by Seiple, Paul
Winston paced beside the caution tape and watched the barrels of the soldiers' rifles follow him. "She was sick when she met me at Luther's. The first sign of sickness is nausea. At least it was for her. I think it affects people differently. She complained about joint pain and headaches. Near the end, you bleed from your mouth and nose."
"Do you know what turns the infected violent?" Salk said.
Winston stopped pacing. "I think you lied to me, Salk. Why don't you tell me what you know about this sickness?"
"We know that at some point, the infected become violent. That's all. We don't know why."
Winston smiled. "I'm not sure I believe you."
"I'm not here to play games with you. Tell us what Byrd told you."
"Or what, Salk? You'll have them shoot me? That's what your boss said if I refused to stop the fire starter." Winston paced again. "The fire starter had a name—Neal Harvey—and he was my friend. Was Byrd your friend?"
"Carrie was my friend," Fisher said. "I'm sorry this is happening to you."
Winston stopped again. "If you're sorry, why don't you get us out of here? It's not safe." Winston eyed Salk. "The final stage before death is rage." He turned back to Fisher. "One minute Byrd was explaining to me what was going on inside her body and the next she tried to rip my throat out." Winston paused. "I'm sorry she died. She seemed like a good person. Not like you. You sent her in here knowing she would never come out. You sacrificed one of your own."
Fisher looked at Salk.
"I can't really see your expression through the moon suit, but I guess you didn't know that," Winston said to Fisher.
"We couldn't let Byrd out once she became contaminated," Salk said.
"You sent her in knowing she would die?" Fisher asked.
"It wasn't my choice."
"It was your choice to let this thing out in the wild. Don't give me that 'not my choice' bullshit, Bob."
"Wait, you caused this?" Winston asked.
Hendricks moved back into view. "It was my understanding that you have valuable information with regard to this situation. If so, divulge now. If not, we have more important things to do than pass the time with you."
Winston ignored Hendricks. "Answer my question. Did you cause this virus?"
"You have until I count to three to answer my question," Hendricks emphasized the word “my,” "or I'll deem you a risk for withholding information and have you taken out."
Winston laughed. "Taken out? Isn't the military supposed to protect and serve?"
"He's not military," Fisher said. "And he's serious. Don't die here."
"Listen to Dr. Fisher, Winston. He may not look like it, but he's a smart man." Hendricks held up his arm. "One."
"What did Byrd tell you?" Salk asked. His tone was more of a plea.
"Two," Hendricks said.
"OK. OK. Byrd said the virus makes you crave keratin. She said it knows the host is dying, and it does everything possible to survive."
"That's impossible," Fisher said before turning to Salk. "You created a virus that has the cognitive ability to turn its host into a protective shield?"
"How did she know it craves keratin?" Salk asked.
Winston stood in silence as if he didn't hear the question.
Hendricks moved a few steps closer to Salk. "The man asked you a question, Winston. Answer him."
Winston thought for a moment. He couldn't shake Fisher's words. He's not military. The revelation that Hendricks, whoever he was, had intentionally infected Black Dog weighed heavy as well. These people were evil. They didn't deserve the answer...but the rest of the world did. Winston had first-hand knowledge of this virus's power. Unleashed on the world, it could very well be the end of mankind. Byrd was right. The virus couldn't leave Black Dog. It made Winston sick to his stomach, but he had to answer the question.
"Something about hypersensitivity. Touch, taste, smell. Byrd said it was a symptom. That's how she knew she craved keratin."
"Congratulations, Bob. You've successfully figured out how to turn people into zombies." Fisher turned back to Hendricks. "Was that your plan? The great war killer. Turn soldiers into the living dead. I'm not the smartest guy here…" Fisher paused. "...Wait. Yes, I am, but even your two grunts…" Fisher pointed at the soldiers who were still locked on Winston. "...have to think that makes the enemy stronger."
"A smart man would shut up," Hendricks said. "You're spilling classified information to the public."
"Classified? You're not military, Tom. You're the head snake looking to get rich from creating the ultimate biological weapon. The world needs to know about you."
"Kill him," Hendricks said.
"Tom, you can't…"
Shots rang out before Salk could finish his sentence. Fisher ran toward Winston, breaking the taped barrier. A bullet pierced his hazmat suit, hitting his right side. He fell toward Winston.
"Kill the civilian too," Hendricks said. "You have all you need. Right, Salk?"
Through the commotion, no one saw Melanie step out from behind a tree. She aimed the Colt and tried to steady her hand. She fired in the direction of the soldiers. The bullet ricocheted off a tank and struck the soldier to the right of Salk. Hendricks crouched and slithered behind a tank, just like a snake. Melanie took aim at the one soldier standing and fired. The bullet missed, but was close enough to cause him to drop his weapon and take cover.
"Get out of there, Winston," Melanie shouted, taking cover behind the trees.
Winston held on to Fisher and pulled him into a ditch just off the road.
"Get off your knees, soldier," Hendricks said, getting to his feet. "Do not let them escape."
"Tom, listen to yourself. This isn't what this project was about. It was about sustaining peace, not annihilating it," Salk said, stepping between the soldier and Winston and Fisher.
Hendricks laughed. "Don't hand me that bullshit. You've known all along what this was about. Peace didn't write you a seven-figure check that you cashed."
While Salk and Hendricks argued, Winston dragged the 300-pound Fisher down the ravine until coming to a row of trees that would add cover.
"How bad are you hit?" Winston asked.
"I can't tell through this suit."
Melanie ran up, startling both of the men.
"Did you see that?" She froze when she noticed the blood pooling near Winston. "Did you get shot?"
"It's not my blood."
"I'm the unlucky one," Fisher said.
"Get out of the way, Salk. I cannot let them escape."
"They have nowhere to go, Tom. Just let them leave."
Hendricks pulled a pistol from his side and pointed it at Salk's head. "Move. I'm not going to ask again."
"You're not going to kill me. You need me."
Hendricks lunged at Salk, knocking him to the asphalt. He turned to the soldier. "Go find them. Eliminate them."
"But, sir, if I go into the hot zone, I can't come back."
Hendricks didn't say a word. He aimed his pistol at the soldier and pulled the trigger. "There is no room for cowards in ARMA." He walked to the caution tape. "Take comfort in this small victory, Winston. In the end, Judas is as shit-scaring as advertised. There will be no survivors. In case that isn't clear enough, I'm talking about you and Pistol Annie." Hendricks turned away and extended his hand to Salk. "Come on, Bob. We have some celebrating to do. We just ended war and became the richest men in the world at the same time."
Salk pushed Hendricks’s hand away and got to his feet.
* * *
"Am I going to live?" Fisher asked.
Winston took a seat across from Fisher in his favorite recliner. "You're the doctor. You tell me."
"It's a little more than a flesh wound, but it's through and through and no major organs were hit. So, if infection doesn't get me, maybe I'll make it."
"If infection gets you, you won't die." Winston smiled and sipped water. "But I'll have to kill you."
Melanie handed Fisher a bottle
of water and sat on the floor next to Winston. A scratching followed by a loud knock robbed Fisher's attention.
"That's Marianna," Melanie said.
"My wife," Winston said. "She's...well...she's sick."
Fisher tried to sit up, but the pain was too much.
"It's OK. She's locked up," Winston said.
Fisher eased back onto the couch. "Neither of you are infected?"
"Nope," Melanie said.
"Believe me, you would know if we were infected," Winston said. "What's your part in this shitshow?"
"I'm just the janitor brought in to clean up the shit. Actually, there were three of us. My specialty is parasitology. Jones is one of the leading virologists in the world. He's an asshole, but not a bad guy. And Richie, that kid knows everything there is to know about microbes. If Hendricks really had intentions of a cure, we were the ones to find it. But I highly doubt he gives a damn about a cure. This virus turned out exactly like he hoped."
"They really intentionally infected Black Dog?" Winston asked.
"Yeah. I heard Hendricks and Salk talking about it. Something about two fishermen."
"Winston, did you know the fishermen?" Melanie asked. "We know everyone here. I didn't know them."
Winston thought. He didn't know them either. The paper portrayed them as outsiders in town just for the day to catch trout. Black Dog was known for brown trout. At the time, it didn't seem strange. By the time it seemed strange, there were much weirder things happening, like the two dead fishermen coming back to life and murdering Arnie Horwitz.
"No. I couldn't tell you their names if my life depended on it." Winston laughed.
"Why would they do this?" Melanie asked.
"Power. Greed. Fame. Small dick syndrome." Fisher paused to sip water. "I met with Hendricks years ago about the project. I didn't know his true intentions. I just knew he was bullshitting me about it being an Ebola project. Salk, well, Bob is smart. He isn't as smart as Jones, Richie, and me. The human ego is a fragile thing."
"Why not test this on terrorists? They deserve to be lab rats," Winston said.
"My guess is Hendricks can't control this in the Middle East."
"He can't control it here," Melanie said.
"He thought he could. Get a few people sick on the water, watch them tear each other apart, and call it a day."
"That's insane," Melanie said.
"There's nothing sane about manufacturing a virus that turns friends, family, and allies against each other. It's ludicrous," Fisher said.
"It's fucking stupid," Winston said.
Fisher nodded.
Winston picked up a pack of cigarettes from the table next to his chair. "I'm gonna grab a smoke."
"I'll join you." Melanie looked at Fisher. "Get some rest."
Winston held the front door open as Melanie passed him. He checked to make sure the Colt was in his holster and shut the door. Melanie planted a butt cheek on the porch railing and extended her hand. Winston gave her a cigarette.
"You believe him?" Melanie asked, balancing the cigarette between her lips.
"He seems sincere. I think he is as stunned as we are." Winston lit his cigarette and handed the lighter to Melanie.
"I can't believe those assholes did this to us."
"I can't believe how good this cigarette is," Winston said.
Melanie smiled and took another puff. "They'll be the death of you."
Winston smiled. "Everything will kill you these days."
"Hey, at least we know our government isn't holding us prisoners."
"It isn't exactly trying to free us either. You father couldn't do anything to get us out?"
Melanie puffed again. "Last time I talked to him, he said he was trying."
"Hendricks is the guard, but the government is the warden."
"I guess. So, what now?"
Winston eyed the sun dipping below tall pines that lined Black Dog Lake. He smiled. "Now we celebrate surviving another day. I would suggest a steak, but we're probably going to have to settle for cold canned soup."
Melanie hopped off the porch rail and moved beside Winston.
"What is it?"
Melanie pointed to a man stumbling down the middle of street. He had the swagger of a drunk, but Melanie knew the truth. The man was sick.
"Looks like Earl Conway," Winston said.
Melanie's sudden movement caught Earl's attention. He started toward the porch in a slow, steady, zigzagged march.
"Are you going to shoot him?" Melanie asked.
Winston stood up and took the Colt from the holster. "Looks like I'm going to have to." He walked to the top step of the porch. "How's it going, Earl?"
Earl's sped up his pace when he hit Winston's walkway. Almost in a sprint, he darted toward Winston, who aimed the Colt and fired. The bullet exploded the side of Earl's face. He fell to his knees and then crumbled on his side in Winston's front yard.
"Sorry to hear you had a bad day, Earl. Tomorrow will be better." Winston inhaled and blew a smoke ring into the air. The slight breeze tugged it in different directions. "Hendricks said no survivors." Winston inhaled again and blew another smoke ring. It suffered the same fate as the first. Winston smiled. "'No survivors' means you die too, Hendricks."
Day Four
Brothers Fight
To survive it is often necessary to fight and to fight you have to dirty yourself.
-George Orwell
Insomnia was a friend Richie Kincaid didn't need. Sleep was the one thing the wunderkind of science couldn't master. Problems had started when Richie was twelve years old. His twin brother Jason passed away in his sleep. During Jason's autopsy, an undetected heart condition was discovered. Richie was fortunate. He didn't have the condition, but he still feared the Reaper when he slept. He’d watched his brother go to bed seemingly healthy, only to be stolen by death's cold hands. Death's ability to sneak in without a hint of detection was something Richie could never get over. Night sweats became a thing for him around the age of fifteen. Doctors attributed them to nightmares Richie had when he did fall asleep. Richie never divulged the vivid details of the dreams, only basic details. He always saw himself dying. The part he kept to himself was his brother was the one making sure Richie didn't escape death. Seeing yourself die in your dreams was weird enough. There was no way he was adding that his dead brother was death's right-hand man.
The dreams of death stopped when Richie turned eighteen, but insomnia was a scar that Richie knew would be with him the rest of his life. Sleeping in the tent didn't help much. The cot provided little support. While it was fall, the humidity in the tent reminded Richie of a gym sauna. To get to sleep, the conditions had to be perfect. The temperature needed to be sixty-three degrees. Richie read a study that suggested sixty-five degrees was the ideal temperature for a good night's sleep. Not for him. It needed to be cooler. Finding a good pillow was a constant battle. Even when he found one that suited him, the comfort only lasted a week or so, and then the search began again. The small couch pillow and the cot were never going to cut it. Richie hoped he wouldn't have to be in Black Dog long. The lack of comfortable sleep was only a small part of the reason Richie felt uneasy. What Hendricks and Salk did went against everything Richie stood for. Men of science were supposed to help the world, not create something that could destroy it. Richie knew once he stepped foot off the helicopter and saw armed guards that he wasn't going to leave Black Dog without solving the problem. The deceit hadn't sunk it. Hendricks lied about the reason, and he would pay, but now the only thing Richie worried about was saving the townsfolk. He flopped on his right side when the pain in his neck from the shitty pillow became too much.
"Hey, kid, you all right?" Dr. James Jones said while eying the creases in the top of the tent.
"This isn't exactly the Marriott," Richie said.
"Hell, this is barely above camping in Guinea."
"On the bright side, we don't have to worry about Ebola."
Jones laughed. "
Kid, this shit Salk drummed up could be worse than Ebola."
Richie sat up and ran his hand through his hair. Soaking wet. He stretched and craned his neck. "Where's Mark?" he asked, noticing the empty cot across the tent.
"Probably beat us to breakfast. You know he needs sustenance."
"Doesn't look like he slept here last night."
"Why do you say that? ‘Cause the cot is still in one piece?"
"Why do you give Mark so much crap?"
Jones sat up and laughed again. "It makes his day."
General Hendricks entered the tent, putting an end to their conversation. "Good morning, gentlemen. I take it you're well rested?"
"Feel just like an innocent man thrown into the slammer for a crime I didn't commit. How about you, kid?" Jones asked.
Hendricks smiled. "You're not in jail, James. You're going to make history today."
"I make history every day, Tom. Have you not read my biography?" Jones slipped on a pair of polka dot socks.
"Where's Mark?" Richie asked again, hoping for a better answer than breakfast.
"Fisher wasn't on board. I sent him away." Hendricks tone was dull, no emotion.
Salk walked into the tent and stood behind Hendricks.
"Bob will debrief you on what happened yesterday." Hendricks paused to look at his watch. "Time is not on our side. We must make real progress today."
"What about breakfast?" Jones asked.
"No time for that. Grab an apple on your way to the lab." Hendricks smiled and placed a hand on Salk's shoulder. "Good luck today, my friend." The words held a fake sincerity that made Salk cringe.
"Friend?" Jones laughed. "Tom, you wouldn't know the definition of friend if James Taylor sang it to you."
Hendricks smiled. "Exert half the energy into this project that you do into your jokes and we will be out of here by tomorrow."
Richie waited for Hendricks to leave. "All right, Bob, what gives? Where's Mark?"
Salk didn't answer. Instead, he pointed to a corner in the ceiling of the tent. He mouthed the word "bug" and motioned for Richie and Jones to follow him. Once outside and away from the two soldiers guarding the tent, Salk said, "Tom's a madman. I'm really sorry he involved you."
