The Fallujah Strain: Power After the Ebola Apocalypse

by Thomas Porter

  "Not really. Did anyone here come up with anything?" Gabe asked.

  "We picked up the GPS signal and did some research on the address," Shuh said. "There was a lab there, like a medical lab. Some big lab chain, I forgot the name. What's interesting is that this Anthony Barringer, when he first registered after the die-off and round-up, reported that he was a lab assistant. We figure that lab is where he worked. Don't know why he'd burn down his house but it probably has something to do with his five dependents dying when he was brought in here."

  "Should I bring him in again?"

  For the first time since Gabe arrived, Chevault spoke. "No. Leave him. But keep watching. How soon can you get back out there? To the lab."

  "My horse needs a rest. I've got to write everything up and take care of him tomorrow. If I leave day after tomorrow, I could be out there that day or the next."

  "Do it," Chevault said, then looked away from Gabe toward the center of the cafeteria. A sick dependent, who Gabe hadn't noticed, appeared at the side of the table.

  Chevault turned back to Gabe and said, "What would you like, Mr. Sparrow? Anything they've got in the kitchen, no restrictions. You're sitting at my table now."

  Chapter 14

  As Maya slowly woke up the next morning, she heard sobbing from downstairs, a girl crying quietly. She opened her eyes onto the yellow and green ceiling which Abel had painted for her. She laid still for a minute, listening and tracing the lines of paint with her eyes. It sounds like Savane, she thought. Has to be Savane.

  She bent her leg so she could reach her ankle and rubbed the skin under the green ring that had mysteriously appeared on it when that swarm of grasshoppers swept over the beach. She woke up in the sand and there it was. Very annoying. Maybe a little frightening, although she didn't know why. Why did Pryce look so concerned when she showed it to him, she wondered.

  The crying continued. Maya swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. She walked out of her room, down the stairs and turned toward the guest bedroom where she found Savane curled into a ball and covered with blankets in her bed.

  "Savane?" Maya said from the doorway.

  "Yes?"

  "Can I come in?"

  "Of course you can come in."

  Maya walked to the bed and laid down on it, stretching herself out on her back. The ceiling is boring in here, she thought momentarily. Then she asked, "What's up?"

  "What's up?"

  "Yes. What's up? Why are you crying?" Maya asked.

  Savane lay silent for a minute, then said, "At the disease, when everyone died...when the disease came, my family was killed. I was at school. I ran home and found my parents and brothers in the house."

  "You had brothers?"

  "Three younger brothers. Two of them were dead but Mike, one of the twins, was still alive."

  "Wow," Maya said.

  "Yeah. Wow. Did any of your family survive?" Savane asked.

  "No, but it was just me and my mom. I don't know what happened to her. I was at school too and she was at work. I never saw her again."

  "Sorry," Savane said.

  "I didn't know you had brothers. That's weird. So you and your sister AND your brother all lived. What happened to him?"

  "Mike died during the round-up. They told us we needed to come in to get blood transfusions, that it would keep us alive. The transfusions would keep us alive. But it was crazy, the crowds. They had these little buses. You know those kinds of short buses? So they drove those short buses around. Some big buses too. Me and Gwen got on one but some other people shoved Mike away from the door. The driver shut the door and drove to the school."

  "The school?" Maya asked.

  "They took everybody to the school. We screamed at the driver to stop but it's like he didn't even hear us. The school had a bunch of people in it but I never found Mike. They locked us up and we couldn't leave. Then we got sick and needed the blood. He was probably dead by the next day but I didn't know that then."

  "Is that why you're crying?" Maya asked.

  "Not really. I mean, yeah. But that was a long time ago. I thought me and Gwen were going to live, you know, like forever. Guess not."

  "Guess not," Maya said. "Gwen died because she didn't get a transfusion?"

  "Of course she did. Anthony got taken away."

  "He was your keeper?" Maya asked.

  "I thought I told you all this."

  "Maybe. But whatever."

  "Some people came to take his blood. He told them no so they took him. That's why we came here. Didn't you know?"

  "Not really," Maya said. "They took my blood too. When you showed up I thought okay, you want my blood that's okay with me too. That's all I thought."

  "Well, I really appreciate it, Maya. But those people who came to take your blood, they're not good people. They make you give it whether you want to or not. Anthony said it's not right. What right do they have?"

  "I don't know. What right does anybody have?"

  "I'm not the same as them, Maya," Savane said. "I'm not going to force you, lock you up, treat you like property, like an animal, like a cow that gets milked."

  "I guess you're right," Maya said. "Is that why you're crying too?"

  "No, Maya. I'm crying for Gwen, okay? She was my sister and..."

  "I don't think you guys treat me like an animal," Maya said.

  "I hope not. We like you. Really."

  "Thanks, Savane. I like you guys too," Maya said, raising her foot off the bed. "Did you see this thing they put on my ankle?"

  "Yeah, I saw it. That's probably so they can keep taking your blood. So they know where you are. I bet they can find you wherever," Savane said.

  "That sucks," Maya said. "Maybe Pryce can take it off. He said he'd try."

  "Maybe, maybe not. We'll try."

  "I'm sorry about Gwen," Maya said. "I didn't know her but I guess she was okay, right?"

  "She was okay. She was my sister."

  "Do you know anything about where Anthony is? I wonder if he has one of these things," Maya said.

  "Before they took him, he said he's going to figure out some way to keep people like us alive without blood. Like me I mean. The sick. Not you. Anthony said if he could find a formula to duplicate his blood, like test tube immune blood, that way those people wouldn't have any power anymore. He's been working on it a lot with his computer but he said he needs real lab equipment."

  "Is that why Abel died?" Maya asked.

  "What do you mean?"

  "If Anthony had come up with this formula or whatever, would Abel still be alive?"

  Savane turned her head to look at Maya. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean, if there was some formula would Abel be alive?"

  Savane laid quiet for a few seconds. "Don't you know?"

  "Know what?"

  "Why Abel died?"

  "I guess because he needed my blood?"

  "More than that," Savane said.

  "What do you mean?"

  "He needed your blood. And you didn't give it to him."

  Chapter 15

  Pryce broke the glass door leading into the hardware store and stepped inside. He walked along the front of the store until he found the aisle stocked with power tools. He pulled several boxes containing battery-operated tools with various types of blades off the shelves. He cut the boxes open and tested each tool until he found two that might do the job. One was a small one-handed tool with a rotating blade. The other was larger and had a reciprocating blade that Pryce thought would work but might also be too dangerous. He put each one in his bike basket and peddled home, a 90-minute ride.

  Maya and Savane were in the kitchen when he arrived. He put both tools onto the center island.

  "When you're ready, Maya. We can try these. See if they work," he said.

  "How about now?"

  "I'll see you by the pool," he told her, picked up the tools and
walked out.

  About five minutes later, the girls walked out.

  "Can you sit down on the ground here? Stretch your leg out?"

  "Okay," Maya said and did as he asked.

  Pryce pushed a washcloth into the narrow space between the ring and Maya's ankle, and propped her foot onto a pillow. "Don't worry, I'll be careful," he told her. With his left hand he held her foot in place. With his right he turned the smaller tool on. It made a quiet whine and he lowered the rotating blade slowly onto the ring. He felt Maya's foot pulling away but he gently held it in place. When the blade hit the ring the volume increased considerably, a high-pitched whine. He kept her foot still and slowly increased the pressure of the blade on the ring. After about three minutes he stopped.

  "This is really not working," he said. "Look."

  Maya sat up and looked at the ring. Where Pryce had been cutting, there was a small, almost imperceptible divot.

  "I don't know what this thing is made of but this blade is doing nothing. I'm going to try again," he said and pressed down on her foot. Another three minutes of cutting did nothing.

  "Nothing. Nothing," he said. "Nothing."

  "Do you want to try that other thing," Maya asked.

  "Not really. I was hoping I wouldn't have to. I don't want to scare you but I thought it was almost too much, too big."

  Savane stepped closer to Maya's foot and leaned over for a closer look. "It'll be okay, Maya. I'll make sure he doesn't hurt you."

  "I'll be careful. Promise," Pryce said.

  "I'm getting used to this thing. It's really okay to leave it on," Maya said.

  "I'll be careful. Really."

  "Okay. Try, but be careful."

  "Okay. Don't move. Can you hold her foot?" Pryce asked Savane.

  "Sure thing. Sure," Savane said and grabbed Maya's foot with both hands.

  Pryce picked up the bigger tool with both hands and turned it on. The blade immediately jerked to life, moving in and out so quickly it was just a blur. He lowered it slowly to Maya's ankle. She pulled her foot away and it slipped from Savane's hands. Pryce turned the tool off.

  "It's okay, Maya. I've got it. It sounds worse than it is," Pryce lied to her. It was all he could do to control it. Maya put her foot back onto the pillow and Savane held it down. Again, Pryce pushed the on switch with his thumb and the machine jerked to life. He lowered the blade onto the ring on Maya's ankle. A menacing whine filled the air around the pool and echoed off the house.

  Pryce held the blade on the same spot as best he could. After about two minutes, sweat beaded on his forehead. Another minute and he lifted it up and shut it off.

  "Damn. Damn! Nothing. Not a damn thing!" He dropped the lifeless reciprocating saw onto the cement and stood up. Savane released Maya's foot.

  Maya sat up again and looked at the ring. "Really, Pryce. It's okay. I'm used to this thing. It'll be okay."

  "It might have to be. I'm sorry, Maya. It's just...I don't know. Very hard. Very hard."

  "It made a little line," Savane said. "But not much more. I guess if you're okay with it, we can try later. Maybe find something else to cut it with."

  "Maybe. I'll look later," Pryce said and kicked the big saw. It spun in a circle on the cement and came to rest pointing out to sea.

  ~ - ~

  After several hours, Anthony finished cleaning the lab. It was in good shape when he found it, with no major damage. The lab was in the interior of the building and had no windows. The lab entrance door was a solid slab of hardwood with a very narrow window running horizontally up its length. In short, the lab was effectively sealed off from the outside world.

  Next, Anthony inventoried all the equipment he would need to get started. As expected, the flammable gas nozzles didn't even hiss when opened, bone dry, but he planned to use acetylene gas from the canisters he brought instead. He had already located the spark lighter he would need to replace the electric lighter, and just needed to fashion some tubing to connect the acetylene tanks to the burners and lab oven. He also located several tanks of H2O2 to decontaminate the incubators and lots of crystallized growth medium he'd need to break down the proteins currently coursing through his veins.

  His plan involved harvesting various macromolecules from his blood cells, extracting the correct proteins, then mutating these slightly through controlled incubation. In his computer he could make this work. Now he needed to do it for real. But a broken incubator would be a show-stopper and Anthony desperately needed to locate an electricity generator. And fuel for the thing. Diesel, gas, whatever. Power for the incubator was the one question he could not answer.

  As Anthony sat on the tall stool, he absentmindedly reached down with his right hand and scratched the skin under the yellow ring of metal on his ankle. Yesterday, he tried filing the ring but couldn't make a mark. Not even a scratch. He had given up after 30 minutes and didn't bother looking for a cutting tool. No conventional blade was going to cut it off without taking his foot with it. As he scratched, he conjured in his mind different ways to cut metal. Rotating blade. Reciprocating blade. Torch. File. Chisel.

  Torch? A torch might work he thought, but he would need...He would need exactly what he brought with him. Acetylene gas. He dropped from the stool and practically ran to his bike, grabbed a can of the gas, and ran back inside. He grabbed a cutting nozzle and the spark lighter from the lab storeroom, sat down on a stool, propped his foot onto a second stool, and set to work. The blue-white flame leaped to life and he expertly set the flame tip onto the ring. At first, he felt no change in temperature on his ankle. Slowly, though, the ring grew hotter and hotter. After about 10 minutes he had to stop and let the metal cool. His bluish skin was almost smoking. He extinguished the flame, then went back into the storeroom where he found some inflammable insulating tape. He managed to push some between the ring and his skin, re-lit the flame, and continued on the same spot. Another 15 minutes passed and he could almost feel the tank getting lighter as the gas was slowly consumed. Still nothing except an almost intolerable heat on his ankle. Once again he extinguished the flame but the insulating tape was not letting the heat dissipate. He tried pulling it out with his fingers but it was too hot to touch. It felt as if it was getting hotter, somehow sucking heat from the air and blasting it directly onto his ankle. The pain became intolerable and for the first time since starting, Anthony was afraid. He tried again to pull the tape out with his fingers but couldn't. He looked desperately on the table tops, pushing his neatly arranged equipment out of the way in a vain search for pliers, tweezers, anything. Still nothing. He grabbed a gallon jug of water and, with trembling fingers, twisted the cap off, tipped the jug upside down and poured the cool water onto his ankle when, CRACK!

  The ring shattered. Anthony reflexively closed his eyes and jerked his head back. He dropped the jug onto the floor and, after a few seconds, felt his face for shrapnel wounds. Nothing but sweat and water. Slowly he opened his eyes. Scattered all over the floor, in hundreds of small yellow pieces, was the ring. Embedded in one of the pieces, although Anthony didn't notice it, was the GPS tracker tag. He let out a stream of air from his pursed lips. Wow, he thought. That did NOT turn out how he planned. The acetylene worked, though, and the despicable reminder of Infected Resource Communal Control was off his ankle. More than off his ankle. Obliterated. That gas he brought came in handy he thought with a smile and nearly burst out laughing. If only it could also...do what? Cool as much as it heats? That makes no sense, he thought, but he sat back down on the bench, mind racing. When he was interviewing at different labs, before Ebola, another lab's manager told him they use a natural gas-fueled cooling incubator. "What's more, we keep our own supply of natural gas. In tanks out back," the manager told him. Not very practical, Anthony replied at the time. Maybe, maybe not, the manager had responded. Now, several years and a lifetime later, the questions were different and so wer
e the answers. Using natural gas to power the incubator was a stroke of genius and Anthony, at that moment, began planning to move to the other lab, about a six-hour bike ride south of the river in which Savane used to catch so many salmon. Used to catch before she died, he thought, and his bitterness returned.

  Chapter 16

  The following day, after Gabe finished brushing his horse but before he began his report, he walked down to the Scout/Security Work Unit to speak to the director. The hallway to the director's office was unusually long and sterile, all white with a white floor and white walls. The monotony was broken only by an occasional announcement board mounted on the wall but even those were painted white. As he looked down the hall, Gabe imagined the ceiling merging with the floor at infinity.

  When he reached the office, the door was open. Gabe stood in the doorway and held the door frame with his right hand. He leaned into the room but continued to hold on, as though he were trying to prevent himself from being sucked in. "Hey Jay," Gabe said to the director, who looked up from his desk. The director's expression didn't change. His pen remained poised over the paper he had been writing on. "What's going on?" Gabe asked.

  No reply.

  "Okay, so I've got to ride back out to the coast tomorrow for Shuh and Chevault," Gabe said, hoping his name dropping wasn't too obvious to the man staring back at him. "And I might need two of your guys. Might. We're not bringing the subject in but he's coded COOP yellow and I'd like to make sure, you know, nothing happens. Two of your men would help, I think."

  "Two men?" the director finally spoke.

  "Two men," Gabe said in reply.

  "I'll send them down this afternoon. Where are you going to be?"

  "In my office. Writing a report. On the subject we're going after, so your guys might want to read it."

  "Yes, maybe they will. Is that all?"

  "Yupper, that is all," Gabe said, subtly mocking the director's syntax. "That. Is. All," he repeated as he pulled himself up and out of the director's office. Once again standing upright, he turned and began the long trek back down the white, sterile hall.

  ~ - ~

  As Gabe sat at his desk two men, each over 6 feet tall with wide chests and biceps that strained their sleeves, entered.

  "Are you the guys going with me tomorrow?" he asked.