by Tes Hilaire
I frown as a thought crosses my mind: Marine has made a special exception because of me. What I am requires that I only go on night missions, or very cloudy day missions. This is obviously not the norm. With good reason too. Zombies are more active at night. The virus that changed them, changes their iris so they can no longer constrict, making it painful for them to be out in the light of day. It’s easier, and safer, to kill them while their activity is low. In the right circumstances, a team can cut a pretty impressive path of destruction before the sound and movement rouses the rest from their dens.
Gnawing at my lip, I follow John into the conference room. Inside we find not just Convict, Brian, and Herbie, but Rodriguez with the rest of his team.
Blaine motions me over, nodding his head at the empty seat beside him. Feels kind of like high school, saving seats and all, still I find myself glancing at John who meets me with an indifferent expression. Yeah, okay then. I cross the room, wishing I could indulge in a forehead smack. Why would John care where I sit? Why do I care whether John cares where I sit?
Still, I can’t help notice that John doesn’t take any of the other empty seats, choosing instead to plant himself in the back of the room, broad shoulders leaning against the wall and arms folded across his chest.
“Hey, how’s it going?” Blaine greets me with a wide, white-tooth smile that’s made even more brilliant against his dark-skinned face.
I shrug, sliding into the empty chair. “Fine. Had a nap. Slept like the dead.”
Blaine stares at me uncertainly.
“Sorry. Vampire humor.”
Blaine laughs, shaking his head. “You’re the shit.”
Okay… whatever. I’m beginning to think Blaine is a few tacks short of a full box. I mean, John is cool with the whole vampire thing, but Blaine seems downright impressed by it. I want to tell him that being a vampire sucks. And it’s certainly not a lifestyle to be glorified. My “joke” is as much a desperate attempt to let me live my reality as anything else. It’s meant to be funny, but only in a dark, my life bites-the-big-one, kind of way.
I stare forward at the blank whiteboard. I should have taken a hint from John, stood in the back of the room. I’m not good at this whole conversation thing. Never was.
Blaine leans in closer, his shoulder brushing mine. I instinctively shift away.
“Hey,” he says. “I wanted to let you know that I talked with the rest of the team, and we all agree, we’d be down with you signing on with us under Rodriguez.”
I turn my head, stiffen when I realize how close he is. Okay, sure, he is probably just trying to keep things private—the whole jumping teams could be considered akin to jumping ships—but I have a thing about my personal space. Too tempting. Like dangling the mouse in front of the cat.
I scoot another micrometer away. All I can do without falling off the edge of my chair. “Uh, thanks.”
I’m glad when, at that moment, Marine walks into the room, the door banging open and then closed as he stalks across the cement floor. He’s not a happy camper. I brace myself, waiting for whatever other bad news he might have. Seems like that’s all that goes down around here, bad stuff. Whatever it is, it must involve the mission we’d just been on. No other reason why Rodriguez’s and Convict’s teams are both present.
Marine settles into a wide-leg stance, hands linked behind his back as his gaze roams around the room. Once he’s sure everyone is here, he starts.
“Thank you all for coming. I figured since you had a hand in this, and may have discussed mission parameters, that a debriefing was in order.”
A debriefing on what? I think, but don’t ask aloud. Herbie does that for me, rocking his chair onto its back legs as he mutters a, “Oh… the peons are being enlightened. This should be good.”
Marine ignores this, his gaze shifting to Rodriguez and then Brice. “As you know, rescue missions, especially nocturnal ones, are not standard practice for our facility. However, as I informed Brice beforehand, the nature of the mission Rodriguez and his team were on before they had to come down for their emergency landing was sensitive enough that I thought it worth the risk.”
I scoot forward in my seat, eager to hear what it is that could have this man breaking protocol. Not that I thought he was against doing so when the need arose, but more like I thought he wouldn’t do so lightly.
Marine scans the rest of the room, his gaze drifting across Herbie and Brian, pausing briefly on me, then seeming to settle on John in the back of the room. “I don’t know how much was discussed after the rescue was accomplished, so I’ll start at the beginning.” His tone sharpened as he went on, “Know that I am according you a full accounting because I do not want any rumors flying about. What is discussed here is confidential. And if you already have some knowledge of this and have passed it on to others, I would know to whom, so that damage control can be implemented.”
Damage control. That doesn’t sound good.
No one pipes up to offer any names: i.e., no one knows what Marine is talking about, no one has talked to anyone else, or no one wants to divulge in front of the group that they’ve done so.
After another few seconds pass in silence, Marine nods his head and starts. “I’m sure some of you have heard rumors in the past, theories regarding the lab the government set up in San Francisco when the spread of the South American virus crossed into Mexico and started threatening our own borders.”
“You mean at Alcatraz, right?” Brian asks.
“Yes.” Marine draws in a deep breath, as if the next part is going to be hard for him to say. “When the virus was first in the area, obtaining entry into the lab was deemed all but impossible. Recent reconnaissance suggested the zombie population has been leveling off, either through starvation or because they’re moving off in search of better feeding grounds. I determined it was time to make an attempt at retrieval.” He nods over at Rodriguez. “Rodriguez and his men were assigned the task of breaking into the lab and obtaining a collection of laboratory samples that a colleague of mine said where housed within a safe in the lowest laboratory.”
There is a collection of breaths. Even my chest starts to sting as I hold in the noxious CO2. Just as I’m about to wiggle like a toddler in church, Marine continues.
“Their mission was successful, and they were on their way back with these samples when their helicopter began to experience mechanical difficulties.”
“Did you manage to bring them with you when you had to abandon the helicopter?” John has pushed off the wall and moved forward along the rows of chairs. His eyes are intense on Rodriguez, his tone eager.
Rodriguez gives a sharp salute. “We got ’em.”
John closes his eyes, as if the moment is too intense. I concur. Alcatraz. I’d heard my dad talking about the place. Normally he was complaining about the pompous lead scientist who was in charge there. Dad had been working in another lab in Arizona trying to find a vaccine right before the explosion of the virus swept across the Southern and Western portions of the United States. I remember him coming home, mumbling about damn protocols, and then disappearing into his workroom in the basement. What I can’t remember is whether any of the labs were at all close to a vaccine when the outbreak occurred. But if they had been… if that vaccine was at Alcatraz…
“So you got it? You found the vaccine?” John asks, his voice as edgy as I feel.
Marine taps the table before him, his eyes falling to Rodriguez as he shakes his head. “I’m sorry. It’s not a vaccine.”
This is met with heavy silence. The kind that eats up hope.
“Did we grab the wrong stuff?” Blaine asks, his brow puckered with puzzlement.
“No.” Rodriguez shakes his head emphatically. “The sample came from the right safe and was clearly labeled.”
There’s a confused murmur. Then Herbie speaks up, “I don’t understand.”
“What’s not to understand? This,” Marine holds up a vial, his voice tinged with bitterness, “is the vaccine
. Or apparently they thought so.” He lowers the vial back down, stroking the liquid filled tube. “Too bad they were wrong. So damn wrong.”
“Holy crap.”
I look over at John who’s uttered the exclamation under his breath. His face is pale, his hands fisted into tight balls of tension. John hits his knuckles together, spins, pounding a fist into the cement wall.
Brian stands up, takes a step toward him. “What is it John? What do you know?”
John lifts his head, his tortured gaze passes Brian, falling onto mine, then moves on, his chin lifting as it settles on Marine. “We did it, didn’t we? We fucked up our own people.”
Marine quells John with a look that is so sharp I think we all end up with surface wounds. After that everyone is silent as Marine finishes his debriefing, adding another warning not to be passing this information around. Guess there are enough optimists out there who will be crushed if they don’t have the Alcatraz rumor to cling to.
My gaze cuts to John who’s shifted back into his corner. I never would have pegged him as an optimist, but the news is obviously hitting him hard. He can’t stand still. His hands flexing on his upper arms as he holds them across his chest, his jaw clenching and unclenching as his gaze skits around the room, never settling on anyone or anything.
Finally the commander dismisses us and John bolts out. I stand, ready to follow, when Blaine speaks. “That just sucks.”
I hum an agreement, my gaze trained on the door as it clicks closed.
“Thank God Tom, Bennett, and Scott died without knowing that. I mean, God, what a waste. And now our team is way short.”
I tear my eyes away from the door John has disappeared through and focus on Blaine. He’s looking at me like I’m his last hope. Uh, no. Not liking this. I’m a vampire, not a hero. Okay, yeah, I do want to help out the people here, I wouldn’t be risking my neck for them otherwise, but at the base of it all I’m here for me. I need a place to crash. A place where I’m my own person and not a slave to my maker or under some bitchy queen’s control. And yeah, I kind of like having something other than wildlife around for company. But I am not anyone’s idol. Time to nip this in the bud.
“I’m sure the commander will make some sort of arrangement so you’re not shorthanded,” I say as calmly and coldly as I can and then as quickly as possible, make like John and bolt for the door.
I don’t even realize that I’m going after him until I find myself disappointed that he isn’t in the hall. Before I have time to think things through, I have extended my stride to just short of running, heading for the lifts. When I turn the corner, there he is, waiting for the snail-paced lift to attend to the request of the call button.
“John!”
He doesn’t even glance at me. The button goes dark, and the lift doors open. He steps in. Geez-Louise. Is it too much to ask for him to hold the door for a lady?
You’re no lady, Eva.
I shrug off my inner voice and call out again. “John. Wait!”
The lift doors start to close. I sprint for them, smashing my hand on the down button just in time to have them halting and then jerking open again.
“Didn’t you hear me?” I ask as I slip onto the lift.
John’s gaze drops to mine, blank eyes boring into me. “What do you want?”
Good question. Truth is I’m not sure why I chased after him, other than I could feel the vibrations of his anger. Still didn’t explain why I’d followed him. “Want a punching bag?”
“You offering?”
I shift uneasily, remembering how our last sparing match had gone. As if he’d want a repeat of that. As if I want a repeat of that. I’m trying to make friends here, not give him reason to have Brian off me. “I am. I’ll even promise not to lose my cool this time.”
He runs his hands over his face, scrubbing it as if he can remove some unseen grime. The lift halts, the doors cracking open. John’s head jerks up, staring at the hall and the two men flanking the mess hall door. With a curse he reaches out and presses his finger against another button. This one unmarked.
I’m curious, but wait for the doors to close before I ask. “Where are we going?”
“Shh.”
I bristle, but remain silent. John has closed his eyes again, tipped his head back against the lift wall. His breath slows, evens out. Meditating? Of course that ends the moment the lift halts again, but when he opens his eyes, at least he seems more like himself.
“Come on.” His tone is back to even, true indication that he’s calmed down and is back in control. I’m thinking my offer of punching bag was unnecessary. Still I follow him, deathly curious as to what might be down here on this unmarked level. It has the same standard hallway the ones above have, except the air down here seems stale, unused and almost un-breathable.
We come to the door at the end of the hall. John keys in a code and the metal slides open. He steps through, I follow, and gasp. The light is dim, only two low-watt bulbs glowing in their housings within the cement wall on either side of the door, but with my enhanced vision, I can still make out what is before us: a vast cavern. Here, on this side, there is the prerequisite steel grating that makes up the floor and three large beams running horizontally for a railing, but the rest is just a hollowed out hole that holds in its center an impressive array of digging equipment.
“How did they get all that stuff in here?”
“There is a tunnel that leads to the surface.”
I look at him with alarm. “And the zombies haven’t found the back door yet?”
He shakes his head. “It’s all sealed and locked off.”
“Still.”
“Trust me. Nothing is getting through those doors without a code. Kind of like the blast doors on the Death Star.”
I suppose this is meant to be reassuring, but it’s not. I mean, didn’t the Death Star get blown up? “I’ll take your word for it.”
“Come on.” He bends down, sliding his legs under the lowest guard of the railing. “Sit.”
I take a hesitant step forward, glance down over the top beam of the railing. Crap that’s a long drop. “Um.”
He turns his face up toward me, one mocking eyebrow lifted. “You afraid of heights?”
“No,” I say, forcing my trembling legs into obedience as I crouch down and slip them through the opening. It’s not like I can really fall. The railing is solid and unless I purposefully lie down and slither under it there’s no chance I will try flying today. Besides, as a vampire I have a pretty impressive jump range. It will hurt to hit the ground, but I doubt I’d break anything, and if I did, well, I’d heal.
“So…” My voice echoes through the cavern and I cringe. I lower my tone and try again. “So, is it that you don’t want to beat me up or do you not trust me anymore?”
“I just needed to calm my head.”
“Guess it was quite a blow to find out there is no vaccine.”
He grunts in answer.
We sit in silence for a few more minutes, the darkness of the cavern enveloping us. If not for the slim light behind us I think I could get lost here. Too quiet. Too isolated. Too big. Nope, I’m not claustrophobic, but if there is an opposite, I am that.
When I can’t take the silence anymore, I speak, “I’m going to admit something here, and don’t bite my head off, okay?”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t get why this is end of the world status. I mean I get that it sucks that there is no vaccine and all.” I pause. “Okay, that part really stinks. But you said we fucked over our own people.”
There is a long pause as I wait for him to say something. There is that jeopardy theme running through my head again. Probably pissed him off. I’m about to apologize for sticking my foot in it when he answers.
“I guess it wouldn’t seem so bad, to a civilian.”
“Do I look like a civilian?” I spread my arms wide then flinch. Take away the Glock and the knife and I’m betting I do. “All right, forget that. Now tel
l me, oh great military man, what you’re talking about.”
He sighs, tapping the steel beam in front of him. “When the outbreak started I was in the fourth month of training to be a SEAL. We still had two months left to go in our BUDS but then the rumors started, how the virus was spreading, how we were going to be pulled out of training to help with the quarantine efforts. Crap like that. It was tense, real tense. So much so that the training went the opposite way and became easy. You know something is wrong when BUDS training seems like a walk in the park. In this case, it was that the instructors were too busy biting their nails to pull off ours. Then things amped up again. The instructors were back in the game, more confident and we were back in hell. What we didn’t know is that our hell had only begun.”
He took a deep breath, his eyes focusing on a point of distant chiseled cavern wall as if it held a filmstrip of something that I couldn’t see. “One of the other men said he’d heard two instructors talking about the outbreak. That there was a vaccine and one of the SEAL teams were going to be distributing it to key points down the coast and along the border in order to stop the spread onto US soil. And then, well then the rest is history as they say.”
I nod in agreement, before the full impact of his words click into place. I lift my hand, palm out. “Wait. A vaccine? From Alcatraz?”
“No. Not a vaccine. What they thought was a vaccine.”
I find myself shaking my head. “You’re not making any sense.” Him or Marine.
“Eva, what version of the virus originated in San Francisco.”
The S-strain of the Z-virus had originated in San Francisco, but the experiments in Alcatraz, like the ones my dad had been on, predated that. They should have all been working on the original virus, trying to find a vaccine for that strain. So even if they had developed a vaccine for the Z-virus, it wouldn’t have been able to combat the rampant spread of the S-strain.
I worry my bottom lip. Could that be it? Had the labs managed to isolate a sample of the S-strain right after the breakout and before the facility had to be abandoned? Is that what Rodriquez’s team found? But that didn’t explain why it was labeled as a vaccine…
