Wheels and Zombies (Book 3): Aground

by M. Van

  Colonel Cornwell stepped closer and shook both our hands.

  “We have a lot to talk about,” he said and then turned to Matley. “Doctor, why don’t you provide our guests with some proper clothing so they’ll be more comfortable as we speak.”

  | 19

  They’d put the three of us in those blue air force flight suits and whisked us off to some kind of meeting room. Reluctantly I had agreed to this meeting and only after General Whitfield had personally guaranteed that nothing would happen against our free will. It wasn’t as if that made me flourish with trust in these people, but what choice did we have? We sat inside a heavily guarded mountain, and it wasn’t as if we’d be able to stroll out.

  With Ash once again latched on to my back, I surveyed the room that seemed as if it could hold the assembled board of a large company. A dark-blue carpet covered the floor, with warm, sand-colored walls and an impressive collection of pictures. An enormous conference table stood in the middle of the room surrounded by ten seats. A soldier sat at a desk in the far corner and nodded at us in greeting. In the other corner I spotted something that caught my attention, and mindlessly drawn to it, I headed in that direction.

  “Oh God, here we go,” Ash said as she spotted where I was heading.

  “What?” I asked in an innocent tone. I stopped at a table that had on it the most beautiful coffee machine. The machine itself wasn’t that impressive, but the difference with a lot of the others that I had seen over the past year was that this one worked and had actual beans. A pot stood ready, filled to the brim with the beautiful dark brew.

  Brought up by a mother who valued her kids to have manners, I would usually have sought out the soldier sitting at the desk and asked whether I could pour myself a cup, but after the stunt that had just been pulled on us, I threw etiquette out the window and fumbled for a mug.

  “Here, let me help you,” Mars said and took the mug from my hand.

  Too embarrassed to look up at him, I kept my eyes locked on the table and shifted Ash so she sat higher on my back. Mars poured a second cup as I readied myself to speak. I cleared my throat and found the courage to face him.

  “I’m really sorry about before,” I said. The words came out a mere whisper but knew he had heard as he angled his face to look at me sideways. A crooked smile lighted up his face.

  “Sorry for what?” Ash said. Of course she had heard.

  I closed my eyes and blew out the breath I had been holding. For as much as I enjoyed Ash’s company, it killed any privacy I had.

  “Exactly,” Mars said. He set the pot of coffee down and took hold of my lower arm. “I should have come to find you the moment I found Ash in the lab, so no apologies.”

  “Well, then you’d have probably still been looking for me in the mess and I would have punched Matley,” I said elated.

  “I would have paid to see that,” Ash said with a chuckle.

  “This was probably the better way,” Mars said as he looked over his shoulder. “Angie, want some coffee?” Angie grunted a yes and joined our little group around the table.

  It wasn’t long after that a door opened and Matley, joined by General Whitfield and Colonel Cornwell, stepped inside the room. Their presence, especially Matley’s, made me uncomfortable, and I diverted my attention to the coffee.

  “See if they have a soda in that fridge, will ya?” Ash asked over my shoulder. I looked down at the small fridge that stood about knee high and groaned. Ash was enough of a weight without having to kneel down.

  “I’ll get it,” Mars said. He kneeled down before I could step back and felt him brush past my leg. The touch was innocent enough, but I could feel my head turn bright red.

  “You two should get a room,” Ash said.

  “If only,” Angie said under her breath and then quickly hid her smirk behind the steaming mug of coffee. I glared at her—pretty sure my face couldn’t turn any redder. Mars got up, shooting Angie a glare of his own and then handed Ash a can of soda. His action coincided with a loud but by now familiar “Ahem.”

  “Take a seat. We have a lot to discuss,” Colonel Cornwell said and gestured at the seats around the table.

  “Come on, Ash,” Mars said. “Let’s get you seated.” He took Ash in his strong arms, and I watched him carry her to one of the seats. I was still staring when he turned over his shoulder and said, “Bring the coffee.” I forced myself to wake up out of this idiotic state. This wasn’t the time. I grabbed the two mugs and set one down in front of Mars. Instead of taking the seat next to him, I moved around the table and took the one next to Ash, which seemed like an even dumber idea because now I had to look straight at him.

  The general seated himself at the head of the table and the colonel slid in next to him. Dr. Matley sat on the right side of General Whitfield, next to Angie, Ash, and then me, but she didn’t stay seated for long. She motioned at the soldier sitting behind the desk to dim the lights.

  “Maybe we should start by informing our guests a little about what’s happening, before you begin,” Whitfield said as the lights dimmed. Dr. Matley motioned again at the soldier at the desk, and the lights went up again.

  “My apologies,” she said with a red-tinged face. It pleased me I wasn’t the only person able to embarrass myself. The doctor cleared her throat and sat down.

  “Yes, and perhaps you should also apologize for what transpired in the lab,” Whitfield said. He looked pointedly at Dr. Matley as he waited for her to speak. The doctor seemed shocked, but quickly composed herself and nodded.

  “Again, my apologies,” she said.

  Addressing the room Whitfield said, “It seemed Dr. Matley became a little too eager after learning Dr. David Warren’s favorite test subjects have come into our midst.”

  The mention of Dr. David’s name felt as if someone punched me in the gut. Next to me, Ash shifted uncomfortably in her seat and across from me Mars’ face hardened.

  Whitfield leaned forward, folding his hands on top of the table. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I know the remark is inappropriate, but that is how we have come to know you.”

  A similar feeling that had risen up during my confrontation with Matley stirred inside me, but I kept my mouth shut. It didn’t seem like good idea to chastise the general of a military base.

  “Colonel Cornwell will explain,” Whitfield said.

  From that point, the colonel took over. The bald man with the permanent frown started with a little backstory on how Cheyenne Mountain had survived the initial outbreak, which didn’t seem like much of an achievement because the place was built for situations like these. He explained their standing orders that were also what they always did: observe the homeland and abroad skies for any threats. It got more interesting when he started to mention the discord creating a rift within the government.

  “They’ve split right down the middle—one side, including the president, had originally decided to place their faith in a multimillion-dollar pharmaceutical company called Pharma-Militum, who at the time happened to employ a man named Dr. David Warren, who on his turn also collected a government check,” Cornwell said. “The other half, that can count on the support of most of the military branches, believed Warren and Pharma-Militum to be responsible for the outbreak in the first place.”

  Cornwell paused as he glanced around the table to see whether anyone had a question. “The allegations helped destroy the company’s reputation, and while their stocks plummeted, Pharma-Militum pulled out altogether.”

  “This has placed the president, who up to this point refuses to concede his faulty judgment, and his supporters in a precarious place—as you can imagine,” Whitfield added. “This is why the FMTD was created in the first place—to act as a subterfuge so they could claim that the current administration was doing everything in its power to stop the spread of the virus.”

  I didn’t know whether I could imagine. It occurred to me he meant the rift between the president and the opposing part of the government. I was guessi
ng it was that, because the president was often seen as the most powerful person in the world, in control of his military, and opposing him seemed unimaginable.

  Back home, we didn’t do political extremes. We didn’t see our prime minister as a high and mighty entity. He’d just be the guy who showed up riding his bicycle to work and part of his job just happened to be running the country. He actually taught sociology as a guest teacher at a secondary school.

  “Placing Dr. Warren in charge reinforced the growing rift between the fractions, especially when the FBI proved his involvement in the outbreak, but it seems the president has no intention of acting on those allegations,” he said in a voice that sounded regrettable, “and on both sides we know forcing the situation will divide our country’s leadership further, which, considering the outbreak, is something we can’t afford.”

  He turned to face Angie, and then he nodded at Mars. “We have learned a lot about Warren’s research thanks to the FBI and Dr. Matley, who has worked with Dr. Warren for years. We strongly believe finding a solution to the Mortem virus has to be our first step in rebuilding this country and eventually its government.” Whitfield’s face hardened as he narrowed his eyes, expressing his evident disapproval as he addressed Mars. “That said, I should also add our disappointment to learn you have tried to keep certain information from us,” he said as his eyes shifted to Ash and me. “Fortunately, Ms. Vissers’s name turned up in the recovered information from the Florida lab, so when we discovered that a plane linked to your father’s company was flying to Jackson, along with Agent Marsden’s added interest—we decided to act.”

  It didn’t surprise me that they ultimately found us because of my dad trying to redirect his planes. Obviously, these guys would know about it. Tracking planes was one of the things they did here. Whitfield’s admission of how he had found out about us filled me with insecurities. On some level it was something to be grateful for, because if they hadn’t, I wouldn’t want to think of where Ash and I would have ended up—probably on Dr. David’s dissecting table—but it also meant he wanted something from us. The fact Mars had tried to hide our identities added to my appreciation of him and Angie.

  Finding out that Dr. Matley had worked with Dr. David disturbed me, though. I glanced at Mars in search of comfort, but his eyes had turned stone cold. Fortunately, they weren’t directed at me. He eyed Dr. Matley with a clenched jaw. Next to me, Ash had zoned out, fidgeting with the fabric of her flight suit. Automatically my eyes went to Angie, but the wariness in her face added to my discomfort.

  Whitfield eyed me expectantly as if he wanted me to say something. I drew in a breath, held it for a moment and then let it out, before I asked, “What is it that you want?”

  “Perhaps Dr. Matley can answer that question,” Whitfield said. He glanced at the redhead, and she got out of her seat. Again, the lights in the room dimmed. Dr. Matley moved to the end of the table where Ash and I were sitting while a large white screen descended from the ceiling. An image that looked like a backlit gray mass appeared on the screen.

  “Meet Mortem Ostium Inanimatum,” Dr. Matley said as she pointed a red laser light at the image. “This is the nuisance that has placed this world in utter turmoil, and these are the facts.”

  She pressed a button and the imaged changed into a slideshow. Several bullet points appeared with text added as she spoke. “One, we know the virus was developed in a government lab in DC. Two, we know the developer’s name is Dr. David Warren.” She glanced at all of us one by one as if we needed to let this information sink in, but I think everyone was well aware of the fact. When no one reacted, she continued. “The fundamental reason for developing this virus was the initial indications that it had the potential to increase healing powers within a human body. This would give a significant advantage to the likes of the military forces, but would also help to reduce healthcare costs, etc.”

  “Yes, yes, yes, I think we know all this,” the voice of Colonel Cornwell, on the borderline of annoyance, pierced the dimmed room. He was probably unhappy with the fact his own government had something to do with the creation of zombies, but I wasn’t going to point that out.

  Dr. Matley cleared her throat. Although she didn’t say anything to the colonel’s comment, her face expressed how she felt about the military’s intentions for the virus. She continued.

  “There is enough evidence to support the claim that Dr. David Warren is responsible for releasing the virus into the general population. His actions since then support existing theories that he is focused on finding a way to incorporate these added healing properties into the human body. From the early stages of his research, it had been evident that this solution would be found in neoplasma malignum carriers—also known as the abnormal growth of tissue, or cancer in laymen’s terms. The virus showed an adverse reaction to the accelerated growth of cells.”

  I let out a long breath as Dr. Matley continued her tale. I’d heard it all before, sitting on the floor of a jail cell. The memory of Mars sitting on the other side of those bars drew my eyes to his seat. He too wasn’t paying much attention to the doctor’s explanations. He was watching me, and even in this dimmed room, I caught the twinkle in his eyes. Despite the seriousness of the conversation, my mouth curved into a smile.

  “The information we have gathered on the doctor’s research has let me to believe that the so-called Divus serum or DS occurs in twenty percent of female neoplasma malignum carriers, due to the fluctuation in hormones …” Matley said and paused for effect. She glanced around the room as if to see whether her words would trigger a combined aha or eureka moment. Glances crossed over the table, but no one seemed to get what Matley meant, and she continued. “This means women at the time of ovulation when their hormone levels peak are impervious to the virus.” She went on to explain her theory that it had something to do with the rise and fall of hormone levels in our bodies.

  “This is where Ash’s results have clouded the research,” Matley said.

  For the first time during the presentation, Ash’s head perked up.

  “I did what?” she asked.

  Matley turned from her sheet presented on the screen and faced Ash.

  “Your hormone levels were never high enough to fight the Mortem virus alongside your cancer. That’s what put Dr. Warren on the wrong track,” Matley said.

  “So,” Ash inserted.

  Matley sighed at the interruption before she answered, “He kept digging deeper while the solution for his problem lay on the surface.” Once again, Matley glanced around the room expectantly.

  “A monthly menstruation cycle,” she simply said. “Ash hasn’t had one yet and still she hasn’t turned.”

  Ash scrunched up her face in disgust at the thought of the monthly discomfort that would fall upon her in the near future.

  “So why hasn’t she turned?” I asked. All eyes in the room glanced my way.

  “That is where you came in,” Matley answered. “At this point it is a guess, but as I see it, there must have been a breach where your altered virus has invaded Ash’s body.”

  “So why didn’t it work in Warren’s lab?” Angie said. “He had tons of test cases and access to Mags’s blood.”

  “Because during her stay at the lab, Ms. Vissers’s hormone level, specifically her luteinizing hormone level, was low some time before her ovulatory phase. That’s when levels peak and because Warren primarily tested on men …” Matley replied.

  “Huh?” Ash said.

  “She was bleeding at the time,” Matley rephrased, sounding annoyed.

  I sank deeper into my seat, hiding my face behind a hand. The fact we sat in a high-security facility, in a meeting with the general himself, talking about my monthly cycle made me feel uncomfortable as hell, and it projected on my face as it turned red.

  “I didn’t turn into a zombie because you were ovulating when your blood mixed with mine,” Ash said pulling up her nose. “I don’t know what’s more gross.”

  I pee
ked at her through parted fingers and caught her smirking at me. She patted my shoulder and said, “It’s okay. I still love you.”

  With a finger, I poked her shoulder and sat up. At the same time General Whitfield cleared his throat.

  “What does this mean?” he asked.

  Matley waved at the soldier sitting at the desk to turn on the lights. She returned to her seat at the table as the screen lifted up into the ceiling. As she sat down, she was careful not to look at Ash or me. Instead, she focused on Angie.

  “It means we can move to the next stage,” she said. The unsatisfying answer annoyed Colonel Cornwell as much as me.

  “What does that mean, Doctor?” he said in a hard voice.

  In a clinical voice Matley started to explain how they had been studying trials on animals for some time and had some positive results in creating DS. They all had the same thing in common: all test subjects had progressed stages of cancer and were all female with a high hormone count.

  “If we are ever to find a defense against Mortem, we need to be able to make our military defenses impervious against the virus, meaning mostly men. That means creating a way to inoculate them,” Matley said. She glanced around the table in search of approval.

  “Go on, Doctor,” Whitfield said.

  “We would like to start a human trial, and we need to do it fast before there isn’t anything left to save on the eastern side of the Mississippi,” she said. “We need to see whether we can—”

  “You want to use us as guinea pigs,” I said, cutting her off. It came out more as statement than a question.

  I glanced at Ash who seemed to have almost disappeared in her chair. “Not a chance in hell,” I added in a firm voice. We didn’t run from one mad scientist to be poked and prodded by another. Ash looked up and seemed appreciative of my answer.

  Matley immediately started to explain, but I wasn’t listening. I got up out of my seat and turned to Ash. She pushed her seat from the table and let herself be picked up.