Project Armageddon

by Michael Stephens

  Her emotions boiled over. She screamed until her lungs could no longer power her vocal cords. She rested her forehead on the steering wheel as she fought through another minor episode of hyperventilation before she caught her breath. She reached for the keys in the ignition and turned off the car. Abbie leaned back and covered her face with her hands. Another deep breath in and an exhale. She sat on the side of the road and sobbed uncontrollably while the rain pounded her car.

  Chapter 7

  Abbie’s Honda stopped sharp into a parking spot, causing the car to lunge forward before it completely stopped. Abbie was out of the car and running down the muddy dirt trail. The rain continued to drop hard from the sky. Her hospital scrubs were drenched. Her hair was matted to her face. Her ponytail was so heavy with water that it did not bounce with each stride in her run.

  Abbie’s sneaker landed deep into a puddle, sending mud everywhere. It did not change her pace or her resolve to reach her destination. When she arrived, she threw herself to the ground.

  “I’m sorry,” she yelled. She wiped the tears, rain, and snot off her face. “I’m so sorry.” Abbie leaned forward. She wrapped her arms around the large, marble tombstone of Miranda Talbot.

  “I thought I could do it. I thought I could be strong,” she whimpered. “I’m sorry for being weak.” Abbie brought her knees tight to her body as she continued to embrace her mother’s gravestone. “I can’t go on, mom. I can’t keep going. This hurts too much.”

  Abbie traced the “M” in her mother’s name with her finger. “I miss you.” She wrapped her arms around her knees, leaned against her mom’s stone as she rocked back and forth. The rain continued to fall hard from the sky and puddle around Abbie and her mother’s grave. Abbie continued to rock back and forth as she repeatedly apologized.

  Chapter 8

  It took a few hours for Abbie to gather herself and get home safely. A shower warmed her up but did nothing to help her look better.

  “What the hell happened to you?” said her father as she walked into his empty classroom. “You look terrible.”

  “I’m done, Daddy,” she said. Abbie slumped into a chair at an empty desk. “I can’t do this anymore.”

  Dr. Talbot stopped organizing the papers on his desk and walked to his daughter. He sat on the table next to her and gave her his undivided attention.

  “What’s going on, sweetie?”

  “No matter what I do. How much I study, research, volunteer—whatever I do, none of it’s going to bring her back.”

  Her father shook his head. “Honey, you already knew that.” He rubbed her shoulder. “What happened?”

  Abbie spilled her guts. She told her dad how Rosa Garcia triggered an emotional episode that ultimately turned her world upside and nearly got her killed in a car accident. She wiped the tears that ran down her cheeks. She was still emotional but keeping under control… barely.

  Dr. Talbot walked around the table and sat with his daughter. He offered his shoulder to her, and she accepted.

  “I’m so sorry, baby,” he said. He held her close and rubbed her back.

  “I don’t want to do this anymore, Daddy. I can’t do this. I’m tired of hurting like this. I am tired of missing her… tired of being in fear of letting her down.”

  “Honey, you could never disappoint your mother. She thought you were the world. If you’re done. Your mother would understand.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked.

  “More than positive,” he said with a reassuring smile.

  “Are you okay with it?”

  “I’ll be okay,” he paused, “if you attend the honorary dinner for me tonight.”

  Abbie laughed as she wiped her nose on the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “Another?”

  He shrugged and nodded.

  “What for now?”

  “Who knows,” he said. “You will endure it with me?”

  Abbie smiled, but her father patiently looked at her, waiting for an answer.

  “You’re serious?” she said.

  He nodded and then looked over his shoulder toward the door. The shuffling of feet caught Abbie’s attention as well as several college students entered Dr. Talbot’s classroom.

  Dr. Talbot returns his attention to Abbie. He leaned forward and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “Either go home and rest or stay and teach,” he said with a smile.

  Abbie laughed. “I’ll pass.” She rose from the desk, gave her father a peck on the cheek. “Love you, Daddy.”

  “So… dinner tonight? Please?”

  “What time?”

  “Meet me here,” he pointed to the floor, “At seven-thirty? We’ll walk to Renton Hall together.”

  Abbie shrugged. Given the day she was having, Abbie had zero desire to go out to dinner, especially an academic awards dinner. She wasn’t in the mood to argue. “Okay.”

  Her dad gave her a quick hug. “Thank you,” he said graciously. “Go get some sleep. I’ll see you tonight.”

  He gently guided her toward the door. The two of them exchanged another round of goodbyes. Dr. Talbot returned to the head of his classroom and prepared for his lecture while Abbie did as he suggested and went home for some much-needed sleep.

  Chapter 9

  It was close to the end of class as Dr. Talbot peeked at his watch.

  “Okay, folks—put a fork in me,” he said with a chuckle, “I think I’m done for today.”

  The ambient noise of the room increased a few decibels as the students started putting their things away.

  “However,” he said with a loud voice, which commanded the attention of everyone in the room. Everything stopped, and all eyes were on him.

  “Let me remind you—pick a virus and determine the adhesion molecules required for viral binding to the host cells. Papers are due next week. I posted the rubric to the class web site.”

  A collection of disgruntled groans echoed throughout the room as his students resumed packing up to leave class.

  “Yea. Yea. Now get out of here, you crazy kids,” he said with a sly smile.

  The students continued to pack the backpacks and leave. The classroom emptied after several minutes. The last few students to exit the classroom crossed paths with an older looking man and his two associates who just entered.

  Dr. Talbot stood behind his desk at the head of the room, organizing the papers when the three men approached his desk.

  A deep voice with a thick Ukrainian accent came from the man with dark hair, who was clearly the leader of the group. “Give me the virus, Dr. Talbot.”

  Chapter 10

  “I’m sorry?” said Dr. Talbot. He looked confused

  The man in the dark suit and accent spoke again. His accent was thick, but his English was impeccable. “Are you Dr. Talbot?”

  “I am. How can I help you?”

  “You can give me the virus.”

  “What virus?”

  The dark-suited man took in a deep calming breath through his nose. His colleagues stayed quiet. Both towered over their leader—easily six inches taller than he.

  “Do not play games with me.” He reached into his sports jacket and pulled out a pistol. “I’ve been funding your research for some time now. I want what I’ve been paying for.”

  Dr. Talbot’s eyes widened at the sight of the firearm. He dropped his papers and stepped back; his eyes were fixed on the weapon. He raised his hands submissively.

  “Um,” he said nervously, “I think you gentlemen might be mistaken.”

  The suited man held out his hand as one of the towering men behind him reached into their pocket and handed him a silencer. He slowly and calmly screwed the silencer to the end of his 9mm pistol.

  “Dr. Talbot. Please do not force me to escalate the matter.”

  “No, of course not,” said Talbot. His voice cracked. His mouth and throat were dry, a symptom of the anxiety caused by the gun the man was holding. “I want to help. I do. But, I haven’t a clue what you are talking about.”

&
nbsp; A soft, low decibel bang quietly echoed in the classroom as blood, bone, and cartilage splattered against the linoleum floor. Talbot dropped to the floor. He yelled as his hands went to aid the gaping hole in his leg that was once his knee.

  His hands trembled over his wound, his crimson life-juice decorated his hands and dripped. The white of the floor contrasted well with Dr. Talbot’s blood, making it bright red. The overhead fluorescent lights reflected brilliantly in the tiny puddle on the floor, like the sheen of a well-waxed car.

  “Now,” said the dark-haired man, “do I have your undivided attention, Dr. Talbot?”

  Talbot trembled, likely a combination of shock and the immense pain that radiated from what used to be his knee. It was difficult to tell if he was answering his assailant with a nod or if he was trembling.

  “Ye-ye-Yes,” he said.

  “Good. Now, I will ask again nicely. Please give me the virus.”

  “I honestly don’t know what you’re—”

  A flash and another low decibel bang interrupted Talbot’s response, and the suited man destroyed Dr. Talbot’s other knee.

  Talbot’s pain reached its zenith. He tried to yell, but nothing audible emitted from his vocal cords. Blood dripped from both his knees. The material on his pants was dark, and chunks of muscle and bone littered the floor where he sat. His shirt and face had the red spray pattern of an artist pulling back the bristles of a wet paintbrush and spraying them.

  “You know the question, Dr. Talbot. I will not ask it again,” said the man holding the smoking handgun.

  Talbot said nothing, each hand comforting the fleshly openings of his knees.

  Another flash and bang. The bullet ripped through the flesh of Talbot’s hand. It created another hole in his knee, practically separating his femur from his tibia and destroying anything that remained of his knee cap.

  Talbot yelled. It echoed loudly in the empty classroom.

  The suited man nodded to one of his colleagues. Four knuckles connected with Talbot’s eye socket and cheekbone, silencing him quickly.

  Talbot’s eye and cheek were pinkish red. It was only a matter of minutes before swelling would begin.

  The suited man approached the professor. He leaned over and looked Talbot in the eyes. The gunman’s eyes were cold, callous, and showed zero emotion or empathy. He spoke slowly and enunciated every word ensuring it was audible and coherent, even with his accent.

  “One last time, Dr. Talbot. Give me my virus.”

  Talbot swallowed his pain. His eyes turned menacing, almost evil. It was like he exchanged all his pain and suffering for anger and directed it at his agitator with his eyes. Talbot’s breathing was heavy, making it difficult to speak. But his eyes clearly challenged any authority the gunman thought he had. He powered through the breathing and the pain. “You can go to hell.”

  Before Talbot could exhale his last breath, the gunman sprayed the wall behind him using the gray matter of his brain. Talbot’s head fell back against the wall. His forehead displayed a prominent 9mm opening. His upper torso rested against the wall. His body was mostly limp, aside from his feet, which convulsed for several seconds before they joined the stillness of his body.

  “Very Well.” The gunman removed the silencer from his weapon and holstered it. He traded the silencer for a handkerchief from his colleague while looking down at Dr. Talbot’s body. He shook his head, cleaned his hands, and returned the handkerchief.

  The suited man snapped his fingers toward his colleagues and walked to the door. His colleagues obeyed like well-trained dogs. They went to all the windows of the classroom and pulled down the blinds. They joined their leader at the door where they shut off the lights and closed the door behind them, leaving Dr. Talbot’s warm body in the dark.

  Chapter 11

  Abbie woke from what she thought was a bad dream, but the mud on her shoes and scrubs confirmed what she experienced that morning was real. She was tired and thought she could have slept at least another eight hours. A quick glance at the clock showed it was six fifteen in the evening.

  “Oh shit,” said Abbie as she sprang from the couch and sprinted into her room. She needed to shower, pick out something to wear, get dressed, hair, makeup, and then get back to the school in an hour. Abbie needed to hurry up. She waded through the clothes on the floor in her room, closet, and bathroom. Abbie found an outfit and was in the shower within minutes. She was putting the finishing touches on her hair and makeup when the taxi arrived to take her to the school.

  The taxi pulled to the side of the street and dropped off Abbie. She paid the driver, and as Abbie watched it speed away, she saw red and blue lights flash brilliantly off the building where her father taught. She pulled her shawl that rested over her bare shoulders close to her chest and held it there as she carefully walked toward the building in her slender gown and heels.

  When Abbie approached the building, she recognized that the scene was more severe than just the cops busting a student or two for drinking or smoking pot. Abbie counted four police cars, two cruisers and two unmarked cars, and the coroner’s van.

  That’s strange, she thought. She continued toward the building and into a small crowd of onlookers. She wove her way through several layers of people until she reached the front where her progress was blocked by strands of yellow police tape.

  Abbie needed to get into the building, she was already late, and her father would go on half the night about how she was late.

  “Excuse me,” yelled Abbie to the patrolman that was several feet away, keeping the crowd of people behind the line of tape. “Excuse me!”

  The officer walked parallel to the yellow tape at Abbie’s request. “Ma’am, I need you to stay behind the line.”

  “I understand, but I need to get into the building. I’m late for a dinner party and need—”

  “Sorry, you need to stay behind the line. This is a crime scene. No one is entering the building right now,” said the officer firmly before returning to spot from which he came.

  Great, thought Abbie. Maybe Dad’s already at Renton Hall because of all this ruckus?

  Abbie decided she should go there since it was unlikely she would be able to meet him in his classroom. She reversed her direction and began weaving her way through the crowd of people, which seemed to have grown in the little time she was there.

  “Abbie,” she heard someone yell for her in the crowd. She looked in the direction of the yell. Abbie recognized the person calling for her, a student, one of her father’s students. The young girl rushed to Abbie pushing several people out of the way.

  “Whoa, take it easy,” Abbie said to the young girl as she helped someone to their feet that the young girl accidentally pushed down. “What’s the hurry?”

  “I’m so sorry,” said the young student.

  “Sorry? Sorry for what?”

  “You don’t know?” The young girl asked Abbie.

  “No. What should I know?”

  “The police” The student pointed to the cars and flashing lights.

  “Yea, crazy, huh. Not something you see every day. What’s going on anyway?” Abbie asked.

  “Abbie,” the young girl said with grave concern. Her brow frowned, and her eyes drooped with the weight of great sadness. “It’s Dr. Talbot. It’s your father.”

  Abbie’s eyes widened. She could only think of one thing. She spun her head around and looked at the van parked by the police vehicles. The van that had the word “Coroner” across the side.

  Abbie yelled. “No!” She flung off her heels, pushed her way through the crowd, and broke through the yellow police tape like she was a marathon runner crossing the finish line. She kept running with yellow tape wrapped around her with the ends waving in the air behind her.

  “Hey,” scolded the officer “Stop. You can’t go in there.”

  Abbie could care less who was yelling at her or why. She kept running towards the building entrance with a police officer chasing after her.

&nbs
p; Chapter 12

  Emma parked her car a few blocks away and reached the chaotic scene out of breath. More police arrived to help control the ever-growing number of onlookers—the entire scene looked like a red and blue light show.

  Emma found herself asking several different police officers the same question—where is Abigail Talbot? After many attempts, one officer finally pointed to the back of an ambulance parked a few hundred feet away from the crime scene. Emma squinted to help with the glare from the flashing lights.

  “Abbie!”

  Emma arrived near the rear of the ambulance, slightly out of breath. As she neared, she heard a tall, plain-clothed detective thank Abbie for her statement and apologized to her for her loss. He followed up with advising her to get some rest and handed her his card before he left. Emma and the detective passed each other as she made her way around the opened doors.

  Emma gazed into the back of the ambulance and saw Abbie, sitting upright on the gurney with an oxygen mask around her mouth and a thick blanket wrapped around her. She saw dried blood on Abbie’s hands and on the portions of her dress that showed through the sheet. Abbie looked beyond terrible. Her hair was messed up. It went in all directions and had spots of dried blood. Her cheeks were red. Lines of dried mascara and eyeliner ran down them along with more dried blood.

  Emma identified herself as Abbie’s friend and a doctor to the EMT that monitored her. The EMT explained that Abbie was having an anxiety attack with a combination of crying and hyperventilation. The EMT and a couple officers wrestled Abbie into the ambulance, where they got her warm and her breathing under control. Emma asked if she could sit with Abbie. The EMT gave her permission with a nod. Emma climbed into the back of the ambulance, sat next to Abbie, and held her hand.