Chapter 14 The Bleeding Edge

• The helicopter’s searchlights were scalding brands on my retinas. The amplified voice – “FBI! DOWN ON THE GROUND! HANDS WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM!” – vibrated in my chest cavity. Chaos erupted. Rook threw himself over Maya and the boy. Figures scrambled for cover. Alexander’s security detail drew weapons, shouting, their focus torn between the sky and the surrounding, now-hostile camp.
• In the blinding, disorienting glare, instinct took over. The recorder. Alexander’s confession, Vivian’s betrayal, the Prometheus threat – it was all on that waterlogged, miraculously revived device. His horrified plea – “You have to give me your blood!” – still echoed. As I dropped, I didn’t hit the mud face-first. I twisted, landing hard on my side, shielding the hand clutching the recorder with my body. With a motion lost in the frantic scramble, I jammed it deep inside my filthy, sodden sock, the hard casing pressing painfully against my ankle bone. Evidence. Survival.
• Boots pounded through the mud. Black tactical gear materialized out of the light and rain. Not just FBI. Hazard suits, stark white with CDC insignia, moved with grim purpose, setting up bright yellow plastic barriers. Biohazard Containment Zone.