airborne rage

I looked in the direction of the service hall. The maintenance crew had gone to fix the air filters. The big hall was right around the corner, sixty feet from where I stood. Pieces, pieces, falling into place. Created a much bigger picture.

Air. Mist.

A delivery system appropriate to the venue. Flies for an island or a small café. But for a place with high security and filtered air…?

Suddenly I was running.

“It’s airborne,” I yelled. “Wilson, clear the conference room. It’s the air filtration system. Shut it down. Christ, shut it down … they have an airborne version of Rage!”

...

That’s when I saw the vent above where the BBC reporter stood. In the glow from all those small lights turned in that direction I could see the millions of tiny droplets of mist shooting into the room at high speed.

God, I hated to be right.

All around the reporter, people began twitching, growling, snarling, howling. They turned on one another, baring their teeth, grabbing anything they could—cameras, microphones, pens, clipboards—or used their bare hands and snapping teeth. The room became a madhouse of murder and death.

-Rage pg. 419-421 Kindle Edition