“Species,” Everett interrupted.
Dirk narrowed his eyes, clearly annoyed at Everett’s correction. “What’s in Porterfield isn’t a species you’re familiar with, and to plan an attack strategy against this mess, you need to know exactly what sort of fungus you’re dealing with. Right so far?”
Everett nodded, unwilling to interrupt.
“And even if you do find out what type of species this thing is, it might not matter, because killing it just might kill the infected person? Well, they’re already dead, but you get my drift.”
Again, Everett nodded.
“So, basically, you’re saying were fucked?”
The look of fear and sadness in Dirk’s eyes gave Everett the push needed to answer. “No, not completely. This particular fungus didn’t retreat into a spore, which is good news for us. Usually, when under attack, they do. When that happens, fungi can live outside of their hosts without food for long periods of time. However, the fungi inside Porterfield did not do that. The other strange thing is all the cells converged in the brain, rather than the lungs, like most fungi.”
“So, the disease isn’t airborne?”
“No, it’s not. Which is a good thing for us. As I mentioned before, transmission only occurs through an exchange of bodily fluids, or ingestion of something tainted with the fungi.”
“That must be the silver lining, huh?”
Everett nodded then added, “The other thing that’s bothering me is I don’t believe this particular species is native to the United States. Based on its structure, I’d say it’s from someplace with a moist, tropical environment. I’ve never seen anything like it before. That, however, is just an educated guess at this point.”
For a few seconds, Dirk chewed on his bottom lip while staring at the ceiling. Finally, he asked, “You mentioned earlier you needed more of the fungi?”
“Yes. I’ll need quite a bit to create—”
“An antifungal. Got it. So, guess this means when the guys return, we’ll need to make a decision who’s going to go get more specimens.”
The sound of Warton and the others walking down the hallway set Everett’s nerves on edge. The other men were big and burly, as was Warton, yet none of them held the animosity toward him like Kevin did.
“Breathe, Doc. He’s not a rabid dog you know.”
“I beg to differ. Think I’ll go take my shower now, just in case he has aspirations again of choking me to death.”
Kevin rounded the corner, the rest of the men behind him. They all looked tired and edgy. Kevin gave a stern look to Everett before turning his attention toward Dirk. “We’ve got company. Found four Humvees about three miles away.”
“Any signs of their owners?” Dirk queried.
“No, but the vehicles have been driven recently. That girl and man I ran into yesterday morning mentioned they fled Malvern, and that the military gave the orders to terminate all citizens. Judging by the items inside, they weren’t driven up here by grunts. I’d bet money the girl and her friends took them. There’s no telling how many people were crammed inside those four beasts.”
“Let’s just keep an eye out for now. Most likely, they are trying to survive, just like the rest of us.”
“Yeah, well, maybe so. Maybe not. I say we don’t take any chances at this point. It’s time to go bury Porterfield’s remains and then get the hell outta here.”
“And go where, exactly?” Everett muttered, immediately regretting the words.
Kevin swung his harsh gaze over to Everett. “I wasn’t talking to you, Berning.”
“Enough. Both of you. Dr. Berning, go and take your shower. Kevin, I’ll help you put Thomas to rest, then you and I are going to have a long chat.”
“You can flap your gums all you want, Kincannon. Doesn’t mean I’ll listen,” Kevin turned and stormed down the hallway. The other men followed in silence.
Dirk waited until they disappeared before addressing Everett. “Again, ignore him. I’ll handle Warton, you just concentrate on a thorough spring cleansing. There’s soap and shampoo in a small bag next to the sink. Use it. Maybe getting rid of the grime will give you a new perspective on the situation. A clean body and mind might unleash some hidden ideas.”
“Ah, if it were only that easy,” Everett grimaced. “We, uh, aren’t going to head back to Dr. Thomas’ place, correct? Not that I enjoy living underground, but we are safer here.”
“We aren’t going anywhere, Doc, until you get a handle on things. Well, I’m going topside with Warton to help with Porterfield, but other than that, we’re hanging here. How long depends upon you and that big brain.”
Dirk walked away, leaving Everett in a stunned funk by the door. Bearings finally back in place, Everett stepped inside the bathroom and headed to the shower.
While shedding his stinky clothes, he went over the entire conversation with Dirk. The weight of the situation bore down on his soul like a ten-ton piece of steel. “No pressure. None at all. Dammit!”
Once under the stinging spray of the hot water, Everett let his thoughts wander over to what he hadn’t told Dirk. He knew the former soldier was a smart man, and guessed it wouldn’t take him long to grasp the enormity of the situation.
Yes, Everett needed to figure out what species of fungi they were dealing with, and obtain more to create an antifungal. However, it would be used as a proactive measure on those who’d yet to contract the disease, or administered to someone immediately after contamination.
Because those who’d been infected, the mass of fungi inside their brains controlling them like marionettes, didn’t stand a chance. Brain tissue would die, too, if a cure was created.
In other words, there wasn’t any hope for the healing the undead. The world would never be the same—what was left of it. Did he really want to stick around, watching the last remaining vestiges of humanity disappear? Was the entire infrastructure of civilized society on the verge of collapsing?
That’s what was on the horizon. With no power, things would decay at a rapid pace. One thought kept poking its way up to the forefront of Everett’s mind, no matter how hard he tried to push it away.
Nuclear power plants.
He tried to recall how many cities had nuclear reactors. Everett wasn’t entirely sure, though he seemed to remember reading somewhere the numbers were close to sixty. He dared not imagine how many plants were around the world. Arkansas only had one in Russellville, which was a little over a hundred miles away.
If the power grid was down for the count and radiation leaked out, how long would it be before the entire globe was covered in radioactive waste? Did the employees of the plants lock themselves inside when shit hit the fan? If so, how long would they stay, manning the facilities, changing out the moving parts due to metal fatigue? Would they leave when food ran out, or they simply couldn’t take being entombed?
Everett said a silent prayer, hoping the power plants had some sort of fail-safe mechanisms in place to slowly shut the dangerous facilities down in absence of human caretakers.
Unable to stand thinking about a nuclear disaster any longer, Everett turned his thoughts over to Porterfield. It was one thing to see a human turn into a monster on a screen; quite another in person. The sickness destroyed any semblance of humanity in Porterfield, leaving behind nothing but an empty shell controlled by vascular connections. A shudder of fear made Everett’s body shake. How would he handle being topside and actually coming face-to-face with one still reanimated, interested in nothing except eating him?
No ability to reason; no moral compass; no way to communicate.
Oh, he knew. He’d have a major stroke or heart attack before getting one whack in. The thoughts made Everett’s stomach sour.
When Dirk, and the others, grasped the news about the finality of the outbreak, would they allow Everett to stay underground with them? Would they continue to offer protection, or force Everett to leave? Would one of them snap and kill them all?
The biggest questi
on in Everett’s mind: did he want to remain living in a world with no hope?
Everett stared at the wet razor sitting on the ledge. A faint whisper inside his mind told him to pick it up and use it. Slice through the brachial artery and bleed out while enjoying one, last shower.
Hand controlled by the suicidal thought, Everett reached out and snatched up the razor. Studying it, he felt around with his fingers, finding the artery. Just one, painful and deep slice, and the nightmare would be over.
No more worrying about things. He could slip away into the next phase of life amidst a torrent of red. Join his family on the other side, stop all the terrifying thoughts from controlling every minute of his life. Atone for his colossal mistake.
Then, the remainder of the conversation between Dirk and Kevin popped up.
They were going to bury Porterfieled, which was a huge mistake. Porterfield’s remains needed to be burned. It was the only way to make sure his body was no longer a threat to the rest of them. If any of the fungi were still alive, it was possible they could leak out of his body and contaminate the ground.
The thought made him change his mind about slicing his arm up.
“No! Stop it!” Everett muttered, tossing the razor to the floor. “Can’t keep blaming myself for something I didn’t do! Someone else made these monsters, not me. Enough wallowing in this pit of sorrow! I’m still here for a reason. Time to figure out why. I can’t waste another minute worrying about what-if’s. I’ve got to stop them before they bury Thomas!”
“Warton? Winters? Follow me, please.”
Kevin looked up from his perch on the chair. He glowered at Dirk while chomping on a protein bar. “May I finish eating first?”
“It’s portable,” Dirk tried to keep the irritation in his voice at bay. “We need to give Porterfield a proper burial. Doc’s finished with him.”
Clive Winters rose and joined Dirk at the door. The youngest of their group at only twenty-eight, Clive was also the largest. He looked like a combination of wrestler and linebacker. Clive was a quiet man who followed orders without batting an eye or questioning them. Dirk brought him onto the team after Clive’s young wife overdosed on heroin while he was deployed overseas.
“Do we need to suit up?” Clive asked.
“Doc told me earlier we won’t get sick unless bitten or scratched, but just to be safe—”
“Or get fucked up,” Kevin added, rising to his feet.
Dirk shot him a dirty look, yet let the comment slide. “Suit up, boys. The rest of you keep trying the radios. See if you can raise anyone. If you do, make sure not to give out our location. Understood?”
“On it, sir,” Drake Denton replied. “I know the drill.”
Dirk stepped back out into the hallway and nodded. “Stay sharp. Eyes on the lookout at all times. If Dr. Berning asks, tell him where we went, and that we’ll be back shortly. Then, after we chomp some grub, we’ll all need to sit down and listen to what Dr. Berning’s learned during the last forty-eight hours.”
“Joy,” Kevin muttered.
“Buck up, Warton. According to what Doc told me earlier, you’ll get a chance to release some of your pent-up anger. Soon. He needs more specimens.”
“Of course he does. Sick bastard,” Kevin said, moving ahead of Dirk. “Mad scientists always do.”
Dirk shook his head while bringing up the rear. He hoped once Warton had a chance to say his final goodbyes to Porterfield, Kevin’s nasty demeanor would change. If it didn’t, and Warton continued to hold animosity toward the doc, things would get even more uncomfortable inside their little slice of Hell on Earth.
Ten minutes later, all three fully covered in bio suits and Porterfield’s nasty remains encased inside a body bag, Dirk, Kevin, and Clive carried the former soldier topside.
None of them said a word as they trudged through the quiet forest. Dirk couldn’t stop going over the entire conversation with the doc, nor shed the overwhelming sense of guilt weighing heavy on his chest.
The minute Dr. Berning mentioned Laredo, something inside Dirk’s mind snapped. Visions of the night he snuck in and rescued the old codger made his skin crawl. With full clarity, Dirk recalled Dr. Berning attempting to grab the satchel with the vials and formula, yet in the heat of the moment, Dirk yanked him away.
Dirk found little solace in the fact he didn’t realize at the time what little bombshells were inside the bag. Dirk wished Dr. Berning would have insisted they retrieve them. Though it would have been dangerous, he would have turned around and headed back.
No, I wouldn’t have. I would have brushed it away and convinced Dr. Berning it didn’t matter. That he could simply create more.
Though Dirk had no clue who the men were in the vehicle that had chased them that night, he knew enough. Daryl Riverside had been working for some lowlife thug, probably a drug lord from south of the border. After Dr. Berning retold their last words to each other, and related all their conversations as Daryl drove to Laredo, there was no doubt about where Riverside’s loyalties resided.
Someone wanted the cure, enough to kill tens of people for it, and used it to create a nightmare. Whether their intention was to destroy society or not, it didn’t matter.
Because it had.
Dirk tried to salvage the remains of the computers, hoping he’d be able to pull some information off the hard drive or server, but no luck. Riverside was smart, and made sure to completely wipe them before he physically destroyed them. Rather than risk an electronic trail leading back to his doorstep, Dirk didn’t attempt any searches on the internet about Riverside. Instead, he waited and scoured news sites for any articles about a dead body on the outskirts of Laredo.
The only article, a brief blip in the Laredo Morning Times, surfaced two weeks after the incident. There had been no mention of a body, or the vehicle, when the charred remains of the small cabin was discovered. There had been an active case opened because the fire was ruled arson, and only a one sentence blurb about spent shell casings found at the scene. The article hinted the cabin was likely used as a drug drop, or perhaps a hiding spot for illegals.
No articles about the subject ever surfaced after the initial write-up.
That meant the thugs sent to Laredo returned to the scene, snatched Riverside’s body, took the truck, and set the place on fire. Obviously, they took the serum and research notes with them, too, and handed them over to someone with dark, evil intentions.
Dirk played a major role in the nightmare. Way more of a part than Dr. Berning. Though he’d kept the ugly truth to himself, Dirk realized he had no choice but to come clean to the others. It was time they stopped blaming the nightmare on Dr. Berning, put the mistakes behind them, and work together as a cohesive unit to survive.
Shaking the disturbing thoughts away, Dirk focused his attention back to the present. The final resting place of Thomas Porterfield loomed ahead. Dirk’s stomach soured, recalling the two days he’d spent, alone, retrieving and burying the twenty-seven others the year prior.
As the trio arrived at the small glen, full of twenty-seven mounds of dirt with no markers, all three men remained quiet.
Dirk wondered if they each were thinking the same thing he was: That could be me. Soon.
Without being instructed, Clive and Kevin eased Porterfield’s remains to the ground next to the last grave. Dirk walked over, shovel in hand, and began to dig. Clive and Kevin joined in, filling the morning silence with the sounds of shoveling.
Since the ground was hard and nearly frozen, the process of digging a shallow grave took almost fifteen minutes. Once they lowered Porterfield’s body into the hole, Dirk removed the bio suit and tossed it on top of the body bag. Kevin and Clive did the same, and they all worked in tandem to fill the hole with dirt. Dirk finally broke the silence. “Kevin, would you like to say something?”
Kevin shook his head. “Already said my goodbyes when he was still, you know, him. What’s in the ground isn’t my friend.”
“Can’t argue
that point. Let’s head back and see if Denton’s had any luck with the radio.”
Snorting, Kevin muttered, “You’ve always been a glass half-full kinda guy, Kincannon. Me? Well, I’ve gone from glass half-empty to ain’t no water left at all.”
All the men froze when they heard someone tromping through the woods from the direction of the lab. On instinct, all reached for their weapons.
“Stop! You can’t bury him!”
“Shit, what is he doing here?” Kevin asked.
Dirk lowered the rifle. “Doc? What are you talking about?”
Everett Berning stopped at the tree line to catch his breath. “The fungi! You can’t bury him because of the fungi!”
Kevin stiffened. “We don’t take orders from you, old man. Besides, we already did.”
Signaling for Warton to be quiet, Dirk headed toward Dr. Berning’s position. Warton and Winters followed. Dirk lowered his voice so only the other two could hear him. “If he’s out here, alone, there’s a mighty good reason why. We need to find out what’s on his mind, so let me do the talking.”
“He’s crazy, and yet you want to give him a chance to—?”
“Enough, Warton. Enough. That’s an order.”
Kevin bristled yet remained silent as the trio joined Dr. Berning.
“Okay, Doc. Explain.”
“To kill the fungi completely, it must be burned. Burying it exposes it to the ground.”
“Don’t worry, Doc. We put him inside a body bag.”
Everett sighed. “That’s not going to be enough. Over time, the fungi will—”
“How much time?” Dirk interrupted.
“Weeks. Months. Depends upon the type of fungi and other factors.”
Dirk motioned for Dr. Berning to move. “Then let’s worry about that later, Dr. Berning. Right now, we need to concentrate on the present, not worry about the what-if scenarios of the future. Okay?”
“But—”
“No buts, Dr. Berning. This was a discussion that could have waited until we returned, or happened before we left. You risked your life coming topside without a weapon, and that simply cannot happen again. We need you to remain healthy and in one piece. Now, let’s get back to the lab and have our little pow-wow.”
Tainted Future (The Rememdium Series Book 3) Page 5
