“Bio-room four contains an uninfected human specimen, ready for infection.”
Ursula felt the silence and shock from Kevin. She waited for the barrage.
“Did you say human?” said Kevin.
“I did,” she replied.
“From where?” he said, the pitch of his voice rising.
“Government-provided,” she said, calling up some documents on the control panel. “Off the record, of course, and away from politics. He’s in the final stages of pancreatic cancer with only a few days to live. The government feels, considering he murdered six people, this would be an apt way for him to contribute back to society.”
“A prisoner,” said Kevin. “We can’t…?”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” asked Ursula. “This is going to happen, with or without you.”
“This is wrong,” he said, still in shock. “Just because he did wrong doesn’t mean we have to.”
“I don’t relish in it, either,” said Ursula. “I just get on with the job.”
They entered the heavily secured room, and behind another thick pane of floor-to-ceiling glass was the murderer of six innocent people. He stood there, strapped to a support column, watching their every move.
“You realize if we infect him, we will have killed this man?” said Kevin, his back to their new prisoner.
“Which is why I will perform the infection procedure myself,” said Ursula. She wouldn’t have her staff do the dirty work. The prisoner was already hooked up to a dozen medical devices to scan and read absolutely everything they could think of.
Kevin remained silent, while she prepared for the virus transfer.
“Cylinder 1-A has been accessed, and I am transferring point one percent into bio-room four.”
She tapped a few more buttons and entered the authorization codes for the transfer of dangerous material, before finally pressing the flashing red button. They watched on the graphical display as the air traveled through secure tubing until being dispersed into the prisoner’s room.
“Now we wait,” said Kevin, folding his arms and sighing deeply.
“You’re now thinking this isn’t what you signed up for,” said Ursula, folding her arms and sipping hot tea. “Government employment can lead to many tasks.”
“Can’t it just?” said Kevin. He didn’t sound angry, and she wanted to keep him on her side. The skills he had shouldn’t be dismissed if she could help it.
“First reports are coming through,” said Ursula. She pulled her glasses down her nose a bit, focusing in on the readouts.
“Look,” said Kevin. The prisoner began coughing deeply, before screaming. The computer systems and models around them lit up with all the information being recorded. Ursula watched the deep transformation of the prisoner. His eyes, skin tone, behavior, and mind all changed.
“Total change in less time than it takes to boil a kettle,” said Ursula. She was now unnerved, seeing it firsthand.
“It explains the high transmission rate,” said Kevin. “Coughing is the most simple, effective way for a virus to spread. Look at these readings.”
“The virus might as well be flowing out of his mouth, it’s so infectious,” said Ursula. His cough was spreading such concentrated amounts.
“There is also a deterioration in visual acuity,” said Kevin. “Over forty percent so far.”
“Turning into animals,” said Ursula.
“Some animals have excellent vision,” reminded Kevin.
The prisoner became violent, and they both stepped back from the safety glass—force of habit.
“Benny,” said Ursula, tapping the speaker button. She spoke in a loud, clear voice to try and reach him. “Benny Harwinton. Tell me the current date.” Ursula wanted to test the prisoner to see how long it took for complete memory loss and mental degradation to occur.
“Benny Harwinton,” repeated Kevin. “What is the date?”
Benny started fighting, like a beast, to get out of his confinement.
“Astounding it took less than thirty seconds. There’s no other virus like this, boss. Ever. You’d nearly think it was not from this world.” Ursula turned to look at Kevin, who was still staring at Benny. She daren’t develop that theory any further with him.
“I want a full workup—include everything,” she ordered
“Yes, boss,” said Kevin.
She left her able colleague to prepare his own report and retreated back to her office. Privacy was something she valued and didn’t get often. Working across the world’s virus hotspots since her twenties meant working in awful conditions with dozens of others. A private office was heaven.
“Unable to connect your call.” The automated operator’s annoyed voice repeated the same statement as the previous six times. Ursula felt the worry in her gut that something might have happened to Peter. She focused on getting the report for the PM finished. The country was to be divided up into sections. If one section was breached, then it was to be contained and neutralized. Almost twenty minutes later, Kevin came bursting into her office.
“I found it,” he shouted, as she took her second caffeine tablet.
“Calm down,” she said, almost sounding like a parent. He hadn’t helped her splitting headache. “Sit down and walk me through it.”
“Okay, okay,” said Kevin. He flopped down, folder in hand.
“Go,” she said.
“Boss, we know this virus causes absolute havoc inside our bodies,” he began, and she nodded. “Fever, extreme cough, and hyper-sensitivity to sound and smell are initial symptoms. Visual acuity decreases by seventy percent in total, and there’s a loss of nearly all the cone receptors in our eyes.”
“Color blind?” said Ursula, surprised.
“Yes,” said Kevin. “This virus destroys us, even the cone cells within our eyes responsible for allowing us to see color.”
“Can we skip all this and get to the point that had you so excited?” she said. It was all fascinating, but nothing she couldn’t review later herself.
“Yes, boss. The virus stops key genes from working.”
“Clarify what you mean by ‘stop,’” said Ursula.
“It disables them, confuses them—call it what you want,” said Kevin.
“Okay, which ones?”
“Oh, dozens, boss, but we’ve identified one complete set. The SRGAP2 genes.”
“I don’t have a deep understanding of the SRGAP2 gene,” said Ursula. She was a virologist after all but knew that SRGAP2 was theorized to be critical for human intelligence.
“It allowed us to flourish and create a civilization,” said Kevin. “This kind of genetic and physical damage could never be reversed. The deletion of the SRGAP2 genes should result in the person not being able to learn or develop or grow.”
“This is deadly and fascinating at the same time,” said Ursula.
“It destroys most of our genetic makeup and turns us back into the most primitive of animals.” Kevin was frightened by the discovery.
“But even so, Kevin, why such a sudden change in the infected human? Thirty seconds?” asked Ursula.
“We don’t know, but”—he turned to look at her—“as I said, those infected are beyond help. Ever.”
“If I inform the prime minister of this, he will ask me what the next course of action is,” said Ursula. “I can see only one.”
“That’s because there is only one.”
“Eradication,” said Ursula.
He agreed.
The word felt heavy in the thick atmosphere already in the room. Some would consider them demons, callously talking about the lives of possibly billions of people.
This was now about survival.
They could help no one.
Chapter 33
“I’ve been better, Freda,” said Peter. He was meek.
“We got him a shave and shower before coming to see you,” said Christopher. “He has one whopper of a hangover.”
“I’m sure,” said Freda. She appreciated Christopher trying to add a touch of lightness to the meeting.
“I want to offer my apologies,” said Peter.
Freda was surprised. He was like her, stubborn and unapologetic. Even if she was in the wrong, she preferred to just get on with it, without making the apology.
“We’ve all made mistakes,” said Freda. “I’m just glad we got you home before you fell.”
“My family?” asked Peter.
“We’re keeping tabs on them, but they’ve refused security,” said Christopher.
“Your sister is as stubborn as you sometimes,” said Freda. She sat down, preferring to get back to work, and they both took seats, as well.
“We’ve all messed up since this began,” said Christopher. Freda listened to him go into a marvelous speech, emphasizing the importance of family and the duty they all had to this world.
“I don’t trust the Bernay, Peter.”
“With good reason,” said Peter. “They could be putting anything into this vaccine, and we wouldn’t know without properly analyzing it.”
“Which is why I need you to get back to work,” said Freda. “Tear the vaccine apart.”
“Oh, I will,” he said, and Christopher visibly relaxed.
“Now,” said Freda. “While you two were off playing search and rescue, a Professor Ursula Barrington has been harassing the secretaries, demanding to know your whereabouts.”
“She can be rather insistent,” he admitted.
“To put it mildly,” said Freda. “Her team in London has new information for us regarding the virus. They’ve studied it and come up with some interesting facts regarding…”—Freda lifted the memo up—“…the SRGAP2 genes and how they are affected.”
“What?” said Peter.
“I thought you’d have that reaction,” said Freda. Barrington’s tone on the phone had allowed her to predict as much.
“That might cause the decrease in brain activity we see in those who are infected,” said Peter.
“I’ll not even ask what this gene is,” said Christopher. “Just get to work, Peter.”
“I know this has been a disaster, from start to finish,” she began. She looked down at the family portrait of her team, in a simple gold frame on her desk. “But we need to protect those we have left. This war isn’t over yet, and we can still win.”
Christopher looked at her, and she knew it had worked. He gave her a little smile.
“Orders, boss?” he said.
“The Bernay won’t liaise with us on a vaccine, and I’m not comfortable relying on them 100 percent. Peter, get to work on our own.”
“I’ll get started right away.”
Just then, her computer logged an incoming call, and Cecil appeared on the screen. “Freda,” said Cecil, her longtime Council friend.
“Cecil, I was about to contact you.”
The councilmember was sweating, sitting on the edge of his seat.
“We need to meet, Freda.”
“The usual spot?” she offered.
“No. Somewhere private.”
Freda could think of only one other place.
“Meet me at Earth coordinates 02.53.12.3213. When?”
“Now.”
She wasted no time, transporting into an old abandoned warehouse. It was once used by Section 51 before World War II. Now, it was dark and cold, droplets of water falling on her from the dilapidated ceiling far above. Everything seemed much simpler back when this place was headquarters. The future was bright. She never envisioned the situation the world now found itself in. Time had not been kind to this building, and it reminded her that everything and everyone eventually succumbs to it. She tapped her brooch, and it glistened to provide some light.
“Expecting someone?” asked Freda as Cecil zapped in beside her. He immediately pulled out a scanning device, checking the local area.
“Precautions,” he said.
“What has happened?” she asked.
“You need to leave Earth,” said Cecil abruptly.
“Excuse me?” said Freda, stopping in her tracks. “Why? I have no intention of leaving Earth.”
“This would go a lot easier if you didn’t ask me any questions,” he said. “Please, just do as I ask. Leave Earth, and don’t come back.”
“Never,” said Freda. “Cecil, what the hell has happened?” She gripped his shoulders.
“Why can’t you just trust I’m acting in your best interests?” he said.
“I have a planet to think about,” said Freda. “Loyalty!”
“Freda, my dear Freda,” said Cecil, pain in his eyes. “You must go. Don’t you understand? Loretta will have the Council and Supreme Court blame you for everything. All that has happened. You don’t exactly have a glistening record here to fall back on.”
“Because I know the difference between right and wrong, and I don’t hide behind rules and regulations when the situation gets sticky,” said Freda. She never had, all her life, and wasn’t about to start now.
“Head out toward the Tyson Belt or something, somewhere the Council won’t find you,” said Cecil, completely ignoring her comment. “Your life may very well be in danger. Get off Earth and don’t come back. Earth is doomed, and deep down you know it, as well.” He was shouting now, and Freda stepped back in shock. He was angry, a trait she’d never witnessed in him before.
“I have nothing to hide,” she said. “But I’ve plenty to tell. I didn’t create the Eugenics Virus—the Bernay did. I will not take the fall for this.”
“Freda, it won’t matter who created the virus. You’re the one who continually blocked the Council from taking action year after year. Loretta will argue humanity wouldn’t be in this position if you had allowed the Council to act.”
“That’s speculation,” said Freda, frowning. She knew he was lying to her. “It would never hold up in court. What the hell is this really about?” She marched up to him, furious to think he was involved in a cover-up.
“We knew humanity was always going to be a shot in the dark, Freda. We missed, and now it’s time to clean up our mess and move on.”
“You’re not talking about the Eugenics Virus anymore, are you?”
Cecil refused to comment, which was confirmation enough for Freda. He went to continue walking, but she stopped him.
“Are we talking about the destruction of a race?”
“Freda, I have no answers to give you. I’m here as your friend, not your boss. Please, leave Earth, run, and don’t come back.” Cecil shoved a data chip into her gloved hand. “Everything you’ll need to escape,” said Cecil. “Transporter, fake travel papers, everything. There’s a shuttle craft waiting at these Earth coordinates. Take it and go. I’ve arranged for someone to meet you at the Tyson Belt.”
“The belt?” said Freda. She recognized the coordinates and knew Cecil wouldn’t make such a foolish mistake by accident.
“Freda, the Tyson Belt is on the edge of the abyss. No one will find you there. Live out your retirement in peace. Go,” he said, refusing to blink, again staring deep into her. He vanished. Freda stood alone in the cold, dark warehouse, hearing only the rain pelt down outside. She kept replaying the twenty-second part of her conversation with Cecil in her mind. She didn’t know the coordinates of the Tyson Be
lt, but she certainly knew the ones Cecil had gave her were not anywhere near Tyson.
The light from her brooch began to slowly dim and fade out.
Darkness overtook her.
Chapter 34
Peter downed a strong cup of caffeinated coffee with full-fat milk. His waistline and health wasn’t top of the agenda at the moment.
“Ready for transport,” said CIM. He had to requisition a transporter favor from the Experian. Grace had been more than willing to help.
“Transport,” he said, pouring another cup. She would be transporting straight into his office.
“Dr. Roberts,” said Ursula loudly. “I shall need a very good explanation. Where have you been?”
“On leave,” he said, feeling uncomfortable. Her hawkish gaze could frighten anyone.
Her eyebrow curled up, letting him know of her total disbelief in his comment. “Let’s move on, Doctor.”
“Very formal.”
“Keeps things focused,” she replied. Peter admired how she never changed, even in fashion sense. The same long white coat, spectacles, and tight hair bun. She was always so efficient and ready for work.
“That was a rather interesting experience.”
“Transportation?” he said.
“Indeed.”
“It takes a while to get used to,” he laughed. As usual, she took it all in her stride. “Welcome to Section 51.”
“I always suspected,” said Ursula. “And your office is just how I expected it. Untidy, unkempt, and with coffee mugs everywhere.”
“You know me too well. And I think you knew from day one,” said Peter. “But protocol.”
“Say no more,” she said, holding a hand up. “Protocol is gospel, sometimes.”
He felt better about their chances already; she was simply the smartest person he knew.
“Well, I’d give you the grand tour, but…”
“We don’t have time for that, Peter,” she said right away. “Let’s get to work. Computer system.”
The White Death Page 17
