Storm (Swipe Series)

“But if he’s working with ’em right now, then he sure has a strange way of apprehending DOME’s number-one group of rebels.”
    The next few minutes of conversation were filled with ups and downs: Erin’s apology for running out, the Arbitors’ forgiveness, Tyler’s account of being caught in the elevator, Dr. Arbitor’s stories of how worried Mac had been back on Barrier Street . . .
    But ultimately, the joys of reconnecting were snuffed out once and for all by the Arbitors’ realization that Erin’s trip to the Sierra Science Center wasn’t for pleasure.
    “ Sick ? What do you mean, Erin’s sick?” Dr. Arbitor said quickly.
    “You guys didn’t tell them?” Erin asked.
    Mr. Arbitor turned his head. “You knew ?”
    “Well, of course,” Tyler said. “With Trumpet. Obviously.”
    “ Obviously ? What in Cylis’s name is ‘Trumpet’?” Dr. Arbitor asked.
    For the first time since the Dust had arrived, a heavy silence fell over the room. Mr. Arbitor hung his head in his hands, slowly remembering the rumors he’d heard over the years.
    “Olivia,” Dr. Rhyne said. “You might want to sit down for this.” And she proceeded to tell the group everything.
    “I’m afraid right now there’s not a whole lot we can do for her,” Arianna said by the end of it. “Somehow, Erin must have come in contact with a second activation protein. Something I had nothing to do with. And one that . . . well, that activated her vaccine.But right now we haven’t the slightest idea what that protein is or where it came from. Without it, we’re looking at a bit of a dead end. Sorry,” she added quickly. “Pun not intended.”
    Each of them stood somberly, hearing the reality of it.
    After a moment, Erin broke the ice. “I’ve been thinking a lot about it,” she began. “About where I might have been exposed. Whether I breathed it, or drank it, or touched it, or smelled it . . .”
    “There’s no way you would remember,” Dr. Rhyne said. “I don’t blame you for—”
    “No, that’s just it,” Erin interrupted. “I think I do.”
    Dr. Rhyne raised an eyebrow.
    “Before we made it out here, I’d just assumed it was just from . . . I don’t know . . . from whatever. But since you’re sure the protein hasn’t been released nationwide yet . . . well, it’s clear that I must have been exposed through something specific to me.”
    “That’s right,” the doctor said. “But as for what that specific thing is . . .”
    Erin frowned and tugged a little at the wires in her arms, trying hard—and failing—to get comfortable. “Back in Spokie, I did a lot of snooping around DOME’s headquarters at the Umbrella.” She looked at her dad now in the tablet, apologetically. “I stole things. More things than I could count, really. Lined my pockets with tactical equipment, filled my backpack with spy tech I couldn’t even recognize . . .
    “We all know Trumpet originally came from within the ranks of DOME, and I certainly got my hands on enough top secret stuff over there—powders, gels, vials . . . Who’s to say some of it wasn’t carrying this new activation protein?” Erin laughed. “I gave the stupid fever to myself.”
    Her words hung in the stale basement air. Erin could almostpicture them swirling around everyone’s heads, like birds around a dazed character from some old, pre-Unity cartoon.
    Soon, Mr. Arbitor’s mind was racing. Trumpet. Trumpet . . .
    If it had been inside the Spokie headquarters, then it stood to reason it’d be at Beacon’s too.
    “Erin,” he said. “If we were to find traces of that activation protein ourselves . . . is there any way that could help you all with your research out there at the Science Center?”
    “Are you kidding?” Dr. Rhyne chimed in. “Having the info on that protein would make all the difference in the world!”
    Already, a big smile was stretching across his face. It was exactly what Mr. Arbitor needed to hear. “Dust,” he said, turning back to them. “Start planning. We’re going on a field trip.”
    5
    It was late afternoon in Lahoma. The sun was low and golden on Main Street, though not much of it seemed to make its way inside.
    “Sheriff, thanks for meeting with me,” Connor said, walking into the room. The sheriff’s office was dim and cool, its dirt floors and wooden walls brightened only by a single, large wallscreen that hung oddly against the rest of the room’s out-of-era simplicity.
    Connor found a seat. The