"No, sir, it's been quiet."

Cigarette clenched between his fingers he brought it to his lips and inhaled deeply bringing his head upward as he did.

Hans paused.

Through the corner of his eye, he saw a flicker of the light in the tent. "Did you see that?"

"See what?"

"The light in the tent flickered."

"No, I didn't. Maybe . . ."

It was clear that the soldier saw it at the same time Hans did.

This time the light truly flickered as if it were being hit.

"I'm going to go check that out," Hans said, and started to walk toward the tent.

"I'll come with you."

The soldier kept up the pace and as they approached, they could hear the other group of soldiers talking and laughing.

Hans took that as a sign all was well.

Probably just a power problem.

He walked into the tent. Nothing. No sounds. He lifted the nurse's clipboard, to check to see when she did rounds last.

He stared at it, "Something wrong?" the soldier asked.

"Last notation was two hours ago. Where is the nurse? Katherine."

"In there?"

Holding the clipboard, Hans parted the curtain. His steps were slow, as he was exposed to the same first sight as Katherine had been.

"Where are the patients?" the soldier quizzed.

"I ... I don't know." Hans stuttered. His body shifted to the right and to the left. "God."

The shifting of his weapon startled Hans almost as much as all the blood by Carlos' empty cot.

"What the hell happened?" Hans spoke his thoughts out loud. "Soldier, go get some help."

"Yes, sir. I think you should come with me, though."

"I'm fine."

"Sir..."

"I'm fine. Go."

"Yes, sir."

The soldier backed up and left. Hans walked to the cot.

The bedding was still shimmering in blood and he stared at it in wonder. But he wasn't going to stay long. After a quick examination he turned.

The light flickered and he saw her.

At the other end of the tent, Katherine stood there. He couldn't see her clearly, she was a mere shadow.

Hans sighed out in relief. "Katherine." He rushed her way.

She didn't move.

"Katherine. Are you all right." He closed in on her. "What happened here?"

On his last word, Katherine stammered to him and into the way of the light.

Hans saw her.

Her head tilted, her body bloody, her neck was wounded, and from her stomach, a gaping hole appeared to seep her insides. Her lifeless eyes stared at him.

"Good God, Katherine." In an instinctual leap to help, Hans grabbed on to her. His fingers touched her arm. He froze as he got a closer look.

Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong. He felt it when he saw her. And then Katherine made this horrendous gasping sound. Her mouth opened and it lunged for his arm.

Hans drew back his arm quickly and Katherine moved in a slow attack mode. He shoved her back. "Soldier!" he cried out and she leapt for him again. Another shove, Katherine stumbled back, and returned in her pursuit.

He couldn't think of anything else, but to get out of there. But before she could touch him again, in order to make a clear escape, Hans swung out the clipboard, smashing her in the side of the head. He dropped it and ran out.

It was a blur.

Hans took off from the tent with the mission in mind to call the CDC. Someone. He didn't know what happened, what occurred. He screamed for help as he ran from the tent, looking over his shoulder only once to see the soldiers scurry to aid.

But he kept on running.

He locked the CDC lab. His hands shook. Calm. Calm. He had to calm down.

He fumbled for his cigarettes and, against the rules or not, lit on in the lab and grabbed the phone. His fingers shook his badly as he dialed and inhaled his nicotine.

A couple hits, a ring. No answer. A voice mail.

Damn it.

Middle of the message he heard a few shots outside and it caused him to jump and topple the phone.

In a panic he spun around, double check the lock. As he did he noticed the blood on his hand. Heart beating out of control, Hans ran to the sink, rolled up his sleeve and submerged his arm under the power stream all with the cigarette dangling from his lips.

"Come on, come on," he beckoned out loud, watching the blood clear from his skin.

He breathed out heavily. A sigh. The injury was a speck bigger than a puncture would and wasn't even bleeding anymore.

After rinsing, he washed it, rinsed, and then scrubbed the wound with disinfectant.

He coughed from the smoke, dried his arms, and then finally took the cigarette from his lips.

His phone was broken on the floor, and he reached down for the pieces.

Telling himself to relax, he sat, smoked his cigarette and tried to fix his phone. Anything to take his mind off of the strange event that had just occurred.

'God, oh my God. Something's happened. The bacteria. The virus...' Hans' words were rushed, panicked, and filled with static on the voicemail message. 'Something's happened to Katherine. She's gotten violent. I think she caught it. Maybe it's the virus. The patients are gone. Not dead gone, but gone. I fear they may be suffering from the same delirium. She tried to attack me. She ...'

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Silence.

End of message.

Saul had missed the call and by the time he woke, the phone stopped ringing. He tried with diligence to call back, but it went straight to voice mail.

All he knew was that a frightened sounding Hans called and there were gunshots.

He tried every line and couldn't get through to the site.

Saul didn't need to be a psychic to know something went awry. Hans never lost his cool. Ever.

First thing was first, Saul had to find out what was going on and get help if needed to the area. He couldn't do that from his home, so praying that everything was fine, he began to make phone calls for that help.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

4 miles out Carancus, Puno, Peru Pedro was a farmer, or he liked to associate himself as being a farmer. He didn't grow much, and when his business as a carpenter folded, he moved his wife and two children to live with his mother. An ill woman of little means.

They made it through the hard times. Selling chickens and eggs, along with greens.

Pedro, a man of forty-five was a good man. People liked him. They counted on him. Strong and fit, dependable and wise.

Pedro had a lot to say about his teenage children. On the previous night, their late night sneaking wasn't a bad thing. They had gone out to the wooded area with others and heard a child crying. Sobbing, they said and they and their friends searched. Hours after they were supposed to be home they told Pedro of their search. At first, Pedro, like any father thought this was their excuse, until he saw the desperation on their faces.

Then he, knowing the area as well as he did, took up the search.

When he first entered the area he heard the crying and followed it, calling out for the child. The crying continued and Pedro worried for the child's welfare, and if he could get to the child before the elements did.

He searched for hours until the crying ceased. Pedro sat down to take a break, closed his eyes and fell fast asleep.

He dreamt of his search, how he kept looking, until he fell down a hill and broke his leg. The dream of the broken leg was so real he could actually feel pain. In fact, the pain woke Pedro.

Lying on his back, the early morning sun started to peek through the trees and he opened his eyes, wincing in pain. Had he slept on his leg wrong? It was when he tried to sit up that he looked down to this leg and screamed in horror.

A goat was gnawing on his calf. Blood seeped through. Pedro screamed, jolted his leg from the jaws of the goat, and grabbed his walking stick. The goat sneered at him as if a mad dog and after bucking on its hind legs jumped Pedro's way.

Using the stick, Pedro careened down on the head of the goat. It moved back some then lunged again. This time, Pedro was ready. End out on his stick he rammed in through the open mouth of the goat directly through his throat into the back of its head.

The goat froze.

It took all of his strength to move the goat from him. When the goat hit the ground, Pedro stood. His leg ached and hurt worse than any pain he felt. He reached for his stick and got a closer look at the goat. Its entire side was removed. His ribcage and muscles were seen. Pedro didn't even bother for the stick. He hobbled back, wanting only to get back home and get help.

A scuffling sound caught his attention.

Pedro turned.

There behind him was a boy, no older than six. The child was dirty, blood caked around his mouth and jaw. Typically, Pedro would have reached out to the boy to help. But there was something about the child. His eyes were lifeless, white, skin pasty almost gray. And as the child extended his arms and stared at Pedro with a demonic look, Pedro spun and as best as he could with an injured leg, took off running.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

Fayetteville, NC The CNN headlines read, 'Could Mass Hysteria Be the Cause?' It caught Lil's attention as her internet browser logged on.

She didn't think much about it until she saw the sub headline about a meteor or object landing in Peru. Then she was drawn in. A lifelong fan of phenomena, especially anything earth shattering, caught her attention.

Lil clicked on the link.

It didn't say much. An undetermined object landed in Peru. Hundreds were ill, or were they?

Not good enough. It did make her mind wander some.

She returned to task at hand.