Leah stared at Evans for several seconds. After confirming that his anger was genuine, her tone softened slightly.
"What exactly is this? Wildfire? A vaccine? Or something else?"
Evans took several deep breaths to steady himself. His fingers trembled slightly as he picked up the report again and began analyzing it word by word.
"There's too little information. This is only an appendix—none of the key data is here," he said, struggling through the obscure terminology.
"It looks like some kind of forward-looking immunization attempt targeting a specific pathogen… or possibly a genetic-level marker or activation.
V-07α sounds like an early experimental code. 'Effects uncertain,' 'vary by individual,' 'similar results among close blood relatives'… My God. What did they treat you as? A customized lab rat?"
Evans' voice flared with anger again, but he quickly forced it down, replacing it with deep concern.
"Have you noticed anything unusual with your body recently? Any discomfort? Extreme fatigue—or the opposite, unusual bursts of energy?"
Calista thought for a moment.
"My energy has been ridiculously high sometimes. I can work intensely for long stretches without getting tired. But I assumed it was just the stress lately."
Evans' expression grew even more serious.
"That could be a sign that your immune system has been abnormally activated—or interfered with. Or it could mean something else entirely. Without proper equipment, I can't determine whether it's good or bad."
He set the report down and looked at her heavily.
"Calista, based on this incomplete report, the only thing I can say is that there's a massive unknown inside your body. The fact that it hasn't caused any acute or fatal side effects yet may be the only good news."
He paused, his tone becoming extremely serious.
"But that doesn't mean it's safe. It could simply be dormant. Or its effects might only be triggered under certain conditions—such as encountering the pathogen it claims to prevent.
This is extremely dangerous. It's like… like a time bomb buried inside your own body. You don't know how long the fuse is, or even whether it will explode."
A chill crept up Calista's spine.
Evans' words confirmed her deepest fear.
"Do you know anything about this… Wildfire virus?" she asked, her voice dry.
Dr. Evans shook his head.
"I'm not an expert in that field. We need someone who understands this better. Ideally we'd need the original research data—and someone who can continuously monitor your physical condition."
Leah grabbed Evans' arm urgently.
"Do you know where this Cooper is?"
Evans let out a breath, anger rising again.
"That guy mentioned before that he found a better job opportunity in France. His whole family emigrated there in June!"
That timing matched exactly with when Norton had called Calista and invited her to France.
Now it was obvious they had planned everything.
The only unexpected variable had been the car accident involving Calista and Margaret, and the long coma the original Calista fell into.
After that, Silas Norton never brought it up again—probably because he had found a better test subject. After all, Calista wasn't his only blood relative.
Calista shared the plot information she knew.
"The CDC in Atlanta. There might be clues there."
A hint of hope flashed across Leah's eyes.
"You know someone there?"
Calista answered casually, making it up on the spot.
"My mom knew a virus researcher there—Dr. Jenner."
Evans grabbed Calista's arm, his expression urgent.
"Calista, you must find him. As soon as possible. Before any unpredictable changes occur, you need to figure out exactly what was put into your body. This isn't a suggestion—this is a strong recommendation from your doctor."
Calista fell silent for a moment. Her eyes drifted again to the cold signature of her father on the report and the glaring word "Wildfire."
The last trace of hesitation disappeared.
"I understand."
She turned and strode toward the door.
"Get ready, Leah. We're heading out soon."
She needed answers.
And those answers were in Atlanta.
Dr. Jenner—wherever you are, wait for me.
You'd better actually know something. Otherwise this long trip will have been a complete waste of gas.
...
Bossie jumped down from the scaffold, his boots landing heavily on the soft ground.
He wiped the sweat from his forehead with his arm and looked at the barbed-wire fence stretching across the distance, finally beginning to take shape.
Since the materials for the fence were brought back, Ancheta had thrown himself into what everyone was calling the "barbed-wire project," determined to surround Rock Fortress with a three-mile defensive perimeter.
The workload was enormous, and even the forest patrol teams had been reassigned to help build it.
"Done! Hey, Mikey—next time you complain about your hands hurting from twisting wire, you can go wrestle with the walkers outside yourself!"
Bossie shouted at a red-haired young man beside him who was shaking his sore hands.
Mikey raised his blistered palms.
"Give me a break. This stuff is torture."
"Anti-walker, not anti-human, sweetheart. Remember that," Bossie said with a smug grin.
He caught a bottle of cold water tossed by another teammate, twisted the cap open, and took a big gulp.
The icy water slid down his throat.
Perfect.
He had barely rested for a single day after returning before being dragged back to work.
After nearly a week of hard labor, the outer defensive line was finally starting to look like something.
"Bossie! Hey, man!" Turner jogged over, drenched in sweat. "You're really hard to find."
"What's up?"
"Get ready. We've got an outside mission."
"What? Again?" Bossie tossed the water bottle back at Turner, clearly unwilling.
"This one's organized by Calista."
Bossie instantly dropped the attitude, switching expressions in a blink.
"Oh, that's different. Keeping me stuck building fences is a waste of my talent anyway. I'm coming!"
He stuffed his tools into Mikey's arms and patted his teammate on the chest.
"Mikey, you're in charge here now."
"Hey—!"
By the time Mikey reacted, Bossie and Turner were already running off.
...
Two Humvees and a Ford pickup reinforced with steel plates were parked in the open clearing with their hoods raised.
Carver, an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth, was checking the oil, coolant, and belts with two others while muttering curses at a slightly leaking connection.
On the other side, Mike and several others were securing a crate of weapons and ammunition, a box of bottled water, several packs of compressed biscuits, and a few boxes of antibiotics in the truck bed.
Calista stood with her arms crossed beside Leah and Rickson, looking down at a map spread across the hood of a Humvee.
The map was pieced together from a pre-apocalypse Great Smoky Mountains National Park tourist map and a scavenged Georgia highway map.
Several rough routes had already been marked across it with red and blue markers.
Before the apocalypse, the drive from Blackberry Ranch to the CDC in Atlanta would take just over four hours using the interstate highways. It had been a common road trip route.
But now, with so many uncertainties, the journey could take far longer.
...
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