Death and Taxes

by Galen Surlak-Ramsey

  “Products,” Mark clarified. He was pleased that the doctor wasn’t as absent-minded as he had initially assessed. He was almost on the verge of handing out a compliment. “We want useable, viable, products from medical advances to conflict resolution.”

  “Planning on sending these guys behind enemy lines?”

  Mark laughed. “These? Good heavens, no. They’re slow, unpredictable, not very smart, and let’s face it, they probably wouldn’t even pull the ripcord on their parachutes.”

  “Then what exactly do you have in mind?”

  “We’ll discuss specifics at a later time,” Mark replied, not wanting to get bogged down in a long conversation. “So humor me and tell me briefly what you think each one is doing.”

  Dr. Forbes turned back toward the screen. “Certainly,” he replied. “The first one wants to get out, probably to eat or do whatever zombies do when they aren’t eating. We’re using him as a temporary control group for now until we can devise a better one. He hasn’t done anything we haven’t seen before—typical stuff for one of his kind. But I did order that a rabbit be brought into his cell, as I’m curious to see what he’ll do with a non-human, living organism. The second one, the female, is a strange little thing. At first, she behaved much like our first one, looking blankly at the walls and becoming hostile when we would enter the room. Now, however, she seems to have had a shift from the classic, zombie paradigm to something completely different when we gave her pen and paper. She chewed them for a while, but now she hasn’t moved for hours.”

  “Is she still alive?” Mark paged through the papers he’d been handed earlier, but did not see the answer offhand. “It would be a shame to have one killed in under a week.”

  “She is,” Dr. Forbes replied, to Mark’s relief. “We were also wondering at first if she was playing possum, but now we’re perplexed as to what is going on in her mind as she hasn’t reacted at all to usual stimulus. I sent in a worker, in a full protection suit mind you, four times to see if she’d grab him when he drew near, and each time nothing happened.”

  “Odd.” Mark raised an eyebrow, and he read through the notes on the matter. “What do you think she wants?”

  Dr. Forbes shrugged, his mouth twisting as well to join the confusion. “We don’t know. Pens seem to be her motivation, or maybe it’s the ink inside. Or it could be she needs more things to interact with. We’ve decided to move her into one of the activity cells in order to make further observations.”

  “Be careful when you do. I don’t need any accident reports this soon into the project’s re-launch. And I certainly don’t need there to be an outbreak or escape.”

  “We have full measures in place to stop any such thing,” Dr. Forbes said with a dismissive wave. His voice then adopted a bragging tone, and his eyes gleamed with pride. “We’ve even built a fully operational self-destruct device on the bottom floor if a critical cascade scenario came into effect.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Not one bit. We do have to keep up our cliché’, top-secret underground facility image, you know,” Dr. Forbes said with a wink. “And what better way to do it than with a self-destruct device.”

  Mark arched his eyebrows. “A nuke?”

  “About a twenty kilo, I believe,” Dr. Forbes said, giving it some thought. “Maybe it was only ten, but I’ve been assured that it’s more than enough to see everything buried. I wish I had had more of a hand in developing it, but my contribution was small.”

  “Yours being?”

  “I managed to persuade a nice young girl to record the countdown voice. I thought it would make the perfect finishing touch. The one they had made was dry and artificial.”

  “I suppose it would,” Mark commented. He briefly wondered what sort of conversation one has when recruiting a voice over for a self-destruct device. When he had no immediate answer, his mind switched back to matters at hand. “What of our living guests? As I mentioned before, there’s been discussion with the top brass about potential problems keeping them around.”

  “The secretary and her fiancé are still in their room, locked per orders, of course,” Dr. Forbes replied. He pressed a few buttons on the console nearby and the monitor they were watching switched its view to Clarice’s room. At the moment, she was sitting at the edge of her bed, watching TV. Nick was off to the side, doing something with his laptop. “They’re extremely displeased with their detention, despite our assurances that it’s for temporary quarantine purposes only.”

  “Understandable, but problematic,” Mark said. “I have my orders, and they include ensuring the security of this installation. I’m certain you can appreciate our concern with releasing them back into society.”

  “I can,” Dr. Forbes replied. “What are your plans for them?”

  “I’ll get to that in a moment.” Mark glanced up at the monitors once more. “What of the old man who ran the gas station?”

  “He’s...well...” the doctor stammered, trying to search for the proper words. “His coping is remarkable. Believe it or not, his behavior indicates that he’s been through all of this before. He’s such a non-threat we decided to let him have his pocketknife at times, under close watch that is, as his whittling keeps him in a good mood.”

  “Interesting.” Mark tossed around the idea of stopping by Martin’s cell for a quick interview but ultimately dismissed the notion. Getting distracted in this place was all too easy. Instead, Mark decided to pursue his curiosity with a few more questions. “Is he trying to escape, perhaps?”

  “We’re not sure at this point,” Dr. Forbes replied. “We were wondering if he had a touch of infection, but all our tests came back negative. Blood tests, skin tests, motor skills tests, you name it and he passed it.”

  “So what do you make of it?”

  Dr. Forbes gave a half shrug. “We’re not sure. Perhaps it’s just dementia, but we honestly don’t know at this point. On a similar note, he does make mention of his wife and family from time to time.”

  Mark raised an eyebrow. Roaming family members could prove troublesome. “Where are they now?”

  “We don’t know that either,” he answered. “He talks about them being either nearby or back in Seraville, which is why we’re thinking dementia. I sent a team to scour his home.”

  “And if you find nothing, then what?”

  “Then I suspect we’ll need a psychologist to probe further,” Dr. Forbes answered. “Unfortunately, our budget doesn’t allow us to have one full-time or even part-time. It’s hard to justify the expense of someone showing inkblots all day, especially when our subjects keep answering braaaaaaaaains.”

  “I see,” Mark said. He folded his arms on his chest while giving the big picture a great deal of thought. “I think,” he said slowly, “that in the interests of taking zero chances with any of them, you’ll need to a complete sanitization of all subjects when testing is done. No loose ends.”

  Dr. Forbes’ face scrunched together as a smidge of morals hit. “I thought I made it clear the other day that I’m still a doctor,” he said. “I’m not some CIA hitman.”

  “You’ve killed plenty here,” Mark replied.

  “Convicts of the most heinous sort,” the doctor clarified. “Not quite the same thing.”

  “Let’s dispense with the moral argument,” Mark said. “The facts are these people can’t be let go without ruining our projects—projects that will save lives in the long run. I’m not saying you have to kill them outright, but I’m certain you can appreciate the value of live, willing test subjects. I’m sure you and your team could get them to participate in something that suits both of our needs.”

  “We could inject them with a vaccine and booster cocktail,” he said, scratching his chin. “There’s a new batch coming up that would be perfect. And quite frankly, the hobos you bring us are too unhealthy to draw meaningful conclusions from.”

  “Will they survive it?”

  Dr. Forbes shrugged. “Maybe.”

  �
��Good,” Mark said. “If they do, I’m willing to bet you can find another test or two to run as well. Is there anything else we need to touch on before I go?”

  The doctor thought for a moment before answering. “No, I think that’s it. I’ll keep you up to date as things progress.”

  “Glad to hear it,” he said.

  Dr. Forbes picked up the hanging wall phone and punched an extension. “Maria? It’s me. Have the young lady and her fiancé sign a release form for me. No, nothing specific. Keep it labeled as general treatment and tell them we need it signed in order to give them tetanus shots, vaccines and the like. And call Gaston for me, too. When he’s done with our tax subject, I need him to whip up two batches of theta kilo four twenty-one. Thanks, you’re a doll.”

  “Give me a call when you administer the first dose,” Mark said once the doctor hung up. “I’d like to see if your chalkboard predictions come true.”

  With that, Mark said his goodbye and stepped out of the room. Checking his watch, he was pleased to see he would be home with time to spare. Maybe he’d grab a bottle of champagne on the way as well.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Absolutely not.

  Those were the exact words that Clarice decided on while soaking in a tub and thinking about Dr. Forbes’ initial statement some four days ago of, “things will be much more pleasant now.” Certainly, when placed alongside the recent events at Colmera Springs, the past four days had to be considered pleasant. None of them, however, would have ever made Clarice’s Top Ten Things to Do list, and, whenever she got home, she vowed never to call her little condo a prison again.

  The first three days had been spent in a battery of physical and mental exams, culminating with a variety of blood work, injections, and interviews. Each examination she took had to have been given at least three times, and each interviewer asked the same questions at least twice as much as the previous one. Not a single person wanted to provide any sort of real answer to any of her very real questions, save for the infamous, “We’re almost done now.”

  What they meant to say was, “We’re almost done now, and we’re about to start all over again.”

  Then, whenever she was brought to the lab near the main elevator, she would hear the welcome jingle play constantly. It was an obnoxious and happy voice that sang every time someone came down.

  We’d like to welcome you,

  To this slice of heaven,

  Just watch what you say and do,

  While staying at Tau Seven!

  To top off her list of things she hated about the place, the room was absolutely horrid. Not that it was unfit for habitation—a bit of jargon she scolded herself for picking up while she was there—but rather that it was decorated in the most hideous of ways.

  The walls were painted in a mutated pastel, one that could only be born from the depths of a kindergarten class that got a hold of several cartons of crayons. The furniture seemed thrown together, consisting of two different sized beds, one desk, one chair and a small table with an even smaller TV on it. Hanging on the walls were a few pictures which were more suited for office desks than wall decorations. A few of them even still held their stock photographs inside. Dr. Forbes had attributed it all to budget cuts and rare finds at thrift stores.

  The only silver lining Clarice could find to the entire experience was the bathroom. Apparently the interior designer had missed this particular room, and for that Clarice was grateful. The bathroom itself was plain and boring, but functional. The toilet was white, as were the tiled walls, tub, and even soap. Clarice found the tub to be a godsend, and it was where she had now slinked away to.

  She felt the warmth of the water seep into her muscles, and it helped to put her in a state of tranquility. Each night she had soaked before bed, and it was the culmination of all these previous soakings that led her to the epiphany she was having now.

  “God, I hate this place,” she said to herself. “What I wouldn’t give for a drink.”

  Clarice flipped the drain with one toe, saddened that she was leaving her little sanctuary. By the time she had toweled and dressed, she could feel the stress returning. As she reentered the bedroom, she glanced up at the fluorescent lights that had not ceased their obnoxious hum. “Do you think convicts complain about the lights?”

  Nick, who was sitting at the desk and using his laptop, said nothing other than a half-minded, “Mhmm.”

  Clarice draped her arms over his shoulders and around his neck. “Come to bed,” she whispered in his ear. “I don’t want to think about this place.”

  Nick kissed the back of her hand and then gently pushed both of them away. “Not right this second,” he said. “I need to check a few things.”

  “Check them later,” she said, nibbling his ear.

  Nick leaned forward, breaking away. “No.”

  Clarice bit her lip at the rebuff and flopped on the bed. She stared at the ceiling, trying not to let her anger get the better of her, and decided to count the tiles above in order to keep her from saying or doing something she’d later regret. One. Two. Three. Four...Four.

  “When do you think we’ll get those vaccines?” she asked, rolling onto her stomach and crossing her feet in the air.

  Nick didn’t answer. The sound of his fingers tapping on the keyboard grew in intensity.

  “I hope they’re small needles at least. I hate big needles. Did I ever tell you about the time when I was little and they came at me with this really huge needle because I needed a tetanus shot? Chris and I were teasing Kevin, and the dork got mad and threw an old dart at me. Dad was really pissed.”

  Nick’s fingers stopped their movement, but he still didn’t answer.

  “Gah!” she said, annoyed at her mute of a roommate. “I just want to get out of here, go home, get back to work, and do whatever it takes to forget all of this crap.” Clarice stuck one hand under the bed and fished for the remote. At least they had some sort of connection with the outside world. “I can’t imagine what’s going on at work with us gone this long.” She suddenly sat up. “I better not have to take any sick leave over this crap. I didn’t even want to go on this stupid trip. And what on earth are we going to tell them? Sorry, it took so long, but we ran into some zombies and got quarantined?”

  “Yeah, that might work,” Nick said absent-mindedly. The tapping resumed.

  “Why am I even talking to you?” Clarice said with a scowl. She was sure at this point that even if she trotted around naked he’d still not pay attention to her. Not that he was going to see any of that anytime soon. “Just because you’re happy as a little clam over there on your laptop doesn’t mean I’m not dying for some attention.”

  “Shh!” Nick scolded, waving a hand at her. “I’m trying to concentrate.”

  A flying pillow ensured that he did not.

  Nick glanced down at the fluffy attacker and continued to work the keyboard. After a few seconds, he leaned back. “We’ve got to get out of here,” he said.

  “That’s what I’ve been saying this whole time!” Clarice exclaimed. She surveyed the bed and was tempted to throw the other pillow. “If you cared to listen to me at all you’d know that.”

  “No, that’s not what I mean,” he clarified. “We’ve got to get out of here before they come again.”

  Clarice peeked over his shoulder, wondering what was so dreadful on his screen. The wall of text she saw was quite intimidating. “Is that their, um, stuff?” she asked, still trying to make sense of it all.

  “Their network,” he replied. “Yes.”

  “How the hell did you get into that?” she asked as she leaned in for a closer view. Filenames and directories littered the screen. “Is there anything juicy in it?”

  “Remember when they took my wireless card? They never bothered to check to see if I have an internal one, which I do. The one they took was a leftover I kept in my bag.”

  “Nice.”

  “Yeah, and the server software they’re running is horribly out of dat
e,” Nick went on while shaking his head. “Out in the real world they patched these security holes a long time ago, but apparently our hosts didn’t feel such things were important. I got right in.”

  Clarice laughed. “Guess if you design a couple of rockets you think you’re invincible.”

  Nick threw up his hands. “No idea what the hell they were thinking. Maybe it’s because they have no outside lines and figure internal hacks aren’t as concerning.”

  “So what can you do?” Clarice asked.

  “I can do anything I want with root access.”

  “Root?” she said, not following what he was saying.

  “Root access,” he said again. “Everyone who logs into the system has privileges assigned. Privileges say what programs you can run, what you can look at, what you can’t do, and so on. Root access means you’re the server and can do whatever it is you feel like doing.” Nick hammered away at the keys some more and pulled up a few text files. “See that?” he said, pointing to the screen. “That’s a medical order to inject us with some crap called theta kilo 421, an experimental vaccine.”

  “What?” she said, shaking her head. “No. They can’t do that.”

  “They’re going to try. And I don’t want to see if they can actually do it.”

  “Well, I’m not a doctor, so I have no idea what that kilo thing does,” Clarice said. “And unless you’ve been taking some online courses I don’t know about, you aren’t one either. Maybe it’s harmless.”

  Nick pointed to the screen after he brought up another file. “Look, the last group of people they gave it to died. All twelve of them. They’re only keeping us in the dark so we’ll cooperate.”

  “Yeah, let’s see how cooperative they find us now,” she said, crossing her arms. “If they get near me with a syringe, I’ll start breaking noses.”

  Nick shook his head. “I’d wager they already have ways to control hostile subjects. Once they get here, it’s going to be too late. That’s why I said we need to go, now. We’re dead if we stay here any longer.”