The Atlantic wind blasted across the mudflats and stirred the browning rushes in the gleaming wetlands. A storm petrel wheeled across the silver sky, its trilling a warning of bad weather to come. The shore of Long Island Sound had already lost its summer appeal and Kaitlin shivered as she hurried away from the waterfront towards the white-painted clapboard house.
One breakthrough, that was all she needed. Thank God she had Dylan steering her. The Facebook page and the hotline were now jammed with trolls and messages from some ambulance-chasing lawyer, looking to make a fast buck out of the grief of the families. Clearly, it was Dylan or nothing.
As she climbed the steps, the door swung open to reveal a broad-shouldered woman with short blonde hair, one eyebrow cocked and a confident look that suggested she wouldn’t take any shit.
‘So, you’re my good friend who called the State Department for me because I was too grief-stricken?’ Beatrice LaPeer asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
‘I am so sorry, Ms LaPeer. I can explain.’
‘Relax, relax. Call me B. Come on in. I guess we have a lot to talk about.’
Kaitlin stepped into the warmth of an airy lounge, the scent of baking cookies drifting from the kitchen. Beatrice waved a hand for Kaitlin to sit on the sofa.
‘So, Martin Dobbs called me from the State Department. Said that a young woman was asking about my parents.’
‘It was just a white lie,’ Kaitlin explained. ‘I didn’t realise they’d call you to follow up. I guess that was stupid on my part.’
Beatrice folded her arms. ‘Don’t get me wrong: I was fucking pissed. But then I saw your group online and … I guess it made more sense.’ Her face softened. ‘I’m sorry about your brother.’
‘Thanks.’
‘You must have been close. To be going to all this trouble.’
‘We used to be, yeah. We’re … he was my twin.’
‘Oh my God. That must be even harder.’
‘Yeah. We kinda took different paths after high school. I went to college and Conor got a job in London – he was always a bit of a super-brain. And, you know … noble.’ She felt her words dry up. It was still hard to talk about him.
Beatrice seemed to sense the weight of emotion and moved to the kitchen to give Kaitlin some space. She returned with a coffee pot and two mugs, which she set on a low table in front of the sofa.
‘And now you’ve dropped everything because you don’t believe the bird-strike story,’ she said, back to a more businesslike approach.
‘A woman reached out to me. She was at the airport before 702 departed. She said your mom was sick.’
Beatrice sat in an armchair and poured cream into her coffee.
‘My dad called me from Heathrow. I had no idea they were even coming home. I remember thinking, shit, are they gonna want me to pick them up from the airport, ’cause that’s, you know, a whole thing. But then he said Mom wasn’t feeling very well and they just wanted to get home.’
‘Do you know what was wrong with her?’
‘No, but I figured she must have been pretty wrecked, ’cause my dad doesn’t call me. It’s always my mom who calls, then she gives him the phone and we have awkward small talk. He never, ever calls of his own accord. He has much better things to focus his energy on, like being the colonial overlord of the Congo.’
Kaitlin showed a blank face, but she could sense the strain behind Beatrice’s comment.
‘So, their organisation – they built schools in Kinshasa?’
Beatrice snorted. ‘That’s one way of describing it. I mean, yes, they definitely built schools. But they went there to convert people.’
‘Doesn’t the State Department prohibit NGOs from spreading religion?’
Beatrice smiled. ‘A lot of volunteers who go over there are religious. They used to pay for the trips with Church bake sales and fundraisers, and then they found out it’s a lot easier to get State Department funding and just keep the religion thing on the DL.’ Beatrice motioned for Kaitlin not to forget her coffee. ‘Lately, the Department has been like a chicken with its head cut off and so it’s been a free-for-all. At least that’s what my mom said.’
‘So, they were doing missionary work in Kinshasa, but no one at the State Department was supposed to know, or they’d lose their funding?’ Kaitlin blew on her coffee, but her mind was racing. If these evangelists were involved in deception from the very beginning, how far would they go to hide things?
‘Basically, yeah, but Kinshasa’s all Christian. The Catholics and the Mormons got to them ages ago.’
‘Then where did they go?’
‘Up the Congo River.’
‘Up north? In the jungle?’
Beatrice nodded. ‘They’d go with their students, back to their parents’ villages. The Jesus sell works a lot better when you have an insider.’
‘Do you know anyone they worked with over there?’
Beatrice thought for a moment. ‘There was another couple. Unitarians, I think, from Connecticut, but I don’t remember their names. I guess I could have asked more about what they were up to. But I don’t know, I just never thought … I never thought that they could disappear.’
And there was the thing that drew so many disparate people together. ‘I know exactly what you mean,’ Kaitlin said.
Beatrice showed some photos of her parents and Kaitlin politely listened to a few reminiscences, but she was already running through ways she might be able to track down the couple from Connecticut.
She was back out in that bitter Atlantic breeze fifteen minutes later, skimming through searches on her phone. As she did, she noticed she had a bunch of missed calls and voicemails. Amelia. Her mom, three times. Amelia again.
Everyone was worried about her. She felt bad for ignoring them. They meant well, of course they did, but most of the time she felt she didn’t have enough left inside her to give back, to reassure them she was OK. And anyway, that would be a lie, wouldn’t it? She wasn’t OK. She hadn’t been for a long time.
That morning, she’d had a weird sensation when she’d looked in the bathroom mirror and wondered who it was looking back at her. She remembered what it was like when she smiled all the time, when she’d had that carefree nature that gave people an inner glow.
Grief had hollowed her out. The very shape of her features had changed, with the sagging of the muscles and too many nights spent sobbing.
As she made her way back towards the waterfront, she wondered if the old Kaitlin might be gone for good.
Chuck was a big guy with a belly that rippled every time he laughed, which was a lot. Kaitlin couldn’t help but grin as she sat opposite him in the neat lounge of his New Haven home in Connecticut. Amid all the hardship, his good humour was infectious and probably what she needed right now.
‘How did you find us? We’ve only been back in the States for two weeks,’ Chuck said. He was in his late forties, hair already silvering fast.
‘I saw you tagged on the LaPeers’ Instagram page. They mentioned they were travelling with a couple from Connecticut.’
‘Oh, wow. Miracles of technology.’ A woman appeared at the door, scrubbed face, no make-up, also beaming.
‘This is my wife, Madge,’ Chuck boomed.
‘Hello,’ Kaitlin said.
‘Hi! It’s so nice to meet you,’ Madge said. ‘I’ll get us some coffee.’
‘That would be great, honey,’ Chuck said as she swept out.
Those folks had so much energy, Kaitlin thought. Where did it all come from? These days she felt like she was permanently running on empty.
‘So, how’s Beatrice doing?’ Chuck asked.
‘I don’t know how much the LaPeers told you about their daughter, but she’s very tough. She’s gonna be OK. But as a congregation, we’re still trying to absorb the fact that they won’t be coming back.’
Kaitlin’s lying skills were getting better by the day. ‘Chuck, we were wondering why Wayne and Wendy left the way they did – in such a rush. Beatrice said she thought they were upriver until the day before they left. Do you have any idea where they were?’
‘I wish I could help you, but I don’t know. The last time I saw them was three weeks before the flight.’
‘Where’d you see them?’
Chuck heaved himself up and crossed the floor to a map of the Democratic Republic of Congo that was framed on the wall. He studied it for a second, then tapped a finger on a location.
‘Up in Mbandaka. They were on their way down from a visit to a student’s family near Makanza.’
‘They were leaving the jungle?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Do you know how often they’d be up there?’
Chuck swayed back and crashed down on his chair. ‘Normally, one weekend a month. It’s not easy to get up there and it’s not especially comfortable. Particularly for Wendy. She preferred Kinshasa. Wayne was the one who liked being upriver.’
‘In the infection zone.’
‘Technically, yeah, but that whole designation, that’s … they’re overly cautious. And when Western governments draw maps like that, they dehumanise all of the people living there. Someone needs to engage, someone needs to reach out.’
‘So, the LaPeers could have visited before they left?’ Kaitlin pressed.
Chuck laced his fingers across his belly. ‘I dunno. They’d usually tell me when they were coming. I’m always going up and down the river, so we’d take a boat together.’ He pushed his head back and looked at her along his nose. ‘You seem a little disappointed.’
‘I’m just trying to get as accurate a timeline as I can.’
‘The LaPeers are still gone and that’s a great sadness. Lovely, lovely couple. But there’s no way to bring them back. Maybe the best way to move forwards is to thank the Lord for the time you had with them and to thank the universe that the rest of us are still here, with a chance to grow and love. We’re still alive.’
But sometimes it doesn’t feel that way.
‘Well, thank you for seeing me.’ Kaitlin stood up. There were still questions to answer here. But she had other leads.
‘Oh, uh – would you like to say a prayer together for them before you go?’
‘No. But thanks.’
Kaitlin was at the door before Chuck replied, ‘Sure.’
When her stomach started to growl, Kaitlin trudged into a convenience store not far from her next stop. There wasn’t much on offer beyond junk food, but she was so hungry she no longer cared what she stuffed into her mouth. She grabbed an armful of chips and candy and a microwave burrito and dumped them in front of the checkout guy, a ratty-faced stoner with heavy lids and a lingering stare.
He ran her card, stared at the reader for a long moment, then muttered, ‘Declined.’
Kaitlin inwardly sagged. She knew her funds were low, but if she didn’t have enough for a cheap pile of additives and preservatives, she was in a bad way. Finally, she scrabbled together enough coins for a bag of chips. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do.
Outside, she wrestled with herself for a while, then forced herself to pull out her phone and make a call.
‘Hey, Mom, it’s me,’ she said, feeling disappointed with herself. All those calls she’d ignored and now she was only getting in touch to beg. ‘I wondered if you could help me out.’
A few minutes later, Kaitlin had the promise of some cash in her account. She felt hollow having to ask, but it was a mark of how desperate she was becoming.
The New Haven Research Laboratory sprawled across several acres, but the important parts of the complex were buried up to three storeys below ground. It was only a short hop from Chuck’s house, had a lucrative government public health contract and drew on the Ivy League expertise of the nearby Yale University. Kaitlin knew all this. She’d done her research. Experts were what she needed now and this place was full of them.
As she eased through the entrance metal detector and the Plexiglass shield slid back, she glimpsed William Schroeder waiting for her, as distinctive as he’d appeared on the laboratory’s team web page, with a mop of black hair and glasses that looked a size too large for his face.
‘Hello! Kaitlin Le?’ he hailed with a wave.
‘Hi.’
‘Sorry about all the security.’
‘No worries. Thank you so much for meeting with me.’
William swept out one hand to guide her towards the elevators. ‘My pleasure. Not many people come knocking down my door to ask about this stuff. And they should.’ He punched the button to sub-basement three.
‘So, are you familiar with the region?’
He grinned. ‘All epidemiologists are familiar with Central Africa.’
The doors dinged open and they strode along a corridor.
‘This couple, they were in the Democratic Republic of Congo,’ Kaitlin said.
‘And you think they contracted an infection?’
‘I thought so. But then I learned that they hadn’t been up in the recently infected areas, by the jungle, for at least three weeks.’
‘But the disease could have been incubating without any symptoms. Up to twenty-one days for Ebola, if that’s what it was.’
At a door with a thick glass plate in it, William scanned his key card. The lock buzzed and William once again reached out a hand in a show of courtesy.
‘This,’ he said, ‘well, this is where all the magic happens. Come on through.’
Kaitlin glanced around his office and turned up her nose. She thought Amelia was messy, but this looked like several trash cans had been upended. Piles of books and papers, a barely visible desk scattered with assorted junk, including a half-built Lego Death Star, and walls covered with photographs and charts.
William plucked up an open bag of chips and waved it towards her. ‘Chip?’
‘I’m good, thank you.’
He stuffed a handful of chips in his mouth and crunched them as he brushed off a chair for Kaitlin and then settled into his own chair behind the desk. Kaitlin held out her phone towards him.
‘Could you, uh … say your name and – and what you do?’
William swallowed, then replied, ‘Sure. William Schroeder. I’m an epidemiologist.’
‘Thank you.’
‘So, Ebola?’
‘At first I was thinking Ebola,’ she began. ‘But then the State Department guy said that there was no more Ebola in the Democratic Republic of Congo at all, so—’
William laughed. ‘Who said that?’
‘One of the NGO co-ordinators.’
‘Why would you ask a secretary about infectious disease?’ he said with a frown.
‘Because … he decides where the Americans go?’
William dipped into the bag of chips again. ‘Right. Yeah. Based on where Ebola used to be, and what form the virus last took,’ he said, distracted by his snack. ‘The thing about these aggressive diseases – things like Ebola, necrotising fasciitis, meningitis, cholera – is that they’re not entirely stable. All of our doctors and governments, they’re always a few months behind the latest version of the virus or the infection.’
‘OK, so let’s say Wendy had gotten infected with something. If it was a really aggressive form of disease and then she got on a plane, do you think that …?’
‘You wanna know if it could turn into a zombie plane?’
‘Is that a thing?’
‘Are you kidding? It’s one of my favourite hypotheticals for a catastrophic outbreak.’ He lounged back, staring at the ceiling. ‘Planes are breeding grounds for this stuff because of recycled air. You know, there’s been several instances of flights having to divert or make emergency landings because the crew were overcome with something.’
Kaitlin stiffened, feeling a ripple of something like dread, mixed with excitement, run through her. ‘Oh. I didn’t know that.’
‘It’s never led to a crash – as far as we know. But it’s just a matter of time. There are forms of meningitis that can paralyse you in a couple of hours. That could do the trick.’
‘And Wendy could have gotten one of those in the jungle?’
‘Maybe. I mean, Nigeria’s had some bad outbreaks in the past few years. And like I said, you never know how aggressive the new form will be. As soon as you start giving people antivirals and retrovirals, the infections start adapting. All viruses mutate as they move through a community, but the distribution of antivirals and retrovirals can exacerbate this. A lot of these viruses are held in animals – bats, birds, that kind of thing. Just like the plague. And they can pass new versions of the virus among each other. And then when the wrong – or right, depending on which way you look at it – animal comes into contact with someone and boom. You’ve got an outbreak.’
‘Wow.’
‘Yeah. Eventually, we’ll be totally fucked.’ William leaned towards the phone and said, ‘Sorry.’
‘OK, so, maybe they got a new form of an infection in the jungle.’
‘Maybe. But I mean, if she was already showing symptoms, she would have spread it before getting on the plane. There would have been like 50,000 dead people in the DRC within a week. And I don’t think I read about that on the news.’
‘Wait! I don’t understand.’
‘With infectious disease, you can incubate for a while, even weeks, without being contagious. Some people can be totally asymptomatic and still spread an infection. And as soon as you show symptoms, you’re basically a contagious disease monster. You sure there isn’t another reason why they were leaving in a rush? Because it sounds to me like they probably just died in a plane crash. A normal boom. But I love where your head went.’
Dolores frowned, looking as miserable as the day Kaitlin had left her. They were both back in the diner, swathed in the aromas of sizzling bacon and brewing coffee.
‘OK, what man?’ Kaitlin said, trying to keep the edge out of her voice.
Dolores leaned across the table and whispered, ‘It’s the same man from last time. But this time he’s in a blue blazer.’
Cutlery clattered somewhere behind the counter.
‘Which one?’
‘See? That’s him!’
‘I didn’t look last time, so …’
‘How are you going to be the detective if you can’t even keep track of who’s tailing us!’
Kaitlin fought back her exasperation. ‘No one’s tailing us. It’s all in your head. And so is this idea that you’re responsible for 702.’
Dolores furrowed her brow. ‘You really think so?’
‘I’m positive.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘We have no reason to think the LaPeers are the reason why the plane went down. They didn’t have Ebola or any other infection. They were tested for everything before they left.’
Kaitlin wasn’t despondent that the Ebola angle hadn’t – yet – worked out. Everything was part of a larger puzzle, the useless pieces as well as the ones that might lead to a solution. And who knew when something she thought she’d discarded would come back into play.
‘They were?’ Dolores said, looking stunned.
‘The State Department gave them all the tests and the LaPeers didn’t have anything serious. And that – that’s what I was coming to tell you.’
Dolores juddered with silent sobs, her hands clasped in prayer. After a moment, she steadied herself. ‘Oh, thank you! Thank God! Oh, Kaitlin, you don’t know what this means to me. Here I was going crazy when …’ Dolores stood up. ‘Thank you. I feel so much better.’
Kaitlin felt a wave of warmth as she watched Dolores walk away. She’d done some good here. In the absence of answers, that was something.
As she crossed the diner towards the door, Kaitlin’s eyes flickered towards the man in the blue jacket Dolores had suspected. Something jangled inside her – recognition, perhaps, instinct – and she paused by his table.
‘What do you want?’ she said.
‘Excuse me?’
‘Why are you following me?’
‘Don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just sitting here, enjoying my coffee.’
‘You were watching us. What are you, FBI?’ she demanded.
‘What? I-I have no idea what you’re talking—’
Kaitlin felt that toxic paranoia knot her stomach. ‘I saw you outside my apartment yesterday.’ Had she? She couldn’t be sure. But she thought so.
‘I think you need to calm down.’
A waitress drifted over and in a calming voice, inquired, ‘Hi, are we all doing OK over here?’
‘This young woman here seems to be a bit upset.’
‘I’m not upset. You’ve been following me.’
The man looked up at the waitress. ‘Hey, I’ve just been sitting here. I don’t know what’s happening.’
The waitress’ eyes settled on Kaitlin, deciding she was the bad guy here. ‘Honey, you’re disturbing the other customers. I think that you should—’
Kaitlin forced a smile. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just a misunderstanding.’
She walked away, but her neck prickled at the sensation of eyes on her back, and that feeling didn’t go for the rest of the day.
Kaitlin lounged on her bed, watching the shadows pool in Tompkins Square Park, her burner phone clutched in her hand.
‘Hey, listen, I think the Feds are watching me,’ she said as soon as the call was answered.
‘You sure?’ Dylan sounded breathless.
‘No. But … maybe.’
‘It’s good to be paranoid. Keep your wits about you. If you’re really worried, get out of there.’
‘And go where?’ Kaitlin shook her head incredulously.
‘I don’t — Hey! Hey!’
‘Dylan? What’s happening?’
‘Argh.’
‘Dylan? Are you there?’
A moment of silence, then Dylan’s exasperated voice floated back. ‘Yeah. Just some kids kicked a ball at my head.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Walking through a park. Back to the office.’
‘What do you do?’
‘Something boring. It was nice, what you did for that lady, telling her it wasn’t her fault.’
Changing the subject. Dylan was always on his guard.
‘If I can’t get rid of my own guilt, I might as well … Never mind.’
‘What do you have to be guilty about?’
‘The usual stuff, I guess. Things I didn’t get to say to my brother. Things I wish I hadn’t said. Things I wish I’d asked.’
‘Like what?’
‘You don’t want to hear about my family drama, Dylan.’
‘Maybe I do.’
‘Yeah? Well. Maybe I don’t want to tell a complete stranger all of my secrets.’ At that moment, she wished Amelia was there, someone she could talk to, be herself around.
‘Right.’
‘Sorry. I-I didn’t mean to sound harsh. You’ve been really helpful. And I appreciate it. I’m just frustrated.’
‘You’re not alone there.’
‘Wendy LaPeer was definitely sick. But I’m no closer to finding out what she contracted. Or even if she’s relevant. The problem is, when you dig deep, everything takes on significance. But maybe none of it’s important. Just random stuff that creates the illusion of a pattern.’
Dylan paused for so long she thought he’d hung up. Then: ‘We may never know for sure what happened. You get that?’
‘We will. We’ll know the truth,’ she insisted. ‘I won’t give up until I do.’
‘So, you’re still in?’
‘Of course.’
‘Good.’
Was he testing her? Manipulating? Kaitlin chewed on a nail, feeling uneasy.
‘Because I just got a ping on a credit card that was used to buy a ticket for 702,’ Dylan continued. ‘A woman who actually boarded the flight.’
‘Someone’s using a dead woman’s credit card?’
‘Not someone else. The same woman. Gonna send you a video uploaded to Reddit. Take a look. She got off the plane before it took off. Apparently, she knew it was going to go down.’
Camera Video Uploaded to Reddit, Closed Caption
PASSENGER FILMING: What’s this lady doin’?
PSYCHIC WITCH: You don’t understand! We have to get everyone off this plane.
PASSENGER FILMING: She’s flippin’ out!
FLIGHT ATTENDANT: Ma’am, please return to your seat. We’re about to push back from the stand.
PSYCHIC WITCH: No, no, no, we can’t do that. We need to get off right now.
PASSENGER FILMING: Yo, there’s this crazy lady on my plane.
FLIGHT ATTENDANT: Please calm down, ma’am.
PSYCHIC WITCH: Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me, don’t touch me. Let me off this plane!
FLIGHT ATTENDANT: Ma’am, are you feeling OK? Have you … have you taken something?
PSYCHIC WITCH: No, I haven’t taken anything! This plane—
PASSENGER FILMING: She’s drunk.
PSYCHIC WITCH: This plane is going to crash.
FLIGHT ATTENDANT: You’re upsetting the other passengers. Please take your seat.
PASSENGER FILMING: Here’s security. Game over, crazy woman.
FLIGHT ATTENDANT: That isn’t helping.
PSYCHIC WITCH: I need to get off this plane right now!
FLIGHT ATTENDANT: OK. OK. He’s going to escort you off.
SECURITY: Ma’am, please calm down.
PSYCHIC WITCH: No, no, don’t touch me, don’t touch me!
PASSENGER FILMING: Oh, she’s going to get …
PSYCHIC WITCH: No, no, no, you have to get everyone off this plane! It’s going to crash! You have to get everyone off this plane – everybody, get off this plane!
SECURITY: Please come this way, ma’am. We’ll remove your bag from the hold.
PSYCHIC WITCH: Everyone, you have to get off now!
PASSENGER FILMING: There she goes!
[applause]
PASSENGER FILMING: Oh, man. That was … that was nuts. Hope she’s wrong.