The Virus

by Steven Spellman

  Once everyone had shuffled to the coffee maker for that sweet, brown gold of caffeine, they each took a chair and began discussing a plan. Everyone knew what must be done. They had, in fact, already agreed upon it, but still no one wanted to assume the potentially unlucky responsibility. The fact that everyone’s constitution was half-mast at best wasn’t helping things. Geoffrey decided he had had enough and that he would make the dreaded phone call. His career had yet to really begin, but more importantly, he had seen with his own eyes what happened to Mr. Reynolds. If the others were undecided on whether or not to believe his account, he wasn’t. Just like everyone else at the station, Geoffrey had been briefed rigorously on the protocols of how to call for help in just such an event.

  He stepped briskly toward the glass case that housed one of the special satellite phones used to contact help in situations like this, but before he could reach it, one of the other scientists spoke up in the first harsh tone Geoffrey had heard (outside of Mr. Reynolds’s, of course) since he first got to the station.

  “And just what do you think you’re doing, Son?” the scientist asked, coldly.

  “I’m calling for help,” answered Geoffrey, as professionally as he could. He was already seething at the fact that either these people had mistaken him for a liar, or didn’t have enough balls between them to consider anything other than their own precious careers. He didn’t want to add to the mess that was already on everyone’s hands.

  “Yeah, I can see that, but if you know how to call for help, then you know damn well that an intern,” the scientist laid great emphasis upon the word, “shouldn’t be calling for help unless none of the scientists are able to do so themselves.”

  Of course Geoffrey knew as much. He also knew that the scientist speaking to him so roughly knew what Geoffrey was doing before he asked, mainly because he (Geoffrey) had just told everyone what he was going to do before he stood from his seat. Geoffrey stood with his back to the group and his face to the phone in the glass case. He hadn’t moved an inch from where he stopped when Benjamin, the other scientist, spoke to him. He wanted badly to turn upon his superiors, to yell at them that he was forced to make the call precisely because they were unable to do so themselves, because they were all spineless cowards. He wanted to scream at them that a man—an incredibly pretentious man, albeit, but a man nonetheless—was unconscious on a stainless steel table in the middle of the room and they, a bunch of supposedly professional, grown-ass men and women, were too concerned with their reputations to even let someone know, but Geoffrey knew that, as right and just as it may feel to lash out, it would do absolutely no good at all.

  Instead, he took a deep breath. “Well, would one of you call please?” he asked between painfully clenched teeth, still not bothering to turn to face the others. “I’ll take the heat.” He knew that the gesture would be insulting, but he couldn’t resist at least a little defiance.

  “Yeah, intern,” same emphasis, “we’ll do that, but in the meantime, you can just have yourself a seat.”

  Geoffrey took another deep breath and returned to his chair. Benjamin glared at him for a few long moments and then rose to his feet to retrieve the phone. He got to the glass case, lighted a hand upon the knob, and stopped. “And you’re right, you will take the heat for it.” he snarled, before making the call.

  Everyone was tense as they waited for the helicopter to arrive. Benjamin reassigned shiftsso that someone would always be present with Mr. Reynolds. Geoffrey was not included. Nearly as offensive to the scientists as the fact that they may be jeopardizing themselves by phoning home base for a potential false alarm, was the fact that it may get out that a lousy intern was the only one with enough guts to do the right thing should this turn out not to be a false alarm. To avoid that happening, they were fully prepared to discredit Geoffrey in any way they could when the time came. They would draw attention to the fact that he was alone with Mr. Reynolds when he became unconscious—highly suspicious—and that the crazy story he gave them upon their arrival only heightened that suspicion.

  But how would they explain the fragment, and that it was Geoffrey—the lousy intern—who had initially noticed it in the first place? No one wanted to think about that. They would just have to cross that bridge when they came to it. Meanwhile, the normal observations of the sky continued as everyone waited for the helicopter, and, as he had expected, Geoffrey was assigned to only the most tedious tasks; jotting down the most meticulous and redundant findings, fetching coffee, etc. Meanwhile, no one discussed or otherwise drew attention to the fragment that was still glowing in the distance. The scientists all agreed that they would tend to that once Geoffrey and Mr. Reynolds were long gone. Perhaps, they’d even figure out a way to guide this latest turn of events to work in their favor.

  Things went on like this until a couple of hours before the helicopter was scheduled to touch down. There were no brightly-lit helipads around, and the all but completely snow and ice covered research station didn’t stand out from the rest of the white Antarctic desert enough for a high flying air craft to see it clearly, especially in the current six month darkness, so protocol was for diesel fuel filled barrels to be lit in rows as a makeshift runway. Geoffrey was assigned most of work (as he had also anticipated) and within hours, he and Mr. Reynolds were airlifted away from the station and to a more clinically suitable facility, where he was extensively questioned and studied. Initially, Mr. Reynolds was going to be taken to a hospital facility in what looked like a heavily-guarded military base, and Geoffrey was to be taken elsewhere, but he insisted that he be taken wherever Mr. Reynolds was so that he could be there when his superior awoke or he assured his rescuers that he wouldn’t answer a single question.

  It wasn’t that he had suddenly grown a heartfelt affection for the scientist, or even that he was trying to be obstinate. Rather, he knew what story the other astronomers were likely spreading about him, that he had possibly done something untoward to Mr. Reynolds that had resulted in him ending up unconscious. Geoffrey wanted to be there when Mr. Reynolds awoke (assuming that he would eventually awake) so he could hear his name cleared of foul play with his own ears. Otherwise, his fledgling career may not be all he would stand to lose. The official-looking men in the helicopter were in no mood to have demands leveraged upon them by the likes of a simple intern, but they acquiesced. The gravity of this action was not lost upon Geoffrey.

  Even though he had raised the protest convincingly enough, a large part of him didn’t expect to be taken seriously. He was almost certain that he would have to throw his father’s name around a little (and even then, he didn’t know if he expected much) and honestly, he was struck nearly dumb that his demands were met so quickly and with such little opposition. He understood that if the other scientists had implicated him in an assault on one of the most prominent astronomers of modern times, he could be held legally, even against his will, and possibly indefinitely, pending questioning of a very different kind.

  And he was right. However, as the helicopter landed and he and Mr. Reynolds were both handed over to a small group of men that were even more officially dressed than the others, it became apparent that he was not going to be treated like a criminal, but rather, like royalty. Sort of. As the chopper approached the ground, he could see that a large rolling bed was waiting for Mr. Reynolds. The scientist was carefully carted off and Geoffrey was asked to have a seat in a plush, ultra-modern looking wheelchair that was waiting for him. Behind the wheelchair stood a formidable looking who was at least a foot taller than the rest of the men surrounding him, and was dressed head to foot in army fatigues. Geoffrey rightly assumed that this was the leader of the group. “I can walk on my own. I don’t need any help.” Geoffrey assured this towering battlefield brawler. His mouth was suddenly very dry. “Thank you.”

  The guy, apparently not hearing anything Geoffrey just said, took the opportunity to introduce himself. “My name is Lieutenant General Daniel Brimmers.” The man extended a powerfull
y large right hand.

  Geoffrey extended his own hand for the greeting shake and found that it was completely swallowed up, and nearly crushed in the other’s awesome grip. Looking up into the lieutenant general’s benevolently smiling face, it was clear that the man was not even applying a fraction of his full strength. Once the handshake was over and Geoffrey’s hand had been released, he let it drop to his side but brought his other hand to it, trying to rub the soreness out of it (and perhaps make sure all the bones were still intact), as inconspicuously as possible. The faint smiles lighting the faces of the lieutenant general’s men suggested he wasn’t doing a good job with the inconspicuous part.

  “Now, Mr. Summons,” the skyscraping lieutenant general resumed, “if you will have a seat, I will see to it personally that your stay here is as comfortable as possible.”

  Lieutenant General Brimmer’s voice was deep like the guttural bellow of an earthquake, and Geoffrey wouldn’t have been surprised if the helicopter behind him would have folded up its wings and fallen over out of sheer terror, had he commanded. If that wasn’t enough, the man’s natural appearance demanded at least as much respect as the sound of his voice. It was obvious that he was well over 6 feet tall and, even beneath thick layers of green and black fatigue gear, it was also obvious that he was all muscle. The lieutenant general’s muscle structure wasn’t the refined muscle that Geoffrey imagined he would find on a gymnast or a runner. No, the lieutenant general was all bulk. He imagined a lean Hulk in army fatigues…then the monster of a man that would eat that Hulk and steal his clothes and that was Lieutenant General Daniel Brimmers.

  The lieutenant general’s jaw muscles were set squarely, pushing out against the taut skin of his face like they were made of solid stone. His neck was the stump of an oak tree covered in human flesh and his hands, well, Geoffrey already had more experience with those than he would’ve liked to. But for all his brutishly terrifying attributes, the lieutenant general was as kind to Geoffrey as an old friend. Geoffrey didn’t know if the guy had heard him say that he could very well walk, but after that handshake, and a better look at his physique, he sat in the wheelchair without further protest.

  “Thank you, Mr. Summons,” said the lieutenant general, as he wheeled the chair around as easily as if it was still empty. The men from the chopper returned to the aircraft without a word. Lieutenant General Brimmer’s men regrouped around him and Geoffrey seamlessly as they marched down a narrow, paved walkway toward a large brick building with heavily-shaded windows. It would appear Mr. Reynolds had already been wheeled away, in the same direction. Geoffrey strained to see anything of the place around him, but the platoon of men surrounding him, though not nearly as formidable as the ole’ lieutenant general there, were doing a damn good job of blocking his view. The thought that they were purposely blocking him, that he wasn’t supposed to see a lot, didn’t escape him either.

  From what he could see around or over the heads of the men, there were tall buildings everywhere and all of them looked exactly like the one into which he was being wheeled. When his convoy was nearly to the entrance of the closest building, he ventured to ask a question. He had to clear his throat twice before he could gather the nerve to post an inquiry to the beast of a man behind him. “Lieutenant General?” asked Geoffrey, suddenly sorry that he was here.

  Just as before, the lieutenant general’s voice was teeth clatteringly sonorous, but his tone was nonthreatening, perhaps even compassionate, as he answered, “My men call me Lieutenant Dan, you may refer to me as such if it would make you more comfortable.” Oddly enough, Geoffrey thought that it would. It just felt safer to think of the lieutenant general as the legless war veteran who had softened a little as Forrest Gump’s first mate, as opposed to the brute mammoth who could easily snap his body in half at the slightest inclination.

  “All right… Lieutenant Dan, c-can I ask a question?”

  Geoffrey couldn’t see Lieutenant Dan, but his voice, still as unnerving as an oncoming train, sounded shocked, as he answered, “Of course you can, Mr. Summons.”

  “Am I going to wherever they’ve taken Mr. Reynolds?”

  “Yes, you are, Mr. Summons.” Answered Lieutenant Dan, matter-of–factly, “My men on the chopper alerted me to some of the…suggestions you offered, and arrangements have been made for you to be in close proximity to Mr. Reynolds. Is there anything else you would like to know, Mr. Summons?” The question, at least to Geoffrey’s ears anyway, sounded more like a warning than a genuine inquiry.

  “No, thank you. Thank you, very much.” Geoffrey lied.

  Lieutenant Dan brought the wheelchair and the surrounding convoy to a halt about thirty-five feet from the door of the building as he talked with Geoffrey. Now, he made a nearly imperceptible gesture with his head and one of his men pulled what looked like a small radio transistor from his pocket and hit a series of buttons. All this was done behind Geoffrey’s wheelchair so he didn’t see it. What he did see, however, was a marvel of engineering. There came a soft hissing from somewhere on the ground, then the entire concrete walkway leading up to the front door of the building before him, as well as a couple feet of turf on either side, began to move. Geoffrey was sure that he was seeing things, but it was difficult for his brain to decide what he was seeing. His frame of reference was off. At first it looked like the ground, except for the sliver of walkway and earth directly before him, was rising. It wasn’t until widening slivers of light from beneath the turf began illuminating the walkway that he realized that about an 8-by-30 foot section of concrete and earth before him was sinking.

  The soft hiss of hydraulic motors became more distinct as the unseen platform continued its descent. Soon, the platform was at a forty-five degree angle. They were on the same grass-lined concrete path, but it now led to a new and previously hidden entrance. Geoffrey saw the yawning opening to a well-lit corridor some feet below the door that he had originally assumed he was to enter. Lieutenant Dan wheeled him into the corridor and the other men followed closely behind. Once everyone was inside, the hydraulic motors lurched to life again as the platform rose back to ground level. In his mind’s eye, Geoffrey imagined himself outside watching the earth realign itself like magic. He knew the seamless platform would raise the walkway and a foot or so of surrounding grass on each side back to its original position in such a way that the most observant eye would never know the difference. He also realized that he was being shown all this meant that he was involved in something much deeper than an assault case. What it could possibly be that he had gotten himself into occupied his every thought as he was wheeled down the long and excessively-bright corridor to God only knew where.

  Fortunately for him, though (at least depending on how he looked at it), he wouldn’t have to worry about being in suspense much longer, because before long, he was wheeled into a large room that was more comfortably lit than the blinding hallway, and placed in front of a large, one way mirror. On the other side of the mirror lay Mr. Reynolds; or rather, what had become of Mr. Reynolds. Geoffrey could see him, but the scientist could not see his intern. Just as before, the only thing that showed between Mr. Reynolds’s open eyelids was the glossy white of missing irises. What’s more, the scientist had obviously lost weight: A lot of it. The human frame that lay on the other side of the mirror from Geoffrey was little more than a lightly-padded skeleton. Obviously, something horrible had happened to Mr. Reynolds in the short time since the now-terrified intern had seen him last and the only thing Geoffrey kept thinking now was, Damn, if I had only just gone to medical school like my father told me!

  Chapter 7

  At that moment, Delilah was still locked in her room, safe behind her walls from the chaos that was enveloping the world outside. But that safety, like all safeties, was not to last forever. In fact, a virtual squadron of uniformed men and black government SUVs were darkening the grass of her sprawling front yard, and a few of them were in the process of marching to her front door even now.

  Len
ard was in his living room sipping a piping-hot cup of coffee heavily laden with whiskey, when a firm knock sounded at his front door. He had been deep in thought, trying to force into some kind of discernible order the vast amount of alarming information he had earlier received from his professional contacts. He was so deep in thought, in fact, that he didn’t hear the increasingly loud knocking coming from the front door. He also failed to notice the shadows of men passing by his living room windows, as unannounced government guests took up key positions all around his house and the surrounding property. He did notice things, however, when the knocks stopped…and the front door opened. Had he not been already facing the door, he likely would have missed that as well, but since he was, he immediately jumped to his feet, intending to give the hired help a grand earful for entering the house without his permission, especially since the door was locked and they had been ordered to return to their apartments. The mug in his hand was the third cup of spiked caffeine, and the disorientation that nearly snatched his equilibrium away.

  He very slowly set the cup down on the small table beside the chair from which he had just risen, and shielded his eyes with his hands until he felt sufficiently steady. Even before he was ready move his hand, he began his verbal assault.

  “What the hell do you think you’re…” he began, but as he took his hand his away, he was welcomed with an even more unexpected surprise. “…doing?” he finished, all the anger in his voice instantly and completely drained. Before him stood not his maids and his head butler, but about five or ten suited men, all of them wearing latex gloves, and large caliber pistols in holsters at their sides. More were trickling through the front door every moment.