by Ison, S. A.
Remembering the years of rigid and frigid animosity that lay beneath the surface of his father’s cold stare had always made Stephen wonder what he had done wrong. His mother was no help in that corner as she always cowered, though his father had never hit her that he knew of. She also looked guilty, but for what, Stephen couldn’t say. Both parents had dark hair and it always made him wonder, as he got older, if his dad really was his dad. Maybe that was why he was such a douche
The last time he’d seen the old man was three years ago, at his mother’s funeral. The lines were carved deep in his father’s face, but not from sadness, from anger. Though his mother had loved him, she had also not really protected him from his father. He’d been sad at her passing, but not devastated. He’d not seen his father since, and his father hadn’t reached out to contact him.
Mike kept him sane, and kept him from going too far over the edge. Mike had gotten him off meth, which he’d gotten mixed up with in high school. Mike had beaten the shit out of him, and damn near killed the guy who had sold him the meth. Now-a-days, he stuck to a little weed and beer. He didn’t know where he would be now without his friend.
***
Mike looked over to Stephen, at his pensive face. The boy had some heavy shit on his shoulders. Impending fatherhood could fuck up anyone’s world. It wouldn’t be so bad, but Zack was being a total asshole and kept hammering at Stephen. Mike stayed out of it, as this was one battle Stephen had to figure out on his own.
Handing over the controller to Stephen, Mike took the joint, inhaled deeply on it, and sat farther back into the old sofa. Kicking off his shoes, he propped his size 12s on the coffee table and closed his eyes. He wondered idly where he would fit in Stephen’s life once the kid came. The two were closer than brothers, and would Alisa tolerate him in the middle of their family? Would he be welcome as the uncle to their child?
Mike got along with Alisa well enough; she knew enough not to get between the two of them, and it wasn’t a matter of bros before hoes, because Stephen had made it clear early on in their relationship that Mike was his best friend, his brother, and no one and nothing would come between them, not Alisa, not anyone.
Alisa had looked at Mike with speculation in her eyes, but never said a word. Mike had always wondered about that look. Some women just got weird about friendships, but Mike had to admit, Alisa was cool with him hanging around with them.
Stephen came across as a straight-up asshole to most people, and generally he was, but Mike knew that deep down, Stephen was a stand-up guy and had his back. When they were in kindergarten, they’d been playing on the swings. A second-grader had come and pushed Mike off the swing, calling him a nigger. Stephen, who’d been on the other swing, had jumped off, his pale face bright red, and had launched himself at the older boy. Though quite small, Stephen had been ferocious, and had bloodied the other boy’s nose before the teachers came and pulled him off the bully. Since then, the two had stuck together like glue and paper.
6 June
Chicago, Illinois
Stephen and Mike sat at the back of the titty-bar, the music vibrating through their bodies, their ears nearly numb from the loud song. This was where they did most of their business and business was good. A steady stream of customers came and went, enjoying the undulations of the women who danced on pedestals strategically placed around the bar. It was one of the few bars that allowed smoking, many having gone by the politically-correct wayside.
Stephen heard Mike’s groan, causing him to look up as his girlfriend, Alisa Plourde, walked through the black-padded vinyl door. She was his kryptonite, and he was stupid in love with her. Stephen smiled, and then grinned, lifting his hand to beckon her to him. Stephen knew that Alisa made Mike uneasy; she drew trouble like magnet in a knife factory. Shit just naturally followed her. And sure enough, it did, with her big brother walking in right behind her, his face dark with irritation and violence. Stephen’s smile faltered.
He felt Mike’s nudge, and watched as Zack shoved one of his waiting customers out of the way. His body tensed for the oncoming argument—it wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before. He just didn’t want it interfering with his business, nor in such a public venue. Mike slid out of the booth and nodded goodbye to Stephen and Alisa, ignoring Zack. This wasn’t Mike’s fight, and Stephen didn’t begrudge him the getaway. He wished he could leave as well. His friend took the small baggies and headed to their prearranged destination. Whenever trouble hit either man, they went their separate ways, to meet up at a fallback location later. Money went one way, drugs the other.
Stephen’s eyes narrowed as he watched Zackary hail the waitress and order a beer and a cola for his sister. He looked Stephen up and down and sent the waitress away. Alisa looked at her brother, her face warring between love and annoyance. Zack’s mulish face relaxed a bit. They were close, and he apparently didn’t want to upset her. Good, Stephen thought. He relaxed a bit, but not much. Zack was unpredictable at the best of times.
Alisa scooted closer to Stephen. She grinned up at him, her face now glowing with love and adoration. He slid his hand over her thigh and squeezed a little, his eyes burning a little brighter.
“I’m feeling better today babe,” she whispered, kissing his ear.
Alisa had been sick for the last couple days, puking and crying. Stephen was a social puker, and when she threw up, he vomited too. It didn’t help that his apartment didn’t have AC, and between the stifling heat and her noisy retching, Stephen was gone a lot. He’d finally sent her to her brother’s so he could take care of her.
Stephen understood Zack’s concern; as a big brother, it was natural. That being said, Stephen still saw him as a colossal pain in the ass. Stephen wondered if he gave off an incompetent vibe. Alisa knew he and her brother didn’t like each other, yet she kept throwing them together. Stephen felt trapped by it, Zack being the lion and he the zebra. He would try, for her sake, to keep things cool.
Alisa laid her blonde head on Stephen’s shoulder and his hand gently caressed her bulging stomach. He saw a soft, secretive smile curve around her face, his own smile twinning hers. Stephen just wished Zack would let the animosity go. This was their lives and their baby.
“When you going to marry my sister, asshole?” Zack started in without preliminary. His mouth was set in stubborn determination as he tried to stare Stephen down.
“Dude, I told you, when I got enough money to set us up proper.” Stephen and Zack had had this conversation a hundred times before. This was old bullshit. His hand slipped under the table to rest on the bulge of Alisa’s belly. Her head was on his shoulder and he could smell her elusive intoxicating scent. It was a mix between floral and musk, and it was like catnip to Stephen.
He felt the child move beneath his hand, and it sent a thrill up his arm and into his heart. Alisa was six months pregnant with their kid. He loved her, but he wasn’t sure if he was ready to be a father. Shit, he could barely take care of himself, let alone a wife and kid. Zack leaning on him didn’t help matters, but the big guy just didn’t let up. He should just do it and have done with it.
“That’s not fucking good enough bro, and you know it. This kid is gonna pop out any day now,” Zackary exaggerated.
Stephen watched Zack pay the waitress and nod her away, his hands jerking and agitated. He sipped his beer and watched Zack through the cigarette smoke; he wanted to un-nerve the bastard.
“Zack, leave him alone. You’re not helping,” Alisa said. Her hand covered Stephen’s and squeezed.
“What the hell.” Stephen muttered under his breath, as he felt the baby heave and move beneath his hand. Once again he felt the thrill of it shot through him. He crushed out his cigarette butt in the ashtray, and turned to Alisa. “Alisa, will you marry me. So your asshole brother will get off my back.” He grinned, taking the sting out.
Stephen laughed as Alisa whooped and turned to hug him, her belly pressing into his side, and the baby kicking in rebellion; it did not like being squished. I
t was as romantic a gesture as she would ever get.
“Hell yeah!” She grabbed his face with both hands and planted a loud kiss on his foolishly grinning face. He felt light-headed and giddy.
“When?” Zack asked, unmoved. Stephen groaned, and Alisa rolled her eyes and laughed. “We can go tomorrow. Is that soon enough, asshole?” The sarcasm was heavy in Stephen’s voice.
“No, but it will have to do.” Zack bit back.
St. Louis, Missouri
Carlton was finished. He had done it! Even he had to admit he was both thrilled and frightened. He had combined a pneumonic virus with the strain of Ebola he had created three years ago, a mutative Ebola. Miriam’s Annihilation was ready. It had taken him two weeks, as he could only work on it occasionally—mostly during lunch breaks and whenever he could get to a microscope—and he’d almost been caught twice. Normally it took months to produce a virus, sometimes even longer. This little baby would incubate for about 24 to 48 hours, far less than the normal three- to five-day incubation; at least, he hoped it would. He had no way of testing it, and could only hope that with the combination of viruses, it would mutate and rampage through.
He also had its inoculation; at least, a theoretical inoculation. You can’t go making something without having something else to wipe it out. That was just pure crazy. He had inoculated himself yesterday and felt fine. Once he infected Miriam, he would have to get home quickly to wash and sanitize his hands. He carried a small bottle of hand sanitizer at all times, but it would be best to do a more thorough clean once he got home. Maybe use some bleach.
The possibility of others becoming infected didn’t bother him; he wasn’t overly fond of people. He’d been picked on his whole life because of his bright red hair, slightly bulging forehead, and the ugly black glasses his mother had made him wear. He had begged her for cooler glasses, but she had denied him them. He had been nicknamed Melon Head for most of his young life
Though he hadn’t been picked on or bullied while attending the University of St. Louis, most students had avoided him; especially the women. Even with trendier glasses, people refused to interact with him. He had therefore been a loner for most of his young life.
He planned to keep the virus on him at all times as insurance, as he didn’t know when Portman would give him the boot, so he’d taken a tiny glass vial and carefully placed ten drops of the virus inside. No more was needed, or wanted. He destroyed the residual, leaving no evidence of his cooking. He then placed the tiny vial on the inside of his belt buckle, where he could access easily and it wouldn’t be revealed in a pat down or scan. He didn’t want anyone to find out until he was ready, if and when that day came, and depending, it would probably be wise to be out of the area when it hit her. Then, if Portman went to fire him, he’d have her ass in a sling.
He had several options for delivery. The one he liked the least was putting it on his hand in order to shake hers. He had given himself the inoculation, but still, the thought of coming into contact with the virus made his skin crawl. It would be risky. He could put it in her water, or coffee or even food, but he wasn’t sure she would then ingest the virus, and he also wasn’t certain of its lifespan in the air. He was fairly sure it would survive, but hadn’t had time to test that theory out. He just knew it should be fast, and it was deadly. There were so many variables. Whatever came, he had to be ready.
He knew his time here was coming to an end. Portman had been sending emails fast and furious about him the last two days. The key words now in each of her emails were unpredictable, lazy and threatening. The bitch was selling him out and trying to screw him of any kind of future. No one would hire him with that information. What he had done to piss her off, he had no clue, but he wasn’t stupid. It was only a matter of time.
7 June
St. Louis, Missouri
Miriam had one last task, and that was to can Smallwood, it was the only reason she’d come into work this morning. She didn’t look forward to the confrontation. You never knew with these kids, and she hoped that couching the termination in terms of cutbacks would smooth out any antagonism, but you never knew. The twerp was due in her office in five minutes. It was best to leave right afterward. She’d follow behind as he was escorted off the premises.
A soft knock. He was early. Great. “Come in.”
The door opened slowly, and a head eased around it like a turtle poking his head cautiously out of his shell. A shock of bright red hair and unflattering glasses entered before his stork-like body followed. He never ceased to amaze Portman; here was the ultimate stereotypical lab geek. Did God himself set a design with brain and body? Was this what evolution had brought mankind to? She’d take a stupid man anytime if he looked like a real man and not this approximation.
“Good morning, Carlton. Please sit down.” Nodding to one of the chairs before her desk, Miriam shuffled paperwork out of her way.
Her assistant nodded before shutting the door. It had been prearranged that once Smallwood was admitted to her office, Nate would call security to wait outside the office, ready to escort Smallwood off the premises. Smallwood’s personal effects would be mailed off to him. He closed the door softly.
“I will get right to it Carlton—I’m sorry to say that our company has suffered several financial and development setbacks over the past year. I won’t insult you by dancing around what is coming.” Miriam announced her eyes sharp as they gauged his reaction. His hands were dug deep into his lab coat, and his head seemed to pull into the collar of his coat, reinforcing the turtle image. Her lip twitched, and she tamped down the urge to smile.
“Am I being fired?” Carlton’s voice was soft.
Miriam wondered at the tone. He had a mouth on him that wouldn’t quit when he was irate. Perhaps this wouldn’t go as badly as she had first speculated.
“Yes, I’m afraid so. There are cutbacks coming down the line, and you and several other staffers, along with a few of the admin pool, will unfortunately have to go. We will be giving you a handsome severance along with our highest recommendation for employment elsewhere,” she lied, her hazel eyes sharp and cold as she patted her platinum hair. She really didn’t like this little man. She would’ve preferred just to kick him out on his scrawny ass, but there were protocols to follow.
Her voice modulated little, and she relayed her rehearsed speech, watching Carlton’s face struggle with some curious emotions. It was hard to read him. Seeing, too, that his hands remained buried deep in his lab coat pockets; she assumed he was trying not to jump over the desk to throttle her.
Abruptly Carlton stood and extended his hand. Miriam was taken aback a moment, then recovered quickly and stood to accept his hand. She bit back a grimace at Carlton’s damp hand, and forced a smile. Resisting the urge to wipe her hand on her pants when he let go, Miriam pushed the sheet of paper forward. Handing over a pen, she waited as Smallwood signed the nondisclosure.
“Thank you for the generous severance, and thank you for the recommendation. I understand, and want to tell you that I appreciate the opportunity that working here afforded me.”
Miriam was pleased with herself at the ease with which this meeting had gone. She’d anticipated a temper tantrum from the man. Coming around her desk, she walked Smallwood to the door. On opening it, the security officer stepped forward, nodding first to her and then to Smallwood.
Miriam watched as Smallwood nodded back, smiling to her and then to her assistant Nate, and shook his hand. She bit her lip when Nate grimaced: Nate did not like the clammy handshake. Smallwood handed over his badge, then turned and saluted her with an odd expression on his face. Miriam stood with Nate as they watched the security guard escort Smallwood off the premises.
“Guy’s got sweaty palms from hell,” Nate said with disgust, rubbing his hand across his chest.
“He does at that,” Miriam agreed, grabbing the opportunity to wipe her hands off too. “I’ll be back next week. The conference is only three days, but I want to spend a little ‘me�
� time in Chicago. You have the number to my hotel, my cell, and the conference hall. Unless it is an emergency, though, I don’t want to hear from anyone. I’ll be leaving in a few. I have a few errands to run, before I catch my flight. I also have to make sure Miss Piggy is set up for the weekend. You can leave after lunch; get the termination paperwork over to admin, and also to accounting. Just keep your cell on in case I need you.
***
Carlton walked quietly beside the guard, his posture never giving away the outrage he felt. He’d wanted to jump up and scream in Miriam’s face, he’d wanted to take his fist and knock her teeth down her throat. She was so damn smug, she was almost laughing at him. He’d seen amusement in her eyes, though her tone belied that glee. In a week, it would be he who was laughing.
Carlton’s heart was beating frantically in his chest; he turned and shook the security guard’s hand, surprising the older man. Carlton turned over his lab coat, then walked to the bike rack that held his ten-speed. His legs felt wobbly, but his back was rigid. He didn’t look back. His hands trembled as he put on his helmet. The noise of the cars and people around him seemed amplified, as though all his senses were on high alert.
He needed to get home and wash his hands, to scrub and sanitize them more. Then he needed to the bank and pick up traveler’s checks. He wanted to be away from St. Louis and in no way connected with all the deaths that would start to accumulate at the lab, and perhaps elsewhere.
He’d made reservations when he’d gotten to work earlier that morning, after he found a note requesting his presence in Portman’s office. He’d known it was time. He was heading to Honolulu, Hawaii. After this nerve-wracking drama, he needed some calm and quiet in the sun. Last week he’d ordered traveler’s checks at the bank. Back then he hadn’t been sure when or where he would go, but had wanted things set up for a quick getaway.
