“Detroit is officially lost.”
The silence in the room was deafening for a split second, before the scientists and army personnel burst into cries of despair and outrage. “How is this possible?” A man in uniform asked. “We’ve had troops on the ground since the first hour of its escape! How were they unsuccessful in destroying it or at least in quarantining the city?”
“Their numbers keep multiplying at an astonishing rate,” the scientist said. “We can’t even properly track and report their numbers because they’re already long outdated by the time we get our reports. The reports in your hands are most likely far below the actual numbers by now and they’re not even an hour old yet. There’s just no way to keep up with them. Trying is a lost cause.”
“So what do we do now?”
“As of right now, we’re trying to focus on keeping Detroit quarantined to the best of our ability. We’ve had a few cases reported from nearby areas, but so far the majority of it is from the city itself. If we can create road blocks and check points, we should be able to stop the spread to other cities while evacuating any currently unaffected civilians.”
A man at the table snorted, and Dr. Richards narrowed his eyes. “Hasn’t anyone here every watched a zombie movie before? Someone infected always makes it through the check points. We should just bomb the city and be done with it. You just said it was a lost cause, so lets take them all out in one fell swoop and stop this nightmare in its tracks. It’d be irresponsible not to at this stage.”
“There are still survivors in the area, not to mention many troops on the ground.”
“So get them out. Give them a two hour deadline to vacate Detroit, and then drop the bomb. Detroit was a shit hole to begin with. Nobody is gonna miss it.”
A few people at the table coughed to hide their laughter, but Dr. Richards didn’t find it all that amusing. Detroit may not have been the nicest place to live, but it had been his home for nearly his entire life, and he had a special fondness for its broken charm. He had made some of the biggest scientific breakthroughs of his field in this very city, and now it had spawned perhaps the greatest weapon ever created. Even though he wasn’t fond of its rather savage inhabitants, he had to admit he didn’t want to see it go, especially if it had to go in flames.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” another scientist said. Dr. Richards wasn’t sure of their names and usually didn’t pay them that much attention. “We can’t bomb an entire city off the face of the earth. Surely there’s some other option available to us? This infection—”
“I think it’s safe to say we can officially call it an outbreak at this point,” Dr. Abbott said, speaking up for the first time since arriving to the meeting. “It’s no longer just an infection; it’s a full scale national disaster. Calling it an infection makes it sound like we have a hope of curing it, but we don’t. All we can do is try our best to limit our losses, both human and monetary.”
“Are things that bad?”
“Yes,” she said. “To be quite honest, I don’t believe the outbreak can be stopped at this point. The rate of exposure is just too high, and we have no way of fighting it. People are panicking and fighting against us, hampering our clean up efforts. There’s not much we can do at this point. If we can quarantine the city and cut off their food supply, we might be able to wait it out and hope they starve to death. It might be our only option at this point.”
Dr. Richards shook his head, a smile on his face. “You’re insane if you believe something as simple as starvation will be what ends these monsters. They’re dead,” he stated, as if everyone in the room didn’t already know it. “They don’t need air or water or food like we do.”
“You don’t know that,” she argued, raising her voice. “You’re just assuming, like you always do, that you know more about things than the rest of us. The truth is, you’re as much in the dark about them as we are. So why don’t you stop acting like a pretentious know it all and get off your high horse. Don’t forget that we wouldn’t even be in this situation in the first place if it wasn’t for you and your sick trials.”
Dr. Richards laughed. “My sick trials? That’s rich coming from the woman that was trying so hard to take my position from me.” When her eyes widened, his smile grew. “Yes, Dr. Abbott, I was well aware of your desire to take over my project. If my trials are so sick, why on earth were you so desperate to be the head of them? I believe that’s what you’d call being a hypocrite.”
She spluttered, floundering for an excuse. “I never wanted your disgusting trials. I wanted your research and your funding, yes, but not the atrocities you were committing in your labs!”
“And exactly how would you have used my research without those atrocities? I’m curious, Dr. Abbott. Clearly you see me as a monster. When you look in the mirror, what do you see?” She narrowed her eyes, refusing to give him an answer, and he smiled. “You’re just like me, just a few years behind. When you become the head of your own project someday—which I’ve no doubt will happen, since you’re far too ambitious to let anything stop you—you’ll understand where I’m coming from. Then my “atrocities” as you call them will be nothing more than normal to you.”
“I will never be like you.”
“You’ll either be like me, or you won’t be anything,” he said with a chuckle. “I doubt it will take too long for you to realize that. Once this is all behind us, you’ll see.”
The man at the front of the room cleared his throat again, cutting off whatever reply Dr. Abbot had been about to give. “Continue your discussion later if you must. Right now, we need a report on your findings. Dr. Richards, what can you tell us about these creations of yours?”
This was the part he’d always hated about his job. He was a decent enough public speaker, but he found himself continuously irritated by his underlings and their inability to keep up with him. Shuffling through his papers, he found the one he was looking for and brought it closer, adjusting the glasses perched on the end of his nose. It was one of the reports he’d examined just before arriving at the meeting, and the information was still fresh in his mind.
“At this time, there are still a lot of unknowns. But what we do know is that not only are these things quickly spreading, they’re very challenging to take out. I’ve been studying one of the remaining specimens, and I’ve come to the conclusion that they do in fact retain some form of brain activity, which is why only destroying the brain will put them down for good. But we’re not just talking about the part that keeps them up and moving around, either. No, there’s something much more going on in their minds. We’ve determined that they’re able to distinguish the living from the dead through some unknown means. Not only that, but they instinctively form groups, perhaps as a means of making hunting or survival easier. We’re not sure yet.”
“So you’re saying they’re intelligent?”
“Unlikely,” Dr. Richards said, shaking his head. “I believe it to be more like basic animal instincts, not actual intelligence. Furthermore, they know to follow sounds to lead them to their prey, and we know they have a sense of smell. However, we’ve only been able to get them to react to bodily smells—blood and flesh. Other smells have no affect on them. Their sense of sight is incredibly limited, and we believe they rely on their sense of smell the most. Right now we’re studying the rate of decay and if they can in fact starve to death,” he said, glancing at Dr. Abbott. “Though I’m positive the answer will be no. It appears they have no real need to eat for nourishment. Perhaps it goes back to that animal instinct.”
“I understand you’ve also been working on a potential cure?”
“I have,” Dr. Richards admitted, though he didn’t want to talk about it. He hated discussing his shortcomings, and this cure was turning out to be one of them. “I’ve been studying blood samples from the zombies themselves, as well as from humans who have been infected by them but haven’t yet turned. I’ve begun to set up some framework for my potential cure, but it won’t be done
anytime soon. A disease as complicated as this one won’t be cracked in a week or even a month, I’m sorry to say.”
“You need longer than a month?” he demanded, his eyes narrowing and his hands clenching. “We don’t have that kind of time!”
“No, we don’t have time for me to rush into this and give you something that doesn’t work. Believe it or not, but this situation can get worse. A cure that doesn’t work would be the least of our problems, but let’s say I rush things and give you something that ends up mutating them into an even bigger problem. What do we do then? We’d be back at square one with the cure, and we’d have an even more dangerous threat on our hands. Don’t rush me. Perfection takes time.”
“Time we don’t have!”
“Unfortunately I have to agree with Dr. Richards on this,” Dr. Abbott said. “Rushing a cure would be a mistake, Sir. There’s no telling what could go wrong, especially with such an advanced disease. It’s better to focus our effort on containing the spread for now and let him work on the cure at his own pace.” She glanced at him, not bothering to hide her distaste for the man. “Though it is his fault we even need a cure in the first place.”
“No, it isn’t,” Dr. Richards said pleasantly. “It’s the fault of whoever was stupid enough to release my subject. If it weren’t for them, she would still be strapped to one of my examination tables, and none of this would have happened. Though I’m not surprised you blame me. Anything to try and discredit my work and make yourself look better, eh? Speaking of the idiot who quite possibly ended the world, did you ever find out who it was?”
“No,” the man admitted. “We believe it was more likely a coordinated group effort by at least two people. One of them had to disable the cameras and the other had to actually release it. It all happened in the span of eight minutes, far too quickly to have been just one person. When we find out who was involved, they will be punished to the full extent of the law.”
“Seems like kind of a light sentence for causing so much damage,” one of the men at the table said. “I would think they’d get the death penalty for sure.”
“If it ever saw the inside of a courtroom,” another muttered. “We all know whoever did it isn’t gonna get a trial. All they’re gonna get is a shallow, unmarked grave somewhere off the beaten path. And good riddance to ‘em. I wouldn’t lose an hour of sleep over it.”
Dr. Abbott shook her head. “If that’s all, I’d like to get back to my work. Some of us are still searching for ways to help the military combat the problem instead of sitting around and thinking of revenge.” She gathered her files and got to her feet, quickly exiting the room.
Dr. Richards was the next one to leave, after sweeping his papers back into his folder hastily. He’d take the time to sort through them some time later. Right now, he was anxious to get back to his lab and immerse himself in his experiments. He had started a new one early this morning instead of sleeping, and he was anxious to sit down and take a look at the results. If I’m right, perhaps this cure is closer to being in my grasp than I originally thought.
He swiped his key card to get back into his lab and went immediately to the computer. He printed off the results of the last test, yanking the warm paper out of the machine before it was even done. His eyes quickly scanned the pages, lighting up as his theory had once again been proven right. Grabbing a nearby recorder, he said, “I had originally considered that certain blood types might react differently to the disease, and it appears I was correct. All of the blood types are susceptible to infection except for one. It’s possible we might be able to use this immune blood type as a starting point for the cure. I’ll have to look into this more before bringing it up to the board.”
He got up from his chair and crossed over to the door leading into his examination room. The door opened as he slid his card key, and he was hit with the smell of decaying flesh and old blood, but it hardly fazed him at this point. He simply grabbed a white mask and placed it over his mouth and nose, peering down at the subject strapped down to his table. The flesh was beginning to soften and peel away from the bones where it had been restrained, and Dr. Richards pulled at it, ripping away a chunk of flesh from the subject’s wrist. The subject struggled but didn’t seem to be in any pain.
Dr. Richards jotted down a quick note before bagging and labeling the sample he’d just taken. Setting it aside for later, he grabbed a nearby scalpel and steadied his hand over the subject’s abdomen, lifting up the tattered remnants of its shirt to expose the bare skin. “Subject nine was acquired mere hours ago. This is my first time examining the subject up close. The purpose of this exam is to determine whether or not the creatures actually require food or if they eat for some other reason. I’ll be examining the contents of the stomach to see if anything the subject has eaten has started to break down. If it has, it will mean the body still processes their food. If not, then the food will serve no real purpose and just remain in the stomach.”
He pressed the scalpel against the stomach, his hand sure and steady as he made the first incision. The blade glided easily through the skin and fat, and Dr. Richards felt a small thrill travel up his spine at the feeling. This was one of his favorite parts of any examination—wielding the blade. He enjoyed the feeling of parting skin and opening up one of his subjects. It was something he’d liked ever since his early childhood when he dissected his first frog. Taking things apart and learning what made them tick was a morbid fascination of his, one that he had cultivated into an actual career, one where he got to be himself and truly enjoy his work.
He pulled the skin back and pinned it in place. His gloved hands reached into the subject’s abdomen and he felt around for the stomach, gripping it firmly and slowly pulling it from the body. He could tell just by looking at it that there was something inside, and he picked up the scalpel and made a second incision. He held his breath as a smell worse than any decaying body filled the tiny room, and he felt his eyes begin to water. Blinking away tears, he held the stomach over an empty container and began to squeeze out the stomach contents.
He watched as bile and small chunks of flesh began to fill up the container. He saw a couple of fingers, what looked like the ear of a dog, and part of a human tongue. The fact that he could easily distinguish what all of it was only hammered in the fact that his theory seemed to be correct once again. None of the contents of this stomach had begun to break down despite probably being in the stomach for at least five or six hours, if not longer.
“The contents of the stomach are mostly human, and they appear to be in good shape. I see no damage other than the trauma inflicted during the feeding. The bite marks are clearly defined and there appears to be no break down. I’ll need to examine a few more cases to make sure the results are all uniform, but at this point I’m comfortable going on record that these creatures have no real desire to eat and do so simply because they can. It appears the food they consume serves no purpose, meaning those hoping to wait until they starve to death are going to be waiting indefinitely. We’ll need to find another way to exterminate them.”
He plopped the stomach back into the subject’s empty abdomen, stripped his gloves into the trash, and put on a fresh pair. When he had labeled the stomach contents and put them in the fridge until he could examine them closer later, he sat in his chair, wondering what he was going to do next. He wasn’t particularly invested in any of this research unless it had to do with the cure, but there wasn’t much he could do about that now. He knew that he needed a certain blood type, but he wasn’t sure where he was going to get a large enough source to give him multiple samples. A steady source of it would be ideal.
Perhaps someone in the lab has the type I need.
The odds were slim with how rare the type was, but he figured it couldn’t hurt to ask around. If he could find even a small sample of it, he could start working on the cure. Thinking about reversing the last few years of his work had him in an irritable mood, but for the first time since his subject had escaped,
he was beginning to feel the first nagging sensation of guilt. It was in the back of his mind, taking root and festering like a disease itself. There had been very few times in his life he ever felt a sense of guilt or remorse, but here he was, working his ass off trying to reverse some of the greatest work he’d ever done, all so the guilt would go away.
Strange how something meant to help so many people could end up hurting even more.
He was no stranger to military advancements and the cost they often had, but he had to wonder how many of the soldiers he’d been trying to protect had died defending the public from his creation. All of those soldiers had signed up to defend their country from any threat, and the biggest threat they’d ever faced had ended up being himself, a man trying his best to dedicate his life to making their sacrifices no longer necessary. He loved nothing more than he loved his country and his science, and to think that he had used one to potentially destroy the other left him with a lead weight in the pit of his stomach.
I have to find a way to fix this, even if it means undoing years of research and potential benefits. I can’t be killing the people I was trying to protect.
He got out of his desk chair with a grunt and slight struggle, collecting his notes once more. He left his room in a hurry, making his way down to the last place he wanted to be right now. The name Dr. Abbott was engraved on a piece of metal beside the door, and he grimaced. Damn how he hated this woman and her pert brown-nosing ways. He was not a fan of women in science and thought she should stick to other careers, but not only was she the head of one of the smaller research departments, she was also the head of the medical staff for the lab. If anyone could tell him who to talk to for his sample, it would be her.
Tales of Terror from Survivors (Zombie Apocalypse #3.5) Page 11
