by Paul Kane
In the makeshift lab they’d set up, Bridget had assisted him in silence, after insisting on taping up the dart in his leg to make absolutely sure it was airtight. And he’d known what was going through her mind. She’d never thought he would find Suzanne, never thought she was real. He’d had days when he wondered himself, and ironically even more so at the end. But here she was, alive and… not well, you couldn’t call her that – she hadn’t been well for some time. “She’s been in a coma for years,” Strauss had reported after delving into the computer records. “Since she was a little girl, in fact. Her parents used to visit quite regularly, till they both passed away: father from a heart attack, mother from a massive stroke. The stress of something like this...” He lapsed into silence for a moment. “It must take its toll. No other family in the area. And nobody in all that time has been able to do anything about her condition. No cause has ever been found.”
He went on to explain that the doctors had just put it down to Encephalitis lethargica or von Economo disease, an atypical form of encephalitis – made famous in the Robin Williams movie Awakenings. But there was more going on than that. Something else had been sleeping inside Suzanne, undetectable until it was ready to venture out into the world. Hiding in plain sight. Now they could see it through the microscopes, their multicoloured friend in its purest form via the original carrier. In a form that might enable Strauss to defeat it.
“It’s what I do,” he told the US soldiers when they returned, Timms having been left on guard duty at Suzanne’s door. “And I’m very good at it, aren’t I?” he asked Bridget, who solemnly concurred with a tip of the head, continuing to work on her own samples. “Besides, I have a little help.” Bridget’s chest had swelled slightly then, until he’d clarified: “Inside help… from Suzanne.”
“So what exactly are we dealing with here?” Baker asked.
“Well, you can relax about it being something your guys came up with. Ours either, come to that. I’ve never seen anything like this either occurring in its natural state or bioengineered by man.”
“You’re not trying to tell me that…” Baker’s words tailed off.
“He knows what I’m saying, don’t you?” Andrew gestured towards Jackson, relying on his knowledge of SF to back him up.
“It’s the Andromeda Strain,” Jackson stated simply.
“Well done that man. Not exactly that virus, but probably from the same place.” Strauss pointed upwards for effect.
“You don’t know that for sure.” Bridget found her voice then. “You and your books and films. You can’t just make a statement like that, it’s–”
“You think that because I’m a geek I’m letting my imagination run away with me? Is that it?” Strauss said defensively. “Think about the things we’ve witnessed since we’ve been here. I wish you could have experienced what I have since I took that shot. I shouldn’t even be talking to you right now, but I am. And you know what else? Suzanne’s standing right over there.”
They all looked, but he knew they wouldn’t see anything. It wasn’t her corporeal form, but the dream one she’d been using to reach him all these years. The one she’d used to bring him here, that he’d only been able to see when he was half in one world, half in the other.
“Oh come on, you’ve got to be kidding me!” Bridget stood back from her station and folded her arms, refusing to believe this new piece of information. He could understand why, it was hard enough for her to take in that this was the person he’d been dreaming about for as long as he could remember, let alone that she was now with Andrew wherever he went, helping him with the remedy.
Bridget stormed out, but it didn’t matter. Andrew was almost there with his labours: the remedy wouldn’t take long now to work up, just like a snakebite antidote once you had the poison. Suzanne told him it was growing harder for her to suppress the Sleepers, though. They know what you’re doing, and now you’re a real threat to them. They’ll do everything they can to stop you. Even now more are coming from beyond the hospital. You have to hurry, Andrew. Please hurry.
It wasn’t long after that Jackson called out from the window where he’d been stationed, watching the front of the hospital. “Hundreds of them,” he shouted, barely able to conceal the terror in his voice. “Marching up the street, they’re coming from everywhere. It’s like a Romero flick out there.”
“Christ almighty,” Baker had bellowed down the hall. “Dr Strauss, if you’re going to do something it really needs to be now. They’ll be on this place like ants on a hill soon.”
Andrew held up one of the needles he’d been preparing. He’d only had time to work up a few of these, and it still needed testing. Might only work for a short period; might not work at all. Well, no time like the present, he said to himself, sticking it in his arm and depressing the end. He shook his head, feeling a little strange, but before he could do anything else he saw Suzanne in the room again; she looked distraught. “What?” he asked, and all she said was: Bridget.
Gathering up his stuff in the sample case, Andrew ran out into the corridor. He could tell there was something wrong even before he got to Suzanne’s room. Timms was slumped forward in his chair for starters, unconscious.
Andrew burst inside to find his assistant poised with a scalpel at Suzanne’s throat. “Bridget!” he screamed and she whirled to face him, though the blade remained at Suzanne’s neck. “What do you think you’re doing?”
She looked like she wasn’t going to answer at first, then replied in a detached voice, “I... I couldn’t help myself. Look, we don’t need her anymore. We have her blood, Andy. It’s what you came for.”
“What are you talking about? I didn’t just come for what’s inside her: I came for her!”
“You’re confused, probably still the tranqs in your system. I don’t pretend to understand it. Or anything else about this. But… but she’s doing something to you, clouding your judgement. I’ll bet she’s controlling all of that out there, too.”
“Don’t be so ridiculous,” he said as if talking to a child.
“Andy, please. This isn’t the person you’ve been dreaming about, you know. She doesn’t exist. She can’t!”
Bridget was the only one whose judgement had been clouded, Andrew realised. “She does, and you’re about to kill her, Bridget. Think about it, this isn’t you.”
“I… it isn’t… wasn’t me. But I have to do this, don’t you understand. For us both, so you can move on. You’re… we’re going to get the recognition we deserve for this, sweetheart. When she’s gone, things will be a lot clearer. You’ll be able to see… to see what’s important.”
“I already know what’s important, Bridget.” He sighed wearily. “I can’t give you what you want. Can’t be what you want me to be. I’m really, truly sorry I hurt you. I am. But it can never be that way between us.”
He saw the tears through the transparent mask of the Hazmat helmet. “You’ll see,” she said. “When she’s gone you’ll see.”
Strauss took a step towards her, knowing he was risking Suzanne’s life but not prepared to just stand around. Bridget raised her other hand, the one that had been behind her back. It was holding Timms’ rifle.
Andrew froze.
“Now stay back, Andy. Till this is over.”
“No,” he told her. “You’re going to have to kill me, Bridget. All I care about right at this moment is saving Suzanne.” He almost added “from you” but thought better of it.
Andrew began to move forward again. “Stop!” Bridget warned him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Then don’t,” said Andrew. “Put down the gun. And while you’re at it, put down the scalpel as well.”
She bit her lip.
“I can promise you one thing, if you hurt her I’ll… I don’t know what I’ll do.” I’ve only just found her, thought Andrew. I can’t lose her now. Not like this.
“What’s going on?” came a voice from the doorway. Coleman – who’d been sent to check on Stra
uss.
It was just the distraction Andrew needed; the only distraction he was going to get. He swept the samples case in an arc, jostling the rifle in Bridget’s grasp. Whether it was because of this that she fired, or she was going to do that anyway, he had no way of knowing, but a burst of bullets exploded from the nozzle. Strauss ignored it, barely registering the grunt from behind. Everything happened in slow motion as Andrew let go of the case and it landed on the bed, then he reached for Bridget’s wrist. The blade had just managed to nick Suzanne’s skin as he wrenched it away, and Bridget fired off another round from the gun.
He was spurred on by seeing the blood at Suzanne’s throat – this woman he loved. Hurt by this other woman who he also loved, just not in the way she wanted him to. This woman he’d driven crazy… No, time to think about that later. Because now he had to get both the gun and the blade away from her.
He succeeded with the rifle, slamming it against the floor as he pinned Bridget down. Andrew felt her writhing beneath him and… dammit, was she enjoying this contact with him, such as it was? That was sicker than the people who’d come down with the virus!
“You’re… you’re a lover, remember, Andy… not a fighter…” she managed.
He scowled, trying to wrench the scalpel out of her grasp. This time it was Andrew who was distracted by the other soldiers at the doorway, drawn by the gunfire. The scalpel slipped and cut into his Hazmat suit, then across his skin.
Andrew stood, reeling backwards. He was barely aware of Bridget’s face, the horror as she realised what she’d done. “No… no, I didn’t mean to–” He was beginning to feel woozy. This was one tranq that he wouldn’t be fighting off. Even if the air wasn’t getting to him, he now shared the blood on that scalpel; Suzanne’s blood. The virus worming its way directly into him.
Bridget was rising too.
“Now come on, ma’am… Bridget. Just settle down and come on, please.” It was Jackson’s voice, obviously believing he could get through to her.
She dropped the scalpel, not because she had machine-guns trained on her, but because of what she’d done to her one, true love. Bridget began backing off, hands to her mouth – or they would have been if she could get to it through the clear plastic. Only now did the immensity of what she’d done dawn on her. Only now was she waking up.
“No... Andrew... I only meant to...”
Strauss almost fell back on the bed, clutching at it for support. He didn’t have long. As the blurred figure of Bridget backed off to the window, he turned, knocking the case off the bed. The lid opened and a few of the loaded needles spilled out.
“I’m sorry,” he heard Bridget say as if from miles away. “Please don’t hate me.”
Andrew took the covers from Suzanne’s bed to the floor with him. This wasn’t supposed to happen, he’d injected himself.
Everything was starting to go black again. Yet in that blackness there was someone waiting. Waiting and holding his hand.
It was Suzanne, and her presence gave him hope.
Twelve
Private Jackson Monks thought things couldn’t get any worse.
His luck had kept him alive so far out here, but now the Sleepers were on their way to the hospital, and to top everything off Strauss’ assistant Bridget had gone bonzo in the original Sleeper’s room. She’d knocked Timms out and stolen his gun, using it wildly and catching poor Coleman in the crossfire. She’d tried to kill Suzanne Parris for reasons he could only guess at. The way Strauss had held the woman’s hand, some connection there he wasn’t privy to. He’d said he was being led here, so maybe… It was in the realms of fantasy, though Jackson had never been adverse to a bit of that in his life; his love of the imaginative genres taking him out of himself, and also providing common ground between him and Strauss, to his surprise.
Now the Doc was coming down with the sickness, after being slashed by Bridget. She’d gone to the window and though Monks had rushed to stop her, it was open and the woman had jumped through before he could do a thing to stop her. He could barely bring himself to look down, but when he did he saw Bridget on the pavement below, arms and legs out at strange angles, not moving. He shook his head at the waste, then turned his attention back to Strauss, who was still fighting the virus tooth and claw. It just wasn’t enough.
Strauss shuddered involuntarily, then was still.
“Monks!” snapped Baker, who had stooped to check on Coleman. The private turned, heading back to his sergeant. “Help me stem some of this blood loss.” Coleman was in a really bad way, Jackson saw now – one bullet had hit him in the leg, but the other was in his chest. The green of his combat gear was stained dark where the projectile had torn through him. Coleman was coughing inside the mask, choking on his own blood. At least they were in the right place, a hospital. But it was also a hospital that would be overrun soon by those... crazies outside.
Coleman began to shudder, spasming. “Hold on in there,” said Baker. “C’mon, soldier.” But the man suddenly went limp, just as Strauss had done moments earlier. “Crap!” grunted Baker. He rose, suddenly surveying the scene. “Is that the antidote?” he asked, as if Jackson knew.
“I think so, Sir.”
“Then grab it, along with those other samples. We have to get out of here.”
“But what about Dr Strauss, what about the girl and…” He finally added: “And Timms?”
His sergeant shook his head. “They’re not part of our mission objective anymore, Monks.”
“What are you talking about, Sir?”
“I’ve been in constant contact with the colonel back at the base since we landed in this mess.” Jackson couldn’t believe he’d lied about not being able to get through – there obviously had been a way… for some. And now the sergeant showed him, pulling back one side of his hood to reveal the small radio earpiece beneath. “Dr Strauss was to be given every assistance in finding his antidote, whether here or back at the base. Now that and the virus samples only are to be delivered back there.”
“To do what with? Help produce more?”
The sergeant was silent.
“What then, steal it out from under the Brits’ noses?”
“This is and always has been a joint operation,” said Baker. “There are things going on here that supersede your clearance. Hell, they supersede mine. Now, I’m no more comfortable about this than you are, Private.” He added the rank to show who was in charge. It made sense now, why he’d seen Baker arguing with the colonel before leaving. “But my orders are clear – and now so are yours. Pick up the antidote and the samples. We’ll make our way down to the ambulance bay, take one of those and head back out of the city.”
“Sir, I–”
“Just do it, Private.” Baker’s tone was that of a man who wasn’t to be argued with.
Reluctantly, Jackson began to gather up the spilt needles and samples, placing them in the case. As he was walking back to the sergeant, handing this over, someone behind him whispered: “It’s… it’s The X-Files, Jackson. Don’t you see?”
He turned, recognising Strauss’ voice, albeit weak. “Doc! You’re okay?”
The man was pulling himself up on the bed, pulling off his Hazmat hood. His eyes were open and he was tearing the secretion off his face. “Conspiracies, dodgy orders. You don’t have to do this. Either of you.”
“Sergeant Baker.” Jackson looked back at his superior. “We–”
“Must’ve tested the cure out on himself,” Baker said. “At least now we know it works.” He took one of the needles and stuck it into his thigh.
“Listen to me: if you do nothing else, leave one for her,” pleaded Strauss.
“I’m sorry. There’s… there’s no point. Or there won’t be when we get back to base with the rest of this stuff,” Baker said, with genuine regret in his voice.
“They want to get rid of the evidence,” Strauss stated. “Any witnesses to this.”
“The Sleepers are gathering at the quarantine perimeter, did you k
now that? They’re going to try and break out!” argued Baker.
“We know too much about all this now,” Strauss told Jackson, ignoring the sergeant. “They want to use it as a weapon against the enemies of both our countries.”
Baker was silent again.
“You’ll never be able to control it,” Strauss warned. “It’s way too powerful. It intended to take over this world, and it just might… someday.”
“Time for us to leave, soldier,” Baker told Jackson.
“No Sir, I–”
The sergeant swung his rifle around and trained it on him. “I said we’re leaving. Right now!”
“You can’t blame him,” Strauss said to the sergeant. “After all, Jackson’s a witness as well. But then so are you. You’re both as good as dead once this is all over.”
“Private,” said Baker with a warning in his voice, gun still levelled at him.
“I’m staying with the Doc. You’re going to have to shoot me, Sir, if you don’t like it,” Jackson informed him, standing proudly – and hoping against hope his luck was still holding. He could see that the man was trying to weigh up his options, whether he could risk leaving Jackson here in case things didn’t go to plan. Strauss was right, they were the only witnesses left. Better to make sure they were dead now, surely, than risk leaving it to the Sleepers. That’s what Baker would have been told. Leave nothing to chance.
Before he could make that decision, though, something happened. Timms appeared behind the sergeant and Jackson had never been so happy to see anyone in his life. He almost whooped with delight, in fact. The Brit got hold of Baker around the neck, at the same time forcing his rifle down and slamming the sergeant’s wrist against his knee. It clattered from his grasp. “Need a little help?” Timms mumbled.
