Day of Reckoning

by G. Michael Hopf

  “Here you’ll get a better view of him,” Schumarr said, pointing into the room.

  Clayton and the two men walked in.

  Three eighteen stopped pacing and looked around.

  Schumarr turned on the light in the observation room.

  Three eighteen snapped his head in the direction of the window. He sprinted towards it and launched himself forcefully but bounced off and fell to the floor.

  Clayton and the others flinched but Schumarr didn’t. “Bullet-resistant reinforced glass, level five like in armored vehicles.”

  Clayton replied with a simple grin. “You’re prepared, I see.”

  “Yes,” Schumarr said, taking a few steps back towards the entry door.

  Three eighteen picked himself up, walked to the window and stared at everyone. Blood streamed down his face from a gash where his head had impacted the glass. His fully dilated eyes examined each of them on the other side.

  “What’s he doing?” Clayton asked.

  “I’m not sure, as I haven’t had ample time to study him, but if I were to guess, he’s studying us.”

  “Fascinating,” Clayton said.

  “Fascinating, indeed,” Schumarr said.

  Three eighteen looked to his right and saw a door next to the window, which opened into the observation room. He stepped over and tried the handle but found it locked. He returned to staring at them.

  “Does he always drool like that?” Clayton asked.

  “I think so. Again, I haven’t had time to examine him. He’s unique,” Schumarr said proudly.

  “And what was it that made him this way?” Clayton asked, his eyes glued to the staring test subject.

  “A parasite, a simple single-cell parasite.”

  Clayton craned his head towards Schumarr and said, “Parasite?”

  “Yes, a common one too.”

  “What do you mean? Explain?”

  Schumarr looked at his watch and saw the time. The helicopters would be arriving in twenty-three minutes. He needed to act and fast.

  “Two years ago, I read a research white paper on a common parasite called Toxoplasma gondii. It’s been known for a while that it has the ability to control rats. What I found intriguing from this research was they believe it can affect humans too.”

  “How so?”

  “By creating rage. They discovered that half of the people who display unprovoked anger issues are infected with this parasite. I found this fascinating. I began to think that if it could be sequenced properly, we could use this parasite to our advantage by creating a type of super soldier. With that in mind, I endeavored on doing just that. I took the parasite and enhanced its effects on the human hosts. Three eighteen is the first one to survive to this phase of testing.”

  “You’re telling me this guy has a parasite in his brain?”

  “Yes, one I’ve enhanced synthetically, a Toxoplasma on steroids, you could say.”

  “But…exactly how were you planning on weaponizing this?” Clayton asked. His face showed the confusion that was going through his mind. “You told us you were working on a virus, some sort of bioweapon but you were just making Frankenstein-type shit here.”

  “I’m working on Sleeper, but this can be weaponized. I’m just not there yet in my research. I need more time, but we could create a super soldier who is stronger, faster and wants nothing but to kill, imagine that.”

  “What’s wrong with him? He just stands there staring,” Clayton asked, facing the window again.

  “I can only guess but the parasite seems to want to spread by attacking uninfected. It attacked and killed my assistant Charles but before Charles died, it appeared he was trying to infect him.”

  “Infect? What have you made here?” Clayton asked.

  “Like I said, I need more time,” Schumarr said.

  “How dare you create this…whatever this is. When were you planning on telling me?” Clayton asked.

  Schumarr didn’t answer. He stepped out the door, slammed it shut and locked it.

  “Dr. Schumarr, what are you doing?” Franz asked standing in the hallway.

  “Ensuring our work continues,” he replied to Franz.

  Clayton ran to the closed door and began slamming his fists against it. “Open the door!”

  “Sorry, but my work is too important,” Schumarr said and slapped a large red button on the wall.

  Inside the room, Clayton heard an audible click coming from the door that connected their room and the holding cell. He looked at the door then the window.

  Three eighteen cocked his head at an angle and gazed upon the door. He reached for the handle, turned it and this time it opened.

  “Schumarr, let us out of here!” Clayton yelled.

  Three eighteen threw the door open, stepped into the open doorway and stared at Clayton and the two men.

  “Kill him, kill him now!” Clayton ordered the two men.

  The men stood frozen in fear.

  “Kill him, damn you!” Clayton screamed.

  Schumarr didn’t wait to watch. He had little time to get what he needed and rushed off.

  Three eighteen sprang on the first man and ripped his throat out then leapt onto the next.

  Clayton frantically kept trying the handle of the locked door in a fruitless effort to open it. “Schumarr, open the door, please. I’ll let you take your work, but please open the door!”

  Schumarr raced to his office and grabbed a stack of his personal diaries and all the logs which represented years of work. He turned to Franz and ordered, “In the lab, get all the discs, hurry.”

  Screams came from the observation room.

  Schumarr paused. It gave him pleasure when he imagined three eighteen ripping Clayton apart.

  A loud crash came from down the hall.

  Schumarr grabbed what he needed and ran out of his office. Movement down the long passageway caught his eye. He turned to see three eighteen’s arm dangling out the small window in the door. What have I created? he asked himself a bit freaked out.

  Franz came around the corner. “I have the discs.”

  “Let’s hurry, come on,” Schumarr said.

  The two men sprinted until they reached a hatch that led to the flight deck.

  Franz cranked the lever and pushed the heavy hatch open.

  Daylight washed over them.

  The first of two helicopters had landed and the crew were boarding.

  “Our timing couldn’t be better,” Schumarr said with a smile.

  The two made their way but were stopped by Steffen, the captain of the ship. “Where’s Clayton?”

  “Oh, he’s down below. He’ll catch the second helicopter,” Schumarr replied. Beads of sweat poured down his face.

  Steffen raised a single brow. “Really?”

  Schumarr could see the doubt in Steffen’s face. “Can we get on board now?”

  “No, I was given specific instructions not to allow you on one of those birds unless Clayton was present. He’s your escort off this thing.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Schumarr rebuffed.

  “No, what’s ridiculous is you were working on a fucking uncontrollable monster that could have killed us all and you didn’t seem to think you should tell me, the captain,” Steffen reprimanded.

  “I don’t care what they told you, it’s all a lie,” Schumarr railed.

  “Doesn’t matter what you say, I listen to whoever pays me and that’s not you. Now go over there and wait until Clayton comes up,” Steffen ordered as he pointed to a crate fifteen feet away.

  Schumarr clenched his teeth in frustration. He was so close to getting away but Clayton had covered all his bases.

  “What now?” Franz asked.

  The first helicopter lifted off; within minutes the second landed. The remaining crew boarded and were now waiting for Clayton and his two men to appear but, of course, they weren’t coming.

  Steffen walked over to Schumarr and asked, “Where is he?”

  “I don’t k
now what you’re talking about. Last I saw him was in my lab. He was destroying stuff.”

  “Stuff like that?” Steffen asked, pointing at the logs Schumarr was cradling like a small infant.

  “No, these are my person diaries,” Schumarr replied.

  “Let me see,” Steffen ordered, his hand stretched out.

  “These are personal diaries,” Schumarr barked.

  “We don’t have time for your bullshit. The first charge is set to go off in ten minutes and we were supposed to be airborne five minutes ago. Now tell me where Clayton is.”

  A figure stepped out a hatch and onto the deck.

  Steffen turned but the sun was in his eyes. “Clayton is that you? Where the hell have you been?”

  Schumarr nudged Franz, leaned in close and said, “Run.”

  And run he did. Franz sprinted for the helicopter with Schumarr just behind him.

  “Hold on, where are you two going?” Steffen asked.

  Schumarr didn’t look back. He knew what was coming. When he heard Steffen wail in pain he ran harder.

  The two reached the helicopter. Schumarr climbed on, but as Franz was, he dropped the dozens of floppy discs. “Shit!”

  Frantically he began picking them up.

  Schumarr looked and saw three eighteen sprinting towards the chopper. He yelled, “Lift off, lift off now!”

  “Your friend?” the pilot hollered over the noise of the rotating blades.

  “Go!” Schumarr snapped.

  The chopper lifted, but Franz didn’t notice, as he was focused on gathering the dozens of discs. When the chopper was a foot up and climbing, Franz looked up. “No, wait!”

  “Leave him, go!” Schumarr wailed.

  Franz reached, but Schumarr offered the sole of his shoe and kicked him. Franz fell back onto the deck. He turned to get up, but three eighteen was on him before he could react.

  “Hurry, go, go!” Schumarr yelled.

  The pilot did exactly that. He accelerated the chopper’s ascent and in seconds was several hundred feet above the aft of the ship and climbing.

  Schumarr looked down as three eighteen ripped Franz’s body apart.

  The man in the copilot chair tapped Schumarr on the shoulder and handed him a headset.

  Schumarr put on the headset and was greeted by the pilot. “What was that thing on the deck?”

  “It was beautiful,” Schumarr replied.

  A voice with a thick Middle Eastern accent then asked, “Are you Dr. Schumarr?”

  Schumarr looked at the several faces on the chopper. They were all familiar; he had known them for years and none had accents like this. Confused he asked, “Who’s this?”

  “My name is Aashiq. I’m a friend of Yasser,” the voice said.

  Schumarr kept looking at the faces in the back with him but no one was talking. He turned to the cockpit and stared.

  The man in the copilot’s seat turned and removed his sunglasses. “Hi, Dr. Schumarr, I’m Aashiq.”

  “Yasser didn’t say anyone was coming.”

  In a slow but steady voice, Aashiq asked, “What did we just witness on the deck of the ship?”

  “That was Project Titan,” Schumarr replied.

  “And what are you carrying with you?” Aashiq asked.

  “Oh, um, these are my private diaries,” Schumarr lied.

  “Good Doctor, you were given specific instructions not to take anything off that ship.”

  “But these are my private and personal journals, nothing more,” Schumarr pressed.

  “And what happened to Mr. Clayton?”

  “I think we can assume that subject three eighteen killed him,” Schumarr said.

  Distant explosions distracted Schumarr. He craned his head back to see the ship now engulfed in several large orange fireballs. When he faced Aashiq he was greeted with the muzzle of a semi-automatic pistol.

  “Give me the journals,” Aashiq ordered calmly.

  “But they’re—”

  Aashiq leveled the muzzle at Schumarr’s face and repeated, “Give me the journals.”

  Schumarr gulped. He thought quickly about what he could do, but now he had zero options save throwing himself and his journals out the open doorway of the helicopter with hopes he’d survive the fifteen-hundred-foot fall.

  “Now,” Aashiq pressed.

  Schumarr couldn’t hesitate anymore. He loosened his arms and handed over the logbooks.

  Aashiq took them. He holstered the pistol and opened the first book on the stack. He read for a minute then began to flip through quickly.

  “Project Sleeper is in book three,” Schumarr said.

  “I don’t care about that. Where can I find everything on Titan?” Aashiq asked his attention still on the books.

  “Titan?”

  Aashiq looked back at Schumarr and asked, “Where’s all the information on Titan?”

  “If you wanted it, I could have just given the real thing to you,” Schumarr said.

  “You have it on you?”

  “Um, no, I didn’t get a chance to get a live sample but everything you need to know to replicate it is in book seven,” Schumarr answered.

  Aashiq put book seven on top and opened it, he flipped until he found a tab that read TITAN. “Of course. This is good, really good.” Aashiq excitedly read, his finger tracing the words.

  Schumarr relaxed into his seat. The fear he had that his life was on the line melted away.

  Aashiq read for ten minutes, closed the book, faced Schumarr and asked, “This is everything?”

  “Everything…So Yasser is interested in Project Titan and not Sleeper?”

  Aashiq held up book seven and asked again, “This is everything one needs to replicate the Titan parasite? How does it work? What’s the R naught? Incubation?” Aashiq asked, rattling off questions.

  “You seem to know a lot about this sort of stuff,” Schumarr said.

  “PhD in microbiology from Oxford.”

  “Impressive,” Schumarr said with a half grin.

  “Yasser speaks highly of you. I can see why, you’re brilliant,” Aashiq said.

  “So you and I will be working on this?” Schumarr asked.

  The helicopter turned left.

  Schumarr looked through the cockpit window and could see the shoreline coming into view.

  Aashiq tapped the pilot’s arm and said, “Put us down on the far west side of the bay. There’s a landing zone over there.”

  The pilot nodded.

  “Where are we going?” Schumarr asked.

  Aashiq turned back around and asked, “What I asked before, it’s all in here? Incubation time, everything?”

  “Yes, you’ll see I’m thorough and detailed.”

  “And it does exactly as you say it does in here?”

  “If you mean does it work to change a host, yes; however, I don’t know if it can spread from host to host and the incubation time is long. If I were to continue working on it, I’d dedicate time and resources to enhancing or accelerating the parasite’s maturation.”

  “How did you create such a beautiful thing?” Aashiq gushed.

  “Like I told Clayton, I follow where the science takes me.” Schumarr glowed.

  Aashiq couldn’t believe his good luck.

  “I still think some additional testing is needed to see how it mutates. And I need to see about creating a vaccine,” Schumarr replied.

  “But it’s all here, it just needs to be perfected?” Aashiq asked still in shock at this discovery.

  “It’s all there. And you saw it with your own eyes. That was a man infected with the Titan parasite. It’s real, it works.”

  Asahiq tenderly touched the cover of the logbook.

  “Why didn’t Yasser tell me earlier he was interested in Titan?” Schumarr asked.

  “He’s not, but when he told me about it, I was beyond thrilled. What’s in here will ensure our caliphate rules the world and stamps out the infidel. This is it, this will bring about the end of days.”


  “I’m confused,” Schumarr said.

  “You’re a brilliant scientist, Dr. Schumarr. Do you wish to continue your work?”

  Not believing his luck, Schumarr smiled and said, “Nothing would give me more pleasure.”

  “Good.”

  “But on one condition,” Schumarr pressed.

  “And that is?” Aashiq asked.

  “That I be allowed to take Titan to its fullest potential.”

  “Good Doctor, you’ll be given every resource. We want nothing more than Titan to be as powerful as it can be,” Aashiq replied.

  “Excellent. When do we begin?”

  “As soon as we land,” Aashiq said and held his hand out to Schumarr. “It will be an honor to work alongside you on this most holy of endeavors.”

  Schumarr firmly grasped Aashiq’s hand and shook it. “The honor is mine.”

  Aashiq turned towards the front. He cradled book seven against his chest, closed his eyes and said, “Praise be Allah.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  Present Day

  Friday, April 21

  San Diego, California

  Brett pulled the tank top over his head and stretched it with hopes his slight belly bulge wouldn’t show. He and his wife, Madison, had committed to working out regularly once they had finally admitted they were not looking like the spring chickens they once were.

  He headed towards the kitchen and caught a reflection of himself in the hall mirror. He paused and admired the changes in his body. Yes, he still had some pounds to lose but overall his faithful commitment had been paying off. His arms were muscular and his chest proudly extended past his belly. He was getting close to his goal, but one thing he didn’t factor in when they had decided to begin working out was how good he would feel emotionally. His spirit was higher and there was a notable pep in his step.

  His youngest son, Will, had even noticed and exclaimed two mornings ago that ‘Daddy is looking tough.’