Dreams in the Tower Part 2 Read Online Free Page B

going to be a lot of speculative journalism that she did not need to hear, so she skipped ahead until a gray-haired Indian man (Dr. S. Hunjali, MD, Viral Pathogen Expert, according to the graphic) appeared on screen. She let the video resume.
    “…seems clear to me,” Dr. Hunjali said through a vaguely British accent, “that this virus does not occur in nature, nor did the outbreak begin naturally. I am calling it the very first example of a true designer virus, and one initiated, accidentally or otherwise, in multiple regions at once.”
    It took them long enough . She had to admit, it wasn’t an easy thing to figure out—not unless you were expecting to find it. Even with Silte covering it up, it wouldn’t be particularly difficult to find that there wasn’t just one ‘patient zero’ in this case; you could trace the virus back to many geographical points of origin and find that the first reports all came from people who were at the demonstrations the night this war began. After that, all it took was some rational thinking—or paranoia—to make the jump to an engineered bioweapon rather than some undiscovered dormant strain that had been lying in wait for years and finally became active in every host at once. Even if they believed the latter, no reasonable scientist would deny that this virus was just too weird to exist in nature.
    That is, unless someone was forcing them to deny it.
    “This morning, we have uncovered startling new information,” the narrator said after Dellia skipped forward again. “New reports speak of patients who carry the virus but are asymptomatic for days, perhaps even weeks, and possibly contagious for the duration of this period. Doctors urge that anyone who has come into close contact with a person known to be sick should seek medical attention immediately.”
    “ Shit .” A few protesters turned at Dellia’s outburst. She didn’t care: things were happening much too fast and she was still unable to do anything about it. As she pulled out the ear bud, she thought, Where is that damn —
    “Don’t move or look around.” She couldn’t see who had spoken. The voice, coming from behind her, was deep and muffled; she thought instantly of the men wearing masks. “Keep looking at that tablet,” the man said. “Swipe the screen if you’re DT…good. I’m your contact. Listen closely. When I say ‘go’ count to ten then stand up and turn around. Follow me to the corner. When I stop at the crosswalk you go left, take the first right across the street, stay on the left and keep going until you hear three knocks. Clear your throat if you’re ready…great. Okay—don’t walk too fast—go.”
    Still not sure who had been talking to her, Dellia followed his instructions, counting silently to ten. When she stood, grabbing her backpack, turned around and began to walk, she saw that the man was short and heavyset. He was wearing a baggy black hoodie with the hood pulled up over his stooped head—ridiculous attire for late summer in Texas. She followed and did as he had told her at the corner, willing herself not to glance over at him. The protesters weren’t nearly as thick now that she was off McKinney Avenue, and she wondered if she needed to cover up like her contact. The next street, a narrow cut-through not much bigger than a back alley, was deserted; not even normal pedestrians could be seen. Not far down the street, she heard the three knocks, coming from a car so old it might have been one of the very first electric cars they ever made. As she approached she glimpsed the large man, shrouded by his hood, in the driver seat. She slowly entered on the passenger side.
    “Good,” he said. “Don’t talk. Look straight ahead. We’ll be somewhere safe soon.”
    He pulled the car out onto the street and drove slowly along. This part of the city was fresh with signs of the rezoning efforts that had seen hundreds of older buildings and properties replaced or repurposed. Dellia