The ZPOCALYPTO Book Bundle #1: ZPOCALYPTO Series Boxsets and Bundles from THE WORLD OF GAMELAND, #1

By Saul Tanpepper

THIS BOOK BUNDLE FROM THE THRILLING SURVIVAL SERIES ZPOCALYPTO INCLUDES

The epic-length prequel A Dark and Sure Descent

Episode 01: Hacked into the Game

Episode 02: Failsafe Codex

 

A DARK AND SURE DESCENT

When a deadly virus sweeps across Long Island... the dead begin to rise

The year is 2030. The government's experiment with reanimating the dead for use as soldiers and slaves is only a few years old. It's about to go mainstream in a very big and very deadly way.

Dr. Lyssa Stemple's life is spiraling out of control. Her baby boy had died just weeks before, and her husband Ramos moved out of the house. Her daughter, Cassie, blames her for the death of her pet rabbit. And when the animals on the island start acting crazy, people point their fingers at the controversial animal research laboratory she runs with Ramos.

But then a technician in her lab is brutally murdered, and she learns that she is the primary suspect.

Knowing she's innocent, Lyssa tries to flee the island. But is she already too late? Is her daughter's strange behavior a symptom of the dysfunction in her family, or a sign of something far more terrifying to contemplate?

EPISODE 01: HACKED INTO THE GAME

A young woman finds herself in the fight of her life in a deadly arcade game with the undead.

A dozen years after the deadliest virus nearly wiped out civilization, the Long Island wastelands have been converted into a live-action arcade, where gamers can virtually hunt and fight zombies from the safety of their own homes. Looking to do something remarkable their last summer of high school, 6 gamer-hackers sneak onto the island.

They'll soon discover that while breaking in is easy, getting back out is a killer.

 

EPISODE 02: FAILSAFE CODEX

After barely escaping with lives, a ragtag group of young gamers find themselves back in The Game.

Hoping to hide the evidence of their hack, a group of gamers must return to the arcade in order to rescue the one who got trapped. But they'll soon find themselves pawn in a deeper conspiracy involving the government, a megacorporation, and foreign adversary seeking to steal Reanimation Technology.

And to get free, they'll have to enter the deadliest part of the arcade.

 

LOOK FOR THE REST OF THE BOOK BUNDLES IN THIS SERIES. GET THE BUNDLE, SAVE A BUNDLE.

 

Saul Tanpepper is the author of the post-apocalyptic survival series BUNKER 12 and the companion pre-apocalyptic series THE FLENSE. Check out his latest series, SCORCHED EARTH, a climate collapse disaster survival thriller series set in the Pacific Northwest of North America.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brinestone Press
• Release date: Nov 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223255338

Saul Tanpepper

Subscribe for new releases & exclusive deals/giveaways: tinyletter.com/SWTanpepper Saul Tanpepper is the specfic pen name of author Ken J. Howe, a PhD molecular biologist and former Army medic and trauma specialist.  Titles include: The post-apocalyptic series GAMELAND (recommended reading order): - Golgotha (prequel, optional) - Episodes 1-4 - Velveteen (standalone novella, optional) - Episodes 5-8 - Infected: Hacked Files From the Gameland Archive (insights for the avid GAMELAND fan) - Jessie's Game #1: Signs of Life - A Dark and Sure Descent - Jessie's Game #2: Dead Reckoning Post-apocalyptic series BUNKER 12 - Contain - Books 2-4 (coming soon) International medical thriller serial THE FLENSE (a BUNKER 12 companion series) - CHINA: Books 1-3 - ICELAND: Book 1-3 - AFRICA: Books 1-3 - TBA Short story collections: Shorting the Undead & Other Horrors Insomnia: Paranormal Tales, Science Fiction, and Horror Visit him at tanpepperwrites.com

Book preview

⁍ CONTENTS ⁌

A DARK AND SURE DESCENT

A prequel to the ZPOCALYPTO series

HACKED INTO THE GAME

Episode 1 of the ZPOCALYPTO series

FAILSAFE CODEX

Episode 2 of the ZPOCALYPTO series

EXCERPTS

Contain

Book 1 the BUNKER 12 series

China

Book 1 of the FLENSE series

Fire on the Mountain

Book 1 of the SCORCHED EARTH series

For more about the series, and to get your own Tanpepper starter library, as well as receive news about exclusive offers and giveaways, visit:

Tanpepperwrites.com

Copyright

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Brinestone Press

(rv.231107)

THE WORLD OF GAMELAND

A Dark and Sure Descent (prequel to ZPOCALYPTO)

Golgotha (prequel to ZPOCALYPTO)

Velveteen (companion to ZPOCALYPTO)

Infected (companion to ZPOCALYPTO)

The Good Kill (a GAMELAND short story)

⁍ THE ZPOCALYPTO SERIES ⁌

EP01: Hacked Into the Game

EP02: Failsafe Codex

EP03: Deadman’s Gambit

EP04: Sunder the Hollowmen

EP05: Prometheus Mode

EP06: Every Dead Player

EP07: Cheat Protocol

EP08: Jacker’s Exploit

EP09: Live Another Play

EP10: Return To The Arcade

EP11: Augmented Zeality

EP12: Reckoning The Dead

EP13: Glitch In The Script

EP14: Open-World Spawn

FIND THEM ALL AT YOUR FAVORITE EBOOK SELLER AT

BOOKS2BUY

http://www.tanpepperwrites.com/gameland

"The way we react to the end of the world is how we react to death.

Folks, right now we are in the denial stage."

— WDQR shock jock Jeremy Jay Bird Burt

CHAPTER ONE

Six-year-old Cassie Stemple stared fixedly at the mangled fur and splintered bones laying in a brittle heap in the gutter. She was certain she was going to puke. If it had just been the dead animal, maybe she’d be okay. But hovering over the pile was the statue with the white face and the dark eyes, and it terrified her. She could feel it staring, beckoning her to look at it. She didn’t want to — she really didn’t — but she couldn’t help herself. So she did.

It was dancing.

She flicked her eyes back to the dusty carcass and instead forced herself to think about what kind of animal it had once been. She knew about road kill. She was aware of how it came to be, how car tires flattened it out into hard pancakes in the baking sun. How the heat bleached and shriveled the flesh until it became like plastic. She knew about death.

Like the time she was with her mama when they ran over that possum. It was on the way to her parents’ work, and she’d felt the body thumping beneath her bottom underneath the car. Only after her mother had screeched to a stop in the middle of the lane and Cassie had turned around to look did she realize what it was.

They’d been lucky to be on a lonely stretch of road. There weren’t many other cars, and none coming right then. Not like the busy streets near where her father had gotten his apartment. If it had happened there, they definitely would have been hit by someone else following too closely behind.

What was that, Mama?

Shit. I think I hit something.

Cassie remembered how the mewling, bloodied creature had tried to rise up onto its shattered legs, its body almost vibrating in its dying throes, as if all the electricity in its tiny crushed frame was leaking out into the air.

She remembered her mother stepping out of the car, remembered seeing her shaking just as much as the poor animal was. Visibly shaking, unsteady on her feet. Cassie watched from the back seat with horrified fascination, hands pressed against the hot glass, so warm that the ghosts of her breath faded before they were fully formed. Watched as her mother had dragged it off the road by its hairless tail.

Her movements had been stiff and awkward. There was a hole in her belly. The hole where they had taken her little brother out weeks before.

Her mama had stood there on the side of the road, frozen with indecision while the car idled and the possum cried and somewhere off in the distance thunder rumbled.

Mama? Cassie had wanted her to just get it over with, the finishing part. Even at her age, she knew there was no way to save the animal. The poor thing was too broken to be fixed. Cassie knew about things like that. What’s the matter, Mama? Why aren’t you moving?

Her mother had waved her hands feebly about. Poor thing needs to be put out of its misery. I know, I know. She seemed to be arguing with herself. But how?

Tears streamed down her cheeks and dropped onto the hot road, drying quickly, leaving no mark. But then tears began to fall from the sky, too. They hit the windshield and the back window. Cassie hated seeing her mother crying like this. It always made her cry too, when she did.

Her mama had been doing an awful lot of crying lately, as if the sewn-up hole in her belly still hurt her the way Cassie’s belly hurt now watching the dancing statue.

Its neck, she’d said that day a couple weeks before. Have to snap it. She kept muttering to herself, looking up at Cassie, then back down at the dying creature. Stay in the car, Cass. Don’t come out here. Yes, the neck. That’s the only way. Quick and merciful. She was panting heavily by then. I have to break it. Put it out of its misery. Don’t look, Cass, honey.

And Cassie had wanted badly not to look, but when it came time to turn away, she couldn’t. Just like now.

Neither of them had spoken another word after that, not until they’d gotten to her mama’s work. The only voice in the car was the crazy man on the radio speaking his crazy words, the one her mama liked listening to but didn’t let Cassie. The dead animal had made her forget he was on.

Later that night, when Cassie was going to bed, her mother had come into her room and explained about death, about how it sometimes happens for no reason— Like the possums today. Then, as if she’d expected Cassie to make some connection between that and her little brother, she’d added: And Remy. She sighed. Then, as if responding to yet another unasked question, said, As long as you love someone in your heart and keep them close, they will never truly die. They will always be real to you.

Cassie knew what her mama was saying. She wanted Cassie to always keep Remy close, because that would keep him real. And as long as he was real, he would never truly be dead.

Cassie shivered at the recollection, now a few weeks old, but she kept her eyes fixed on the barely recognizable thing against the curb. It was better to look at it than the dancing statue.

It looks like a ratty wig, she thought. Or a hat. Like one of those flat coonskin caps she’d once seen in a museum.

Mixed in with leaf litter and plastic candy wrappers and soda cups. What had it been when it was alive? A cat, maybe. Or a dog. Although a raccoon seemed more likely. There had been a lot of them around the house lately, raccoons, scavenging through the trash, making trouble.

Bearing diseases.

That’s what their neighbor, Mister Sam, had told her. Cassie’s window overlooked his house. Hen killers, he’d said, his voice getting tight, as if the very idea of a diseased animal frightened him so. He was a strange man, Mister Locke. Tall and skinny with a long, funny-looking face, all rough and splintery with whiskers, like he had been carved out of old, dried wood with a dull knife. Nasty vermin. Dirty, rabies-carrying vermin.

But Cassie thought they were cute, even the mean ones. She’d seen them on the street in front of the house, beneath the streetlamps at night. Bunches of them with their funny masks, looking so businesslike. Sometimes two or three families of them toddling about. She bet they had soft fur. She wanted to touch them.

There had been rats too, come to think of it. Not as many, but she’d seen them as well. If anything deserved to be called nasty vermin, it was them. They were the ones carrying the diseases, the plague.

Her mother had made such a mess of the possum. She’d tried but couldn’t wrap her too-large hands around its too-small neck. Couldn’t crush the delicate little bones. The animal, even in its dying moments, kept snapping its jaws at her. The razor-sharp teeth coming ever-so-close to her mother’s skin. The blood bubbling through its teeth and out of its nose.

She ended up smashing its skull with a stone. The blood spatter made tiny patterns on her pink shirt and on her pale cheeks. Blood which she wiped away on a sleeve after each hit, never giving it a second thought.

Nasty, diseased vermin.

But finally it was done. Six blows, each one punctuated by a high cry from the tiny animal’s throat. Each one like an electric jolt to Cassie’s own body, causing her to flinch and hitch her breath. Six strikes. That’s how many it took to do the job, to strip away what little remained of the animal’s life.

Cassie hadn’t remembered getting out of the car and going over to her mother. She didn’t remember how many minutes passed as they clutched at each other crying. It had to have been many, because by the time they finally got up off the hard ground it had started to rain and they were both drenched and all the blood had formed rusty streaks on her mother’s shirt and pink tears on her cheeks.

One thing Cassie did remember was how soft the fur had been. At least it was on the tiny baby she found there with its mother. How sharp its tiny teeth had looked. How pure and white and hot the pain must have been when she pinched its little neck.

Even acts of love can hurt terribly.

Not like the pain in her stomach right now.

The car nudged forward a few feet, and Cassie heard her mother utter an impatient curse, complaining about the constant delays from all the new construction. How they should’ve taken the long way around to her father’s apartment. Another damn tower, she said through clenched teeth. She waved her hand at the taped-off site just ahead. How many do we need?

Cassie turned away. She knew the question wasn’t meant to be answered, so she didn’t say anything.

The radio was on low, some woman talking about a problem out near Brookhaven, which was just a few miles further down the highway. A disturbance of some kind. The police were there, they said. Someone was causing trouble and making traffic difficult.

Whole island’s gone to hell, her mother muttered.

Cassie tuned it all out.

Her eyes flicked to the work crew beside them in their fluorescent green coveralls, their faces hidden behind plastic masks. Printed in black letters on their backs were the words: PROPERTY OF THE US GOVERNMENT. She figured it must refer to the clothes rather than the people wearing them, the bad people. How could a person be property? They couldn’t be owned, could they?

Like the dancing man on the curb, she didn’t like the way the workers looked, either. She didn’t like their stiff, shuffling manner or the mute way they went about their business, never once speaking or acknowledging anyone. Not even to each other. She had even tried an experiment once — because that’s what her parents did, experiments — and had waved at them while in the car with her father. The window was open and she’d said hello in a timid voice that was probably too small for them to hear anyway. And of course they didn’t hear because they didn’t answer her back.

Don’t talk to them, Daddy had said, frowning at her. He used his button to close her window. They’re not nice people. They’re convicts, murderers. People who belong in jail.

Then why aren’t they? Why are they out here with us?

Because now we can control them. We put little, tiny machines inside their heads and make them do work.

Can they do that to me, too?

No, honey. Just convicts. Those people stole from society. They owe a debt back. So, instead of letting them sit inside cozy jail cells reading books on how to cheat the system, we make them work.

She didn’t know what a convict was and hadn’t bothered to ask, but she did know that murderers killed people. It was a horrifying concept to contemplate. How could a person do something as terrible as that? She found it hard to believe anyone could do that, especially these people. Despite her dislike for them and their histories, she didn’t think they were capable of doing anything horrible. They seemed so quiet, and slow, and clumsy.

She decided that it had to be a raccoon in the gutter behind her. She was thoroughly convinced that’s what the fur was. Of course, she couldn’t see it anymore, now that they’d moved. The hood of the car behind them was in her way.

Did killing animals make people murderers? Would her mother be made into one of these people? Would she?

Cassie didn’t want to become property.

The dancing statue was gone now. At least it wasn’t standing over the dead raccoon anymore. Cassie turned the other way, suddenly certain it was sneaking up on her. But it wasn’t there.

She scrunched down in her seat and clutched her stuffed toy rabbit tightly to her chest. Her mother’s eyes narrowed at her in the mirror. Everything okay back there, honey?

Cassie nodded stiffly, biting her lip so the whimper threatening to crawl out of her chest would stay put. The puke, too.

The tired eyes shifted up, away from Cassie’s face, out to the scene behind them.

Can we go? Cassie pleaded.

The car inched forward, then jerked to a sudden stop. Behind them, someone honked.

Cassie closed her eyes. She wished she were home instead of in the car. She wished her father lived with them again instead of all these towns away. She wished Ben Nicholas were here with her. And Shinji.

And Remy.

What did he look like now? Was he all flattened out too, after all this time? Away from the sun? Was he just bits of skin and bone, inside of his tiny, dark coffin?

She had only gotten to see him the one time, at the hospital, behind glass. She’d sensed something was wrong even then, had known it with the certainty of all of her six years on the planet.

Almost seven.

But her parents’ excitement over the birth had been contagious. It had forced her terrible worries away. Their optimism made Cassie doubt herself, make her think she was just being a stupid, jealous big sister. There was absolutely nothing wrong with the tiny, beautiful little baby brother.

Until there was.

Come on! her mother snapped, startling Cassie. The sound of the horn filled the car. Damn it! Your father’s going to be pissed that we’re late.

Cassie watched her mother lean forward to call him on the dashboard phone. She repeated along inside her head the pattern of beeps which she’d come to recognize as her father’s number.

Lyssa? His voice sounded flat coming through the speaker. There was no hint of anger or impatience. I was just about to call you. I was worried. Is everything all right? You on your way?

We’re off the highway, but we’re stuck in the middle of town at one of the construction sites. They’ve got the road dug up. You should’ve told me they were digging things up!

He sighed. I didn’t know. It’s Sunday, but I guess they’re working around the clock now. What’s your ETA?

We haven’t moved a foot in, like, ten minutes. She huffed in exasperation. I don’t know why they have to do this all at once.

They want everyone switched over by the end of the summer.

Cassie’s mother growled. Yeah, but why us? Why does Long Island have to be first?

It’ll be over soon. Anyway, listen, when do you think you’re going to get here? Because I have some paperwork I—

I don’t want you working, Ramon. Cassie needs your full attention when she’s there.

I do give her my full attention. He sounded hurt.

Really? You don’t just let her do her own thing?

He sighed. Is that what she told you, that I ignore her? Because if she—

She doesn’t have to tell me anything. I know you. You’ve been too wrapped up with work lately.

There was nothing but silence from the speaker for a long time. Outside, Cassie could hear the low rattle of the workmen’s tools and the muffled shouts of the man in charge, the one wearing the yellow hardhat and the fat goggles with the black lenses and the funny-looking gloves on his hands. He was the only one who ever spoke, and when he did, it was always in a shout.

It was time to check on the dancing statue again. Cassie needed to know where it was.

Look, her father said at last, I know I haven’t handled the past couple of months as well as I could’ve, but you have to admit, neither have you.

I lost a baby!

"We lost him, honey. No, that’s not right, either. He died and not because of anything we did or did not do."

Babies don’t just die!

Another sigh. Listen, it might be time we got some professional help because this doesn’t seem to be working. There’s a therapist—

I’m dealing with it just fine!

Cassie cringed at the harshness in her mother’s voice, feeling it roil her insides even more than they already were. She thrust her feet against the back of the seat, as if to keep it away.

Before Remy, her parents almost never argued. But after they came back from the hospital, it seemed like it was all they ever did. That’s why her mother had asked her father to leave. But even then, the fighting continued.

Stop pushing on the seat, Cassie!

Cassie sighed and twisted her head slowly around, searching for the scary dancing statue. If she found it, at least then she’d have something to direct her anger toward. The sunlight bounced off the window of the car behind, blinding her for a moment. She squinted against it and turned to the sidewalk.

The dancing statue still wasn’t there where the raccoon pancake was. It wasn’t on the other side of the road, either.

I just need time, she heard her mother say. And space.

Where did it go? And why was it dancing?

Quietly, she unlatched her seatbelt. Then, slowly, carefully, she swiveled onto her knees. She didn’t really want to see it, but not knowing where it had gone was making her stomach feel really, really bad.

I disagree. We need to work togeth—

"Time and space. That’s what I need, Ramon. That’s all I really ever needed."

Honey, we—

Look, I just called to let you know we were going to be late. And to ask you to pay attention to Cassie while she’s there. Not to fight. Just promise me no paperwork. Or phone calls. It’s the weekend, for Christ’s sake. Spend some time with your daughter for once.

I wasn’t—

The call disconnected.

Cassie shielded her eyes from the glare and squinted at the vehicles behind.

The motor revved, and they moved forward a car-length. The tires crunched over something that sounded like bones, though it was probably only gravel. But at least the glare was finally out of her eyes, and she could see the woman behind them.

The old lady smiled and waved at her. It was a shiny, brand new car, something you’d expect to see a much younger person in. A tiny dog sat on her lap, its hair just as white and curly as hers. It yapped mutely at Cassie through the windshield before turning its attention to the workers and barking at them. Cassie returned the wave, then quickly swung her eyes back to the empty sidewalk.

There was the sandwich shop her father had taken her to the first time she’d come to visit him in his apartment. A couple offices in the corner. A print shop. She recognized it because of the giant American flag on the too-short pole on the roof. The parking lot was nearly empty— only a couple cars, probably because of the construction. A man stood outside the print shop and watched the workers. He took out a tissue and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He looked worried.

Cassie, why are you—? Get back in your seat, young lady!

We’re not moving.

Don’t argue with me. Just do it.

Cassie tried to see past the white-haired lady’s car, but a truck blocked her view.

Maybe it went back inside. It’s too hot to be dancing on the sidewalk.

She wondered why there would be a little Statue of Liberty here, as if the real, giant one had shrunk while walking across the water on its way to Long Island. Why was it dancing like that, gesturing to the people walking past? It wasn’t even close to being Halloween. And why was it so scary-looking?

Anyway, it was gone now.

Behind her, she heard her mother open her window, heard the rattle of the machines outside and the engines and voices grow louder. She felt the sweep of hot air on the back of her neck and her bare legs, felt the brush of its thick, dry fingers on her hair. With a sigh, she turned back around and reached for her seatbelt.

The light coming into the car had dimmed. Cassie glanced up at her window, thinking a cloud had passed across the sun. But when she saw what it was, this time she couldn’t hold back the gasp.

The terrifying dancing statue bent down over her window and grinned, its mouth just inches away from her face. But then it stepped to the side, and it reached in toward her mother.

Cassie’s throat tightened, turning the cry into a choked scream.

Afternoon, ma’am, the scary statue said. Cassie thought his skin was sloughing away from his bones, but then she saw that it was just his makeup peeling from the heat of the day. He tiredly removed a single sheet of paper from the stack he was holding in his elbow and extended it into the car. We’re protesting the new tax proposals. If you could read this—

An impatient voice yelled at them from the work site and gestured for them to go. The white-haired old lady behind them honked, a sound more cheerful than urgent.

Thanks, her mother mumbled. I’ll read it later. I have to go. She took the paper and placed it on the seat next to her, rolled the window back up, and threaded the car through the narrow gap between the traffic cones.

As they passed, the statue man’s bloodshot eyes met Cassie’s one last time. He didn’t wave or smile at her. He just nodded once, almost knowingly, and resumed his dancing.

CHAPTER TWO

Ramon’s looking for you, boss, Laroda’s senior Staff Scientist, Andrew Royce, said from the hallway.

Lyssa clenched her jaw, but didn’t look up from the scene of the death and destruction splayed out before her eyes. Tens of millions dead, scarcely a survivor among them. What? He can’t be bothered to stick his head in the lab once in a while? she growled. He knows I’m in here. Just because he spends all day in his office doesn’t mean—

He, um, wants to powwow on the cattle project.

Lyssa pulled away from the microscope, not liking the sound of that. Sorry, Drew. I know it’s not your fault. I shouldn’t snap at you.

The broad-shouldered older man stepped through the door into the clean room and shrugged. I know. No biggie. He gestured at the glass slide Lyssa was extracting from the microscope’s stage and asked, Any luck?

She shook her head. The virus is still bricking up the cells. They’re breaking open less than twenty-four hours post-infection. Everything’s dead.

Could be they’re making too much protein. We could try dialing back production.

Lyssa chuffed. And spend another six weeks screening new viruses? She slipped the glass slide into the overflowing biohazard waste container at her feet, then gave it a shake to settle the contents. But several slides tumbled out and shattered on the floor.

I’ll ask Sudha to replace the container, Drew offered.

Tell her to be careful and make sure it gets properly sealed and incinerated. Last thing we need is another incident like the one they had across the hall last month. Those Ames people are reckless, throwing their hazardous waste into the regular trash. After all the worker accidents they’ve had to report — not to mention the ones they haven’t — it’s a wonder Occupational Safety hasn’t shut us down already.

Probably got some big shot official from there on their payroll, Drew joked.

Lyssa washed her hands in the small sink in the anteroom, then dried them in the automatic dryer. When the blower shut off, she said, Every time the inspectors come out here, Ramon and I are the ones who get fined. She unbuttoned her lab coat and hung it on the hook by the door. Sometimes I wonder if it was a mistake buying this place. It was definitely a mistake renting those people lab space.

But they do pay their rent on time, Drew reminded her. Then, upon seeing the dark look Lyssa gave him, he held up his hands in a defensive gesture. Hey, not making excuses, just repeating what the boss always says.

The look turned even more sour. Well, don’t.

She shut the door to the lab behind them and headed down the hall toward her office with Andrew trailing behind. A middle-aged man, he was still fairly attractive for his age, tall and broad-shouldered with a deep voice. He was also a study in contrasts: rugged in appearance, though pale of skin; muscular, yet not an exerciser. Intense-looking while completely understated. She couldn’t recall a single time he’d been riled up.

She had assumed during his interview nearly two years ago that he spent a lot of time outdoors, perhaps slathered in sun block, since he was so pale. He had denied it. Yeah, I’m not really into all that nature type stuff. I prefer spending time at the bench rather than the beach.

She’d secretly not believed him back then, even had reason to wonder about his motives for employment. A seasoned scientist with excellent credentials, his interest in taking the research position seemed suspect, especially considering the low pay being offered and the lab’s remote location.

The government had been the original owners of the Laroda Island research facility, intentionally situating it on the tiny northeasternmost spit of land on Long Island, far from prying eyes. The nature of their work had never been fully disclosed to the public, but following a series of scandals in the early twenties, they’d eventually shuttered its doors and moved on. Ownership of the buildings had transferred for a time to the Carcher group, and the facility had remained vacant for another five years before Ramon and Lyssa bought it lock, stock, and barrel for what seemed like a steal.

From the start, they knew it would be a challenge finding qualified talent. The roads to Laroda were questionable, sometimes blocked by fallen tree branches, other times partially washed out. And then there was the allure of better pay and opportunities at the more centrally located Brookhaven Research Institute. But after sending out advertisements for weeks and receiving only two applicants, Lyssa and Ramon finally realized it was going to be a lot harder than they’d thought.

Her first and only other interview had been with a greasy-haired, pimply-faced kid who looked barely old enough to have graduated high school, much less have a doctorate in molecular genetics. The kid had leered at her throughout the entire session in a way that left her feeling terribly uncomfortable. We’ll be in contact, she told him, heaving a sigh of relief when the front door swung shut as he left. She made Ramon call him with the news he hadn’t made the cut.

Drew, on the other hand, she hired on the spot, despite any misgivings she might have about his true intentions.

For weeks, she fretted he’d leave them. He was certainly qualified enough to find work at Brookhaven. And the research she was doing — improving beef and dairy production in cows using perinatal genetic engineering — wasn’t the sexy kind of stuff she knew their peers were all doing elsewhere. But he never expressed a single word of regret or acted like he was thinking about going elsewhere. Eventually, Lyssa grew so used to having him around in the lab, bouncing ideas and banter off of each other, that now she couldn’t imagine him not being there.

There were days when she’d see him at his desk at the end of the day, his face illuminated by the blue glow of his computer screen, and she’d tell him to go home. She knew he wasn’t averse to sleeping on the floor in his office — one couldn’t miss the rolled up sleeping bag shoved into the kneehole of his desk — yet at the same time she also knew he didn’t have family to go home to, no wife or children. None that he’d ever spoken of, anyway. She knew he lived alone in a small apartment not five miles from the main Brookhaven facility, somewhere close to where Ramon had moved into.

The early days at Laroda had been tight, but the lab was finally beginning to make a profit, partially because of the exorbitant rent Ramon charged the Ames Research Consortium — a rather misleading name given that the group was small, disorganized, and poorly managed — as well as the grant the Dairy Farmer’s Association had given them. Drew’s take-home pay was several steps below what comparable Brookhaven scientists received, and yet Lyssa still had to practically force him to take his yearly raises.

Lyssa swept into her office and stopped short. Damn, forgot my notebook in the lab.

I’ll get it and meet you in the conference room.

You chickenshit, she teased. He was leaving her to face Ramon alone.

Drew laughed and waved good-naturedly as he turned.

Lyssa watched him head back down the hall. There’s a man perfectly comfortable in his skin, she thought to herself.

She plucked her cell phone from the desk and quickly checked to see if Cassie or the nanny had called. They hadn’t. They never did. But while the absence of any news always left her feeling uneasy, each time it happened, she felt the urge to call them lessen just a little bit.

She’d struggled to concentrate after returning from her leave. When not obsessing over Remy’s death, she was distracted by thoughts of Cassie getting injured, or sick, or lost. That day she’d hit the possum had been a turning point of sorts, shocking her into realizing that she needed to move on or else be forever drowning in self remorse over what had happened.

Forcing herself to leave her phone in her office while she was in the lab so she could get some work done was one small step. It hadn’t been easy at first, but now she was glad she did it. She was finally able to focus on her work again.

Coffee mug and phone in hand, she made her way to the conference room where she found Ramon. With the exception of Drew, the rest of their small cadre of employees was already present. The low murmur of chatter stopped as she walked in.

Drew’s on his way, she explained nervously.

She sat down in one of the empty chairs with an explosive sigh, then took a sip of the cold coffee and grimaced. Her husband, the lab’s operations director, paced at the front of the room. Lyssa watched him warily, trying to gauge his mood, but he was always so hard to read. She couldn’t tell if he’d just gotten good news, bad, or no news at all.

A moment later, Drew hurried in and sat across the table. He slid the notebook across with a wink.

Good, we’re all here, Ramon said. He sat down. I do have one administrative item to go over before we get to the real reason for this meeting. He looked up and around at the faces surrounding the table. I just got a letter from the Health Department reminding us about the rabies boosters. My records show a couple of you are past due. Travis, Sudha . . . . It’s important we all remain up-to-date on those. Since we work with both rats and cattle, we need to be sure we’re all properly inoculated against potential diseases.

Drew nodded and volunteered to make sure everyone was caught up by the end of the following week.

Why so long?

Our serum is expired. It’ll take a week to get a new batch from the state.

Good. Onto the other thing then. He passed his fingers through his hair and took in a deep breath. I had a conference call this morning with Ames, their director of scientific projects.

Several eyebrows raised around the table. Ted Gundy? asked Amanda Hawke, a research associate and one of their more chatty employees. Gundy was the leader of the group occupying the space across the hall.

Ramon shook his head. Their parent group, some investment trust in Manhattan.

Investment trust? Amanda asked, looking impressed. Well, that explains how they can afford—

She snapped her mouth shut, her face turning red at the mistake.

But Ramon didn’t seem to notice. He’d dug into his pocket and extracted his phone and was scrolling through it. Not Ted, but some guy named . . . Padraig Harrison. VP of Research and Development and such-and-such. He flicked a hand, as if to imply the exact name and title weren’t important. Anyway—

What do they want? Lyssa asked. Are they pulling out? She felt herself beginning to panic. Without that rent money, how were they going to pay their bills? How were they going to pay salaries? She glanced around the room and imagined having to tell people they were being let go. She didn’t think she’d be able to do it. She’d give up her own salary first.

No, actually, they want to do more with us. Lots more. They have a new project and they want to collaborate.

A loud cough interrupted the discussion. Sudha stood up, her face red and her fist pressed into her mouth. She hurried for the door, stifling the urge to cough some more until she’d exited. They could hear her for several seconds, a wet, purulent sound that made many in the room cringe. She hasn’t been feeling well, Drew explained.

Collaborate? Lyssa asked, turning back to Drew. Here? Are you sure that’s wise? The Ames people already here are reckless, irresponsible—

This’ll be a different group. Plus, I’ve asked for more oversight. They agreed it would be wise.

But we don’t do cybernetics work, Rame.

Of course not. But this is in our wheelhouse. They’re interested in testing new synthetic biopolymers for their implants, and they want to tap into our expertise with animal models.

Implants? As in the neural devices they use to control the convicts and the tower work crews?

Ramon nodded. Exactly. They want to test sensitivity to a new coating material. They’ll be sending a small team of scientists. They asked if we could start next week.

"More people, Rame? That sounds like less control, not more. We’re already on notice for those vials they misplaced. The Health Department’s breathing down our necks. And do we really want to collaborate on work which some people think is unethical?"

Some people think what we’re doing in cattle is unethical. He dismissed her argument. I have my own concerns, which is why I asked them to hand over the reagents to us. We’ll be the ones doing the actual studies. They’ll just provide guidance and collect results to report back to their investors.

More work, Lyssa grumbled. I’ve already got too much to do now.

It won’t be too much to begin with. I’ve already handed over a few things to Drew.

Lyssa shot Drew a questioning look. He shrugged in reply.

Drew can write up an experimental design and collect the necessary standard operating procedures. After you review and sign off on the packet, we’ll turn it over to the animal techs to do the studies. All I need you to do, Lyssa, is oversee the setup and analytical work.

And behavioral studies, and neurological stud—

No, none of that, he cut her off. They’re only interested in systemic responses, allergic reactions, tissue rejection, that sort of thing. We’ll do the basic blood panels, histamine counts, cytometry for lymphocytes.

Why not let Brookhaven do some? They’re better equipped.

He shook his head. In-house only. The bulk of the work will come when we harvest tissues to look for hyperimmune responses, but that won’t be for a few more weeks.

Oh, is that all? What am I supposed to do with the PGE project? She dropped her hands onto the table and exhaled in frustration. You know I’m swamped.

And how is the perinatal project going, by the way?

Lyssa flicked her eyes at Drew again. Well, we’ve managed to increase protein production in tissue culture.

Excellent! We’ve got pregnant cows at the Farm ready to be inoculated. Just hand over the injection protocols and— He stopped when he saw the look on her face. What?

The cells are dying within a day of infection. They’re bricking up.

How?

I haven’t had time to run the analysis yet. It could be replication, though Drew doesn’t think so. But if we inject now it’ll probably kill the calf fetuses. And possibly the mothers. We need to better characterize what we’ve got before moving into cows.

We should at least test in rabbits first, Drew offered.

Ramon frowned at them for a moment, then stared down at the surface of the table. He swept his hand across it, although there was nothing there. After a moment, he straightened and said, No. We all knew that perinatal genetic engineering was a long shot.

Lyssa gasped. You’re shutting me down? Rame, the grant money—

Is spent. It’s gone, Lyssa. And without results, the Dairy Council is unlikely to renew.

The room went still and silent. Lyssa could feel everyone’s eyes on her, perhaps expecting her to break down and cry. Or invoke Remy’s name. Or rush out of the room.

We’re close, she quietly said. I just need another week.

Ramon leaned back in his chair and cleared his throat. Guys, can I have a moment with Lyssa? Alone? Thank you.

He waited for everyone to file out and the door to shut before opening his mouth to speak. But she beat him to the first word.

I’m close, she told him. Please, Rame. We owe our sponsors that much.

I’m not shutting you down, he told her. I’m simply asking you to put the project aside for the time being. Ames is willing to pay very well for—

Why?

He stopped, as if startled by the question. Excuse me?

Why us? Why not one of the bigger animal labs? There are a dozen others I can think of off the top of my head. They’re better equipped to handle this sort of study.

He shrugged. We need the work, honey.

She shook her head, frowning. We’re equal partners, which means that I have as much say in this as you do. Don’t you think there’s something strange about this? Who are these people, these investors?

Ramon stood up. People with very deep pockets, Lyssa. I suspect they’re considering us because they think they’ve got something big on their hands and they want to keep it a secret as much as possible. They trust that we won’t scoop them or sell them out.

Because we’re small and desperate enough to take their hush money.

He leaned over the table until their faces were inches apart. If we play our cards right, we might be able to negotiate a share of whatever it is they have.

But the Dairy Council—

He straightened up again. Can’t even touch how much money this group is offering us. All they’re asking for is a little discretion on our part.

How much money?

When he told her, she felt her face go numb. It was everything he’d wanted since they bought the place together and started the lab.

This could really help stabilize us for a while, Lyssa. It could really help build our reputation as a contract research lab. God knows we could use all the help we can get. We do right by them, we can finally say goodbye to all this crap research and do the innovative type of work we’ve always dreamed about doing.

CHAPTER THREE

For Lyssa, the drive into work the next morning felt like it was taking forever. It wasn’t just because of the frequent delays caused by the numerous construction crews digging up the sides of the roads, but also because the marines based out of Riverhead were engaged in some sort of training exercise and their trucks were taking up half the lanes of the highway.

It wasn’t like she was eager to get in. She was dreading having to break the news to Drew that their project was being backburnered. Ramon had assured her that it was only temporary, but she knew Drew would find no reassurance in this. They all knew how these things worked. By the time the Ames study was finished, the PGE work would be too dead and cold to revive, not without new funding.

Now she wished she hadn’t sequestered herself inside her office after her meeting with Ramon yesterday. Drew had come knocking, of course, expressing concern. But she had brushed him off, snapping at him through the door that she wasn’t taking visitors for the remainder of the afternoon. She was wracking her brain for a way to change Ramon’s mind about it, but nothing had come to her.

Her sour mood had accompanied her on her drive home last night. She’d been so upset that she nearly rear-ended the car in front twice when they came to a stop at yet another of the tower construction sites. She almost missed her exit.

Things hadn’t improved once she got home. She neglected Cassie all through dinner and well into the evening, despite the signals her daughter was sending her for attention. She’d begun sucking her thumb lately. And when Lyssa told her not to, she sucked on her arm instead. When she asked for a bedtime story, Lyssa had snapped. Go to bed!

Please, Mama? Just one story. The rabbit one.

Damn it, Cassie! Go to sleep. Please, for once just do what I ask!

She hadn’t meant to be so harsh. She certainly felt bad about it afterward, angry at herself but also at Ramon for dumping this on her the way he had. Then feeling guilty because she was doing exactly what she’d accused Ramon of doing just the day before, neglecting Cassie.

Halfway down the stairs, she changed her mind. But when she went back up, she’d found Cassie already asleep. The puppy — well, he was almost fully grown — had lifted his head from where he lay on the bed and peered at her standing in the doorway. He wasn’t supposed to be on the furniture, but Lyssa decided to let it slide.

Just for tonight, she quietly told him.

Afterwards, she’d sat at the kitchen table and stared out the window into the Long Island night. She felt trapped by her sadness and anger. It was as if someone had reached into her chest and twisted at her soul until it broke free of its moorings. She felt like she was drifting away.

Damn Ramon, she thought, even as she knew he was only doing what he believed was right for the business. Damn him. And damn me.

Steeling herself for the day ahead as she sat in the lab’s parking lot the next morning, she listened to the radio a few minutes more. She hadn’t been able to find her favorite DJ, so now she was listening to the news. There was some story about an altercation south of the Marine Corps base, people injured. Probably one of the young recruits, she thought. They were always getting drunk and into trouble.

She switched off the engine and got out of the car. The day was already warm and muggy, and the heat came up off the blacktop in unrelenting waves. Much to her relief, Ramon’s car wasn’t yet in the parking lot, but the reprieve would only be temporary. Soon he’d arrive, probably well-rested in his quiet apartment, and he’d come looking for her. First he’d ask how she was doing (as if he cared). Then he’d ask about Cassie. Finally, after he’d accepted the bold-faced lies that they were all doing well — really fucking well, thank you, she’d think but not say — he’d get down to the nitty gritty, as he liked to say, and interrogate her to make sure she was on track to transitioning over to the new project.

She slipped down the hall and went straight to her office, avoiding talking with the other staff. Most were already there, already at work. She unlocked the door and went and sat down at her desk without even bothering to turn on the light. With the dreary drive now behind her, she felt that it hadn’t taken nearly as long as she wished.

What’s happened to us? she wondered. Ever since Remy’s death, Ramon had been just so—

difficult

—distracted. He was so focused on work, on the money side of it. Like he was hiding in those problems so he wouldn’t have to face the real problems happening to them, to their family.

She was aware of how unhappy he’d grown lately, and not just with her and her self-absorption. The thing with little Remington had torn them both apart — from each other as well as themselves — but not even that could fully explain what was happening to them. If she were being totally honest with herself, she’d have to confess that the space between them had begun to grow long before she became pregnant.

It’s the work.

Ramon had always enjoyed the science, but what they ended up doing was so much less glamorous. He’d had to take on the administrative responsibilities which came with running a research laboratory, a role he claimed to abhor.

There were endless regulations to learn, new ones to adapt to, changes in technologies to always be aware of, plus endless inspections and audits. And money wasn’t exactly flowing in torrents. They were constantly reviewing expenses, looking for shortcuts, begging for projects. At least they’d moved past not paying invoices in order to pay their employees.

This was not why they had started the business, but it’s what the business had become. Ramon had taken the management onto his shoulders so Lyssa could continue to be in the lab. So wasn’t it ironic that his decision to let her do what she enjoyed would culminate in another decision that stripped it away?

All this BS can just go away. That’s what he’d told her. If they could somehow make this project work, he promised her that they’d be able to do the type of research they’d always dreamed of doing.

She had been tempted to tell him that she’d not dreamt of anything since finishing medical school and coming here with him. All those years of study up in Boston, her PhD in endocrinology and her clinical internships in general medicine at New York Medical, all gone to waste. Why? So she could figure out how to make cows produce more milk, thicker steaks?

She pinched her eyes shut and tried to empty her head of the thoughts clogging it. But it wasn’t working. She just kept hearing him complaining about the money, how there was never enough of it. He had been frustrated with her decision to hire a full-time nanny despite the fact that Cassie was in pre-school for half a day (not to mention the cost of the school itself when, according to him, Cassie belonged in a public kindergarten program, or even first grade by now). Oh yeah, she’d angrily countered. What about the cost of those stupid solar panels?

They’ll pay for themselves over time!

Neither of them mentioned the cost of Remy’s funeral.

The solar panels had stuck in her craw from his very first mention. It was more than a question of if it was wise to go off-grid. (She didn’t think it was.) Look around us, Rame, she’d said. Nobody else on the island is converting.

That might have been the end of it, but then the government went and banned all Chinese imports. Prices of domestically manufactured goods were beginning to skyrocket. Without consulting her, Ramon went and purchased the panels and contracted to have them installed. When she found out about it, she told him she couldn’t be with him. I just can’t trust you. But it was too late to cancel the work order or the purchase.

It was a stupid thing to do, kicking him out, and she knew it. She hadn’t been thinking, just reacting, and she knew in the fraction of a moment just before the words flew from her lips that it was selfish of her. Of course, by then it was too late, because she’d said it. And all his protests and rationalizations did was to fuel her anger and solidify her resolve. She didn’t want him to leave, of course, but she couldn’t back down now. It was the principle of the matter. She silently cursed herself for allowing herself to lose control like that, while vocally cursing him for making a unilateral decision on such a large purchase.

In the days which followed, she tried to assuage her guilt by convincing herself that it was what they both needed— a little space, some perspective. And so what if maybe it stretched the family to the very edge of breaking? They would heal stronger for it, right? You had to crack a few eggs to make an omelet, after all. Isn’t that how the old saying went?

Yet at the same time, nagging in the back of her mind was that other damn idiom, the one about never being able to unboil an egg. She just hoped she hadn’t boiled an egg where Cassie’s father was concerned.

There was a quiet knock at her door, and she heard Drew’s voice. Am I interrupting something?

She moved her hand away from her face. Come in. Hit the lights.

He did so and settled into the chair opposite her. Rough night?

She shrugged and looked away.

Sorry, I didn’t mean to hit a nerve.

She waved her hand impatiently. We need to wrap up the PGE project.

Drew didn’t look at all surprised. In fact, he looked as if he hadn’t even heard her. I’ve got an idea for a quick experiment, something we haven’t yet explored.

Lyssa smiled thinly and shook her head. We’re supposed to focus on the Ames collaboration starting first thing Monday morning. Unless you can give me something by the end of the week, I think we’re pretty much dead in the water.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone and tapped it a couple times. What about this? He nodded at her computer, indicating he’d just sent her something.

Confused, she reached over and woke the tablet on her desk. New phone? she asked, as she typed in her login password.

It’s one of the new communication devices, Drew answered, the ones hooked directly into the Stream. Figured I might as well switch sooner rather than later. He slid it across the desk for her to check out, but she just flicked her eyes at it before returning to the tablet’s screen.

What am I looking for?

Check your inbox. I sent you a file I found this morning.

Drew, you didn’t sleep here again last night, did you?

Nope. Found it while driving in.

Surfing the Internet while driving? That can’t be safe.

He chuckled. Not the ‘Net. Told you already it’s the Stream. They started moving data over a couple weeks ago. I have to say, I’m impressed. It’s super fast, has incredible bandwidth. And these new devices take full advantage of all of it. You should get one.

I’m happy with the stupid phone I have now.

I see Ramon’s already got one.

Lyssa scowled. Here he was, worried about money and the first chance he gets he spends more of it.

They’ve been giving them away free to anyone willing to be their guinea pig. It’s just for a limited time.

I just can’t be bothered. She squinted at her screen and read the file name. NANO?

That’s it.

She chuckled when she opened the document and saw the name of the author on the dissertation. Well, this is a blast from the past, Drew. And a pretty wild idea. But even if this were to work, she told him, there’s no guarantee Heather will be willing to send us any of this stuff to test. Or even able to. We only overlapped in the lab for a year, so we weren’t very close. Plus it’s been a few years. And how would we test—

Rabbits. I happen to have a bunch just waiting to go, just itching to get preggers.

If I didn’t know better, you’ve been planning this for a while.

You work your charms on Professor Hicks, Drew told her, standing up. He gestured for the return of his phone. And I’ll work my charms on those critters. I’ll personally make sure a dozen or so are pregnant by Thursday.

You realize what that sounds like, don’t you?

Drew sidled out from between the desk and the chair, the whole time giving her a wry smile. You really should look into getting one of these things, he said, holding up the small black rectangle. Last night, when the cell towers went out again, this thing worked like a charm.

Lyssa snorted. With a lame name like iLINK? Yeah, I’ll run right out and get one. She watched him make his way to the door. Oh, and one more thing. Let’s just keep this thing with Heather between the two of us.

Okay. You’re the boss.

Lyssa had a vague memory of the graduate student whose work had culminated in the doctoral thesis Drew had dug up. Heather Hicks had been finishing up her PhD studies in Jim Pearce’s lab at Harvard when Lyssa joined as an MD-PhD student; they’d overlapped by maybe a year and had interacted only occasionally. And whereas Lyssa had been a socially active member of the lab, participating in many of the off-campus functions, Heather had been busy writing her thesis, the one now sitting on her tablet. Now, a dozen years later, Heather was a professor of biochemistry at Dartmouth.

And you’re injecting viruses into cow uteruses. No, check that. Rabbits.

Lyssa quickly reread the work, which outlined how Heather had assembled synthetic carbon nanotubes around a bundle of synthesized genes, creating virus-like particles. Using S-band microwave pulses of varying frequencies and by carefully controlling the relative concentrations of cell-targeting proteins, she was able to target the particles to cells with a high degree of specificity. The cells would gobble the particles up, delivering the genes to the area of the cytoplasm where new proteins were made. Unable to make new copies of themselves as wild viruses are capable of doing, the genes were not passed onto the next generation. This last bit was an important criterion in the PGE project, as it prevented anyone from simply cloning any cow Laroda created.

The dissertation proved that the idea worked very well in tissue cultures, but it remained to be tested in living organisms.

After Heather moved on, their advisor had tried for years to get another student to take it on. If Lyssa remembered correctly, one had, though only for a few short months while she rotated through the lab.

What the hell was her name? Lyssa thought. Betsy something or other.

She shook her head in frustration. It didn’t matter.

After finding Heather’s lab number in the on-line faculty directory at Dartmouth and dialing it in, Lyssa waited for the call to connect. When it finally did, she was taken directly to the professor’s mailbox. Heather? It’s Lyssa Stemple. I don’t know if you remember me. We were in the same graduate lab at Harvard. Anyway, I’d like to ask you something about the work you were doing back then. Please give me a call at your convenience. She provided the number to her cell phone, then, slipping it into her pocket and feeling considerably better than when she’d first walked in that morning, she went to meet with Ramon to discuss the new work

Beth, she thought, as she headed down the hallway to her husband’s office. Not Betsy. The student’s name had been Beth. And she’d been a real go-getter. She remembered that nobody had liked her. And why no one had cared at all when she went to work for someone else.

Because she was a total bitch, she muttered to herself.

CHAPTER FOUR

By the time she pulled up at Veronica’s apartment in Medford to pick Cassie up, Lyssa’s dark mood had lightened somewhat, though she was still feeling very tense.

To say that the meeting with Ramon had not gone very well would be a stupendous understatement. While the discussion had started off well enough — he’d been properly contrite, acknowledging that he’d put her in an unfortunate bind the day before — he continued to excuse his actions by claiming that the Ames people had imposed upon him the strictest confidentiality and expediency.

So much for control.

Oversight, yes. Control, no. It’s their project.

"I’m your wife and your business partner, she told him, barely able to restrain her anger. Nothing gives you the right to keep something like this from me. Nothing."

But he was inflexible, refusing to adjust the Ames timeline or allow her to continue with the PGE project past the weekend.

The argument grew noisy, yet resolved nothing. And when Lyssa stormed out of his office a half hour later, she could tell from the discomfited looks on the faces of the other staff members that they had heard everything.

Professor Hicks’s call later that afternoon had been the only bright spot of the day.

Lyssa Stemple? I’m returning a call you made to my machine yesterday. You said we were in the same lab at Harvard, but I’m afraid I don’t remember you.

It was White then, Lyssa corrected. My maiden name.

"Of course, now I remember you! You were in the