by JT Sawyer
“I promise I’ll let you know when he gets back here.” She signed off, hoping she could keep her word.
Chapter 25
“So, how were you able to keep this facility intact during the collapse of the city?” said Reisner as they walked through the main lobby, where Healey was serving as tour guide. He was growing impatient with her laissez-faire attitude, but at least she had allowed Porter to head up to the antenna on the jail roof. Reisner knew he would have a report back soon on whether the transmitter could get a message out to Ivins or whoever was heading up the search mission. For now, he had to squelch his unease at splitting up his team, though he found his senses bristling again, as if he were back on the streets outside the prison, puzzled by how Healey and her small group had survived in the heart of a city that was overrun by so many creatures.
“This fallout shelter was a designated safe zone for government officials in the event of nuclear, biological, or chemical attack. It was built in the late 50s and has been somewhat updated over the years,” she said, pointing to a pile of vintage radio equipment from WWII. “I used to be a judge at this jail for years before I was a congresswoman, so I knew about this facility. My office was only two blocks away, and when the pandemic struck, the governor ordered all high-level state and federal political staff like myself here. I didn’t take a lot of convincing after what I saw on the news broadcasts.”
She stood up, leaning on her chair while rubbing her nose. “There were around eighty of us inside when the doors were sealed. Unfortunately, we didn’t know the security system on the hatch lock was computer-automated and wouldn’t re-open for four days.” Healey jerked her chin up at the ceiling, shaking her head. “The governor probably knew—continuity of government and all that horseshit. Hopefully that prick is rotting in some alley right now.” She walked over to a row of cots, their blankets tussled. “We only had each other and some radio reports on this ancient junk, courtesy of California budget cuts over the years.”
She folded her arms as she let her head hang low. “My own husband was in Sacramento on business and was trying to get back here. I waited as long as I could, then we had to retreat down here and seal the doors.” Healey removed a tissue from her pants pocket and dabbed the corners of her eyes. “I keep seeing his face, thinking—what if he made it here only to find the place empty and the entrance blocked off.” Her sides started to tremble, then she sat upright, glancing around to make sure none of her staff were present. “What is that saying? It’s only the living who are left behind to put all the pieces back in place while the dead are left to rest.”
Reisner could see she was barely holding it together. He recalled the early days of the pandemic—how he had seen things beginning to develop, followed by the frightening collapse of governments around the world. He couldn’t imagine being trapped in this concrete prison with only a few scattered reports only to emerge into a ravaged world.
“When the vault opened on day four, we raced upstairs, thinking we would run into some National Guard units who would tell us the virus had been contained and the feds would be sending in rapid-response teams to help with recovery.” Healey waved her hands in the air. “Instead, we find the city is destroyed and we’re alone, surrounded by legions of those things.”
“You said there were over eighty people in this bunker with you.”
“That’s right—many were too overwhelmed by the need to get back home, to check on whether their families survived and what was left outside of the city.” She paced back and forth by the cots. “I tried to talk them out of it, but I understood their need to know. We equipped them with vehicles and weapons and let them go if they felt inclined.”
Healey thrust her head up at the entrance to the bunker. “You saw when you came down here that we’re down to a dozen people now. There’s been no word from the others who left, so I can only assume…” She let out a sigh.
“And what about the prisoners?”
“Oh, there are a handful. I couldn’t just release them within our group here. They are in their cells, being provided for.” She motioned with her hand towards the vault doors. “Follow me upstairs. It’s so dreary down here and there’s more natural light upstairs. Then we can discuss how to arrange the removal of my staff here once your group arrives.” Healey said it with the authority of someone used to delegating orders. Reisner wondered why she had twice changed the subject when asked about the prisoners and why she was so vague with their numbers.
He assumed a helicopter was inbound but he had no idea whether they would be able to extract all of her staff, and he was also uncertain about the fate of the felons. This place seems secure. Maybe they should just be turned loose once the civilians depart, or… He paused his train of thought as he reflected upon the brutal battles against the drones during the past week that he’d faced with warriors who had considerable tactical capabilities and firepower. Shit, the prisoners probably wouldn’t last more than a few hours on the streets. He thought about the logistical considerations of removing such a population of hardened criminals from this location, and the security required to monitor them afterwards at another location, not to mention the resources that would have to be allocated to feed them. Hell, maybe they are better off staying here within these walls after we leave? He shook his head, uncertain of what fate should befall them, aware that the justice system that was in place in this country prior to the pandemic had little bearing anymore in this new reality.
He still hadn’t heard from Porter, but he realized the thick walls of the bunker had probably prevented any radio transmissions from getting through. Reisner glanced down at his watch, realizing there were only fifty-six minutes until their ride was supposed to arrive. He could feel his facial muscles tighten further as his pulse quickened at the thought of the variables that were out of his control. What if Ivins can’t locate us in time? He ground his molars together. If I could only talk to someone—anyone at Pacific Command, or Ivins himself—to find out what the hell is going on. Reisner felt like he was navigating through a murky tunnel with a dim headlamp, unsure of what the next few hours would bring and even more uncertain of the intentions of Healey and her people.
Chapter 26
Later that morning, Selene received word that General Dorr had flown an army physician and biochemist to the Lachesis and their test results confirmed that the fluid the alpha had been carrying was comprised of synthetic hormones. However, the best news was that Runa had convinced Dorr of the urgency in arranging for Victor Tso to join Selene at the CDC. The flight from Pearl Harbor to Phoenix would still take another eighteen hours but the thought of teaming up with her old colleague had already eased the tension in her shoulders.
For now, she turned over some of the genetic sequencing of the 1918 virus to Noveck, who was finishing up her work of comparing the original virus to the modified strain. Since he didn’t have the analytical experience she possessed, Selene found herself constantly scrutinizing his work, which hampered her own efforts at determining the role that epinephrine played in nourishing the alphas.
“Doctor Munroe, can you come over here and get a look at this,” he said.
Once she was positioned over his right shoulder, he began clicking through the slides on his screen. “So these two virus samples both demonstrated a typical transmission method for H proteins to invade a cell and infect it and begin engulfing it while trapping the virus in an endosome.” He leaned back, looking at her for confirmation.
She backtracked, examining the first set of samples and comparing them to the new findings. “Nothing groundbreaking there—but when the infected cell discharges acids into the endosome in an attempt to digest the virus, the H proteins jump into the battle again, and that’s where things start to get interesting with the modified strain.”
She clicked on the next slide, comparing the 1918 strain with the one Hayes concocted. “Until I obtained the 1918 virus sample from the lung tissue in the cemetery, I was uncertain about how the v
iral entry pathway occurred. The results that were just run in the lab downstairs confirm that there are six genome segments found in both viruses, but the hybrid virus created after the introduction of the mites shows one additional genome segment.”
Noveck nodded, his eyes darting between the images. “If we can isolate that one segment then we can begin understanding its weaknesses and how to attack it.”
“Yes, and that is where I believe your findings with Amber’s blood will be critical. Something in her system prevented the virus from the bite from breaking into her cell walls and spreading. If we can identify that singular element then we will have the means of killing the parasites.”
“Not a vaccine?”
“That would be great, wouldn’t it, but we’re more likely looking at the capability of developing a biological agent that could be used to kill the drones.”
“A bioweapon.” He shook his head. “I got into this field to develop cures. Never thought I’d see the day when we were in the business of designing bioweapons.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Me neither, but the world is not the same one we left behind, is it? Besides, we’re a ways off from anything on a large scale. For now, keep sequencing Amber’s blood. The answer is found with her.” She returned to her desk, resuming her work, no longer feeling like she was trekking through a boulder-strewn canyon in the dark. Progress was slow but they were still moving forward. Selene felt some relief knowing, at least on an academic level, that she understood the unique sequencing and genetic markers that had enabled Hayes to concoct such a deadly virus.
For now, she needed to turn her attention to the implications of the data obtained from the Lachesis. She pored through a half-dozen medical articles from the field of endocrinology while furiously jotting down notes on a pad of paper beside her laptop. She reacquainted herself with the roles of cortisol and aldosterone, the two most critical adrenal hormones. Both were essential to regulating metabolism and served as chemical messengers affecting strength, pupil dilation, heart rate, mental acuity, and blood flow to muscles.
Once she had assembled the key statistics and information, she leaned back in her chair and examined the list, tapping her pen along the armrest.
The alphas need a regular intake of adrenal fluid either from live victims possessing Blood Type B for some reason, or through the consumption of synthetic hormones like the creature aboard the Lachesis. This would account for their enhanced strength and speed. But what happens without a regular intake of hormones? And what is considered ‘regular’? Do they simply have an energy crash or do they die if they can’t achieve their daily intake?
She thought about the people who suffered from Addison’s Disease, which resulted from the adrenal glands producing an insufficient amount of the hormone cortisol. They experienced fatigue, dizziness, and vision issues.
Selene sat upright in her chair, flinging the pen on her desk. If I can synthesize a compound that blocks adrenal absorption in the alphas, that would then create the same effects as Addison’s Disease. She felt a tinge of satisfaction with her sleuthing skills, then felt it all slip away as she realized the research and development it would take, even pre-pandemic, to accomplish such an undertaking. Selene glanced over her shoulder at Noveck, knowing that she needed to focus all of her efforts on the virus that mutated the creatures into their current state. For now, she would report her initial analysis of the findings aboard the Lachesis to General Dorr and Runa, hoping they might be able to provide additional data from the comatose alpha. She felt like a mountain of responsibility was bearing down on her shoulders. Just when the weight of her duties felt like it was driving her feet through the floor, she thought of Will adrift on the streets of L.A.
Hang on, Will. You have to hang on and come back to me.
Chapter 27
“That should do it for now. I would just get some rest,” said Doctor Beaumont, who had just given Morgan a shot of B12. “My educated guess is you are just suffering from malnutrition and lack of sleep, but that’s certainly understandable given all you’ve been through, young man.”
He smiled and rolled his sleeve back down, then rested his head on the pillow. The cot in the infirmary sure felt better than the places he’d slept in the past week, surviving as a scavenger on the streets before being caught by those hideous creatures. He watched the woman wave then walk away. “I’ll check on you in an hour. We usually gather for lunch around that time, so you can join us if you like.”
“Thank you. That’d be nice.”
Yes, so very nice.
When he spoke to himself, he heard two voices in his head, as if his psyche was being splintered apart by a diamond drill. He had fought to hold on for the past few hours—to control his thoughts—but he found his volition eroding away with each passing second, his thoughts merging with another—something other than human. Morgan felt the pressure in his cervical area increasing, like someone had affixed a wire garrote around his neck and was ratcheting down on it. What’s happening to me? As the tension increased, the sound of the other voice began blotting out his own, and it was then that he knew. He felt its presence as if it were standing over him again in the tunnels. The creature that had taken so many lives, draining them of their essence, was now burrowing deeply into his own mind, as if her claws were buried in his skull. Morgan clutched the railing on the bed as he struggled to maintain his grip on reality, but it seemed like his mind was spiraling down an obsidian passage without end. He gasped for air, trying to hold on, his lips shouting for help, but his words were snatched away before his quivering mouth. No, dear God, help me.
Morgan removed the bedsheet covering him, watching his legs swing out of the bed, moved by some force beyond his comprehension. He stood up and walked towards the swinging door ahead, his eyes robotically fixed on the path ahead as the shrill sound of the alpha began reverberating off the confines of his psyche. Once in the hallway, he craned his head in either direction then proceeded to the right, his posture rigid. He recalled the building layout from an emergency evacuation map he had noted on his walk down from the infirmary, the details vividly returning as if he were standing before it. Morgan wanted to run the other way, back out onto the streets in the sunlight, but he felt his body being pulled down the hallway as if an invisible tether was secured to his waist.
He moved past a kitchen and a pharmacy, then swung open the exit door at the end of the passage, following the steps down two flights, his gait steady. At the bottom, Morgan stopped suddenly beside a glass case built into the wall and smashed his fist through the panel, removing the wood-handled ax inside next to a fire extinguisher. Blood dribbled off his shredded hand, but he never felt any pain, continuing through another exit door and towards a steel-gray circuit breaker on the right side of the corridor. The humming sound coming from the utility panel was causing his cheeks to quiver, and he felt the force around his vertebrae constrict further. He watched his fingers clamp down around the fiberglass handle of the ax. Morgan fought to release his grip, but his willpower was draining away, replaced by the surging force of another mind flooding over every synapse in his brain. For a brief moment, he saw through the female alpha’s eyes as she stared down from a rooftop upon the prison grounds while thousands of her drones were poised to rush forward.
Morgan’s heart was punching through his ribcage, and his vision shifted back to his surroundings. He glanced around the hall, then felt the urge to raise the ax upward. The man that he had once been was submerged in a mental abyss, looking through a narrow tunnel at what his world had become. He felt like someone else’s life was unfolding before him as he remained helplessly encapsulated in a cocoon that he couldn’t free himself from. He saw his arms stretch upward, the delicate fingers that had once been those of a sculptor now clutching the ax while his mind raced with dread. He held it high, then swung it in an arc downward towards the silver conduit that connected the utility box to the perimeter fence controls outside. The shower of golden sparks was b
rilliant in his eyes during the microsecond before his body imploded from the surge of power scouring through every fiber of his being, melting organs, eyes, and muscles until he crumpled to the ground like a wave-battered jellyfish.
Chapter 28
As they entered the lobby, Reisner motioned to Healey that he would catch up with her as he tapped on his ear-mic to listen to Porter’s report.
“Boss, I’ve just returned from the jail roof after inspecting the antenna. It appears it was indeed short-circuited, probably from the storm damage Healey mentioned. I need to head down to the utility room in the sub-basement near the bunker and reconfigure things—should only take a few minutes, then all we need to do is reactivate the unit on the roof at the base of the tower. The UHF signal should start broadcasting immediately after that.”
“Copy that. Get on it and let me know when you’re done.”
He paused in mid-stride as he walked by a surveillance room whose door was ajar. As he glanced at the wall of security monitors, Reisner caught a glimpse of the prison grounds. The images were crystal clear compared to the hazy footage of the monitors in the bunker below, and Reisner got a glimpse of the entire compound. His forehead wrinkled at the sight of the jail, which revealed what had to be close to a hundred prisoners languishing in their cells. He could see their gaunt faces and sunken cheeks as the men lay nearly lifeless on their bunks.
His earpiece crackled again, but this time it was Nash’s voice. Reisner’s gut constricted with each passing word as Nash revealed the bizarre happenings on the street with the released prisoners.
