Inoculation Zero: Welcome to the Stone Age

by Ison, S. A.

  INOCULATION ZERO

  S.A. ISON

  Inoculation Zero

  Copyright ©2014 by S.A. Ison. All rights reserved.

  Book Design by Elizabeth Mackey

  Book Edited by Laurel C. Kriegler of KrieglerEditing Services

  Special thanks to Nicholas Sansbury Smith, USA Today Bestselling Author. Author of The Extinction Cycle Series. Thank you for your help, your suggestions and keen insight.

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of S.A. Ison.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons – living or dead – is entirely coincidental.

  OTHER BOOKS BY S.A. ISON

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  FOR JAK

  Contents

  23 May

  24 May

  6 June

  7 June

  8 June

  9 June

  10 June

  13 June

  15 June

  17 June

  23 June

  28 June

  29 June

  8 July

  11 July

  16 July

  19 July

  22 July

  27 July

  29 July

  25 December

  EPILOGUE

  23 May

  St. Louis, Missouri

  Down deep, well below the basement and knowledge of the University of St. Louis, Carlton Smallwood sat hunched over his computer. His narrow shoulders were stiff with indignation. His tobacco-stained yellow teeth worried his bottom lip as his fingers tapped angrily at the computer keys, pulling up emails and memos. He had enough hacking knowledge to be dangerous, and right now he was reading internal memos. He didn’t like what he was seeing.

  He was just a lab rat, working on small, vicious virus mutations. Having worked in the lab for more than five years, he was one of the go-to guys if you wanted a nasty little bug for a certain problematic third world government, rebel entity, or whoever stood in the U.S. government’s way.

  To date, Carlton had manipulated four serious little bastards, and one of them had even been used. At least, he thought it had been used. There had been that deadly outbreak three years ago in a little unnamed African village. The people had been causing all kinds of hate and discontent for the U.S., raising red flags of abuse by American military. The press had been having a field day with the information. His department had been briefed, after the fact, to essentially keep their mouths shut. They had, of course; the pay was good, and nobody wanted to claim to have murdered a whole village. Not only that, but Carlton was pretty sure they’d all be hunted down and crucified, either by human rights’ groups or the government itself.

  Idly, he picked at a pimple on his chin. He’d been wondering why his supervisor, Miriam Portman, had been scrutinizing him for the past month. He’d heard the whispers around the coffee lounge, and his co-workers had been giving him side-long glances. His spider senses started to tingle. He was glad he’d listened to them. Apparently he had a target painted on his back. Now he knew that bitch had been talking up some serious shit about him. And from what he could see, it was all fabricated. Hell’s bells, what she up to? She planning to give me the boot? What the hell?

  Readjusting his glasses—the sweat from his nose made his glasses slide constantly no matter what he did to stop it, so he’d stopped trying long ago—he scrolled down to another file. Did she have some buddy-buddy she wanted to fill his position? It was a choice spot; even he knew that. He got to work with some great strains of unknown viruses. It was every mad scientist’s wet dream to make the ultimate killer virus, then set it loose and watch it go. He especially enjoyed watching the effects on monkeys. He didn’t consider his work to be cruel; it was so fascinating to watch the progress of a virus.

  He had always been fascinated with germs. His mother had been a nervous germaphobe, and had insisted on bleaching everything. He’d grown up in a bleach-filled fog; he couldn’t remember not smelling bleach in his home. The kids at school had teased him about the smell, as if he didn’t have enough to be teased about, given his looks. When he got into high school, he’d got a job working part time at a medical clinic. Handling and disposing of medical waste was his primary job, and he was diligent at it. He sometimes took swabs from the bio trash and took them to school.

  The kids who picked on him mercilessly were targeted. He took small snippets of the swabs and put them on his classmates, covertly, of course. If he could get them into their food, he had a better chance of getting them sick. It had worked about half the time and he’d always been satisfied with the results, feeling smug and superior when his classmates ended up sick and out of school. Sometimes the majority of the school would come down with a mysterious illness. He got sick too, sometimes, but it was well worth it to see his classmates suffer. He now did the same thing via his job, only on a larger and more lethal scale.

  Over the years, he’d hacked into his co-workers’ accounts from time to time as well.

  He always felt they were talking about him behind his back, and knowing what was being said or going on around him gave him a sense of control and power. He had become very proficient at looking into their accounts and emails. This had become very handy, and with all the whisperings and glances his way, he was glad he’d hacked into Miriam’s account. Her password was so ridiculously easy, he’d laughed out loud. TheBigB0ss. Christ. He’d thought his ego was big, but it was nothing compared to that bleach-blonde bitch’s. If she was looking to screw him over, then he would fix her little red wagon, and fix it good. She thought he was just a lab monkey? Well, he was, but he was a very clever one.

  Carlton was on borrowed time, from what he was reading. Miriam was gearing up to bring the hammer down on him. Uncooperative, incompetent, haphazard and secretive were key words in the memos. That was bureaucracy speak for You’re fucked. Knowing he probably only had weeks, if not days, Carlton figured he would just make up a nasty little virus. He’d call it Miriam’s Annihilation. Getting up from his computer, Carlton went back into the tombs, his narrow shoulders rigid with determination and resolve. This would be his finest work yet.

  ***

  Miriam Portman was a meticulous and manipulative puppeteer; she had some of the best and brightest working for her. When she perceived a problem, she immediately set about fixing it, or making it go away. Miriam had started at the very bottom of the ladder, in fact, below the bottom rung. She’d grown up in Woodland, Michigan, a small town, with small town values. She’d then gone to Michigan State, and had received her degree in business administration.

  Finding out early on that women were at the bottom of the pecking order in college and in work did not sit well with her fiery spirit. It was eye-opening and a rude awakening. She circumnavigated some of the bigger stumbling blocks, however; she learned that it took a lot of ego stroking and political savvy to navigate the world of men. Being a woman, she had to work harder and fight to climb the ladder. She had to become ruthless in order to avoid being ground up and spat out of the corporate world. Through a stroke of good luck, she’d landed a job in the government as an aide to an aide to a congressman. From there, she’d worked her way up the ladder, kicking the weak and incompetent out of her way.

  Her marriage had suffered, however, and her husband had left her and her dau
ghter, Zoe, to fend for themselves. It had been difficult, but she had survived and grew still stronger. She’d made sure that Zoe wanted for nothing and had the best nannies and schooling. Working long hours took their toll, but she thrived on the stress and the workload.

  Six years ago, she had come up with an out-of-the-box solution to a problem in Qatar. It was brilliant, devious, and also left her government out of the loop and their hands clean. Higher heads took notice and she’d been given her current position. Admittedly it was a reduction in pay, but she was the boss of her own pond—she pulled the strings, and she liked that just fine. She had made many enemies over the years, but that was the price of success.

  Carlton was becoming a problem. He was a very bright young man; he’d headed the development of the deadly MP013 virus that had been used in a small unnamed African village a few years back, but he was secretive and didn’t play well with others.

  Scientists were a quirky lot, but she needed them transparent. She also required harmony among them. She’d been getting word from some of the other labs, for quite some time now, that he’d been shooting off his mouth and bragging; internally, of course. It was unacceptable.

  Like an omnipotent spider, Miriam had sensitive antennae and picked up vibrations from the threads of her command, whether they came from higher up the chain of command or below, from her subordinates. If it was above her paygrade, she was smart enough not to dig too deep. Knowledge was power, but too much knowledge could get one killed. The government loves its secrets and isn’t happy when something leaks.

  She’d seen the news coverage, they all had, but she wasn’t high enough up the food chain to have access to the decision-making. And besides, a lot of the information was out of her purview. By opening his mouth about MP013, Carlton was putting her position at risk; the higher-ups would question her leadership abilities if she couldn’t contain this.

  Satisfied with her little pond, she didn’t want anyone making waves, nor did she want shit to fall down on her. It was best to nip this problem in the bud and quickly. Firing a lab tech was a tricky business, so she’d started a trail of memos and complaints. Once she had documentation, it wouldn’t take much to bring the hammer down on Smallwood. She had friends in high places who’d keep her in the know should something untoward come her way.

  She had it on good authority that there were grumblings about an investigation into that little debacle in Africa. There needed to be plausible deniability, and that only came from discrediting and firing those in the know or responsible. With Smallwood bragging and shooting off his mouth, it wouldn’t take a blind man long to lead them to her facility. The fact that they didn’t officially existed helped a lot, but one never knew. She’d learned long ago that it was better to err on the side of caution; waiting and hoping weren’t very good companions of hers.

  Carlton needed to go, bottom line. She would of course have nondisclosure papers drawn up. Though he had signed documents when he’d been hired on, it was just another precaution that would keep his mouth shut. Nobody liked to go to prison, after all.

  However, getting rid of someone was an art, and like a patient arachnid, she needed to weave a web, to trap him. The groundwork for that had already been laid, and before she called him in, she needed all her ducks in a row.

  She had a conference in Chicago coming up in a couple weeks; she wanted Smallwood gone by then. No need in taking any chances while she was gone, Smallwood was a loose cannon, and she did not like leaving her pond vulnerable. Once Smallwood was out, he wouldn’t be able to re-enter the facility, and with the nondisclosure, he would keep his rhetoric to himself.

  Topsfield, Maine

  Late spring was a fine time of year in mid Maine; it wasn’t too cold, nor was it too hot. The sky was a periwinkle blue, the sun was shining, and it was indeed a fine time to be alive and in the garden. And the fact that her tomato and green pepper plants were finally tall enough for her to safely transfer them from the greenhouse to their beds in the garden made it even better.

  The sun’s rays touched Kelly Prado’s dark head as she worked, warming it. Her scalp tingled with delight. Smiling to herself, she turned her face up toward the sun and closed her eyes as the gentle heat caressed her face. In the nearby trees, chickadees squabbled and called, and without looking, she knew that the goldfinches and house finches were on the sock feeder, their bright gay colors like living jewels.

  She wore an old Navy sweatshirt, its faded blue nearly gray now. She had bought it at her first duty station, nearly twenty years ago now. It was soft as a baby rabbit, and still kept her warm. She was starting to heat up from her activity, so she pulled it over her head and tied the stretched sleeves around her waist. Beneath, she worn a bright orange T-shirt with pictures of chickens printed on the front and back. The cotton was soft against her light olive skin.

  As she inhaled deeply, the intoxicating fragrance of the soil, its verdant new growth and loamy richness, filled her senses. The sweet smell of lilac drifted across softly on the wind. She had several large bushes throughout her forty-acre property—their purple flowers playing hide and seek in the green forest. In the distance, she heard the rhythmic drumming of the pileated woodpecker. It was a primitive sound, and its call to its mate sent shivers down her back. She wasn’t sure why, but the sound of the tapping made her feel a secretive bond to nature, as though she were privy to something quite special.

  Spring made Kelly a little foolish, and she knew it. It was like being set free from an invisible cage. And she knew many Mainers shared her perspective. The cold harsh winters were long, and when the winds warmed and the sun shone with golden heat, the change lent a certain joyousness to warm spring days.

  Near the end of March, when the temperatures eventually hit 45 Fahrenheit, Kelly would invariably find herself drawn outside and into the heated embrace of the sun. The air has a crisp quality in March, with hints of grass and hyacinth. She’d sit on her porch, bundled up with a hot cup of coffee warming her fingers, sucking in the sunshine and chilled air. She found it so exhilarating because it was the first hint that winter was winding down, that she could start shedding the layers that swaddled her.

  Folks seemed to go a little mad here during the long winters, kept indoors by the bitter temperatures and lethal winds. Kelly knew well she did, so kept herself busy in her craft room, a six by six-foot room that held multiple shelves and stacks of boxes filled with paints, yarns, fabric, and all notions of bric-a-brac for cross-stitching, applique and quilting. She had been teaching herself to quilt this year and had been very unsuccessful. So, she’d instead mostly concentrated her efforts with painting in watercolor and acrylics.

  She thoroughly enjoyed cross-stitching with its detailed patterns, so between that and reading, and the painting, of course, she whiled away the hours during the long winters.

  The craft room also housed her extensive DVD collection. Having lived in many different countries, she hadn’t always been able to see her favorite movies or TV programs, so had opted for buying DVDs and watching them whenever she had time. Her collection was one of the most diverse she’d ever seen.

  Sometimes, she curled up on the couch with Schrodinger’s Cat and watched her movies, while other times, when she had trouble sleeping, she watched in her bedroom. She didn’t watch much during the spring and summer, but winter was prime time.

  The most popular winter activities in Maine were eating and ice fishing. Of the two, Kelly opted for eating, as she didn’t fancy freezing her ass off out on the ice for a fish that may or may not bite. Having been in Maine for just three years, she was still learning the way of things.

  She had a small log home built by the Amish. It had taken a large chunk of her savings, but it was fully paid for. Her property wasn’t near any power lines, and it would have cost a king’s ransom to bring in power poles and lines. For the first year and a half, she’d lived without electricity, using her small portable generator to keep things going. It had been loud and ann
oying, with the accompanying smell of gas and fumes, and it frightened the deer and moose away. It hadn’t made life very peaceful, so, more often than not, she’d gone without it. Now, however, she was well equipped with elevated solar panels and a wind turbine, all running to a small shed that housed an inverter and a bank of batteries. She was living off the grid, and it was one fine way to live. She owed no one.

  She’d had her first encounter with a bear two years previously. She had just gotten twenty-five Rhode Island Red chicks from the hardware store and had built them a small coop. One night, she heard loud snuffling and the babies crying in distress. Coming out, she found a three-hundred-pound black bear snuffling around the coop. At first frozen with fear, she’d stood paralyzed on the porch. Her mothering instincts soon kicked in, though, and she ran back into the house for pots and pans.

  Coming back out of her cabin screaming like a maniac, she’d banged the pot and pan together, running straight for the bear. At first the bear had looked up, very unimpressed, but when she hurled the cast iron frying pan and beaned the bear on the head, he took off back into the woods. Kelly knew then that she needed a dog, a big dog. Within a month, she’d located a woman who had Great Dane and Mastiff-mix puppies. Kelly picked a fawn female, and so became the mother to a large puppy and twenty-five pullets.

  Now that puppy, Schrodinger’s Cat—named after one of Kelly’s favorite TV shows—was fully grown and lying on the grass, fast asleep, while the twenty-five chicks, now large fat hens, with glossy feathers, big fluffy butts, and all called Hefferdoodle, scratched around looking for shy earthworms. She had recently acquired a small bantam hen and a bantam rooster, who seemed to keep each other company. The little black female was mysterious, as she frequently disappeared. Kelly had tried locking her into the coop, but the little hen managed to escape every time, so Kelly gave up on closing her in.