In The Falling Light by John L. Campbell

had happened to the submarine facility near Joanna’s location.
It was grim, and only a single sub had made it to sea. Whether it
had been contaminated and the crew exposed remained to be seen, but
Navy aircraft were tracking its slow movement off the East Coast,
ready to drop a torpedo on it and send it to the bottom if it
turned out the crew had been infected.
    A female scientist confirmed data Joanna had
on her iPad. Not only could a person be infected by the airborne
L-2207, but human victims bitten and not killed outright by a tick
attack were infected by a mutated form of the bacteria Borrelia.
Both exposures amounted to the same thing. The victim quickly
transformed into the giant, adult arachnids. It was a condition
someone had casually referred to as “having Blackleg ,” and
the nickname stuck. Although the creatures were driven to kill for
a blood meal, believed to be instinctual, they then broke the rules
of the natural world and kept killing and feeding until too bloated
to move. On the surface, an observer might think this would be
beneficial, making them easier to kill, but there were so many,
moving and multiplying so very fast, that it didn’t matter. An Air
Force general was discussing carpet bombing and napalm along the
I-95 corridor, which sparked some lively debate. Joanna barely
heard him, distracted and staring at Spencer Peck, not knowing why.
Her headache hadn’t abated.
    The final briefing came from an Admiral
working with the Center for Disease Control. He reported the
outbreak had already spread into Rhode Island, north across
Connecticut to the Massachusetts border, and west to within five
miles of the New York state line. Somewhere along the way his
monotone voice stated that the ticks would go dormant in
temperatures under forty-five degrees.
    Too bad it’s the middle of July, thought
Joanna, forcing her thoughts - her strange and somehow
sexually-related thoughts – away from her executive officer and
back to the present. General Laurents took the floor again, looking
into the camera.
    “Joanna, no bullshit now. Does Dr. DeVries
truly believe he can reverse this? Come up with an antibiotic
vaccine?”
    Joanna straightened in her chair. “Yes he
does, General.”
    “Good. We’ll have another call in six hours.
I want him to tell me that himself.”
    The screen went black.
    Joanna left the conference room without a
word to Peck, and locked herself in her office. As she searched her
desk for Advil, she called the lab. A young male tech with red eyes
and in need of a shave appeared on the video link, then went to
find the doctor. A few minutes later DeVries came on, looking more
worn down than his assistant.
    “You told them what?”
    “I had to, Doctor. You said there was a
chance.”
    “I said there was a slim chance, and
that I’d need the help of another facility, and it would take
months to accomplish, if it can even be done at all.”
    “Still, it’s a chance, isn’t it?”
    DeVries peered closely at the screen,
softening his tone. “You’re exhausted, Joanna, and not thinking
clearly. You should have told them the truth.”
    “And then they would have insisted you be on
the conference link, full video.”
    DeVries looked down and rubbed absently at a
large pair of side-by-side boils on his upper lip. The fingers he
rubbed with didn’t look right.
    “If I told them, they’d nerve gas us without
a second thought in some half-assed attempt at containment. I’m
trying to buy us time to figure a way through this.” The doctor
said nothing, and she noticed he very purposefully kept his other
hand below the table, out of sight. “How are you feeling?”
    DeVries shook his head. “I’m fine.”
    “Good. Keep working, Doctor.” Joanna
disconnected.
     
    There was minimal staff on duty for the
overnight shift, only a couple of men at the consoles monitoring
the complex’s support systems. The screens on the wall were running
new images, each more horrific than the one