“Call me Amy.” She stepped forward. Jeans and a button-up shirt under her lab coat adorned her small frame. When we shook hands, her palm felt like a doll’s, warm and soft, yet breakable. She was petite and curvy. Her hair, though, was what truly got my attention. The mass of red curls and her flaming green eyes hinted at an Irish background.
Mitch put his hands on his hips. “Amy’s the know-it-all. She’s only been here five years but thinks she runs the place.”
“Dr. Hess, back to work,” our boss barked.
Mitch clamped his mouth shut, but I still caught a gleam in his eyes. “See ya around, Forester.”
He sauntered back to his station. When he reached it, he turned a knob on a stereo. Heavy metal rock music reached my ears. When he caught me watching, he winked.
I hastily looked away.
Dr. Roberts rattled off introductions of the other researchers. The third member of my group was Charlie Wang—jet black hair, slanted eyes, and a small Asian build made him not much bigger than me.
“Welcome to the Compound, Meghan.” He assessed my suit with a raised eyebrow but smiled nonetheless. “We’re glad to have you aboard.”
I cleared my throat. “Thanks.”
The rest of the researchers all came forward. By the time the introductions were done, my palm was embarrassingly sweaty. The blouse under my suit jacket was also soaked. Nobody commented, but I did get a few looks.
As much as large groups rattled me, I still memorized all of their names. My entire life I’d been like that, something that amazed both my parents and Jeremy. My ability to remember anything mentioned to me, or anything I’d read, helped me get where I was today. Even though my unique eidetic memory gave me an advantage, my success was in reality, enabled by two things: ambition and hard work. Really hard work.
“You’ll be working closely with Dr. McConnell for the next few weeks,” Dr. Roberts said after Charlie and the others returned to their stations. “She’ll report your progress to me. Once she feels you’re familiar with and capable of following our policies and procedures, you’ll work independently. Until then, she’ll oversee you. Understood?”
“Yes.”
“We have high hopes for you, Dr. Forester. Don’t let us down.”
I swallowed audibly. “I’ll do my best.”
“Report to me at seventeen hundred this afternoon. Do you remember where my office is?”
“Yes, east corridor, third hallway, the second door down.” I’d memorized everyone’s office location from our brief tour.
“Don’t be late.” Dr. Roberts did a precise one-eighty, marched up the stairs and out the door.
Amy cocked her head, a smile on her face. “Friendly, isn’t he?”
“Ah . . . yes?”
Amy grinned. “You’ll get used to him. Some of us joke he never got the memo that the MRI isn’t military.”
I smiled tentatively, trying to judge Amy’s demeanor. For all I knew, this was a test. Perhaps she’d report everything I said, good or bad, back to Dr. Roberts. “He seems very capable.”
Her eyes twinkled. “That’s one way of putting it.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond so folded my hands together.
“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you,” Amy said.
“You have?”
She nodded. “I heard about you a few years ago. We’ve all heard about you.” She waved at everyone behind us.
“Really?” I ignored the impulse to tug at my suit collar.
“Oh yeah. Who hasn’t in the MRI? The kid from Vermillion who earned her bachelor degree in eighteen months followed by a masters in one year and two Ph.D.’s within three years.” Amy paused. “Even to those of us in here, you’re a bit of an anomaly.”
“Hmm.”
“Not to mention you’re the youngest researcher in the MRI at any Compound.”
Heat flushed my cheeks.
“Until you, I was the youngest scientist to start here, but I was twenty-six.” That made Amy thirty-one. “Given all that, I knew I’d like you.” A grin broke across her face, revealing small, perfectly aligned teeth.
Her smile and comment took me by surprise. “What?”
“I knew I’d like you,” Amy repeated. “The two youngest researchers to ever be hired in our Compound are both women. How can we not be proud of that?”
The sincere tone of her voice helped calm me. Well, a little. My whole life I’d been different. My uncanny memory and social anxiety could be blamed for that. Whenever someone pointed it out, though, it took me awhile to get over it.
“Come on.” Amy nodded toward the stairs. “There’s a lot to show you. We can start with the labs. There are a few in addition to the one we commonly use.” She led me up the stairs. The metal steps rattled under our feet. “Did Dr. Roberts explain the recent setback?”
I gripped the railing tightly. “He said there’s been a problem . . . with a Kazzie.”
“Yeah, but did he tell you what problem?”
I shook my head.
Amy stopped at the top and planted her hands akimbo. “Have you ever seen a Kazzie?”
“No.”
Of course, Amy had to know that. Unless you worked for the MRI, you were never allowed into the Inner Sanctum.
She smiled. “In that case, we’re going on a little field trip. Come on. It’s about time you met one.”
3 – INNER SANCTUM
I followed Amy out of the lab. My heart pounded. We’re going to see a Kazzie? An actual Kazzie?
“If you’re like most people, you’ll be a bit weirded out the first time you meet them.” Amy sailed down the hall. Her red hair looked incredibly bright against the stark walls. “But you’ll get used to them.”
I just nodded, my voice apparently on hiatus.
With each step, my mental map of the Compound grew. Amy led me deeper and deeper into its interior. Dozens of people passed us in the halls, but Amy never said a word to any of them. I wasn’t sure if that was because she didn’t know them or because we weren’t allowed to talk. There was so much to learn.
One thing that soon became obvious was that the blinding white walls extended beyond our labs. It was like being in a snow cave.
“There’s a rail system—in the subterranean levels,” Amy said after we’d been walking for a few minutes. Humming air filled the hall. A draft hit me. The large vent above looked big enough to crawl through. “It’s not entirely necessary to have a rail system. Twenty minutes of walking should get you anywhere in the Compound, but it is convenient when you’re in a hurry. Since you’re new, though, I’d thought we’d walk so you can see more of the Compound.”
“Yes, that’d be good.”
We kept walking. And walking. Amy peppered me with questions the entire way. Personal ones. How long had I lived in Sioux Falls? What did I do in my free time? Had I gone to the festival the other week?
I awkwardly answered each one and breathed a sigh of relief when she switched back to work.
“Did they teach you about Makanza in training?”
“Not really.” I edged to the wall so a researcher could pass us going the other way. I kept my eyes averted. “They thoroughly trained us on the proper procedures for suiting up and how to safely handle the virus in the labs, but we didn’t learn much about the actual virus.”
“Then that’s something we should discuss this afternoon when we have more time.”
We reached an access door. She scanned her badge and held her hand up to the fingerprinting screen. I did the same. The door hissed open.
Amy smiled. “Only one more door.” A large, double door stood at the end of the hall. Two guards flanked its sides. A sign stating Inner Sanctum hung above it.
I took a deep breath. For years, I’d dreamed of meeting a Kazzie, of talking to one. I had no idea who first called them Kazzies, maybe a researcher, maybe somebody in the news, maybe someone at the WHO or CDC. Whoever invented the term, probably hadn’t guessed it would stick, but it h
ad.
The first time I’d heard about a Kazzie was when I was thirteen, approximately a month after the First Wave.
I’d never forgotten that day.
IT HAD BEEN a morning like all the others. Or rather, a morning like the new ones since Makanza hit. Jeremy and I sat at the kitchen table, eating breakfast while we watched cartoons. Dad was upstairs, working remotely in his office. Mom was in the basement, ignoring all of us as usual. Everyone was housebound. It had been the weirdest time in my life.
A news flash interrupted our cartoons. A reporter sat behind a desk, her face flushed, her words coming out faster than they should have, all journalistic professionalism apparently thrown out the window in her excitement.
“We’re interrupting your program to bring you breaking news. The clean-up in Manhattan has produced an astonishing find: a survivor.”
A scene appeared on the TV, showing CDC workers in their biohazard suits helping a man into a van. The man was dirty and haggard, but he was alive and walking. One of the last things Makanza took away was muscle coordination and voluntary movement. When that happened, it had moved into the brain. The end was close at that stage.
The scene cut back to the newsroom. The newscaster continued babbling about what a triumph this was for society. “Now that we know one can survive a Makanza infection, we can have hope. Scientists will study the survivor’s genome to identify what made it possible for him to survive. This should eventually lead to a vaccine, or perhaps even a cure!”
Somewhere during that news segment, Jeremy and I clasped each other’s hands. I looked into my little brother’s dark brown eyes and at his button nose. He still had his baby face then, but already his hands were as big as mine. We both stared in wonder. I could feel his hope as strongly as my own.
In one month, our country had entirely changed, but what I saw that morning gave me hope. The first Kazzie. The very first American to survive Makanza. It wasn’t until weeks later that the Center for Disease Control understood just how unusual Makanza was, when the man began to Change.
“LAST DOOR!” AMY announced.
Her cheerful statement snapped me out of my reverie. The double door approached. I held up my badge to the guard by the scanner. He checked us in, his movements stiff and serious. The door opened with a familiar hiss, revealing a curving hallway. Amy continued talking, as if what I was about to witness was the most natural thing in the world.
“We have seven Kazzies in our Compound, a few less than most Compounds in our region. Minnesota’s got nine, Iowa eight, and Nebraska eleven. Montana and Wyoming are the only states with fewer Kazzies than us. Montana has two, Wyoming, four.”
I couldn’t respond. My heart pounded like a jackhammer. The light grew dimmer with each step.
Amy just carried on. “Due to his altered eyesight, this one is sensitive to bright light. That’s why his hall is dark.”
A wall of floor to ceiling windows appeared ahead. I knew we were approaching the first cell.
I’d briefly learned about the Sanctum in training. Each cell butted up to the hall, making it easy to see within through the large windows. I also knew there were twenty cells total. They formed a perfect circle with the Experimental Room at the epicenter.
The Kazzies were separated, one Kazzie per cell. However, that was where the details had ended. My initiation training instructor never divulged how big the cells were, what they looked like, if there were windows to the outside or any other specifics. As we walked forward and the first cell appeared, I immediately noticed two things.
The cells were entirely concrete. There were no windows.
Since the hallway was glass, it was easy to study the Kazzie within. His bright, orange shirt made him stand out like a hunter in the woods. I stepped closer, not quite believing what I was finally seeing.
He sat on a chair, at a desk in the corner, his back to us. There was paper, or something like it in front of him. He drew furiously on it. With his head down, his arm moved harshly. The pencil looked like it could snap at any second. For all intents and purposes, he looked like any other human, although there was something heavy about his brow.
I stared at him for a minute, as the enormity of what I watched sank in.
Amy remained silent, letting me look my fill. After a while, she said, “His name’s Garrett, but a few of the guards call him Carrots since he can see in the dark.”
As if the Kazzie knew we were talking about him, he looked up.
My breath sucked in.
Under his heavy brow, his eyes were huge. They had to be the size of eggs, each of them. Everything else about him looked normal.
Garrett blinked slowly, his expression impossible to read, before he bent back to his drawing.
My breath whooshed out of me. It left a cloud on the glass.
“He’s not very happy right now, even though he’s usually the laid back one.” Amy crossed her arms. “Because of the recent problems with our Kazzie, Garrett’s been stuck in his cell for three days. Normally, all of the Kazzies get out to the entertainment rooms each day for a reprieve.”
I squinted, trying to get a better look at his paper, but it was too far away.
“Are you trying to see what he’s doing?”
I straightened. “Ah . . . yes.”
“He’s usually drawing, painting, or sculpting something. It changes every day. Some days it’s pottery, other days it’s watercolors. Today it looks like charcoal. He’s actually pretty good. Before he Changed, he was an artist.”
Garrett’s agitated movements continued. His lean arm streaked across the desk. The paper tablet in front of him ripped at times. It didn’t stop him.
“What happened to him?” I asked. “When he got the virus?”
“For most people that contract Makanza and survive, the process is fairly similar, initially at least. They go through the same first symptoms as everyone else: nausea, fatigue, fever, muscle aches, your usual viral immune response. Only, whereas most people move into the second stage of symptoms: high, prolonged fever, delusions, impaired breathing, seizures, loss of muscle coordination and eventually death, the Kazzies don’t. They Change. Garrett began his Change when he was in quarantine in Michigan, since he’s originally from Kalamazoo. When his entire family was dying in the second stage, he was Changing. The guards at that MRRA facility said it was agonizing to watch. When Garrett’s eyes enlarged, it was a slow process. It took several weeks. Garrett screamed the entire time.”
I grimaced. “Did anything else Change in him? Other than his eyes?”
Amy shook her head. “Nope, just that. He has Makanza strain 19 which primarily affects ocular cells. We have identified forty-one different strains. All cause different Changes since each strain infects different cells. Usually only one or two aspects of the Kazzies Change, but everything else remains the same.”
“So Garrett’s the same person as he was before he contracted Makanza, but he can see better now?”
“Yep. The Kazzies are still completely human. They have the same intellectual capacities, the same memories, the same personalities and so on. They just have added talents now, so to speak.” She smiled. “And some of them look funny.”
“How many Kazzies are in the country?”
“Around twelve hundred.”
I continued watching Garrett. His arm streaked across the paper, like he was taking all of his frustration out in the drawing. I could hardly blame him. Technically, he’d never done anything wrong. His only crime was surviving Makanza, but as a carrier of the virus, he could never be allowed to live on the outside since he could infect others. Therefore, he’d be indefinitely imprisoned unless we discovered a vaccine or cure.
Seeing Garrett reminded me why I was here. We needed a vaccine.
“Has anyone figured out why some people Change and others die?” I asked.
“No. The vast majority of researchers employed by the MRI are trying to determine that. If we could identify why the Kazzie’s DNA
Changed to accommodate the virus, we’d know a lot more about Makanza. Unfortunately, that remains a mystery.”
“So that’s not the research we do?”
“No, we never work with those researchers. They’re in a different wing, and I don’t even know who they are. Our group, the Makanza Survivor Research Group, or MSRG, works with the Kazzies, and each sub-group works directly with one Kazzie in particular. You’ll get to know ours pretty well.”
I thought about my parking lot sign. So that’s what MSRG means. “Which Kazzie is the one we work with?”
“You’ll see. Come on.” Amy tugged me away from the window.
Our tapping feet were the only sound in the hallway while Amy explained more about the Kazzies. “There are four males and three females in our Compound. The subject we normally work with, one of the males, is the reason for all of the recent problems.”
Another guard sat at the end of Garrett’s hall, behind a glass window in a concrete structure. Amy called it a watch room, explaining that a guard was stationed in each Kazzie’s watch room twenty-four hours a day. She then explained how one could enter a pressurized containment room attached to the watch room. The containment room had access to the Kazzies’ cells. However, it was used for emergency purposes only.
“In other words, it’s never used.” Amy stopped at Garrett’s watch room so I could get a good look.
A control panel, with too many buttons and levers to count, sat in front of the guard. Amy explained how the panel operated all of the mechanics inside the cell.
The control panel reminded me of the sci-fi movies Jeremy used to watch. It could have been the inside of a spaceship or cockpit in a high-tech commercial jet. So many buttons and switches. Of course, I’d never been inside one of those jets. I’d only seen them on TV shows. Those days of air travel were long gone.
On the ceiling, large humming vents circulated air in from the outside, unlike the air in Garrett’s cell. In training, they’d told us the air circulating throughout the Kazzie’s cells went through an extensive process of purification and filtering, but it never actually left the building. It was forever recycled. The MRI didn’t trust Makanza not to mutate into an airborne virus.
The Complete Makanza Series: Books 0-4 Page 10
