Disclaimer: I don't own 'em.
A/N: There will be violence and gore and possibly mentions of hasty sex in this fic. If this is not your thing, please don't read. I may up the rating on this fic later.
A recent article about the potential negative impact of swine flu shots in Europe inspired this story. I am not anti-vaccine though so please, go read up on all your vaccines and get your shots!
I'm also not a scientist or doctor. I need your suspension of belief big time here.
Also, this is my first PoI fiction. I can't guarantee quick updates at this point, but will try.
"Mr. Reese, we have a problem here," Finch said. He leaned on his good side and lifted his gun eye level with a young woman's forehead. Her head rocked backwards as the bullet ripped through. Blood and brain matter cascaded through the air. Finch immediately took aim at a gentleman who ambled his way. Finch watched as the man fell from his shot in an almost balletic way, one arm swinging gracefully in a high arch as he tumbled.
If people could see him now, no one would have believed that Harold hated guns. But Finch also had a great capacity for adapting to new situations and this was definitely a new situation.
Finch turned back to a different woman dragging and groaning her way to his location. It was clear she had been infected a while ago. One of her legs was almost completely rotted off, but that only slowed her down a little. He aimed and fired. He was almost out of ammunition.
He pushed the button on his radio. "Mr. Reese? John?" There was nothing but silence.
"I think we have a good batch, Daniel."
Daniel Bateman looked over at his partner. "Better than last year's?"
"Yes, we didn't guess the right strains last year so we were left with a bunch of duds."
"Did you get Smitty on it?"
"Yes, he should be hitting CNN and The View today and there's a booking for him on Dr. Oz tomorrow."
"Good, I can deliver our shareholders the news."
"But what?" Daniel didn't exactly like Ralph Entin because Entin had always came off a little squirrelly to him. The man could never hold eye contact for long and was nervous and fidgety, and Daniel distrusted people like that. However, Ralph delivered the goods, except for last year, better than anyone in the business.
"I'm concerned we rushed this. I don't feel comfortable with the adjuvant. It hasn't been tested enough. We're only getting it through here because of a loop-hole in the F.D.A."
Daniel eyed Ralph with thinly veiled disgust. "Of course we rushed it. They're talking pandemic levels of flu. Everyone wants our shots."
"There could be consequences, Dan." Ralph squirmed under Daniel's scrutiny.
"Yes, and most of them are to us if we don't deliver when we have a product ready to go."
Daniel turned away from the man. He had no time for Entin's antics. He had good news to share.
"Do we have a new number, Finch?" John tossed a chewed up tennis ball to Bear and watched as the dog bit and slobbered over the toy.
Harold looked up from his newly steeped tea in displeasure. He had grown to love the dog, but he still disliked his library being Reese and Bear's primary place of play. He preferred when they found other outlets for their energy.
"As a matter of fact, Mr. Reese, we do. It seems like Lucy Bateman's life is in danger."
"Lucy Bateman? Any connection to that murdered CEO from the Carlton Frisk drug company?"
Harold raised an eyebrow at that. "So you do read the newspaper I leave out?"
John shrugged. "A man gets bored sometimes. What do you know about Lucy?"
Finch looked over the facts that were produced in his computer search. "She's supposed to be Daniel's daughter." He paused. "Hmm."
"I don't like the sound of that, Finch."
Harold had a way with words and when he was speechless John knew his job was going to be difficult.
"There is not nearly enough information about Lucy. I understand that she is a high profile child, and therefore many of her records should be sealed or difficult to locate, but there should be something more on a twenty-four year old. No credit cards, no apartment, not even one registered in Daniel's name for her. No school records or cell phone numbers. Nothing. It's almost like Lucy doesn't exist."
"Or maybe she's an alias," John supplied. The two men looked at each other. They both knew a thing or two about name changes.
"That seems to be a likely possibility."
"I'll call Carter and see if she can get Daniel's autopsy report. Something isn't right here."
Carter moved into the shadows of the precinct. She had to be even more vigilant these days. Donnelly was back and was desperate to bag the Man in the Suit. She flipped open her burner phone.
"What's up, John?"
"I need you to look up an autopsy report for me."
"Aren't your victims usually alive?"
"Usually. We're not sure about this one. Name is Daniel Bateman."
"The Daniel Bateman?"
John chuckled. "So you read the paper when you're bored too?"
She looked at the phone confused, but from the tone of his voice she could tell that Finch was probably around and those two shared inside jokes all the time.
"No, his death was all over the precinct a month back. It was pretty shocking that a man who was set to enter the billionaire's club would hang himself after a minor dispute with a colleague."
"Foul play?" John's voice held concern.
"No, they ruled it a suicide, but it was shady. We received an order from the mayor to make it an open-and-shut case as quickly as possible. Thought that was strange too."
"You don't think it was just because he was rich?"
"No, the eccentricities of the rich don't usually get the mayor involved. Otherwise, we'd be getting calls every time a rich, old bachelor was killed."
"Might if some of the mayor's reelection money comes from Carlton Frisk."
"Might," she agreed. "Let me see what I can find out. I'll meet you at the diner."
"No, I'll meet you at your house."
"I don't think that's a good idea," she said. She didn't particularly dislike Reese in her space. In fact, she liked him there. A lot.
"The diner is not a good spot since Donnelly is sniffing around."
"How did you know about," she started. "You know what, never mind, I don't want to know. I'll see you later."
"Later, Detective," he said.
She should be irritated. He'd invited himself to her house and used that husky, whispery voice on her, but instead she tried to ignore the heat that rose to her cheeks.
December 31, 2012
"What the hell, Carter?" Fusco yelled as he snapped his leg back into the car. His partner nearly slammed the car door shut on him.
She opened the passenger's door and threw herself inside.
"I don't have time to explain. Drive," she barked. She kept looking behind the car.
"What? What's going on?"
A bloody hand smacked against the back windshield and startled Lionel. "Wha…?" The hand started to beat furiously at the window. A web of cracks starburst at the force.
"Drive," Carter said. It was the calmest he had ever seen her and it spurred him into action in a way that her yelling at him never could. He started the engine.
"I'm going to hit whomever the hell that is if I back up," he said.
"It doesn't matter. I don't think they're alive anymore," she replied.