by Jack Wallen
“I was bitten. I didn’t know the person, and yes, they looked very much like one of your post-apocalyptic townies that are milling about outside.”
I explained how the bite had happened in as much gory detail as I could muster. Even as I retold the story, I realized there was, in fact, absolute reason for concern. I was probably infected with the very same disease that had brought down the entire population of Munich. My skin was most likely going to continue to rot off, and I would destroy those around me in order to dine on their gray matter. I did, however, have one more question to pose to the doctor, a question I really didn’t want to know the answer to.
“Why haven’t I changed like the rest of them?”
“I am going to start you on a series of very powerful antibiotics. These drugs have yet to be approved by any governing body, but we have been using them for numerous life-threatening infections. Our results have been quite successful so far.” Godwin sifted out a few pills into a standard brown prescription bottle. “You are to take only one of these per day until you have finished the entire bottle. They have a few side effects, none of which are life-threatening.”
That last sentence hung in the air like a bullet, filmed in extreme slow motion, heading for the target painted on my forehead.
“Care to explain those side effects?” My voice came out with a bit too much fear-induced tremolo.
The doctor had already turned back to a workstation and was fascinated by something in a microscope. It was probably my very fate he was gazing upon. “Oh, nothing much. A little of this, a little of that.” The doctor stopped his work and turned to me. He must have immediately recognized the incredulity on my face. “To be honest, I have no idea. The research we did on those medicines was so unorthodox we had no way, or precedent, for follow-up. We researched, we produced, we prescribed, and we observed. What we saw was remarkable. Infections and disease thought immune to all antibiotics went dormant at rates we never thought possible. It was like a cure-all, a miracle. But then the device was commissioned, which took absolute priority over the new medication.” The doctor’s eyes began to well up. “I was forced to create the means to take life on a massive scale justa as I had created the means to preserve life on a miraculous level.”
I sat in silence and watched Dr. Godwin gather himself. I realized, at that moment, I was among true greatness. In my midst was a man that mankind would beg, borrow, and steal from in the hopes of snagging even the briefest of interviews. This man had Nobel Peace Prize written all over him. He shamed me.
“Take the pills and let me know of any, even the most insignificant, change. And now, if you will excuse me, I have to get back to your cells.” Without another word, Dr. Godwin turned back to the microscope. That was obviously my cue to leave the room.
Chapter 14: Global catastrophe
I finally made it to Room 77. The doc was right― Room 77 was a monitoring room, on an epic scale. Leave it to a nation’s government to include a full arsenal of equipment whose sole purpose was to monitor the entire planet. Every type of device imaginable was represented. Security monitors standing sentinel on every street corner in Munich fed perfect color visuals, via web-cam, into the room. But it didn’t end with Munich. Oh, no. Global satellite feeds, updating in real time, gave a perfect picture of what was happening, or not happening, as the case might be, in every major city in the world. Police, FBI, CIA, CDC, KGB, MI6―every agency man could dream up had a feed coming into this room in one form or another. Blogs. E-mail. Online news. Broadcast news. Bots searching the planet for indications of terrorist activity. Everything was here. If it existed, this room could find and track it.
I was quickly made aware that our little disaster had already reached global proportions. One news feed had dubbed what was happening “Pandora’s Box.”
‘The big mystery?’ and ‘Who opened the box?’ were the questions being asked by broadcast news. I wanted to raise my hand like an overzealous game-show contestant.
“Who is Dr. Lindsay Godwin?”
Each monitor on the wall was labeled with a country’s name, and each country was represented by a major news channel. The most disturbing image hit me like a sack of hammers. There were already a few channels that had gone off the air. Germany being one of them, for obvious reasons. Although the street-corner web-cams were still broadcasting their feeds, the TV news was nothing but snow. Germany wasn’t alone. The other countries represented by static were France, Italy, Spain, Sweden, Iceland, and Russia. I assumed that meant those countries had suffered the same fate as Munich.
There was little to no discernible connection between the countries. It seemed random. I would have thought every country surrounding Germany would have been taken down, but that wasn’t the case.
I grabbed a notepad and jotted down the names of the countries belonging to the dead feeds. I was feeling the reporter in me coming back from the dead. It felt good to have something to focus on other than the blacking out, drooling, jerking, and Bethany.
“There is still no word on a cause of the global outbreak. It does seem, however, that the eye of the storm has been determined to be Munich, Germany. An explosion that was likely related to the Quantum Fusion energy experiment has left the country not only in ruins, but with few, if any, inhabitants. Once the CDC has determined the area safe for its crews, the city will be swept for survivors. Unfortunately, there is no estimate of when, or even if, the CDC will be able to give an all-clear.”
The American broadcaster’s voice perfectly matched the bleak news. I knew the CDC wasn’t about to give an all-clear for Germany. All clear for what? The four horsemen? 2012, or whatever date was now being attributed to the end of the world?
Broadcast news was being its usual irresponsible self by giving its listeners hope they had no business having.
“The discovery of what is being called the world’s deadliest super-virus has just been announced by the UN. It is not known how this super-virus came to be, but rumors of terrorist bio-weapons have emerged, as have conspiracy theories claiming that genocide was the goal. What we do know is that this virus is like nothing seen before.”
The image of the BBC newscaster was replaced by an external, live feed. It was impossible to tell where the feed was coming from, but what was on the feed was very clear. Masses of people were running away from something. And when that something came into the field of view, my breath was violently yanked from my lungs.
“Moaners!” The word hissed from my lips.
The super-virus being reported across the globe wasn’t a super-virus, but the aftermath of the Quantum Fusion Generator explosion. I couldn’t believe no one had put that together. It was so obvious.
I needed to bring this up to the doc. Maybe the situation spreading across the globe would help him to understand what was going on. Or maybe it would just scare him into a permanent fetal position.
For a brief second, I thought about not letting Godwin in on what I had learned. After all, the man had enough on his plate without having confirmation that his genius was helping to destroy the world. But then, I had the distinct feeling if salvation was to come, it would come from the man who had wrought this particular brand of havoc in the first place. The plague had started with Godwin, and it would end with Godwin.
With the scant notes I had penned in hand, I exited Room 77 in search of the creator. The path, however, wasn’t without obstacles.
“Jacob! Can we…ummm…talk?”
Not that I actually saw Bethany as an obstacle per se, but she was blocking me from reaching the doctor.
“Of course.”
Duly blocked.
“It’s about last night…” She was biting her lower lip. I hadn’t boned up on my female-to-male signals recently so I wasn’t sure if I was about to get bad news or good news.
“I don’t want you to think me slutty. I just needed to feel safe. I feel that with you.” Bethany slowly inched closer.
I could smell her skin wafting sweat
, fear, and sex. It was intoxicating. I was overcome by a nearly uncontrollable urge. I wanted to devour this beautiful redhead who stood dangerously close to me. I could hear her heart beating underneath her perspiring skin. I could feel the energy coursing through her veins like tiny rivers of liquid cocaine. I wanted to drink from her neck and arms. I wanted to mainline this woman.
I felt as if I were being undone, from the inside out, by a desire I dared not voice. I wanted, more than anything, to tear Bethany apart and dine on her raw, bloody flesh. I wanted it so badly my brain felt as if it would liquefy if I didn’t succumb.
“Jacob! Jacob, are you okay?” Fortunately for Bethany, her voice jarred me out of my stupor.
“I’m sorry. Yes, I’m fine,” I lied. “Don’t worry, Bethany. There is no way I could think you ‘slutty.’ And last night was exactly what I needed as well.”
The redheaded angel smiled at me. Had she known the thoughts racing through my brain there would be no smiles shared, no flirtations. But she was oblivious, and she would remain that way. The innocent beauty of the moment brought me raging back to reality.
“If you need company again tonight, you know where I’ll be.” Bethany smiled again, and with a flirtatious wave of her fingers, walked past me down the hall.
I remained where I was for a while. I was trying to unravel the knots of this confusing thread that had no discernible end. Ultimately, the memory of where I had been going came back to the front of my mind, and I finished the trek to the doctor’s lab. My step was made quite a bit lighter by my encounter with Bethany. And as I walked down the hall, I could still smell her scent floating lightly in the air.
The doctor was still in his lab with his eyes still glued to the microscope. When I entered, he turned and gave me a rather doom-and-gloom glance. I wanted to do a one-eighty and run back to Bethany before Dr. Killjoy ruined my moment.
“Ah, Jacob, just the man I was looking for. Why don’t you sit?”
Too late. Damn it.
There was a fatherly tone in the doctor’s voice. It had been decades since I had heard such a tone. I decided I should just enjoy it while it lasted. When I sat, my note slipped from my fingers and fell to the floor. Dr. Godwin picked up the scrap of paper and scanned its contents.
“My boy, where did you find this list?” There was more concern in the doc’s voice that I assumed necessary.
“I wrote it. I found Room Seventy-seven. This is a list of the television feeds that were dead. I thought it might be significant.”
The doctor sat in silence for an ominously long time. I wanted to ask why a list of dead news feeds would concern him so much. Something held me back. Some force I couldn’t put my finger on insisted that I kept my mouth tightly closed. It was challenging, this silence, but it was a challenge I knew I had to face.
When the doctor did finally speak, there was a gravity to his voice I hadn’t heard before.
“This list matches the locations we chose to test the antibiotics,” the doctor confessed. “It makes no sense. The tests were not administered at the same time. The results were either neutral or positive. Even the dosages were different. So how can it be that these locations have all been the primary…?” The doctor stopped mid-sentence and looked up at me with his eyes the size of Petri dishes. “Dear God, it was the device.”
“I don’t understand. Didn’t we already draw that conclusion?” I had tried to follow the doctor’s train of thought, short as it was, but I was lost.
“Don’t you see? We administered the antibiotics thinking they were a complete success, that any side effects were minor at worst. What we did not know was that one particularly bad side effect remained dormant. It wasn’t until the device was activated that this side effect revealed itself.” The doctor had been standing in absolute stillness while he spoke. His voice trailed off to fetch something back from the recesses of his mind, and he began pacing. I wasn’t even sure if he was aware of his movement. “Oh my, this is not good. Had it been only the one catalyst, a neutralizing agent could have been possible within a moderate time frame. But now, there was an agent and a catalyst. Do you understand the gravity of the situation?”
I had to confess that I had no idea. Although I could follow his words, the meaning was slowing slipping away from my grasp.
“This means that the possibility of finding a cure has grown exponentially more difficult. And the odds are raised in magnitude with me working alone.” Dr. Godwin seemed near pulling out his curly gray hair when I pointed out the fact that he wasn’t alone.
“Jacob, I greatly appreciate the offer of help, but we are talking quantum physics and bio-engineering. I am in no way questioning your intellect or your desire to help, but there are roughly five scientists in the entire world capable of assisting me in this situation. Sadly, not one of those five minds is here.”
The doctor stopped in mid-thought; his eyes locked on me. I could tell his concern had shifted, and I believed the shift was aimed directly at me. A chill snaked its way up my back and into my scalp.
“I can’t believe I didn’t see this.” The doctor grabbed me by the shoulders and guided me to a chair. He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled a cloud of seriousness into the stale air of the room.
“You were bitten by someone already infected. More than likely that means you will find yourself in the same state as those unfortunate souls shambling about up top.” What the doctor was saying registered all too quickly.
“You mean I’m going to become a moaner?”
“You already are, son. That explains the odd behavior, the physical tics, and the drooling. The virus is taking control of you. What I do not understand is why you have been flipping back and forth, why your change has taken so much time. It seems nearly all other victims amplified almost immediately. Curious. I will have to find an answer to that question, which will probably be found somewhere in the cells of your blood.”
A state of panic rose in me like I’d never before experienced. “Then you can stop it. You have to stop it!” I stood as I spoke, but the doctor gently placed his hands on my shoulders and guided me back to my seat.
“Actually, Jacob, we have to let it happen. This is the only chance we have of safely studying the virus and finding a cure. You are our only hope.”
I had no desire to be Godwin’s Obi Wan. “No. Sorry, Doc, but I’d rather take a bullet to the temple than be overcome by the need to scoop out someone’s brains. I can’t. I won’t.” I couldn’t believe I was even having this conversation. It was one of those moments where I knew if I pinched myself hard enough, I would awaken and feel the predicament fading away like an innocuous dream. But in this instance, what would I be waking to? I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
A furious purpose usurped the childlike innocence and wonder in the doctor’s eyes. “I do not know the precise time frame, but soon this entire planet could be inhabited by nothing more than those creatures. All humanity gone. We have a chance, although slight, of keeping that nightmare at bay. But we cannot achieve this goal, however lofty, without your cooperation.”
I tried to speak, but the doctor marched on with his monologue.
“I know it sounds like madness, but it also may be our one best hope.” The doc pulled up a chair and sat facing me. He was obviously trying to bring it all down to my level.
I hated to admit it, but it was working.
“I will personally monitor you at all times. You can continue to document this, and it will make for fascinating writing.”
Remember what I said near the beginning about being a journalist? Well, it was never more true than at that very moment. I was just handed, gift-wrapped and signed, the opportunity to do something no other journalist had ever done―document their own death. How morbid, yet frighteningly intoxicating, is that idea?
Prior to that moment, I had been mollified with fleeting fame at best. This, however, would bring me immortality of which I had never dreamed. I had to do it. No matter how frightening the
possibility, it was a bullet I had to take, if not for myself, then for the field of journalism.
I nodded my approval. The doc didn’t jump up and down or hit me with a “high five” or a “fist bump.” In a moment that was, at least for one newly anointed guinea pig, fairly monumental, Dr. Lindsay Godwin just nodded and patted my shoulder.
“You have my word I will make sure you come out of this alive.”
“And you have my word I’m scared shitless.”
Chapter 15: Chiasmus
Some of our motley little gang didn’t take the news very well. Susan blew up at Godwin for even suggesting the idea. The doctor chased after Susan, most likely to explain the scientific gains from my ‘zombification,’ as Susan was wont to put it.
Z O M B I F I C A T I O N
If said slowly, it was made even more foreign than it was when seen written on paper. I read it and spoke it over and over again, in slow motion. Why? Because right now, everything I felt was in slow motion, as if the world was creeping by without purpose or meaning. Each breath stretched out, minute by minute, until my lungs realized they hadn’t sucked in that life-giving gas for far too long. My brain forgot to tell my eyes to blink, so my eyes hurt from drying out. My lips were severely chapped. My heart would slow down to the point where it was almost impossible to be sure it was beating any longer.
Slow me down.
Z O M B I F I C A T I O N
Zombify me.
I, Zombie, I.
Yes, another pop culture reference that most wouldn’t get.
Chiasmus. Balance. Order. Inverted parallelism. I would slowly become my very own chiasmus: an inverted parallel of myself. Undone. Folded inside out.
Bethany cried. I was touched by her sentiment. I tried to comfort her, but the harder I tried, the more emotional she became. Eventually, and without warning, she took off as well.
