BooksBarbecue
Back Outbreak
Chapters (124)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Acclaim for Frank Gardner’s Luke Carlton thrillers
  4. Also by Frank Gardner
  5. Dedication
  6. Epigraph
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. 61
  68. 62
  69. 63
  70. 64
  71. 65
  72. 66
  73. 67
  74. 68
  75. 69
  76. 70
  77. 71
  78. 72
  79. 73
  80. 74
  81. 75
  82. 76
  83. 77
  84. 78
  85. 79
  86. 80
  87. 81
  88. 82
  89. 83
  90. 84
  91. 85
  92. 86
  93. 87
  94. 88
  95. 89
  96. 90
  97. 91
  98. 92
  99. 93
  100. 94
  101. 95
  102. 96
  103. 97
  104. 98
  105. 99
  106. 100
  107. 101
  108. 102
  109. 103
  110. 104
  111. 105
  112. 106
  113. 107
  114. 108
  115. 109
  116. 110
  117. 111
  118. 112
  119. 113
  120. 114
  121. 115
  122. Epilogue
  123. Acknowledgements
  124. THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

Sheila Mackenzie also knew that if help didn’t arrive soon, then whatever had killed the man on the floor was just a glimpse of what was coming down the tracks for her: the horror that would precede her own death. Her medical training made it hard not to think about what was going on inside her body right now. In unpleasantly graphic detail she could envisage the microscopic battles being waged in her bloodstream as the pathogen swarmed through her veins, attacking the healthy cells, then replicating with incredible speed, breaking down more cell walls, invading those neighbouring cells and taking them over. If she was feeling the first symptoms already then this pathogen was virulent; its onset was rapid and severe. She knew she didn’t have much time.

‘Chris?’ she called to her colleague, for the third time in an hour. ‘Any word from the base station?’

Chris Coppinger had positioned himself just outside the half-open door, a precaution he had taken on her advice. As an added measure, he had wrapped a scarf across his nose and mouth, which also gave him some protection from the sub-zero blasts that came barrelling down the valley. The Mauser rifle remained slung over his shoulder in case any marauding polar bears should come calling, but, right now, he considered them to be the least of their worries. She saw him glance down at his phone and shake his head.

‘Nothing since that last call,’ he replied, his voice muffled by the scarf. ‘But, Sheila, they’re on their way, I promise. The Oslo team will have everything they need to fix this. So just hang in there … Okay?’

Sheila Mackenzie didn’t answer. She turned away from him and shuffled closer to the stove in the corner, wrapping her arms around herself. Chris had ventured inside the hut just long enough to light it last night, but it had been a rush job and now there was precious little warmth emanating from it. For the second time she removed her gloves to feel beneath her ears, checking for swollen lymph glands, then searched involuntarily for the hideous pustules she had seen on the man on the couch. Nothing. Not yet anyway.