Chapter Text
Never in his life had Harold stood quite this still. Barely allowing himself to breathe, he tried to project an aura of calm, of lack-of-threat, all the while hoping that Carter wouldn’t suddenly turn her attention on him.
Because if she did turn her attention on him, his efforts would be as pointless as trying to fend off a grizzly by thinking happy thoughts.
It would have been nice to have something to hide in -- or behind, or under, or by. But, aside from the two of them, and the faint light filtering in around the edges of the door, the shipping container was empty. A large, empty space amid so many other large, empty spaces, so many extra places for John to search before he got to them. Even assuming that he’d find the right lot to begin with.
Carter was pacing with increasing agitation, and Harold wasn’t sure that she even knew he was there anymore. That was… good. Once the door had closed, once he’d heard the heavy clunk of the padlock, Harold had moved into the darkest corner, the place where Carter was least likely to focus on him. But that was all he could do right now. That, and wait. He didn’t even dare to sit down.
A sudden snarl made him jerk, biting back a gasp that would surely have made her take notice of him again. His only hope -- a slim one -- was to stay quiet and out of her awareness until John found them. At that point, he could only hope that John could subdue their friend without harming her… or letting her harm him.
The ironic thing was, it wasn’t even that robust of a virus; it was ridiculously easy for the immune system to adjust and drive it off. In a healthy body, the virus could last a few hours, maybe a couple of days. But, within that time, it left a body count.
That was, of course, what it had been designed to do: They were dealing with an engineered bioweapon, one that targeted the human brain, stripping away conscious thought and inhibitions, and then ramping up aggression until the victim seemed more beastlike than human. The terrorists who’d brought it here, the ones who’d caught them in the yard -- who’d dosed Carter and then sealed both of them in -- had strolled off laughing, knowing too well the fate they were consigning them to.
While pulling together the increasingly disturbing information about this case, Harold had come across coroner’s reports, eyewitness accounts -- and then, finally and most horrifically, actual surveillance footage of the victims in a frenzied, full-blown rage. The kind of damage they could cause to anyone and everyone around them was a nightmare matched only by the damage they could cause to themselves, if left without an outlet for the frantic, savage energy within. There’d been reports of people clawing their way through wooden doors, ripping up flooring, doing unparalleled damage to any structure around them -- and even more damage to themselves, apparently without feeling the pain.
And the virus could spread through saliva. If she bit him and, for whatever reason, didn’t kill him right away, in fifteen or twenty minutes he’d be just as crazed as she was. Two predators, trapped in a cage together; there were no neutral corners for victims of this plague. If John didn’t find them soon…
Silently, Harold shuddered. Carter would win; how could she not? And she would blame herself for the rest of her life. But it was his fault that she was involved. If he hadn’t panicked -- hadn’t rushed into danger he was ill prepared for, recklessly ignoring the Machine’s warnings and John’s frantic pleas for him to just wait--
But John had been on the other side of the city -- following a lead that had turned out to be useless -- when Harold had figured out where the real shipment was. Waiting for John to get back hadn’t seemed like an option; the terrorists were planning to release it today, possibly that very hour, and Harold had focused on being able to get there first. En route, he’d called Carter -- the nearest asset capable of assisting him -- and told her to meet him at the site. If things had gone as planned, he would have rerouted the samples to the CDC and been off site before the terrorists had realized that they’d moved the wrong container.
Suffice it to say, things had not gone according to plan; determination and good intentions could only take you so far. So, now, it was a waiting game. If John couldn’t track them down in a timely manner, then Harold would probably die at Carter’s hands. Because he couldn’t keep standing forever; sooner or later he’d attract her attention, or she’d spot him on her own, and it would be over.
And when John opened those doors, if he wasn’t looking at one or two dead friends, there was still the chance that Carter would bite him. Within twenty minutes, Harold could have a second unpredictable predator on his hands. And with John’s training, with the aggressive nature he kept mostly buried under a steady layer of self-control? The lack of inhibitions would be lethal. Even with Carter’s enhanced strength and reflexes, she wouldn’t stand a chance against him.
Though she’d stand a better chance than Harold would.