Sylvie said, “I think you’re right. You did read the documents on the flash drive we brought?”
The doctor pulled the flash drive out of her pocket and returned it to Bea. “Yes, I hope you don’t mind but I copied it. One of the papers gave me an idea. The Nazis tried injecting the infected with boiling water after they found the virus could be killed with heat and obviously that didn’t work. We’ve cultured the virus from infected tissue and done a battery of experiments. It can be killed with heat. What we want to do next is infect a patient with a strain of malaria. Mac is an ideal candidate.”
“Why would you give him another illness on top of this one?”
“For one thing we’re very familiar with malaria. It’s been around longer than mankind. Malaria parasite fossils have even been found in dinosaur remains. Over millennia it made the jump from species to species creating the form we have today about the time West Africa was settled by humans.”
“How does this relate to what you want to do to Mac?”
“I just want you to know that malaria is something we know how to deal with here. We can kill the virus with heat, right? One problem though, is the life cycle of the Z-virus. The infected are teeming with millions of viruses, all at different stages of their ‘life’ cycle. While some are in the active stage, others go dormant and they are very, very difficult to destroy in dormancy. The virus has a way of stealing the surface membranes of the host and covering up in them and tucking in if you will, before they go into the dormant stage. During the dormant stage they look almost identical to benign cell tissue.
The nasty little bugger that causes malaria is a protozoan, also very difficult to kill. The human body reacts to it with a high temperature and that is what interests us. You see the high temperature it produces can kill the Z-virus. What we want to try is to infect the Z patient with malaria. My theory is that the fever resulting from the malaria will heal the Z-virus victim. Of course there is still danger from the malaria but it might be a good trade-off.”
“But malaria can re-occur right? Will he always have malaria?”
“That is a risk. But most of us would choose malaria over living death. The recurring nature of malaria is really another advantage to the treatment. Each reoccurrence starts another period of fever that will attack any Z-virus stragglers still in the patient. This is not an easy route to go and we don’t have any early-stage victims to experiment on. You’ve seen how quickly the decay progresses. All those moving corpses back there would die of the injuries they’ve already received if we brought them back to ‘real’ life. Mac, however…” she trailed off expectantly.
Mac said, “Whenever you’re ready.”
“You know this might not cure you. It could cause permanent brain damage or it could kill you.”
“I’m a dead man now anyway. If this kills me at least we’ll have learned something from it.”
Dr. Osawy smiled. “It sounds like you haven’t changed your mind. Let’s get started.”
No one was allowed to go with Mac so Bea and Sylvie went back to the sleeping Brian. People came and went, busy and worried looking, giving them only cursory glances. The dead continued to pound the door near the entrance and the sound was a constant reminder of the perilous nature of their stronghold.
An hour later Dr. Osawy returned. She looked guardedly pleased.
“He’s been injected and he’ll remain in quarantine for now. There is an incubation period of about seven days with this strain of malaria.”
“Seven days? Do we have seven days before those things break through down there?” Sylvie was aghast.
“Seven days is a guess. We don’t know how someone infected with the Z-virus will deal with the protozoan. We’re monitoring his temperature, heart rate, everything basically. As soon as his body shows some kind of reaction, we’ll let you know.”
“Can we see him?”
Dr. Osawy hesitated before saying, “I should tell you we’ve tied him down as a precaution. You might not like what you see.”
“I just want to be sure he’s all right.” Sylvie had already started down the hall.
A window looked into a large room where Mac lay in a hospital bed, hooked up to monitors and a saline drip. Blankets covered him chin to toe and perspiration poured down his face. Mesh straps, just visible under the blankets, secured his arms and legs tightly to the bed.
“This is a sound-proofed observation room we’ve converted. This window looks like a mirror on the other side of the wall so he can’t see you. We’re keeping him as warm as possible. Wait a second.” Dr. Osawy checked one of the monitor screens outside the room door. She bit her lip and frowned.
“His temperature has already started to rise. That’s unusual but not necessarily bad.” Her voice was calm but Sylvie was anything but reassured.
“How high?”
“One hundred-two. It may go as high as one hundred-six before the brain begins to control it. I know this is alarming for you but just try to picture the fever in there killing millions of Z-viruses every few seconds. Fever is a defense mechanism and a good one. He may go into convulsions but that’s to be expected. I’m afraid he’s in for a rough night.”
Bea left Sylvie outside the little room and went back to find Brian still asleep. She asked a passing soldier if there was a spare bed anywhere. The man looked annoyed but directed her around a corner to a closet-like room with two twin beds in it and a narrow table in between. The table held a digital alarm clock and an ashtray over-flowing with cigarette butts.
“This is for the doctors normally but I guess you can sleep here for now.” The man said grudgingly.
“I know we’re partially underground here and we’re under the White House. Who’s up above us?” Bea asked.
The soldier smiled grimly. “No one you want to run into. We’re leaving the top side alone for now. Too difficult to secure. You’re safe here.”
Bea thanked him and, staggering a little, carried Brian inside and laid him on the bed. He weighed almost as much as she did. She removed his wet tennis shoes, placing them on the radiator to dry. He didn’t wake up.
She felt secure here with the thick walls and small, high windows and knowing there were guards and a high-tech security system. Everyone she had met so far didn’t seem that frightened by the situation and although she didn’t understand the attitude, she couldn’t help but feel reassured by it. The soldier told her they were safe. She wondered how many of the staff here lost someone to the virus or even had to face what she and Brian had to fight through to get here.
Cranking the window open just enough to tip the contents of the smelly ashtray out she heard moaning that was either the wind or the dead. Something rattled the chain-link gates and she heard shouting, then gun-fire. Someone laughed harshly. She closed the window and lay down on the other bed, closing her eyes and listening to the now faint sound of dead fists hitting the metal door.
Chapter Ten
Loud gunshots woke Bea and Brian. The glowing numbers on the clock said 5:34 am. They had slept the night through. Brian sat up and looked around the room, obviously confused about where he was. He looked at Bea who put a finger to her lips then handed his now-dry tennis shoes to him before proceeding to pull on her own boots. She pulled her tangled hair back and twisted it into a ragged bun. They shrugged their coats and backpacks on then stood still, listening.
Heavy, booted footfalls thundered by in the corridor outside the room and they heard shouting in the distance followed by silence. The door wasn’t locked and the handle turned silently allowing them to peer outside the room. They saw no one. The lights in the hallway flickered a little as they left the room and headed to the observation lounge where they left Sylvie a few hours before.
They found Dr. Osawy and Sylvie standing outside Mac’s room, Dr. Osawy, today wearing military fatigues covered by a white lab coat flipped agitatedly through a stack of papers on a clip-board.
“The tissue samples were almost all negative
for the Z-virus! Let me see if the PCR testing is finished.”
She patted Sylvie’s shoulder awkwardly before hurrying away. Sylvie, shoulders slumped in exhaustion, leaned against the one way mirror and bowed her head. Something was wrong.
Bea asked, “Sylvie? What’s going on? How is Mac?”
Sylvie raised grief-darkened eyes. “He’s dead.”
“Oh, no! No, no. He wasn’t even all that sick yet. What happened?”
“They don’t know for sure. The doctor said the malaria had the Z-virus on the run. His fever spiked but he was holding his own. They think his heart may have given out. You know, well you probably don’t since it was before you were here but a few years ago he had some sort of cardiac ‘event’ I think they called it. It never repeated so we never thought too much about it. He’s such a strong guy and so active, you know?” She angrily wiped away the tears that poured down her face.
Brian asked, “What were the gunshots? Did you hear them?”
“They got in. I’m not sure how it happened but they made it past the first guard station and there were a bunch of them. We’re being evacuated.”
Inside the observation room, a soldier removed the drip from Mac’s arm and shut down the monitoring equipment, removing the restraints at the same time. Bea caught just a glimpse of Mac’s face before they pulled the sheet up to cover it. He looked as if he had died in agony.
A door slammed somewhere in the distance. Three soldiers came down the corridor and snatched the documentation of Dr. Osawy’s testing, along with random vials and tubes. They tossed everything into a box and continued on to the next room.
Dr. Osawy returned holding a plastic tray of tiny vials. When she saw what they were doing she called out, “That is my research! On whose authority are you doing this?”
“The facility has been infiltrated and standard operating procedure ensures that nothing sensitive or secret be left behind. Sorry Colonel, but you should gather what personal belongings you have now. We’re retreating deeper into the shelter. Your test subjects are now outside the safe zone. We can take your information but not the subjects.”
“Soldier, you don’t understand what you’re doing. I will have you court marshaled if you don’t stop now and go back to your post. I’m working on something of vital importance. All my test subjects are vital to the success of this project-”
The soldier moved down the hallway, Dr. Osawy following and continuing to harangue him. Bea noticed for the first time that the doors leading to the brief hallway to the left of the guard station were closed, the bar handles wrapped with heavy chains and padlocked. Two nervous-looking soldiers with drawn weapons stood guard in front of them. The doors vibrated, rattling the chains and making the locks clang against the metal. She had little doubt as to what was behind those doors. She turned back to Sylvie.
“We have to go, Sylvie,” she said gently, taking her arm and trying to direct her down the hall to follow the soldiers. She motioned to Brian to follow but he was staring in horror into the observation room that held Mac’s body. Sylvie saw his face, looked and then ran around the corner to the entrance to the room.
The soldier had already pulled all of the equipment into the doorway, propping it open. He now stood about four feet from the bedside with his pistol trained on Mac’s head, prepared to ensure there was no reanimation. They were taking no chances.
What Bea and Brian saw next seemed to occur in total silence, the soundproofed room not allowing any sound to escape. Sylvie pushed the medical equipment away from the door and ran inside, made straight for the soldier and knocked the gun from his hand. He reacted by knocking her to the floor and scrambling for his weapon then pointing it at her and motioning angrily toward the door. He was obviously telling her to get out. In horror, they watched as Sylvie pulled a gun and shot him, hitting him in the leg. He fell to the floor and clutched his leg in agony.
Sylvie, appalled by what she had just done, dropped her gun and approached the soldier. He pulled away from her, dragging himself to the door and out into the hallway, the door swinging shut behind him. Sylvie sank to the floor and began to cry again, head resting on her knees. Behind her, Mac sat up.
The sheet fell away from his face and the pain in which he had died was still there but was accompanied now by a look of ravenous, sharp hunger. He fumbled with the sheet, falling off the bed but getting to his feet. Sylvie looked up but the wonder on her face was quickly replaced by terror. She scrambled for the door, crab-walking backward, reaching up for the handle and pulling hard, staring at Mac all the while.
It was locked. Bea saw a magnetic card reader just below the handle. Sylvie pulled frantically but it must have locked automatically when the guard left. Mac grabbed her arm but she broke free and ran to the viewing mirror, pounding and screaming for help. The mirror cracked under her fists and dark, bloody handprints soon obscured the view. Mac moved clumsily but with deadly intent and dragged her backwards, teeth tearing into the soft skin of her neck and shoulder. He bit down hard and pulled away a chunk of skin and meat, the skin stretching and thinning before finally snapping off. He gulped it down greedily, going back for more. Sylvie stopped struggling, her eyes glazed over and she sagged against him, arms and legs loose and dragging. Blood poured onto the floor and Mac bent over, tearing into her body like a starving animal.
Bea snatched the fire extinguisher from the wall and flung it at the mirror, shattering the glass. She regretted it immediately when Mac looked up, and staggered their way, long, bloody strips of flesh hanging from his mouth; peering out through the hole in the wall.
Mac began tearing out the shards of glass still in the wall, enlarging the opening and reaching for them. Brian vomited onto the floor. Bea wiped his face the best she could, noting the whiteness of his lips. Farther down the hall behind them the assault on the chained doors grew louder and the metal hinges groaned. The dead were close. She looked around for someone in uniform who could tell them where they were being evacuated to but only found the wounded soldier outside the locked observation room. Together she and Brian helped him up and supported him slowly down the hallway, past the small room where they slept last night, down a concrete ramp. A round, metal door barred their way. Frustrated, they pounded the door angrily but got no response.
“They’ll never hear you through that door. I’ll raise them on the radio. I can’t figure out why they would have closed it already. They knew I had to finish up before I could leave.” He fumbled for the radio clipped to his belt, accidentally resting his weight on his injured leg and groaning in pain. Behind them glass from the mirror continued to shatter on the floor. The soldier’s face went white and sweat beaded on his upper lip. He requested admittance but only got static in response.
They all banged on the door. Just then they heard the sound of metal doors giving way somewhere behind them and the footsteps and groans of the dead who finally broke through. Desperately they banged louder. Finally the soldier’s radio squawked to life and he was able to request admittance. When the door finally opened Bea could see why they hadn’t heard them. It was solid steel and had to be at least three feet thick.
“What is this? Strays? This is supposed to be a military operation. Why do we have to take in strays?” The man in fatigues opening the door was less than happy to see them and Bea tried to move protectively in front of Brian while still supporting the wounded soldier.
“Shut up, Gibby, and help me with this or get out of the way,” said the female MP behind him.
The dark-haired MP pulled them through just at the infected began to shamble down the ramp. She slammed the door shut and marched them through a large, storage room where several soldiers packed foodstuffs in boxes. A few looked up as they went by but didn’t seem interested in them. They had to go past a canine check point again then the wounded soldier was taken away for medical attention. Bea and Brian were left alone in a small office and told not to wander. An hour passed, then two but no one came for them.
“I’m hungry, Bea.” The color had returned to Brian’s face and he was getting restive.
She dug into her backpack and pulled out a shiny, foil-encased packet of Pop-Tarts which they split. That had been a ton of food the soldiers had been packing in those boxes and she wondered where it was going.
It had been pretty quiet for the last hour. This office didn’t have a window and she didn’t remember seeing any in the other rooms they walked through. Were they deeper underground in this part of the complex? She found it odd that they hadn’t seen Dr. Osawy again so despite the MP’s admonition she decided it was time to explore.
No one was left in the room they entered through and the boxes were all gone, the canine guard station deserted. This section of the complex appeared older and much less plush; there were no fancy leather chairs or big screen televisions and gray tile covered the floors and walls. Somewhere someone was speaking but the acoustics were odd with all the tile and it took a few minutes to find where the sounds came from.
In an office next to a candy machine a man sat with his feet up on a desk, speaking on a small handset that beeped at the end of each transmission.
“Sure I can get them. What are your coordinates? Okay. Yeah, I’m writing them down. They should be leaving within the next few minutes so I’m going to hang up and call right now. No, it’s no problem.”
The voice was familiar and when he turned to pull a small phone from his belt, they recognized David Chambord.
“Yes, this is Delta Charlie requesting an unscheduled pick-up, over.”
“Delta Charlie, what is the location of the proposed stop, over.”
David gave the coordinates.
“Good. Looks like those are already in the system. What’s the cargo? Over.”
“Human cargo.”
“Clean?”
“Early-stage.”
“No can do. I don’t have the clearance for that, Delta Charlie.”
“Hold please. I’ll get you the clearance code.”
The Living Dead Series (Book 2): World Without End Page 13
