by Jeannie Rae
Joe thought either route would take some time. The benefit of going back and cutting over at Fox Cove was that they somewhat know what to expect. Raging savages and wreckage lined streets didn’t really seem the ideal route. If they took route ninety-seven, they would be on the highway. It would undoubtedly be backed up with traffic, from all the intelligent residents leaving town. Because of the bottleneck, they could get stuck there and not be able to move the truck, rendering it useless. Of the two routes, the latter would be the shortest and probably the safest, as long as traffic didn’t wall up the bottleneck.
“Which route do you think would be the best?” Hank inquired, his eyes shifting to Shotgun, then Joe.
“Well, in all, to go around the lab, it would be just over a mile, total. If we go back to Fox Cove and cut over, we’re looking at about three miles. I think we should go around,” Shotgun said, his eyes darting back and forth between the men.
“What if traffic is all jammed up on the interstate?” Joe challenged with his hands up.
“Good point Joe. Tell you what, I’ll take it nice and slow near the bottleneck, if it looks too tight, I’ll turn around. We’ll be ready for it. How does that sound?” Hank offered.
“Sounds like we should get going,” Joe said making his way around the truck to the passenger side.
“Kate, we’re going to head out in a minute.”
“Um…Dad, I…uh, have to go to the bathroom,” she looked up at him with apologetic eyes.
“Well, were in the right place for that. Let me check the store,” Joe said with a grin before walking toward the convenience store.
Joe passed the front door, went around to the side of the building. Turning the corner, he saw two restroom doors, labeled Men and Women. The peeling paint from the aged doors and building left a trail of white flakes in the gravel behind the store. He tugged on the women’s room door, it wouldn’t budge. He tried the men’s door next. Locked. He went around the store, adjusting the strap on his shoulder from the gun that Shotgun had given him earlier. Gripping the weapon tightly, he reminded himself that this gun helped keep them all alive until Hank arrived. Joe glanced back at the truck, as he walked the patched pavement in front of the store. Kate watched him from inside the truck, while Shotgun continued explaining the route to Hank, pointing at his phone and then down the street. It looked as if Hank tried to convince Shotgun of another route.
As Joe approached the entrance to the store, he glanced at his reflection in the glass doors. Darkened circles had formed underneath his sleep-deprived, exhausted eyes and his three-day stubble looked more like a full beard. His dark hair stuck up in every which way—almost reminding him of Jake’s hair, when they first met in the back of Hank’s pick-up. Peeking inside the fingerprint-smudged door, he saw the overhead lights were off, and the place looked relatively undisturbed. He pressed on the handle, the door swinging open. Pleased to find the door unlocked, his relief rapidly turned to surprise as the welcome bell began to ring. Bing-Bong, it sounded, and continued to ring. Joe thought that it must me a sensor under the door mat and stepped inside quickly. As the door swung closed, the ringing subsided.
“Hello,” Joe called out, with no desire to surprise anyone. Although he was certain that if anyone was inside, they would be well aware of his presence from that damn welcome bell.
Examining the modest store, he could see there were two isles of candy, food and chips on his right. The walls were lined with darkened coolers containing cold beverages. On the other side of the store, a fountain drink machine, a slurry well and two partial pots of coffee resided upon the counters. Just before the back wall, a little to the left of the entrance, the front counter caught his eye. It had just one cash register, a rounder of sunglasses, and packages of chewing gum on a rack. Behind the counter stood a door labeled Manager’s Office, situated between shelves of cigarettes.
Joe moved toward the counter scanning the surface. He had been on enough road trips to know that gas stations like this usually have a restroom key on an enormous key chain, like a yard stick or something equally gaudy. A grating-grind followed by a click sounded. Joe stood motionless, listening—the noise sprouted from behind counter. Raising his gun and switching off the safety, he rounded the counter. Drawing in a deep, inaudible breath, he inched past the edge of the counter. Empty. Joe let out a sigh of relief, switching the safety back on and letting his weapon hang over his shoulder. Checking in the direction of the sound, he spotted an old time VCR under the counter. Several wires were connected to the back of the machine. Following the cables, Joe realized that they connected to the surveillance cameras. The machine appeared as if it were trying to eject a jammed cassette, causing a repeated click.
Joe searched under the counter, and the wall behind it, but found no restroom key. Turning back to the manager’s office, he pressed his ear to the door and listened, but could hear nothing. He palmed the door knob and turned, finding it unlocked. Joe began to think that his luck might have turned a corner. As he pushed on the spring loaded door, he heard BING-BONG, from behind him. Releasing the door and spinning around, Joe tried to get his gun into his hand. The manager’s door closed with a clack. He fumbled the weapon, slamming it into the tower of sunglasses, sending the eyewear and the rack of gum spilling all over the counter and floor. Grasping the handle of the gun, he raised his eyes to the door and took aim.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
In the far eastern corner of her lab, near the office, Mara set up medical instruments on a silver tray. Sterile hypodermic needles, an ear thermometer, tongue depressors were among some of the things she prepared. She rolled over a blood pressure monitor, as Randy walked through the steel doors to her lab.
Her mind reeled at the accusations put forth by Roxy. While Mara was certain that Roxy must be mistaken, she didn’t want to rule anything out. Plus, Roxy had been adamant about Randy also being a carrier, which obligated Mara, to at the very least, ask some questions. One of priority would be how Randy could have known about Roxy’s status as a carrier.
“Randy, thank you for coming down so quickly,” Mara said observing him carefully. “Do you mind if I just check your vitals?”
“Go ahead doc,” he said slowly. “Did you send someone up to clean up Boots yet?”
“Yes, I have my lab techs moving his body and sterilizing the area,” she felt struck by how cold her words seemed. “I am sorry about him. Had he been on your team long?”
“Long enough,” Randy sat on Mara's stool, looking up at her with mischievous eyes.
“This occurrence has taken a few of your team members hasn’t it?” She asked softly.
Empathy had never been a fitting quality for Mara. Intrigued by science for as long as she could remember, she found herself most often leaning to the logical side of things. In many cases, she conveyed a coldness that was often misunderstood by others. Periodically, she would make her best effort, to at least attempt to appear sympathetic, although she rarely actually felt that way.
Desperately searching to find the right words to ask Randy about what the incident with Roxy had been about, Mara had trouble finding an approach—that didn’t seem like an accusation. And the last thing she wanted was anger him. After all, he was under no obligation to come down to her lab or answer any of her questions. Knowing the history that Randy has had with his temper in the few years he’s been with the lab, she thought she should just stick to the topic of his unlikely immunity—or rather his carrier status.
“Boots, Buzz, Doyle are all dead now. And there’s Walker. How is Walker, doc?” Randy questioned defensively.
“He changed. I am sorry,” she whispered.
“Yeah, I figured as much. So, he changed into one of them. Guess we can add him to the body count,” he nodded without the slightest of sympathy in his voice. “How long after he changed, was it before you finished him off?”
“What? We haven’t…he is still in the containment room. We’ve done nothing to him since the change,”
she looked at him confused.
Her confusion stemmed not only from Randy’s words, but also by his lack of empathy for his team member. Sure, they weren’t brothers or long-time friends, but Randy worked with his men nearly every day—in and outside of the lab for years. He must feel a sense of loss. Or, perhaps, he is suppressing his emotions due to the precarious events involving the lab and Port Steward.
“Right. So you’re keeping him locked up in that room—like one of your experiments. You’re going to leave him like that, for what? To study him? Scientists…” he shook his head in disgust.
“Let me take a look at you here, please. I can discuss Walker with you in a few minutes, after I have finished the examination,” Mara said purposefully, trying to change the subject.
She leaned in with a lighted stylus and viewed Randy’s uniquely colored eyes through the attached magnifier. Mara tried to recall if she seen other eyes this pale-blue hue, but nothing came to mind. She placed a plastic covered thermometer in his ear for a few seconds. As she withdrew it from his ear, the reading showed 100.3 degrees. She felt his forehead with the back of her hand. He felt slightly warm.
“Are you feeling alright Randy?” She pulled a blood pressure cuff up his arm.
“Fine,” he said with contempt.
“Have your eyes always been this color?” She asked.
“No, not always,” he widened his eyes at her.
After a brief pause, “Would you care to elaborate?” Her voice pitched with stress.
“Yeah, sure. My eyes were brown for most of my life. Then about two years ago, they changed,” he drew a slow smile.
Randy is holding out on me. He may have agreed to come down to my lab, but he isn’t going to make this easy. He knows something—and it’s almost like he wants me to fish for answers. To him this may be a game, but I have too much at stake to mess around.
“What happened two years ago?” She queried.
“My eyes changed from brown to blue, I told you,” his smile drew bigger.
“I’m glad you find this amusing. But I am actually trying to figure things out here. If you have information that I should know about, then tell me. I don't want to stand around here all day trying to play, guess what I know,” Mara fumed.
“Wow, Mara. You need a break,” he bit his lip and shrugged, pulling off the blood pressure cuff and standing up. “Fine, what do you want to know?”
Mara sighed and tried to find the right thought, “Are you infected?”
Randy looked down at the floor for a moment, and then brought his eyes to hers, “Yes.”
Taken aback, Mara felt an acute pain in her gut as though she’d been stabbed. Even after Roxy accused him of being a carrier, Mara felt certain that there had been a misunderstanding. Clearly, Randy has fooled us all. Struggling to maintain her composure, she asked, “Can you explain when and how you were infected?”
He nodded, “I was infected two years ago. Before that, I was in the Marines. There was some bullshit that went down with me and my sergeant. I think you may have met him, Dave. I was about to be dishonorably discharged, when Colonel Channing came to me and said that there was a way I could stay in the Marines and eventually be honorably discharged, while still helping my country. A transfer, he called it. He said that they were training resilient soldiers, like me, to become super-soldiers, fighters that could be faster and stronger through training and performance enhancers. What else would I say?”
“Well, of course,” Mara urged, nodding encouragingly. “Colonel Channing, that sounds so familiar.”
“It should, he’s been all over the news today. Colonel Channing is leading contamination protocol for the city. He has the Marines assisting the National Guard by helping set up a perimeter for the quarantine.”
“I see, go on,” Mara said. In all this information I am getting, nothing is making sense, but there are coincidences at every turn surrounding this serum.
“Anyways, about two years ago, I was one of the last to arrive at the base. All together there were sixty-two of us. They ran all kinds of psychological and physical assessment tests on us. After about two weeks, when we were to start our training, they called us in for a routine flu shot. I thought it was strange to get a flu shot in May, a little out of season. But what do I know, right? I'm no doctor. It wasn't long before we started to get sick, like the flu. We were warned that there was a small chance that the shot could give us flu symptoms. But all of us? Unlikely. I started to feel a little warm, and a little tired, but not really sick.
“The doctors separated us into five groups. There were thirteen others in my group. I don't know what happened to the other fifty or so guys. I never saw them again. The docs were checking us out, jamming us with needles, taking blood, and hooking us up to machines with wires and stuff. We thought they were treating us for the flu. Instead…they just monitored us. Sound familiar?”
“Randy, it’s not like that with Walker. He turned. I didn’t have the capability to save him or anyone else for that matter. That’s why it is so important that I find out what’s really going on. Please continue,” although her words were truthful, her chest burned with guilt.
“I felt okay, like I said, just a little tired. I fell asleep. When I woke up, it must have been a couple hours, one guy was screaming. But his screams were like nothing I’ve ever heard. I tried to sit up, only to find that I was strapped down to the bed. It was the strangest thing though—I could smell and hear everything. It was like my senses were stronger. I could smell the air was thick with sweat and blood. The others looked like crap. Their eyes were sunk in. Skin was white—so white that you could see their veins under their skin. The whites of their eyes and the insides of their mouths were black, with teeth looking like they'd rotted out in the last few hours. They were yanking at the restraints, growling like animals. I looked around to see if any of them seemed normal, but they were all like that. I must have looked down at myself twenty times to make sure I wasn't like them. I looked for the doctors, but they weren't around.
“I called out, expecting that one of the doctors would hear and get me out of there. But the others turned their attention to me when I did that. To this day, I can still hear the sounds of the beds rattling as they tried to get free. They were all looking at me like I was a rabbit, and they were wild coyotes. I’d never felt like that before or ever after. I knew that they wanted to kill me, I just knew it.
“Finally, three doctors came into the room and wheeled me out of there, before all hell broke loose. Over the next three days, my eyes changed colors until they finally stayed at blue.”
Mara felt as if a veil had been lifted. Beginning to see things in a new light, she found the pieces to this puzzle weren’t quite fitting together yet. Something had to be missing. Maybe more than just something, perhaps she didn’t have nearly enough of the pieces to figure this out. Her mind reeled as she looked at Randy.
How did he end up here at Angora, as an employee? Roxy was right—this is too much of a coincidence. Randy, is a carrier, and he’s here at Angora, the same place samples of the serum were being delivered, to be studied in private. Did Randy know Edward? How did Edward get this serum anyway? From the same people that were testing it on Randy? And this Colonel was involved with Randy and is now here, at the site of the outbreak? Mara looked at Randy waiting for more, "What happened, after they took you? Did they tell you what was going on?"
Randy smiled, "They said that it was an experimental performance enhancer. The trials had been positive and it was ready for human testing, but because the operation was classified, nothing was being published, or whatever. I don't even know what they meant by that," he shook his head.
“So, what exactly has been enhanced?” Mara asked, as a dozen other questions whirled around her head.
“Whoa, doc. You can't just ask a guy that. We haven't even been on a date yet,” he chuckled.
“Seriously, like strength and what?” She persisted.
“Everythin
g, actually,” he looked down almost shyly. “I can hear your heart beating in your chest. I can smell on your breath that you had a ham and Swiss sandwich with garlic bread at your last meal. I am strong and fast and can heal real quick. But it's the endurance that’s most impressive. As long as I have enough fuel, it's nearly limitless. And the having enough fuel, is the most important part—”
The stainless steel doors of Mara's lab swung open with fury as James emerged from them. He swiftly marched toward Mara and Randy.
Mara looked at Randy hungry for answers. “Where did they take you after you left the room? How did you leave the facility and where is it located? They didn't just let you go.”
Randy stood up straight and looked James in the eyes. James smiled at him and turned to Mara.
“How is your research coming along?” He requested in a stern tone.
“I am not getting very far. Did you know that Randy is infected? He has been for a long time, about two years. Did you know about this?” Her voice spiked with anger, as she theorized whether or not James had any part in this.
James turned his back to Mara. He whispered something to Randy, and then Randy strode toward the door.
She watched Randy walking away. He has all the answers, and he’s just leaving. “Wait Randy, don’t leave. I still have questions.”
Randy strode on as if she hadn’t said a word. Mara scowled at James with disdain.
James studied Mara, without speaking until Randy had completely exited the lab.
“Yes, I did know that he was infected. Let’s have a sit-down in your office.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
As Dave followed Roxy closely into the conference room, his thoughts went back to his time in the Marines in Iraq, two years ago.
