The Zombie Letters

by Shoemate, Billie

  What a terrible thing to happen. She was going to die and my boss . . . my best friend . . . had changed. Animal trials were going well. We’d managed to cure blindness in rhesus monkeys and helped to rebuild wound tissue in amputated rats. The limbs didn’t grow back, obviously. The healing, however, was remarkable. The amputations healed within days. Completely. Nathaniel theorized that the limbs would not grow back. Cells were just repairing themselves. We had the cure for everything. Even the cancer trials for the mice were working. I remember taking a rat we had chemically paralyzed and in eight days after injection, the spine completely repaired itself. We couldn’t grow anything new . . . however, every disease that affected cellular activity was cured. That pretty much means any disease known to the human race.

  But . . . Samantha Winters was dying. Nathaniel had her moved to a wing at Locke itself, where she stayed twenty-four seven. Nathaniel visited his kids every other day, but as Sami became more and more ill and constantly bed-ridden, he never left the lab. The only time I saw the kids was when they visited the facility. My heart was breaking for them. They would only see their mother for a few minutes, and then Nate rushed them out into the hall as if they were strangers. I don’t know how many times he promised them he would take time and make it up to them, but he never did. How many times did I see him sitting at his desk at all hours of the morning, staring off into empty space? I felt so bad for them that I took both of the kids to that Adventure Land theme park on one of my weekends off. Neither of them said a word the entire time.

  “I won’t lose her, guys. I won’t lose her,” is all he would say to anyone. He worked tirelessly . . . day and night; often short-tempered and irritable. Nathaniel Winters had completely changed. He built up reports on the animal testing at breakneck speed. The team, as well as I, completed work by the end of June that would normally have taken two years.

  I came in one day at the tail end of that month to find Nathaniel, Michael and Emily sitting on a bench outside. They all had that light in their eyes missing. Michael especially. You could sense the distaste of having to sit next to his pale, thin and unkempt father. Nathaniel never looked like that before. The man was always so well-rounded and put together. A wedge had been driven between them and it was a big one. “They’re moving her to the Cancer Treatment Center in Dubuque. Got a letter this morning. Her primary physician . . . you know, that prissy fuck who waltzes in here once a week? Right into a facility that is more than capable of caring for her? Yeah . . . the man who comes in here once a month, takes one look at her and leaves. He said he’s moving her. He says that this is a research facility, not a medical establishment that can properly treat her. Samantha signed the paper to leave and go there. Even with me being power of attorney, her doctor actually took the time to threaten me with a suit if I didn’t release her. What can I do? This isn’t a hospital. I was backed against a wall. Sami signed that paper to give me some time to rest and finish the cure. I couldn’t stop her . . .” Nathaniel spoke as he started to cry. Emily put her hand in his and squeezed it. Michael shot both of them a look of impatient disgust. I realized that moment that Nathaniel had lost them. Even Emily had a look on her face as if she was holding a dead squid in her hand . . . a slimy, displeasing thing she couldn’t wait to let go of. “Human trials . . . oh, Christ . . .” he sobbed harder; his controlled cries turning into weak gasps. I thought he was going to scream.

  “What . . . what about human trials?” I said, my heart breaking for the ruined family in front of me.

  “They denied us. After all that work . . . I even broke down and faced a goddamn malpractice suit when I showed them Brian’s records. They were furious that I never told them. As of tomorrow, we have ninety days to finish animal trials, remit all data and close the doors. All funding has been pulled. I . . . laid off thirteen people today. You, Brian and I are the only ones that will continue this. I didn’t tell those fucks at the Pentagon that you knew about Brian. I put the blame all on me. I stand to have my license removed because of this. I told them it was no one’s fault but mine.”

  “Are you fucking CRAZY??!” I tried to keep calm, but ended up doing a terrible job holding the simmering rage coming to the surface. “They’ll crucify you for this! I feel awful for you, I truly do. I love Samantha, but you’re talking about human trials after we are officially shut down??! That’s not a license revocation, that’s not unemployment, that’s fuckin’ prison!”

  “YOU’VE SEEN IT WORK!” Nathaniel shouted at the top of his lungs. He lurched off of the bench, walking towards me. His eyes were bloodshot and his body shaking all over. “We do this and make it public . . . ALL OF IT! Fuck the Pentagon, we tell the world. They will not shut us down and I will keep your precious ASS OUT OF ALL OF IT! Please help me, friend. Please . . . help me. I promise, Darin. I will not implicate you. Just . . .”

  I held him. He fell into my arms and I held him like I’d never embraced anyone before. I knew full-well the repercussions of what I was doing, as I assumed Brian did, but deep down I knew that I would gladly be burned at the stake if it meant saving millions . . . if not billions of lives. Just to be responsible for no more sickness. No more loved ones dying of incurable agonies. No more need for children’s hospitals or nursing homes. This . . . this was worth more than my career. This was worth more than my reputation. More than my freedom. More than my life.

  “Okay, old buddy. I’ll do it.”

  CHAPTER 2

  I

  Samantha was already in a coma when we set up an appointment with her primary doctor to move her. Six days. We only had six days. Brian O’Reilly, looking forty years younger than his actual age, agreed to be the first human recipient of the lab-simulated drug based on the plant’s extract. We named it Lynn001. Lynn was Samantha’s middle name. Brian was studied for forty-eight hours straight. And I mean straight. Something that would normally take a week, we achieved in two days. I distinctly remember peering into a microscope and watching Brian’s blood cells float around for a solid six hours.

  Sami was in the lab with us. She had been moved from the lounge-converted hospital room to the lab itself. She was in such stark contrast to who she was before. Her hair had thinned, she was down to ninety-seven pounds and with both of her breasts removed, she looked like a shell. Like some kind of empty, shed exoskeleton. We had to shave her head because she kept getting sores. Everything that made that woman lovely was ravaged. Her skin was like dry Play-Doh. Her breathing sounded like the air seeping out of a pinhole in a balloon through her white, chapped lips. Nathaniel had a renewed sense of vigor. He’d started shaving again and washed his now shoulder-length hair. He took frequent breaks outside and was beginning to get some color back. As fast as we were working, he seemed less stressed. It was around that time that Lyn001 was given to Brucie. Both he and Brian were doing better than expected. Especially Brian. His immune system was something the writers at Marvel Comics would envy. Even his lifelong near-sightedness was gone. The man would never need reading glasses again.

  There were also changes in Brucie that happened within days. I was just as guilty in deciding that we had enough trial success to give Samantha the injection. After four and a half hours, her eyes responded to movement, light and other stimuli. After twenty-six hours, she was awake . . . but barely able to comprehend her surroundings. Her body was very weak and she would only sit up for five minutes at a time. Three days later, she was speaking, eating on her own and was able to walk the length of the hallway with minimal assistance. As expected, the fine representatives from Mercy Regional Cancer Treatment Centers were due to arrive. The six days had come to an end. July 7th. That morning, we all decided to pay the doctor a little visit personally. We drove down to Dubuque and as we were about ten minutes away, I called her physician. Doctor Salyers, if memory serves me. We told him that we were bringing Samantha ourselves. I will never forget that conversation.

  He picked up the phone. Not his secretary. He had given Sami his personal cell num
ber. “Hello? Who is this?” he said, already irritated. In the back of my mind, I hoped he was sitting down. The thought brought a smile to my face.

  “Doctor Darin Miles.” I tried to sound as obnoxious as I could. It isn’t everyday one gets to do something like we did that day.

  “Oh, yes I believe we’ve met. How can I help you?”

  “We’re bringing Samantha Winters to you.” I dropped my voice when I said it. I wanted to savor any moment of that. “We will be there in a few minutes.”

  He paused for a moment, seemingly struggling to process what he had just heard. I don’t blame him. “You’re transporting a comatose patient in a car??!” he screamed so loudly that his voice cut out over the phone.

  “Well, duh,” I said, “someone’s gotta drive.” I looked over at Nate. He was physically holding is hand over his beet-red face to keep from laughing.

  “If you called to play some kind of prank on me, I don’t find it humorous, sir. Furthermore, if you are serious . . . I’ll have your ass arrested for abuse.”

  “Hold up, partner. We’re here.”

  The car pulled up to the door where Doctor Salyers himself was standing outside. What he saw get out of the driver’s seat made him fall to his knees. His mouth hung open and shook his head slowly in utter disbelief. The well-off, well educated man was reduced to something else when Samantha walked out of the car to greet him. A petty man on his knees. A small creature witnessing a miracle. A woman who had six months to live and previously in a coma walked up to her own doctor, helping him to his feet. He tried to speak, but nothing escaped his lips . . . so Sam spoke for him.

  “I’m here for my check up, doctor.”

  II

  “This is impossible. There exists no trace . . . absolutely no trace of it in her system. Her white blood cell count is perfectly healthy. I ran it twice. There are no signs present that Samantha wasn’t even in a coma. Aside from a shaved head, you’d never be able to tell she even had a cold.” Salyers plopped down behind his desk. He removed his glasses and vigorously rubbed his face. Every inch of his desk was covered in paper. X-ray scans, blood test results . . . everything. Nathaniel and I just stood there, watching a professional question everything he knew. I could sympathize. I remember the first time I saw Brian O’Reilly’s wrinkles disappear. I saw a sixty-year old chain smoker playing basketball in a park for hours, then going for a jog afterwards. “How the hell did you achieve this again?” he said behind his clammy hands.

  “Mitochondrial biogenesis.”

  “I’m not a scientist, but I’ve heard this shtick before, gentlemen. Mitochondrial biogenesis is impossible. In-vitro studies have fallen flat on their faces. What you’re talking about is science fiction,” the doctor said. “There is nothing on earth that can decode mRNA strands enough to alter mitochondrial behavior. It was rumored that some wildlife may have existed millions of years ago that could . . . but evolution has wiped it out. So, if that’s going to be your explanation, you can skip it. Either way; you want mitochondrial biogenesis? Get yourself a time machine. Even with that in mind, it’s just a theory. A flimsy one at that.”

  “How’s your theory holding up?” Samantha said as she walked into the room. She was still extremely skinny, but her eyes were bright and vivid. I hooked her up with some breast prosthetics she could wear under her clothes. You know . . . to tell you the truth, she actually looked pretty sexy with a shaved head. Kind of reminded me of Sigourney Weaver.

  “Not well, I guess!” her doctor said with a nervous laugh.

  “Come with us,” Samantha said with a reassuring voice that made her a great mother. “We will also credit you for this discovery. Take all this . . . including Brian, Brucie and me to our superiors. Our area was funded by the Pentagon. Nathaniel and Darin will head there tomorrow and will more than likely be detained the second the military hears about this. Help us prove to them that it does work. They can’t shut us down if they are faced with this.”

  “Yes they can,” the doctor said.

  “Not if we threaten to release our records to the media. All of our research, all copies are in the hands of a pal of mine that will expose all of this. The cure for human illness. They’ll have no other option.”

  “You mean blackmail the fucking Pentagon?” Salyers said; his voice going up nearly an octave.

  “There is no blackmail. It’s the government. They already know,” Nathaniel said. “We were fired, remember? They know. See any white vans out front lately, Doctor Benjamin Salyers? I see ‘em all the time, Ben.” Nate walked to the door and held it open as Sami and I left the office. Nathaniel tossed Doctor Salyers his set of car keys that were on a small hook in the corner of the room. “Lets go.”

  “Where we goin’?”

  Nathaniel smiled. “To turn me in.”

  III

  We didn’t even make it to the parking lot. After a pretty uneventful flight, we were met at the terminal in DC. All your people . . . about fifteen armed soldiers. They stood in a line at the end of the ramp, ready to take us into custody.

  We sat inside a locked conference room for four and a half hours. Brian was picked up back at the lab and was already in the locked room when we arrived. Shit . . . they even had Brucie. He was in the corner of the room, sleeping on a bed someone made for him out of those large white hotel towels. Doctor Ben Salyers and Samantha left with armed military personnel to talk with the ones that used to sign our grant checks. Brucie, Brian, Nathaniel and I spent what felt like an eternity in that room. Just waiting for them. I knew the military oversight committee in charge of Locke wasn’t happy with us. For awhile, I thought that Samantha and her doctor were dead. They must have known we weren’t bluffing about the revealing all the research information to the press . . . because I called Alexander Henry at NBC in New York one hour before the plane landed. By the time we touched down, we were already famous. Trust me when I say that I sent him enough material from the lab to convince him. I wonder if we would have been silenced if I hadn’t done that. Needless to say, as pissed as I knew they were, your officers were all smiles when they walked back in to release us. The grant money was restored, a new lab given to us right there in Washington DC and a new staff of twenty-two people to work under us. We were back in business.

  So . . . when did it happen? Well, we weren’t there long when things turned. I don’t like talking about it. I gave your people Brian and Samantha’s medical records from the lab. They should explain everything. I can’t talk about this. It’s too much for me.

  Too much.

  CHAPTER 3

  I

  “Staff Sergeant Alexander Powers?”

  The young man walked in and extended a salute to the General. The General, a guy named Teel, returned it with a frown on his face. Every officer he’d ever met in this Army frowned. He didn’t take it personally. That’s just how they smiled. Officers only understood the world when it was upside-down. “Yes, sir. That’s me. I had orders to report to you, sir.”

  “Cut the sir shit, Powers. We speak normally around here. Do you know why your orders were to come down here and talk to me?” The General said, standing up as he motioned for Powers to sit down. It was a little office with a desk, a shaded window and a large map of Virginia with random red thumb tacks pushed into them.

  “Okay . . . my apologies, General.”

  Teel leaned down somewhere behind his desk and grabbed a large manila envelope. Stretching his back before he sat back down, he opened the file and began to read it. “Staff Sergeant Alexander Powers . . . three tours in Iraq, short stint in Afghanistan. Took a slug in the thigh on your second. Career-man. Says here that you were up for a discharge, but opted to re-enlist after the Quatar Pass Operation.”

  “I am unaware of any operation by that name, sir.”

  The General shot his head up from the file, giving Powers an ice-cold stare that gave him chills. “I’m reading it right here. Deeply classified incident that resulted in locating a secret facility
outside of Quatar, Afghanistan. Thirteen crates of a highly top-secret material was shipped to one of our bases back here in the states. I know some fucking Commanders that don’t have clearance to go into the area where those materials are housed. Want to tell me about it?”

  “I don’t know about anything named Operation Quatar Pass, sir. If such an operation existed, I believe the operation’s CO, my direct superior, would be the one to call. If . . . such a thing existed.”

  “I said cut the sir crap.”

  “Sorry, General.”

  Teel continued to stare at a visibly shaken Staff Sergeant who was trying to keep it cool. He was actually doing a great job. To anyone other than Teel, he would have fooled any officer into thinking that he wasn’t scared shitless. He lowered his head and read the file some more, thumbing through pages that had been heavily marked over. “A lot of men out in that area on the night of August 15th, 2006 reported seeing some odd things at night. I can’t see through black marker Xeroxed on these shitty machines. Elaborate on it, son. I’d like to know how the hell some pissant Staff Sergeant from Tulsa, Oklahoma, just a regular grunt, manages to gain a security level A clearance and stand in line with four full Colonels outside of a classified debriefing room in Washington. Operation Quatar Pass. Elaborate. That’s an order.”