take its toll. Along with the mental stress of the virus and its resurgence.  She watched Chef Gerald as he was rushing around the kitchen preparing the dinner service, organized chaos. It was a welcome distraction. Tufts of his frazzled gray hair escaped his chef’s hat. He was plating the first course, and her mother

was assisting. They both got a little older and grayer with each passing year, but they seemed to stay remarkably spry for their age. The island had been kind to them, as was their life at the Inn. The work was hard, but they loved it. Her eyes met Gerald’s eyes, and she felt like she was ten years old instantaneously. He ran over to her and hugged her, ruffling the hair on top of her head as if she were still a little girl.

Harper, my dear, you look so thin. Let me make you a grilled cheese. His deep baritone comforted her threadbare nerves.

That sounds like heaven. It looks like a full house out there tonight.

Her mother, Lillian, walked over and hugged her. The embrace soothed her broken heart like nothing else.  She watched as her mother bustled around the kitchen without a hair out of place. She wore a simple floor-length designer evening dress devoid of any frills and plain pearl earrings. Lillian was cool as a cucumber as always. She realized that as she was aging, she was her mother’s daughter in every sense, with a few exceptions. While Lillian was tall and willowy, Harper was shorter in stature. Their facial features were so similar you might think they were sisters. There was no mistaking she was Lillian’s daughter. The same wide-set hazel eyes, high cheekbones, delicate chin, long dark hair, and porcelain skin. The same cool and appraising demeanor. It was like watching a taller, older version of herself darting around in the kitchen. As if her mother could sense her thinking about her, she turned and locked eyes with Harper.

I’ll get you a whiskey sour. It looks like you could use a drink, little lady.

By all means, Mom, get your daughter some hard liquor. After all, Mother knows best. She mocked Lillian, but deep down, she really could use a drink. Lillian continued rushing around and talking at the same time.

The sun porch room is the only one open. It still has that nice clawfoot tub, though. It’s one of the only rooms I haven’t gotten to renovating yet. Looks the same as when you were a kid, you know?

She smiled and put her head down, squeezing Harper’s shoulder as she walked by. Lillian lowered her voice to whisper.

I never liked Brock anyway, my dear girl. Here’s to finding his replacement. Lillian handed her the whiskey sour in a crystal high ball. Harper delicately tapped her cut crystal against her mother’s champagne flute. She downed the whiskey sour, noting it seemed heavy on the whiskey and light on the sour. Gerald then cleared his throat very dramatically.

Young lady, we aren’t partial to idle people lingering about around here. Make yourself useful. He shoved a stack of ornately patterned plates in her hands.

Wow. What a welcoming committee. She ribbed the chef back.

A snarky laugh bubbled up fueled by whiskey. Harper hopped up off the stool, already a little dizzy from the effects of her drink. She began helping Gerald plate food. Stepping in to help just like she’d never grown up, left home, and gotten a Ph.D. Her mother then blew into the kitchen and went with the dinner service in a flurry of swirling willowy curves.

She was soon back after delivering the food and grabbed a barstool and pulled it up the stainless-steel workstation, and motioned for Harper to sit. She plopped down beside her and took a long sip of her champagne. Gerald began to make Harper’s grilled cheese. Sharp cheddar, real butter, and French bread. The perfect grilled cheese. He made a big show of flipping it in the air without a spatula, the same as when she was a little girl. A few minutes later, he shoved the plated grill cheese in front of her, and her mother was handing her a second drink. She excused herself. A hot bath sounded like heaven. She grabbed her stuff and headed off to the sunroom.

As she walked down the hall, the old wood floors creaked and echoed in high ceilings with every step. The paintings were the same. The paint color on the walls had been brightened up. The familiarity of the Greenefield grounded her for a moment. The virus and Brock ceased to dominate her thoughts. Dr. Hadley was correct. She needed her mother, her bed, and her Greenefield family with everything that had happened in recent weeks. Between Brock and the virus, she wasn’t sure how she was still sane.

Harper opened the heavy, vintage door to her room and was transported back to her childhood with the sound of the creaking hinges. The door was an original exterior door—heavy and solid oak. The screen porch was a room full of windows and one exterior wall. A bathroom was added in the thirties. The suite was then used as employee quarters, then her room, and now it was an overflow room for guests. It was a wonderful space full of light with timeless beauty. It tended to get very warm in the summer months with all the windows and the heavy Georgia heat. A handyman added a ceiling fan when she was a little girl, and it kept the room bearable. The walls were the same lemony yellow color as when she was a child. White trim with the old wood floors painted a pale gray. She sat her backpack and her work bag on the desk and switched on the desk lamp. Lavender and yellow Irises danced around a delicate stained-glass shade. Kicking off her shoes, she padded into the bathroom. Original white subway tiles and beautiful white marble vanity, the same clawfoot tub remained from the thirties. A teak tray sat across the tub so you could soak and have a snack or read a book. The tray had several bottles of her favorite imported shampoo, conditioner, bubble bath, lotion, and body wash. All rose scented.  She bent over with her back complaining, put the stopper in the tub, and began drawing a bath. She added a generous pour of bubble bath, eager to sip her drink and nibble the grilled cheese. Her plate and drink glass fit perfectly on the teak tray. No detail was spared at the Greenefield. That meant her mother made sure the teak trays fit a book, a plate of food, a drink, and the toiletry bottles. At that moment, she was thankful for her mother’s insane attention to detail. She rummaged around in her bag and located her pajamas. Simple flowered cotton tank top and shorts, and a pair of simple cotton panties. No one to impress, why not? She thought. She shut the door and peeled her clothes off before slipping her aching, weary body into the tub. She looked down at her slender and reed-thin frame. Far from the voluptuous woman she’d seen Brock banging on his lab table at the CDC. However, Harper could recognize a pair of augmented breasts when she saw them.

She downed her drink and closed her eyes, which felt like sandpaper at this point. She prayed she could have one night’s sleep where she didn’t replay the scene where she caught Brock ‘working late.’ The still quiet of her alone time seemed to be when it crept up out of the periphery of her mind, and this evening was no exception. The virus was almost a welcome, if not terrifying, distraction.

It all started just a few weeks ago with a visiting contractor at the CDC. Dr. Hadley had been pushing for updated equipment for years, and finally, they had a contractor visiting the CDC to prepare proposals. Dr. Elizabeth Gupta was welcomed with open arms as everyone at the CDC was dying for new technology. With dual Ph.D.’s in immunology and microbiology, she was the perfect person from Wharton Industry’s biotech arm to perform the evaluation.

The first thing Harper noticed was that she was very interested in the cryo-preservation lab. Harper used it to store unique virus strains and cures or stalled cures and vaccines in process. They had been collecting various virus strains, including samples of different super viruses, for decades. The cryo-preservation lab had millions of samples of bacteria, viral and fungal strains going back millennia. They had flu samples from Neanderthals preserved in peat bogs. To Harper’s knowledge, not much had changed in the field of cryo-preservation since their lab had been constructed. At least not in terms of the equipment needed to get the job done. This fact alone was not alarming for Harper. After all, Dr. Gupta was an immunologist by trade, so she should have an interest in the samples.

The next thing she noticed was Dr. Gupta spending a lot of time focusing on her fiancé Brock’s work. She would giggle and toss her long dark hair, bat her big brown eyes, and Brock’s intense blue eyes would hone in on her like a hawk circling its prey. It didn’t take long before the gossip train started rolling about their blatant flirting. But Harper could live with gossip and even a man with a roving eye. After all, that was simple biology. People were still just animals underneath all the pomp and circumstance.

The last straw was Brock’s sudden need to work late. He missed their usual date night, Thursdays, at a trendy tapas bar on the beach. He seemed to withdraw from Harper within a week of Dr. Gupta’s arrival. Finally, one night she went home at her usual time, but when Brock wasn’t home by nine, she went back to the lab. Brock’s car was still parked in the lot when she pulled up. At that point, she still truly believed he was working late. After all, two weeks before, they’d been looking at lots to build a beach house. She’d stopped in her office to grab her laptop and a beaker of a chemical solution. A ruse so he wouldn’t think she was checking up on him, and an excuse to go into the lab to see what he was up to there. That’s when she’d heard the unmistakable sound of a moan and a beaker