by Perrin Briar
“No,” Susan said out loud, shaking her head.
Her outburst got the attention of a middle-aged man walking his dog. Susan put her head down and powered up the hill.
It wasn’t fair to blame Amy. It was Richard’s issues that had ended their relationship. She must never forget that.
The sun was high above the horizon when Susan got home. She put her bike in the hallway and smelled boiling vegetables. Rosario was stirring a pot when Susan came into the kitchen.
“You’re back early,” Rosario said.
“Just a bunch of useless chatter now,” Susan said.
She smiled, but there must have been something in it, because Rosario’s expression changed from happiness to concern. Susan turned away. She didn’t need consoling now.
“Is Amy with her toys?” Susan said.
“That she is,” Rosario said. “Lunch will be ready in ten minutes.”
“Thank you,” Susan said.
She headed into the front room. It was minimalist, with little in the way of personal items. Amy’s brightly colored toys were spread all over the floor. She had her back to Susan.
Susan grinned broadly at the little person she shared her life with. No, she was her life. Susan was overwhelmed by a deep sadness, at the unfairness of the world, at the lack of empathy in most people, who would never see beyond the disability etched on her daughter’s face. Life was not going to be easy for her, but she would never want for love, not from her mother, at least.
“Hey baby,” Susan said, sitting down beside Amy. “What are you up to?”
“Play,” Amy said.
“What are you playing?” Susan said.
It looked like she was building some kind of town, with plastic animals and vehicles as the buildings. Amy didn’t reply. She probably didn’t understand.
“Good day?” Susan said.
Amy shrugged, banging two cars together.
“What did you do today?” Susan said.
“Walk,” Amy said. “Play.”
This was the height of conversation Amy was capable of, single words with only their most basic of meanings. But it was something. Some children infected with the Zika virus couldn’t communicate at all, locked inside themselves like prisoners, with no outlet or way to establish a connection with others. Susan considered herself lucky.
Amy’s head was shrunken, small like it lacked the will to grow. Her eyes were wide and large, like an Asian’s. The proportions were all off but to Susan she was the most beautiful little girl in the world.
“Hug?” Susan said.
Amy immediately dropped her toys and got to her feet. She wrapped her tiny arms around Susan’s neck, who buried her face into her little girl’s pink dress. Susan wanted to cry, to release herself and her emotions, to squeeze Amy tight and drive the air from her body. She did squeeze, but not too hard.
Amy looked into Susan’s eyes, her expression blank. Susan thought she could see a spark of curiosity. The mind often created meanings that weren’t really there. It was difficult to ignore the impulse.
Upon first seeing Amy, a screaming baby covered in goo, Richard’s expression had curdled from one of wonder to one of horror and shame. Susan had lost all respect for him then.
All the way through the pregnancy the doctors had warned them the baby’s head wasn’t developing as fast as it should be, but not to worry. Sometimes different parts of the baby grew at different rates. It was nothing to be worried about. Everything would probably be fine.
Except it wasn’t fine.
As Amy grew it was clear something was wrong. Then they discovered she had the Zika virus. The doctors informed them their baby would be deformed and brain damaged. It wasn’t until after that meeting that they realized it was caused by Susan having gone to the conference in Brazil.
At the time there had been no warnings about the Zika virus. Susan was back home, working on their project. The news of the spreading virus was merely a curiosity, and drove Susan to work harder on Archie. In the future, such things would have little impact. It never occurred to her that she might be carrying the Zika virus.
All the while, Richard was warm, kind and supportive. He asserted that Amy would be fine. Everyone was born with their own little quirks. He genuinely seemed unconcerned about the whole issue.
And then the big day arrived.
If he couldn’t accept Amy the way she was, then that was his loss. She was beautiful, gorgeous, something that should have been held tight and adored. Newborns were never at fault for their behavior. They were too young to know better. It was their parents that were the problem. Richard was the problem.
Amy was an angel. She must have been scared, afraid of everything around her, not understanding how it worked or why, but she did not cry. She was brave and strong.
Susan vowed never to leave Amy’s side, to forever love her, and protect her always. Even from her father.
2:38 pm
Setbacks. That was what Phil’s life amounted to. A series of never-ending setbacks. Each problem fed into the next, forcing him to rethink his life. Fate was his ex-girlfriend, intent on destroying whatever happiness he might try to forge for himself.
He just wanted to take Susan out for a friendly drink, but she wouldn’t go with him. He couldn’t blame her. He wasn’t in good shape, and the beard put off a lot of ladies. He’d met Amy and thought she was cute. So what if she had brain damage? We all had our little quirks. Besides, Phil loved playing with her toys.
But Susan clearly still had a thing for Richard. Phil shook his head. He didn’t mind Richard – he was a nice guy – but to throw away a marriage to Susan over something so stupid as the way their kid had turned out… Phil didn’t understand that.
One of these days he was going to stop asking Susan out. She’d regret it then. But he knew she wouldn’t. She would probably prefer it if he did stop asking her on a date. But he never would. He was one of those people who always carried hope in their heart, even if there was none to be had. Things would work out, somehow. They always did in the end.
Phil put the robotic limbs back in their holsters and ticked a box on his clipboard to show he’d done it. He checked each of the offices were empty and locked the doors. Then he went into the main room.
Archie sat, still and unmoving. He was going to change the world one day. There would be an Archie in every home. It pleased Phil that he would be a part of it, even if his name would long be forgotten. After a while the machines grew on you and developed a kind of personality. Archie was temperamental and threw hissy fits when you didn’t tell him exactly what he wanted. But he always got the job done. Eventually.
Phil flicked the lights off and tossed the clipboard on his desk. Home time. After the successful fundraiser, Richard had given everyone the rest of the day off. Now it was just Phil at the research center. He didn’t mind. He felt comfortable there.
Setbacks. Always setbacks.
If he really wanted to win Susan, maybe he should stop jerking around and actually do something with his life, something of value. Women always found successful men attractive, and it didn’t just have to be money.
It was one of those rare moments in life when he experienced a clear clarity of vision, like poor eyesight suddenly snapping into focus. If he could grow, develop himself into something Susan would find attractive, then perhaps he might have a chance with her…
He shook his head. That sounded like an awful lot of hard work, no matter how true it might be. Phil was not a hard worker.
Phil pressed the button for the elevator. It was on the first floor and making its way up to him. He looked out over the foyer, the curved roof and the garden in the center below, the fountains’ washing spray was strangely hypnotic.
Research and development was a job for life. It would never be complete because the human race would never stop developing. It was a strange industry for Phil to be working in. He hadn’t changed in a decade. Without a goal, you were floating, without purpose o
r direction.
The elevator pinged and the doors slid open. He stepped in and pressed the button for the first floor.
“Going down,” the female voice said.
End goal. Why did that ring a bell?
Phil’s eyes went wide. Of course!
He mashed his palm against the terminal, fingers pressing every button but the one he wanted: to open the doors. Finally he found it.
Phil exited the elevator and ran down the corridor, back into the main research room. He palmed the lights on with a meaty slap.
Archie’s robotic arms were nestled in their holsters. Archie had completed whatever exercise he was doing earlier. Phil had forgotten to check once Archie had finished.
Phil moved to the terminal and accessed the completed projects folder. He selected the unnamed project Archie had been working on and sent it to a tablet. He scanned through the details, his brow creasing with lines.
“A virus?” Phil said.
He looked up from the screen. Why would they send a virus?
He checked the schedule but found no indication of a virus they should be working on.
Phil moved to Archie’s front Perspex panel and peered through it. There was a single petri dish with what looked like a bloody spider web inside it. The virus. It’d been colored red so it was visible to the human eye.
Phil ran his eye down the list of properties the virus had.
Highly infectious.
Spread by body fluids.
Not airborne.
Extremely dangerous.
“Oh my God,” Phil said.
The tablet clattered to the floor. Unless Phil had missed his guess, this was going to be a setback. A huge one.
2:52 pm
Susan started awake, shrieking a scream, arms and legs flying up. In her dream she’d been falling, and as she rolled off the sofa and hit the floor, it felt like an extension of the dream.
She was on her hands and knees, panting like she’d run a marathon, wisps of her blonde hair clinging to her sweaty face. The TV blared, something about people running around, water cannons knocking them back. Probably a movie. She must have fallen asleep in front of it. What had woken her up?
Her phone buzzed on the sofa’s armrest. Mystery solved.
Susan groaned, her back sore from having been sleeping in the fetal position. She hit the mute button on the TV and looked at the caller ID. It was the office.
She turned to look at the cat clock with the wagging tail on the wall. 3pm. And fast asleep already? What a loser.
She answered the phone.
“Hello?” she said.
“Susan?” Phil said. “Oh, thank God.”
Susan snapped awake.
“Phil?” she said. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Phil said. “Do you remember Archie was working on something this morning?”
“Yes,” Susan said.
“Well, he finished making the thing he was making and, well, it’s not good news,” Phil said.
“What is it?” Susan said.
“Have you seen the news?” Phil said.
“What news?” Susan said.
She was still groggy and half asleep, otherwise she would have shouted at Phil to tell her what the hell was going on. Movement out the corner of her eye caught her attention. It was the TV.
People ran all over the place, down narrow alleys, and over concrete bollards. Others attacked, leaping on top of them, biting and savage. The camera was shaky, handheld, from a high angle, like from a helicopter. It kept trying to focus on what was happening in the streets, but the image turned blurry, the action lost behind a building.
“Hold on a sec,” Susan said.
She hit the mute button, and the reporter’s gibbering filled the room.
“That’s affirmative,” the reporter said. “The people here in New York are attacking each other. At this moment, we don’t know why. The water hoses aren’t doing anything, but I think… I think some of the people are hurt. They got knocked down and aren’t moving… There are reports of this happening all over the city. It’s mayhem down here. I’ve never seen anything like this. If anyone is watching at home and living in New York City, you should stay inside, away from the windows. And lock your doors.”
The remote fell between Susan’s fingers and clattered to the floor. Her worst nightmares were taking place right before her. The people were wild, mad, and though she couldn’t make out their features from this angle and distance, she could tell they were moving in an unnatural gait, limbs stiff.
“Susan?” Phil said. “Are you there?”
Susan worked her mouth.
“We’re too late,” she said.
All those years of intense research to prevent events such as the one she was seeing, and a virus was already gripping humanity’s throat. They just needed another year or two and they would have been safe.
Phil sighed into the phone.
“Maybe,” he said. “But there’s still a chance. Can you come in?”
“I don’t know,” Susan said, still distracted. “I’ll have to see if I can get a sitter.”
“Okay,” Phil said.
Susan couldn’t drag her eyes away from the TV.
“It’s unreal, isn’t it?” Phil said.
“Yeah,” Susan said. “I’m going to call Rosario.”
“Okay,” Phil said. “Hurry.”
Susan hung up and dialed Rosario’s number. The phone rang ten times before someone answered. It was a deep, gruff voice. A man’s voice.
“Uh, sorry,” Susan said. “I’m looking for Rosario.”
The man grunted. There were some ruffling sounds, what might have been blankets, before Rosario answered.
“Rosario,” Susan said. “I’m really sorry to call you so late. It’s an emergency.”
“What is it?” Rosario said. “Is it Amy? Is she all right?”
“She’s fine,” Susan said. “Something is happening in New York. I need to get to the office and I was wondering… Forget it. I shouldn’t have called you.”
“No, it’s fine,” Rosario said. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“Thanks Rosario,” Susan said. “I appreciate it.”
Susan hung up and turned to look at the TV again. The news anchor was speaking.
“…but some viewers may find the images disturbing,” he said.
The image returned, of people bashing others’ heads against the tarmac and walls, and then reaching down to scoop up the spilled brains and putting it into their mouths.
Susan shook her head. The world had gone mad.
3:40 pm
The petri dish was small and unassuming. Hard to believe it contained the potential to reduce civilized people to angry beasts much less lay waste to the human race the way it had on the news. But that was what Phil was telling them, what the information on the readout was saying.
It was all their nightmares coming true, and at precisely the wrong time.
Susan, Richard and Phil were alone on the fifth floor of the research facility. Still, they lowered their voices for fear someone might overhear them.
“Still no word from New York?” Richard said.
Phil shook his head. A dark cloud settled over them. The riots had taken place just down the road from the New York research facility. It was too much to be coincidence.
“Where did it come from?” Richard said.
“We can’t know that,” Susan said. “We might never know.”
“It could be a rare strain of Ebola,” Phil said.
Susan shook her head.
“No,” she said. “I checked out its sequence. I’ve never seen anything like it before. It could be a thousand years old, ten thousand, and hasn’t changed in all that time.”
“Viruses have been known to lay dormant for thousands of years,” Phil said with a shrug. “And then once an organism comes across it…”
He clicked his fingers.
“It doesn’t ma
tter how it got started,” Richard said, pulling on his inhaler. “It’s here now. We have to do something about it.”
“What about the other research centers?” Susan said. “Do they know anything about this?”
“I spoke with them,” Phil said.
“And?” Susan said.
“They said they hadn’t received any communication with the New York office,” Phil said. “They don’t seem to know about the virus yet.”
“Call them back,” Susan said. “Tell them everything we know. We’ll upload everything into the cloud so they can access it.”
“There’s nothing much we can upload yet,” Richard said. “We don’t really know anything about it ourselves.”
“No,” Susan said. “But we could.”
Richard turned to look at her, and then at Archie.
“He’s only a prototype,” he said. “He might not work.”
“Better than not trying,” Susan said. “There’s nothing to lose.”
“And everything to gain,” Phil said, nodding in agreement.
Richard considered the alternative, cupping his chin with his hand. He was one of the smartest, most logical people Susan had ever met. He would see they were right. He finally nodded.
“Okay,” he said. “You’re right. We’ll use him to create a cure. We should use both arms?”
“Yes,” Susan said. “Never hurts to have a backup.”
“Turn Archie on,” Richard said.
Phil jogged to the terminal and began inputting instructions. The computer bleeped, spelling nonsense, a code only programmers understood.
Archie’s arms turned in their sockets, warming up and stretching, exercising their manmade muscles. The fingers extended and stretched, spinning around in their sockets. Then they turned and performed an intricate inverted dance, each arm performing the exact same action. The arms rose, picked up vials, and began removing chemicals from the vast multicolored bank behind them with the calm, precise movements of a dancer.
