by Ellis, Tara
“You should listen to your father,” Hernandez offered from his perch beside the next cot over. Sweeping his arm and gesturing to the eight other patients in various degrees of death, he grimaced. “You don’t belong here, kid. You shouldn’t be seeing this.”
“Then where do I belong?” Tyler shot back, his anger momentarily overriding his queasiness and fear. “Because he’s all I have left! There’s no one else left,” he added half-heartedly as the fight left him. His home, his friends, his mom…they were all gone. The world was gone.
“I must say that I tend to agree with Ensign Hernandez,” an unfamiliar voice chimed in.
Tyler’s head jerked up, not only because of the intrusion into their private conversation, but because the voice sounded…normal. Looking at the middle-aged man walking toward them, he confirmed that he wasn’t wearing one of the regular protective suits.
“I’m Doctor Edward Chase,” the man said, holding a hand out first to Hernandez, and then Tyler as if they were being introduced at a dinner party. “If you’ll say your goodbyes, Tyler, we’ll get to work on finding out what makes you so unique.”
“Huh?” Tyler knew he was beyond exhausted and had turned down the lunch he’d been offered, but he didn’t think that was the only reason he was confused. He looked over at Hernandez and was relieved to see he was also flustered. Tyler shook his head and held tightly to his dad’s hand. “I’m not leaving him. I’m not going anywhere with you.”
Dr. Chase reacted by sitting on Hernandez’s empty cot and resting his elbows on his knees, like he had all the time in the world. His expression was hard to read, but it wasn’t hostile…or particularly friendly, either. “Take your time,” he said casually. “But you should know that every minute you choose to spend here with him, instead of with me, increases the likelihood that he will die.”
The statement got the desired effect as Tyler froze and stared questioningly at the doctor. “What do you mean? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know you don’t,” Dr. Chase answered quickly, drawing his hands together. “And I’m here to help explain this all to you, but we’re working against a cosmic clock. Simply put, you are immune.”
Tyler’s breath caught, and he struggled to rationally examine the information. It made sense. Why he didn’t have any symptoms after being around his dad so much, why they were allowing him to be in the sickroom without any protective gear…the constant blood tests. “Are you immune, too?” he asked, realizing how that would also explain why the doctor was only wearing the standard protective coveralls.
A small twitch in the doctor’s lips was the closest he’d come to a smile. “Good. You’re intelligent. And, no,” he said, standing up. “I’m not immune, but you’re right that I can’t get the disease, nor am I contagious. If you’ll come with me, I’ll explain more on the way.”
“To where?” Hernandez interrupted. “Where are you taking him, and are you sure I’m not immune, too? I swear it’s just a caffeine withdrawal headache.”
Dr. Chase squinted at Hernandez. “No, Ensign. Your brain is infested with the prions, I’m afraid. I’ll be taking Tyler to another area within the facility where we can further evaluate his ability to ward off the infection.” Turning back to Tyler, he leveled him with a stoic, piercing gaze. “It could prove vital in coming up with a treatment for your father and others like him.”
“Well, hell. You better go, then,” Hernandez encouraged. “You’re welcome to use me as his guinea pig,” he added hopefully to Dr. Chase.
Tyler hesitated. He looked at his dad, who was doing his best to nod at him. “Go,” he begged, pulling his hand away from Tyler. “Please.”
Sniffing once, Tyler staggered to his feet. If there was even a chance the guy was telling the truth, he had to cooperate. Leaning forward, he hugged his dad and whispered near his ear. “I’ll come back for you. I promise.”
Tyler wouldn’t look over his shoulder as he walked away. If he did, it’d be the last thing he remembered of his dad, and he couldn’t handle that. Hernandez saluted him as he passed, which at least made him feel a little better. He avoided making eye-contact with any of the other patients. One of them was a kid around his age, and he’d guessed the woman on the cot next to him was his mom. She reached out for him as he passed and Tyler shied away, feeling ashamed. If Dr. Chase was wrong, they were all dead no matter what they did. Including his dad. Why were so many people dying, while he was immune? It felt like a sort of punishment, and Tyler imagined himself standing in a vast, silent graveyard where he was the only person left alive on the planet.
His nose hitting painfully against a glassed enclosure shook Tyler out of his reverie, and he snapped back to the present. He and the doctor were standing in a decontamination station. He knew what it was, because he’d already gone through several of them earlier in the day.
Several minutes later, they were walking down a shadowy corridor. Dr. Chase was going fast enough that Tyler had to jog in order to keep up. They passed a few other people who were still wearing lower-level protection gear. As they approached what looked like a freight elevator with L-4 painted in red on its doors, two armed soldiers in gas masks moved in front of it, weapons across their chests at the ready.
“Gentlemen,” Dr. Chase admonished, not quite sounding frustrated but rather bored. “We already had this discussion a few minutes ago, when I got off the elevator.”
“Stand-by,” one of the soldiers snapped. “We’re still waiting for confirmation.”
Chase pursed his lips and glanced at Tyler before turning back to the men. “The whole reason they sent me unescorted on this errand is because they are becoming increasingly short-handed. I’m not sure who—”
One of the soldiers jutted a hand in front of the doctor’s face and tilted his head, obviously listening to some internal communication inside his mask. After a moment, he lowered his arm and stepped aside, gesturing for the other soldier to do the same. “Cleared for level three.”
The doors opened, and Tyler followed Dr. Chase inside. While he knew he’d already been in the elevator once before, he didn’t remember much. The trip down had been a blur of activity and emotions. They’d been separated from Peta and Devon when they were still above-ground, and Tyler hoped they were going to be reunited.
The ride was brief, and they were greeted by another armed soldier as they stepped out into an equally-dim, cement hallway. “This way,” Dr. Chase directed, turning down another corridor to the left. Tyler noticed orange-colored lettering on the walls, labeling the area as L-3.
After twenty feet, they passed through yet another decon station. Beyond that was a changing area, where they got fresh jumpsuits, and then a door that led to a room almost identical to the one he’d left his dad in. There were three doctors, or nurses, or…whatever, geared up in the white coveralls and bulky gas masks. While it obviously wasn’t as high of a level as downstairs, they were still afraid of getting infected. Tyler didn’t blame them.
There was a young woman with long black hair and a vacant stare seated at a table in the nearest corner. One of the masks was drawing her blood and she didn’t even seem to realize they were poking a needle into her arm.
An old man was lying on a cot midway through the sizeable room, and he was sobbing quietly, his face buried in a thin pillow. There was a tray on a table beside him with an uneaten sandwich and orange.
“Tyler!” Devon shouted, waving his arms from where he was seated at another table on the far side of the room.
Tyler pushed past Dr. Chase, and ran to him. He didn’t care how young or helpless he looked as he threw himself at Devon. He managed to contain himself enough to pull up short and make it a quick hug, but the relief he felt at seeing someone familiar was incredible.
“You’re not sick?” Tyler choked out, clearing his throat and doing his best not to tear up. “You’re okay? Is Peta here?” The gunshot wound on his arm was freshly bandaged, and he seemed to be moving it okay.
Devon grinned and took ahold of Tyler’s shoulders to guide him into the chair next to him. “She’s in some other lab, but we’re all immune,” he said simply.
Tyler’s brows drew together, and he found himself looking to Dr. Chase for confirmation. The man was nodding, though he still had the same inquisitive expression, instead of any obvious joy.
“You, me, and Peta,” Devon explained. “Hernandez—”
“I know,” Tyler interrupted. “He was in the same room with me and my dad. He’s doing pretty good, though. Insists he isn’t sick.”
Devon chuckled. “I can imagine. Look,” he continued, turning serious again. “We gotta figure out why all of us have this immunity. It’s too much of a coincidence. Dr. Chase here is trying to work it out, so we have to help him.”
Tyler was feeling the first glimmer of hope he’d dared to allow in days. “What can I do?” he asked, looking up at Dr. Chase.
Crossing his arms, the doctor narrowed his eyes and stared so intensely at Tyler that his brief optimism turned back to a dark, simmering fear. “Whatever is necessary.”
Chapter 22
JASON
Black Site, Level-4 CDC Biolab
Southern California
“Brain damage,” Eddy said, from where he was seated on the edge of his cot.
Jason shoved his half-finished dinner tray away and stood up. His chair made a loud scraping sound as it slid back, and he studied his friend’s face and lack of reaction to the grating noise. He’d been gone when Jason woke up that morning, and he’d spent the entire day alone, pacing the small room. After disappearing for ten hours, Jason figured Eddy might have started off the conversation differently.
“How about ‘hello’?” Jason snapped, taking a step toward him. “Or, maybe ‘Hey, Jason. Sorry I abandoned you all day, but here’s what’s been going down’. No?” Jason knew his anger was largely misplaced, but Eddy happened to be the only available target at the moment. Hands balled into fists at his sides, he glared down at him. “I’ve been holed up in here all day, so you’re going to have to preempt that statement with a little background, my friend.”
Looking nonplussed, Eddy placed his hands on his knees and raised an eyebrow at Jason. “Do you recall the article I suggested you read last year, about neurocriminology?”
His frustration growing, Jason shook his head. “I’m not the best student when it comes to following up on random articles you’d throw at me. Why don’t you break it down?”
“It was about an extensive imaging study of criminal minds which indicated a commonality in those with homicidal tendencies.”
Jason sat down opposite Eddy on his own cot. He didn’t like where the conversation was headed.
“We have increasing data that implies those of us who have recovered, the Cured, as they are calling us, are displaying similar damage to the grey matter of our orbital frontal cortex, and anterior temporal lobes,” Eddy explained. He sounded like he might have been talking about the weather.
Jason searched Eddy’s face for a moment before swallowing down the rising lump in his throat. He had so many questions tumbling around in his head, that he could only focus on the simplest of them. “The Cured?”
“Yeah, keeping it simple,” Eddy confirmed. “It’s what people topside have started calling us, and it seems to be sticking.”
More questions.
Standing, Jason began his pacing again, finding a small amount of solace in the repetitive movements. Rubbing his hands over his hair, he then dragged them down his face and ended with them covering his mouth as he paused and stared again at Eddy. “So, what you’re telling me is that you suddenly wish you could have been best buds with Ted Bundy?”
That provoked a rather satisfying chuff from Eddy as he stood and squinted at Jason. “I understand you use humor to offset strong emotions, which is a perfect example as to why I feel my condition could be rather beneficial, given my unique position to help. But to answer your question; no. I have no desire to commit homicide, and as I attempted to explain to you last night, my propensity for scientific absolutes for the betterment of mankind is what compels me. I am content in my role here and dedicated to working the problem.”
“Working the problem,” Jason echoed, still wrapping his brain around their situation. “Last night you mentioned being able to think clearly and not having your head cluttered, or something. What exactly did this damage do to the grey matter?”
Eddy helped himself to Jason’s leftovers, and took a large bite from a roll before answering. “It’s rather fascinating, Jason. It appears to have damaged the part of the brain responsible for strong emotions. Such as empathy, happiness, sadness, hate, fear, jealousy…love. I still feel to a certain degree, but it’s muted. It’s in the background, like a light whitewash with the more vibrant colors of intelligent thought and reason layered overtop. It’s liberating.”
Jason watched Eddy chew and wished he had the same ability to mute his feelings. For the moment, his fear was absolutely one of the more dominant factors firing in his temporal lobe.
The only door opened, and Jason hardly noticed when Trent entered, leading Marty on a leash. The dog paused, uncharacteristically holding back from his normal, enthusiastic greeting.
Great. Even the dog has more emotions than my best friend.
Kneeling down, Jason patted at his thigh and then wrapped Marty up in a hug when he lunged into him. “Thanks for taking him out, Trent,” he said vaguely, while still watching Eddy. The speech Jason had ready for the younger man, where he was going to belittle him for holding him hostage all day and keeping him in the dark, was forgotten.
“Did, you um…finish the questionnaire?”
Jason pointed to the table, where the three sheets of stapled papers lay next to the tray. “Yeah,” he muttered. Frowning, he finally looked up at the assistant and properly scowled at him. “If you’d just take me to wherever and whoever is working on this stuff, I could have answered those questions and about a hundred more in half the time.” When Trent tried to reply, he moved his hand out to cut him off. “If you don’t want my help, that’s fine. Really. But if we’re done here, I need to leave. In the morning, actually.” Turning to Eddy, he wasn’t encouraged by his condescending expression. Of course, the one personality trait he’d keep would be the most irritating.
“You’re going with me in the morning,” Eddy said. It wasn’t presented as a suggestion or a question, but rather a statement of fact that didn’t leave any room for discussion.
“Uh, yeah. That’s my understanding,” Trent said nervously, clearly uncomfortable around Eddy. “I’ll be back in the morning with your breakfast.”
“Don’t bother,” Eddy directed. “I’ve arranged for us to eat with the others.”
Before Jason could drum up any of the other snide remarks he’d been practicing, Trent ducked back out of the room. The bolt on the door slid home with a loud clang, underscoring that the two men were still locked inside. Under close to a hundred feet of dirt and rocks. On recycled air driven by generators because the power grid was down. While the rest of the world was falling into a deeper state of oblivion by the minute. But that was all okay, since his best friend thought it was cool for the remaining cured to be turned into some sort of logical robots who used big words.
Jason’s forehead broke out in a cold sweat. His breath quickened along with his heart and his fingers curled into Marty’s hair. “So, we going to your secret lair tomorrow?” he quipped, not caring that Eddy’s assessment about his use of humor was completely accurate. “It’s nice you’re making friends with the locals.”
“The Kuru has breached their containment.”
Jason paused in his mauling of Marty’s neck and looked up sharply at Eddy before glancing back at the door. “Trent wasn’t acting like someone whose death was eminent.”
“They think they’ve got it back under control, but I believe they’re wrong.” Eddy ate the rest of the roll and then sat a
t the table. He pointed a finger at the other chair. “Please, Jason. Sit down.”
His legs feeling weak, Jason dragged himself into the seat, pulling Marty over with him. The German Shepherd lay his head on Jason’s knee and looked up at him with those curious brown eyes that could always see straight into his soul.
“It was only a matter of time, but I had hoped we’d have a few more days. I may be helpful in some areas, but not where the expertise is needed to come up with a cure.” Eddy splayed his hands on the table, and the familiar gesture was oddly comforting. “The prions can’t be stopped within these walls. At least, not with our current means of suppression and decontamination.”
“It’s too small,” Jason breathed, remembering how easily and quickly it had spread through the FEMA camp.
Nodding, Eddy waved a hand. “I thought we might have had a chance of garnering more understanding when a group of immune individuals showed up. Coincidentally, they all came from the region of the MOHO eruption.”
Jason had to force himself to focus on what Eddy was saying. He couldn’t keep up with the different tracks of information. “I didn’t think there were many survivors from that.”
“Five in total. Two of them are part of the original science team studying the MOHO from Mauritius Island, and two lived on Madagascar. The fifth was part of the extraction team. They were eventually evacuated together, and three of the five are prion-free.”
He stared at Eddy. The odds… “Well, then it has to be an environmental factor,” Jason concluded. When Eddy cocked his head, encouraging him to continue, Jason’s brows drew together in thought. “Two of them died from it?”
