“Okay, but be prepared for a lot more questions than answers.”
Chapter 2
Phase 2: Evolution Really Sucks: When I was a kid, my third grade class went to the Museum of Natural History in Manhattan. While I was captivated by the dinosaurs, the massive blue whale hanging from the ceiling, and the cut-away display of a forest floor that featured oversized earthworms, ants, and acorns, what really amazed me was how life had evolved from simple microorganisms to fearsome T-Rexes to the more humble, but far more adaptive, mammals.
Our teacher, Mr. Glidden, was personally a bit of a dork, but he could really capture the attention of an 8-year-old. In each gallery in the museum, he told stories of the animals, the primates, the insects, and the history of the earth and its climate, and tied it all together in a fascinating manner. And while he emphasized how certain steps of evolution led to entirely new species that were smarter, faster, or better in some way, he didn’t neglect to point out the repercussions for “last year’s model.”
Mr. Glidden gave examples of how species competed for food, territory, and mates, stressing how the fittest always survived. It struck me that nature’s brutal efficiency had spelled doom and extinction for innumerable species. “The Grim Reaper of Evolution” as the teacher so colorfully phrased it, “left his indelible mark on the fossil record of the countless dead.”
Me and all my classmates stood in awed silence for a moment as our little minds reeled from the frightening ingenuity and resilience of life.
Then one little boy blurted out, “Man, evolution really sucks!”
I still think of that moment to this day, especially when someone starts spouting off about global warming or mankind’s self-destructive tendencies. Intellectually, I know that Homo sapiens are a blip on the vast evolutionary timetable, but it makes me a bit queasy to think just how close we might be to checking ourselves into that fossil record. However, even with all the pervasive gloom and doom, I never even considered that we could face extinction from some microscopic evolutionary mutation.
As I sat nervously clutching the vinyl armrests of a chair in Dr. Phil Masterson’s office, he began to tell me everything he knew about what was happening, after first making me swear several times to tell no one. He started from the beginning, with the Japanese tainted seafood in 2011. It had been learned that certain parasites in the seafood had undergone mutations due to the radioactivity spilling into the water around the damaged Fukushima reactors.
When people ate the seafood, these tiny parasites made their way to the central nervous system where they promptly began reproducing themselves. They were hermaphroditic, possessing both ovaries and testes, and capable of self-fertilization if necessary. Once they were warm and cozy after setting up housekeeping inside their new host, they then proceeded to create a type of parasitic overlay of the spinal cord and brain, then branched out along all of the neural pathways. They inflicted considerable damage along the way, causing the host/victim to experience muscle spasms, headaches, memory loss, irritability, and impaired motor skills. And that was just stage one.
As the parasites matured, they began releasing neurotoxins, which slowly and relentlessly crippled the host’s organs and tissues. While most parasites inflict damage or cause death just as collateral damage from their normal lifecycle, these little bastards actually seemed determined to kill their hosts, which appears to be counterintuitive. I mean, if you deliberately kill the hand that feeds you—or in this case, the brain that feeds you—you will be shit out of luck as a species. But this is where the ZIPs (Zombie Infection Parasites, as an army doctor named them) really got creative.
Like a biological back-up generator system, just moments after the human host died, the network of ZIPs took over and started running the show. No one yet understood the process, but it was through a nexus of these organisms—and not the body’s nervous system—that signals were sent to keep basic functions operating. And the most basic function of all was to eat.
And when it came to diet, the newly undead, ZIP-driven body was a pure carnivore. It needed meat, and was particularly fond of nervous systems—brains and spinal cords, to be exact. There wasn’t enough data yet as the outbreak was so recent, but it was thought that if a zombie went too long without food, the ZIPs would start consuming the host flesh. And when that ran out, they would be shit out of luck.
As to how the ZIPs made it to the Hudson Valley, there also just wasn’t enough data. Somehow, eggs or larvae got into the river either from infected people, snails, or fish. The samples of local ZIPs had been compared to the Asian variety, and it appeared that further mutations had occurred, all to the advantage of the ZIPs, and the detriment of the victims.
As the first Hudson Valley cases occurred in Peekskill, amongst illegal aliens, it was speculated that they either brought the infection into the country, or became infected by eating fish they had caught in the river. It was also speculated that the additional ZIP mutations occurred in the river near the Indian Point nuclear reactor. Of course, none of this could be proven, and there would be plenty of time to point fingers once the zombie problem was eradicated.
Correction: If the zombie problem was eradicated.
These super-parasites had also managed a neat trick of spreading their eggs. While large clusters of eggs in sacks were deposited in the digestive system to be excreted, tiny individual eggs also flowed through the bloodstream, filled salivary glands, and rode little mucus and water droplets out of the lungs.
In other words, while infected people’s excrement infected the water supply and the soil, their blood, their bites, their sweat, and their very breath could also infect you. A single egg lodging in your nasal passages, stomach, or an open wound, would set off an inevitable, widespread nervous system infection that would begin in a matter of a couple of weeks. A couple of months after that, you would be dead, and the ZIPs would take over your body.
Human 0- Zombie 1.
Apart from the outward symptoms, which had been shoved into my face on a neatly laminated card, infection could also be determined by blood samples, or through any body fluid or feces. Spinal fluid was particularly helpful in the diagnosis. In addition, it had been discovered, quite by accident, that the ZIPs were bioluminescent, and they excreted a substance in the host that made them glow an eerie green under a black light, which explained the tests I had undergone in the trailer.
Remarkably, as I listened to Phil’s detailed explanation of the nature of the parasite and its effect on the body, I grew increasingly calm. Yes, I feared for my life and the lives of all my family and friends, but at least now I had something on which to pin that fear. These were no longer crazy, random acts of violence where lunatics suddenly felt compelled to bite off ears and attack people in BMW convertibles. These were victims of parasitic infestations—something I knew a lot about—and I finally felt as though it was dawn and I could now see the enemy on the battlefield.
“What can I do to help?” I asked, releasing my grip on the armrests so I could grab a pad and pencil from Phil’s desk. “How has it responded to the usual antiparasitic drugs?”
“That’s my girl, Becks!” Phil said with admiration. “I just tell you about the most horrifying assault on mankind since the plague, and all you want to know is when you can get to work on something to kick its ass.”
“Hey, they just pissed off the wrong parasitologist!”
Flukes Gone Wild: For the next 36 hours I examined samples, ran tests, researched articles, and spoke to dozens of other ZIPs Project scientists and doctors. I drank a lot of coffee, ate very little, and slept even less, catching 20 minute cat naps here or there on the couch in the employee lounge.
“I’ll have plenty of time to sleep when I’m a zombie,” I told Sgt. Pelton when I ran into him in the cafeteria. He had checked the logs and at that point saw that I had been onsite for over 24 hours. My response actually cracked a slight smile on his granite face, which bolstered my resolve as I now realized anything was po
ssible.
I called my parents several times, impressing upon them in no uncertain terms that they were not to venture out as this “flu” was particularly virulent. I also instructed them to throw out any and all seafood in the house; fresh, frozen, and canned. I hated not being able to tell them the truth, but I was sworn to secrecy, and neither of them was in good health and I was afraid the truth might be too shocking to handle.
There were some brilliant minds starting to work on this project around the country, as well as at several international research facilities. I was just a cog in the anti-zombie wheel, but as I had spent years working on developing new antiparasitic drugs, I was able to offer some valuable information and suggestions.
Most current drug protocols had so far proven ineffective, as this was a new breed of parasite. Half a dozen drugs that specifically targeted typical Central Nervous System parasites were administered to volunteers who were infected but had yet to “switch” (in other words, hadn’t died yet and come under the control of the ZIPs). They did do damage to the ZIPs, but the irritated parasites provoked a severe inflammatory response throughout the CNS which almost proved fatal in itself, even with heavy doses of corticosteroids and other anti-inflammatory drugs being administered.
Other types of drugs were inducing seizures and comas, with little effect on the ZIPs. Low doses of radiation only seemed to excite reproduction of the parasites, while large doses would have been too harmful to the patient’s delicate CNS. You couldn’t cut them out, as they were too pervasive. There didn’t seem to be any way to stop the insidious ZIPs.
At this initial stage of the research, the treatments had necessarily been targeted based upon known CNS parasites, and antiparasitic drugs that treated completely different organisms had yet to be tried. Rather than looking at where these ZIPs resided, I started looking at where they came from and how they were transmitted.
“Phil, what about Paragonimus?” I asked as he sat at a conference table with two army doctors.
“You mean, like lung flukes?” he asked, pushing back his chair and pulling his glasses to the end of his nose so he could look at me over the rims. “Becks, these don’t look anything like lung flukes, and they aren’t maturing in the lungs.”
The two army doctors didn’t even bother to look up.
“Yes, but the ZIPs don’t look like anything we’ve ever seen,” I said, taking a seat without waiting for an invitation. “They originated in Japanese waters, where Paragonimus is prevalent. At least 80% of their freshwater crabs are infected. And like the flukes, the ZIPs were transmitted through seafood, and they are also hermaphroditic. And there have been cases where lung flukes entered the spinal column of the host, causing paralysis.”
Phil pushed his glasses back and pulled his chair forward. Even the army doctors looked up.
“Maybe we’ve been looking in the wrong direction,” I continued, emboldened by the sudden interest. “Maybe the ZIPs are just some radioactive ‘flukes gone wild,’—a giant leap in evolution that transformed them from organisms just hitching a ride, to driving the car?”
“If so, then what do you suggest, Miss…Truesdale?” an army doctor asked, pausing to take note of my ID badge.
“ParGenTech has been working on a new class of drugs that specifically target these types of parasites without causing any damage to the host,” I replied, then looked to Phil to continue, as he obviously carried more clout.
“Yes, she’s right, we call it the QK series—quick kill. The drugs are all experimental, but initial results are promising,” Phil stated, already making notes and thinking of modifications. “They appear to kill eggs, larvae, and mature flukes in as little as two treatments, so there is little or no inflammation, and no other significant side effects of note.”
“Just what do you mean by that?” the other army doctor asked suspiciously. “Just how insignificant are these other side-effects?”
“There were some mild skin rashes,” Phil replied, and then smiled wryly. “And given a choice between becoming a zombie and getting a little itchy, I doubt there’ll be any debate.”
The three men stood up and started excitedly discussing how to get samples of the drugs and all available information to the other research facilities, ASAP. They apparently forgot I was even there and just walked out the door. Before I had a chance to get angry, Phil stuck his head back through the doorway.
“Great idea, Becks! Now go home and get some sleep, you’re beginning to look like a zombie!”
I Have Met the Enemy: The morning commuter traffic was very light, and thankfully no one was getting bitten on the bridge. As tired as I was, I stopped to get some groceries for my parents before going home. They were just getting up, and my mom offered to make me some breakfast. I was very hungry, but I was far more tired and asked if I could take a rain check.
My dad asked when I had to be back at the hospital, and I told him I would be taking some time off, and working full time at ParGenTech for a while. I didn’t tell him why I was doing it, or that I got the time off at the request of some military big shot (who had been asked by Phil to keep me on board). There’s nothing like presenting a note from a colonel on a secret military medical project for getting time off!
Eleven hours after my head hit the pillow, I awoke to the irresistible aromas of my mom’s spaghetti and meatballs and homemade bread. Bless that woman! It was just what I needed to make me feel human again.
After eating what must have been about half my body weight in meatballs, I took a long hot shower. The hot water helped my neck which was sore and stiff, no doubt from working such long hours. I popped some ibuprofen, did some stretches, and got dressed. Before heading back to work, I made my parents promise again not to go out, and made sure they were both feeling okay. Then mom gave me a hug and a kiss—while putting a bag in my hand with a weighty container of spaghetti and meatballs. Okay, so my mother still made my lunch. Everyone should be so lucky.
The next week or so went by in a haze of meetings, tests, retests, and brainstorming sessions. Caffeine and ibuprofen kept me going, as the pressure to succeed with the QK drugs was intense. Infection had spread to every major U.S. city and half the countries around the world. The President finally acknowledged that something was going on, but downplayed it like it was nothing more than a weak version of the Swine Flu. Then he somehow managed to weave this looming health crisis into a call to action for his economic revival policies.
While the majority of the population was in near panic mode, some companies saw all this as a major opportunity. Several industries were particularly booming. One was a throwback to the Cold War and post-9/11 bomb shelters, only now they were called Survival Homes. There were three main options—custom design and build one from scratch, buy one prefabricated and just dig a hole and install it, or purchase a relatively low-cost portable shelter that was guaranteed to protect against nuclear, biological, and chemical attacks. (Wonder why they neglected to mention zombies?)
Then, of course, you needed weapons and ammo to stockpile in your shelter, and sales went off the charts. There was a website called www.personalarsenal.com that would alert people when a gun store would receive a new shipment, and people would drive hundreds of miles and camp out overnight on the store’s doorstep to buy a rifle, shotgun, or handgun—with a strict limit of one each, please, so everyone could get one. Collectors were even dusting off their muskets and flintlocks to sell at exorbitant prices, as people became desperate for any type of firearm.
The really big winner was one industry that was just in its infancy on the commercial market—satellite phones and internet. While the technology had been around for a long time, it was initially a prohibitively expensive option for the average homeowner, being utilized only by people in remote and rural locations. But some clever marketers (isn’t that a contradiction in terms?) fanned the flames of panic by reminding a population addicted to their cell phones, “If society breaks down, how will you stay in touch with loved ones,
or get the news that just might save your life?”
I didn’t need any convincing—after all, I was one of the few who actually knew the truth—and I scheduled a satellite dish installation and a pair of phones as soon as possible. Cam sent me a message that he and his survivalist buddies already had their satellite phones and dishes. So if the world did come to an end, at least I would have someone to talk to.
Another two weeks passed and we began to make some real progress on the QK drugs, and the CDC’s reports of new cases of infection appeared to stabilize, and actually take a little dip. It looked like the tide was turning, but we didn’t realize the tsunami was about to hit.
I had switched to the day shift at ParGenTech and was actually keeping somewhat normal hours. I still wasn’t getting enough sleep, though, which must have accounted for my frequent headaches and the occasional stiff neck.
It was noon, and I had just sat down in the cafeteria and pulled down my mask—the one place in the building where this was allowed—and opened the brown bag my mom had packed for me, hoping it was some leftover meatloaf and mashed potatoes and gravy. Suddenly, two deafening shots rang out, and people started shouting and screaming.
All the military personnel in the room jumped to their feet, while I instantly dropped to the floor, as did every other ParGenTech employee, and we all looked at each other with questions and terror in our eyes. Through the table and chair legs, I could see that something was going on in front of the soda machines. My view was only from about the knees down, and somebody in tan slacks and loafers had a ring of camo pants and army boots surrounding him. Someone was shouting for the man to get on the floor and put his hands behind his back. The man’s reply was an angry, guttural sound that made my blood run cold.
Several seconds passed, and the suspense was killing me, so I slipped my mask back on and raised myself up to a crouching position to peer over the top of the table. It was Marty Chang from the virology lab, his back against the soda machine, and bright red blood staining his lab coat in big patches where the two bullets had entered his chest. Marty was a funny guy. In fact, he had even done some local gigs at comedy clubs. But this was not the Marty I knew.
HVZA (Book 1): Hudson Valley Zombie Apocalypse Page 3
