The Soul Collectors by Chris Mooney Read Free Book Online Page B

occurred to her: her prisoner wasn’t wearing a gas mask. She had locked him in the back with the other sick officers and right now he was breathing in whatever had killed them. She’d have to find a place to decontaminate him.
    The blockade came into a sharper view. The cruiser lights were still on, pulsing bright blue and white flashes, and the first person she saw was a patrolman slumped against a cruiser’s front bumper. Scattered across the ground was a tangle of arms and legs wrapped in jeans and jackets – detectives and possibly some of the residents who had ventured outside their homes. No movement. No movement at all.
    Dead, they’re all –
    A loud bone-crushing boom of thunder rumbled through her chest as the house exploded behind her, lighting up the dark, starless sky.

11
    Tearing down the road, Darby spotted a house glowing with lights. The homeowner, an elderly man dressed in light blue flannel pyjamas, stood in his bare feet on the brightly lit front steps of his tiny ranch home, a dazed but alarmed expression on his wrinkled and craggy face as he stared down the dark street, looking in the direction of the explosion.
    His gaze turned frightened when the APC came to a jarring stop near his lawn. Darby stepped out with the shotgun, catching sight of the fire blazing no more than a mile away, thick smoke blowing through the woods, over the tops of the tall pines.
    Gripping a wrought-iron banister, the elderly man cautiously made his way down his front steps. ‘What’s in blue blazes is going on?’ he barked. ‘My wife and I were sleeping when we heard all these police sirens, and now I just heard –’
    ‘Stay right where you are, sir, don’t come any closer. What’s your name?’
    ‘Arthur Anderson.’
    ‘Mr Anderson, I’m ordering you to go back into your house. I want you to make sure your windows are sealed shut. Do you understand?’
    A fearful nod as he licked his lips. ‘I understand what you said, but I don’t –’
    ‘ Listen to me . I need you to get inside your house right now, no questions. Then I want you to get on the phone and tell all your neighbours to stay inside their homes and make sure their windows are sealed shut. Do it now. You got a hose out here?’
    He pointed to the west side of the house. ‘Water’s still on, I haven’t turned it off yet.’
    ‘Get me a bucket and a scrub brush and a bottle of dish soap. Throw it out on the front lawn. Get moving.’
    After 9/11, Boston police started to carry decontamination kits in their squad cars. Darby rooted around the front of the APC, searching all the console compartments, even under the seat. No decon kits – just a First-Aid box attached to the wall behind the driver’s seat. She opened it. The supplies inside weren’t ideal, but she’d have to make do until the proper equipment arrived. She grabbed what she needed and ran to the lawn.
    She ripped open several packages of gauze pads, set them up on the grass and doused them with alcohol.
    She wiped down her cell phone first, then her gloves. She threw the used pads to the side, then took off her gas mask and used the remaining pads to scrub down her face, mouth and ears until they burned. She called 911, cutting off the female dispatcher who answered.
    ‘My name is Darby McCormick. Don’t talk, just listen. Senior Corporal Gary Trent of SWAT summoned me earlier this evening to a home in Dover.’ She quickly gave the woman the address and said, ‘Do you have a list of area fire departments?’
    ‘People have called about a fire, so engines are already en route to –’
    ‘You need to warn them about a possible chemical attack. They are not to approach the bombsite unless they have gas masks with military-grade filters. Make sure whatever hazmat gear they’re using has a Biosafety Level 4 rating. Now repeat back what I just said.’
    ‘Hazmat suits,’ she said, her voice cracking over the words. She was clearly in over her head. ‘Masks with military