She placed the cap back over the syringe, removed the needle and dropped it into the nearby yellow box labelled CONTAMINATED SHARPS. She ditched the syringe into a separate waste bin, also yellow, with the familiar Biohazard sign on its front.
Her eyes fell upon the little bottle on the bench. SAMPLE A19. It came from E Block, Project QT’s restricted area. From the symptoms the animals would present, Ellis guessed the bottles contained various dosages of some sort of flu virus.
Ellis wrote the time and date of Ginger’s injection into the relevant folder, adding some brief notes indicating the kitten was healthy when she’d injected it. She signed her name beside the entry.
Ellis moved along the line of similar-looking cages, going through the same process with each of the other kittens. They were all part of Project QT. And looking at the little beggars, Ellis knew exactly why she hadn’t reported Lennon...
In her ASO persona, Ellis was good at following orders. She did what she was told to do. Injected the kittens with SAMPLE A. Some of them died. Others developed sniffles and sticky eyes and then died. A few lived through it, got better. And these were the ones Blake Farrow was interested in. These were the ones that were taken to the restricted area over in E Block..
It wasn’t her business what happened after that.
Only it was her business...
Ellis was feeling more and more guilty these days. She couldn’t just say she was following orders. She needed to take responsibility. After all, it was her that was stabbing the poor things with those goddamn needles. Sure, she found it eased her conscience a little when she spent some quality time afterwards with the little moggys, rubbing their legs where she’d injected them, petting them. But God forgive her, some of them wouldn’t see another week, never mind another year...
Damn you, Blake, Ellis mused. Damn you for all of this.
She entered the next room. This one also had cages, but where the previous room’s occupants were feline, there were only birds here. Chickens, to be precise. Ellis nodded a quick hello to the two men attending the cages as she passed. She wouldn’t bother them. Birds spooked her. Always had.
As a child, she remembered one day being surrounded by pigeons, her mother running to her aid, shooing them away. Ellis reckoned the incident hadn’t been quite as horrific in reality as it was in her mind. Probably just some people feeding pigeons in the park. But that’s the problem with the things that frightened you as a child: over time, after years of nightmares and phobias, they became something completely different. Something otherworldly.
She left the animal storage rooms, using her card to enter Corridor C1. It ran long and straight, connecting to the next corridor that looked exactly the same, with its pale, metallic walls, the fluorescent lighting along each side and ceiling, reminding Ellis of those little ‘cat’s eyes’ lights she would see on motorways and country roads. The corridors of C Block formed a grid pattern, connected to A, B and D by security doors. A for Admin. B for Blake. C for Cats, Ellis thought, remembering the mnemonic she’d taught herself.
Blake again! Ellis couldn’t get him out of her head.
She knew her relationship with him, this thing they had together, was going nowhere. He had no intention of leaving his wife. Ellis was just a plaything to him. She needed to ditch him for good and move on. Get out of this godforsaken place. Get another job, a job she didn’t feel guilty doing, and put all this behind her.
But she couldn’t help herself. When it came to Blake Farrow, Ellis was like a moth around light.
She remembered the day she’d first met him. Ellis had walked through the glass-fronted entrance of Alturn for her interview. Blake was the first to greet her; he was on the panel. He was older than Ellis, almost twice her age, but the young ASO had been immediately attracted to him.
A lot had happened since then. The girl Ellis used to be all but disappeared. The friends she used to love spending time with, the music she used to listen to, all part of her old life.
She even looked different: her once short, spiky hair was now grown out, fashioned into a bob. She dressed differently, more business-like. Worse still, Ellis felt comfortable in these clothes now. She couldn’t see herself wearing what she used to wear. And that scared her. This place: these grey, metallic walls, the needles, the cats, Blake and his storeroom—it had consumed her. It was her whole world.
Ellis entered the washing room in Corridor C3. She pulled the surgical mask from her face, peeled off the cover-all and popped it into the large washer in the middle of the room. She picked up the wooden stick leaning against the washer, using it to dunk her gear firmly into the soapy water. Along the walls, three large dryers spun merrily, humming like drunken old sailors.
Ellis stopped at the mirror on the way out, checking her reflection.
Sex hair.
It was something Blake would say that always made her laugh. You’ve got sex hair, he would whisper, pulling her back into his arms. And on retreating to the ladies’ room, Ellis would find out why: her naturally curly hair would be frizzy, standing on end as if she’d been electrocuted.
Ellis tried to flatten the hair as best she could before leaving the wash room. She removed her shoe covers and placed them in the waste disposal by the door. She used her card, leaving the Animal House and entering D Block.
She thought of going home, of taking the lift from D up to the surface, getting in her car and driving away. Never coming back.
She called the lift.
The lab area itself ran underground, with only a basic shop-front reception and some meeting rooms up top. The lift came three stories down to a fully air-conditioned research area. This was deemed safest for viral work; any of the labs could be contained at the flick of a switch, something the staff tried not to think too much about.
Ellis waited, drumming her fingers on the wall impatiently.
She was disturbed by a clatter of footsteps. Fellow lab workers hurried up the corridor.
Something was happening.
CHAPTER FOUR
Ellis spotted Dave Lightfoot, a fellow ASO amongst the crowd, and grabbed him.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
Dave didn’t reply, instead taking her by the arm, dragging her along with him.
Ellis couldn’t help but notice the grave look on his face. Dave was normally the lab joker, and Ellis might have thought whatever happening now to be part of some elaborate ruse he’d concocted. But his eyes said otherwise.
She followed him along Corridor D3, towards the security door leading to E, where Blake’s Project QT was based.
Someone produced a card and ran it through the reader.
They were in.
E Block was like Pandora’s Box to those who didn’t work there. Ellis felt her heart skip as she followed the others, finding even more people on the other side, gathered around the small glass pane looking in on room E21.
“Dave, tell me what’s going on,” Ellis said again. Dave shook his head. “You wouldn’t believe it.”
“Try me,” she said.
“They’ve been experimenting on people, Ellis.”
“What?!”
“Farrow’s project, QT. It’s not just those fucking cats. He’s been doing something to people. Injecting them with the same shit.”
“You’re not making sense,” Ellis said. “That’s not allowed and you know it.”
“Some bloke called Jenkins showed up around lunchtime, started kicking off at reception. They called security. I was with Abe in the canteen, so I went along for the hell of it.” Dave shook his head. “I wish I hadn’t, Ellie. Jesus, that Jenkins guy was a real fucking mess. Claimed Farrow had done something to him, injected him with some shit. Then Farrow weighed in and took him away. And now—” Dave’s voice suddenly failed him.
“And now what?!” Ellis pressed.
Excited voices filled the corridor. Someone shushed them.
Ellis fought for a good vantage point at E21’s door, cursing h
er small stature. She heard a sharp intake of air: one of the lab assistants pulled away, hand over her mouth, gagging. Ellis fought to take their place. She reached the glass pane, peered through.
It was a typical holding room, but the equipment inside was different to what Ellis would normally see in a lab. It looked more like a hospital, with drips in holders and heart monitors next to gurneys. One of the gurneys was pulled out of its place, now in the middle of the room next to a metal trolley, and it was to here that Ellis’ eye was drawn.
A naked man stood by the gurney. He turned towards the door and Ellis could see immediately what all the fuss was about.
“Christ,” she whispered, her throat suddenly dry.
She stepped away from the door, looked at Dave. “Where’s Farrow?” she said.
“Gone.”
“What about Johnson, then? Anyone told him about this?”
“Not yet,” Dave said, staring at her invitingly.
***
“What!” Johnson barked, minimising his screen. He looked up from his desk, “This had better be–”
His voice trailed off.
A young woman stood by his chair. Although Johnson recognised her, he didn’t know her name. He was terrible with names, much better with faces. Especially a face like hers.
She leaned in close, and he could smell her perfume. It was very different to the perfume his wife would wear; hers was floral, musky, saccharine, like dried up flowers wilting in the sun. But this young girl reminded him of youth, of vitality and colour. Of nice things, like dessert and chocolate and sweet ale—things Johnson longed for but, since his operation, could no longer have.
“Sir,” she said, and her voice was as pleasant as her perfume, “I need to show you something.”
“What is it?”
“Please sir,” she said. “Probably best you see it firsthand...”
She looked nervous. A red blush, starting around her cheeks, was spreading down her neck.
Johnson sighed. He turned back to his computer, called up the user menu, typed in his password to lock the screen. He got up, stood for a moment then retrieved a pen from the holder by his monitor. He tucked the pen into the front pocket of his lab coat.
“Okay,” he said to her, “Lead the way.”
He followed the girl out of the admin block, down Corridor B4 towards the labs. His eyes were drawn to her lab coat fluttering in front of him, offering a glimpse of her shapely legs.
She used her card to exit B Block. They continued through the complex, passing through C and D Blocks. Johnson noticed very few people on his travels. When they reached the security door to E Block, he realised why he hadn’t spotted anyone: through the heavy door’s strengthened glass, he could see most of his staff team filling the corridor.
Johnson looked suspiciously at the girl. This was out of bounds. Only the Contract Boys were allowed in here, a term used to describe staff with the highest level of security clearance.
The girl ran her card through the reader. Its light turned green.
Johnson’s eyes narrowed, “Wait a minute. Who gave you that card?”
“Room E21, sir,” the girl said.
She stood aside to let Johnson enter first.
At the other side of the door, a middle-aged black man in security uniform nodded gravely at Johnson then moved to let him pass. Johnson recognised the man as Abe, head of security.
The corridor was blocked by an excited gaggle of lab workers.
“Step aside, please,” Johnson said abruptly, wondering why Abe hadn’t removed them already.
The crowd parted, and Johnson approached the door, drawing his own card from a lab coat pocket. But the young woman placed a hand on his shoulder. “Sir, I’m not sure it’s safe to go in.”
Johnson fixed her with a quizzical look. He slid the card back into the pocket of his lab coat. He sighed, cupping his hands to look through the glass pane on the door.
Behind the glass, Johnson found a gurney in the middle of the floor. Standing by the gurney was a man. His back was turned, so it was hard to tell what age he was. The man was naked, his back, legs and buttocks exposed. He looked unhealthy; his skin had a distinctly grey pallor about it.
Johnson turned back to the others. “Okay, someone talk to me. What have we got here?”
An older woman cleared her throat. She looked to the others, but they avoided her gaze. She took a breath then referred to her clipboard, flicking through the attached notes.
“This is Mr Alan Jenkins,” she began. “Forty nine years old. One of the test subjects for Project QT. Injected along with all the others twelve weeks ago.”
The woman paused. She looked up, found the others staring back at her.
Johnson frowned impatiently.
The woman continued, “Jenkins showed standard symptoms of flu three days after contracting the virus but then proceeded to make a full recovery. Responded positively to all tests. Released from quarantine four weeks—”
“We don’t need the finer details,” Johnson interrupted. “These people don’t have clearance!”
The older woman looked up from her notes. She cleared her throat, began reading again.
“No reports of ill health until yesterday, when he left work early, complaining of migraines. Chronic flu symptoms presented as the day continued. Jenkins showed up at the lab around lunchtime today, and Dr Farrow took him in, commenced tests at—”
“Can you please get to the point?!” Johnson barked.
The woman jumped at his voice. She looked up then adjusted her glasses.
“Sir,” she began, and her voice was very small and faint as if carried to Johnson’s ears from far away, “Mr Jenkins passed away this afternoon, time of death just past three o’clock. The virus consumed him. There was absolutely nothing that could be done...”
CHAPTER FIVE
Johnson stared at them each in turn, his face incredulous. “I’m sorry,” he said, “But this is Mr Jenkins we’re watching now, yes? So how can...”
“It’s impossible,” the woman cut in. “I know that.”
Johnson grabbed the clipboard from her, flicked through the notes. He removed the pen from the breast pocket of his lab coat, tapped it against the clipboard as he read.
Ellis cupped her hands, peering once more through the glass pane on E21’s door. She watched carefully as the dead man investigated his surroundings. It was like the poor sod had just woken, finding himself somewhere he didn’t expect to be.
He looked up, then began to stumble towards her. As he edged closer, Ellis could see his wounds more clearly. Both lungs and heart were missing, his chest all but hollowed out.
Ellis raised a hand to her mouth, feeling distinctly queasy.
Jenkins continued towards her. His movements were slow and deliberate, and it took much longer than it should for him to reach the door. His head fell to one side as he drew closer, both eyes on hers. Ellis fought the urge to back away, but a very wrong part of her remained deeply intrigued by Jenkins.
A constant string of drool hung from the dead man’s mouth. One side of his bottom lip hung lower than the other. Yellow, tobacco-stained teeth were locked in a permanent grimace. His eyes were bloodshot. They sat like two rubber balls, cocooned within the pale, blotchy skin of his face.
Jenkins came right up to the door’s window, as if about to kiss it. Were he breathing, his breath would have steamed up the glass.
But dead men don’t breathe...
He pulled away, stumbling back towards his gurney. Ellis strained to see what had distracted him, eyes widening at the revelation.
She could hear Johnson in the background. “Where’s Farrow?” he barked. “I want to speak to Farrow!”
“No one’s seen him,” Dave Lightfoot answered.
“He vanished,” the woman with the clipboard added.
“We think he left the complex.”
But Ellis turned, fixed all three of them with a look. “I know where he is,” she s
aid. “He’s behind this door. Blake’s still in there.”
***
For a moment, no one spoke. The silence was painful. Ellis felt sick again.
Dave went to E21’s glass pane, cupped his hands and stared in. “She’s right—he’s in the room,” he said. “I can see him now.”
“We can’t leave him there,” Ellis said.
“What else can we do?” Dave countered. “No one’s mad enough to open that door!”
Ellis rubbed her mouth, thought for a moment.
She pushed Dave aside, ran her card through the reader. It beeped, allowing her access through the door.
She looked pointedly at Johnson, expecting him to say something, to try and stop her, but he didn’t say a word.
Ellis reached for the door handle and began to turn it. It was Abe who intervened.
“Ellie,” he said quietly, placing his big hand over hers, “we don’t know what’s happening in there. Farrow could be infected with...” he thought for a moment then continued, “With whatever Jenkins has got.”
“Please,” Ellis said, “Take your hand away.” But she didn’t really want him to. She wanted Abe to stop her. To drag her away and lock her in some room until all this was sorted out. Instead, Abe smiled thinly, released his hand and backed away.
Ellis swallowed hard.
She opened the door and stepped inside.
CHAPTER SIX
Dr Blake Farrow was curled up in the corner of E21. He didn’t know how long he’d been there.
He was in shock, his breathing laboured. His chest thundered, as if his heart were about to explode. But Blake knew that wouldn’t happen. He was a doctor, for Christ’s sake. Hearts didn’t just explode, no matter how nervous a man got. There were rules to medicine. Things didn’t just happen without a logical reason...
Except this. There was no logic to this.
Blake watched the man he’d known as Alan Jenkins amble towards him, blood flowing freely from huge gaping wounds in his chest. No man could function without the use of his heart or lungs. Yet here Blake was, staring into the eyes of what was essentially a dead man walking.
Fever (Flu) Page 2
