The Virus

by Steven Spellman

  On the large monitor, in bright vibrant colors, a disturbing scene was taking place. There was a woman on an operating table, and by the looks of things, she was suffering greatly, because she was screaming and thrashing violently. That wasn’t the most troubling thing on the screen: The woman’s belly was swollen to epic proportions. Though Geoffrey father was a doctor, he didn’t need that to know that something was horribly wrong with this woman. The woman’s abdomen was stretched to the size of an exercise ball, and if that wasn’t enough, it looked like the ball was moving. The skin covering the irregularly shaped thing, whatever it was, was shiny and large, superficial tears, like hideous stretch marks clearly showed the broken dermis underneath. Blood droplets surfaced into the gashes like a gorged sponge forced to rid itself of too much fluid. The blood droplets flew this way and that with the sheer violence of the woman’s agitation.

  The woman’s belly was so impossibly tight and stretched that it was amazing that whatever was in her hadn’t burst out long ago. As Geoffrey looked on, horrified, and mouth agape, he noticed that every now and then, he could see hands, feet, knees—a very large baby—pushing out against its fleshy confines. It was disgustingly similar to alien movies Geoffrey had seen. Three doctors stood over the woman. One of them produced a scalpel while the others struggled to hold the woman still. The woman’s belly was so taut that no sooner had the scalpel touched it, it burst into a jagged series of lines roughly toward her genital area. Geoffrey felt he was about to throw up or pass out—perhaps both—except that all his attention was completely enthralled in the bloody drama before him.

  From the large, ragged wound that extended from where the doctor’s knife had grazed the woman’s flesh, just beneath her breast bone, all the way to her vagina, a child much too large to still be in its mother’s womb, was moving in the gory opening. The doctor reached into the bloody wound and pulled the child out. The woman had stopped moving and Geoffrey found that he hadn’t even noticed when her thrashing had stopped. Obviously, the trauma was enough to finally send her over the edge into eternity. Meanwhile, the much larger than normal child moved and writhed, but didn’t scream as Geoffrey knew normal newborns did. The doctor called for a nasal aspirator and sucked thick mucous through the newborn’s nostrils. Immediately, it coughed violently, but as it tried desperately to breathe afterward, it began to choke just as violently. Geoffrey could not hear any sounds from the monitor but it was still heart wrenching, watching the child as it opened its mouth wide to cry, only to gag and jerk when it could draw no air.

  The doctor holding the child reached out and one of the other doctors passed him a small face mask. He covered the child’s face with it, but it didn’t take an expert to see that it was having no effect. Watching the child jerk and convulse so pitifully made Geoffrey desperately want to turn his head, but he simply could not. He was frozen in place. Eventually, the child’s jerking lost strength until there was no movement at all. Geoffrey hadn’t noticed, but he had been balling his fist so tightly while watching that his fingernails had drawn blood from his palm. Back on the monitor, the doctor took off the mask covering the lower half of his face and spoke into the camera. It was Doctor Crangler. He almost didn’t see the doctor unhinge the mask at all because just then, the bland whiteness of the walls, the spectators’ suits, even the edges of the monitor, were swallowed up into abysmal blackness, as Geoffrey at last fainted and his body dropped heavily to the white floor.

  Chapter 11

  “All right, Delilah, you made it through months of ridiculous training for that space flight and you’ve been dealing with obstinate and mostly ignorant help most of your life. You can do this. Besides, you were trained by the best.” With her fingers, Delilah made an invisible cross just above her chest as she whispered, “God bless the dead,” for her late mother. She was trying to encourage herself but it wasn’t as convincing as she would’ve liked. Still, she had to start somewhere. She sat up in her bed now, peering down at the white leather restraints that no longer bound her hands and feet. One of Dr. Crangler’s subordinates had released her from them earlier while the doctor was away. In fact, now that she was less hysterical she realized that most anyone in this facility—besides Dr. Crangler, that was—seemed frightened of her, as if she was a delicate piece of china.

  The harrowing explanation of things that Dr. Crangler had given her earlier was quite sobering, but it was not something that her mind could fully grasp just yet, perhaps not ever. After all, it’s not every day that a girl is told in gruesome detail how women and children all over the world were dying slow, agonizing deaths and that she was possibly the only hope for their survival. So now that she was awake, had a brief reprieve from the endless testing, and was unbound for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Delilah tried to regather her wits. To do that, she did the only thing she knew how to do. She put the things that were not pleasant as far back in her mind as she could and resolved to not deal with them until she was left no other choice. She then tried her best to make order out of whatever was left. Unfortunately for her, though, most everything now fell under the category of not pleasant to think about. In addition, she was in a place where it was obvious that her father’s money and influence didn’t matter, which was something she had never experienced before.

  The more she pondered on it, the more she was reminded that she was out of her element and that things were out of her control. The same old frustration welled up in her breast and was amplified by the fact that she knew her tantrums wouldn’t restore her to the world she knew and was comfortable with. She felt her temperature rising in stride with her angst, when her mother’s firm voice resounded in her head. “The world is meant to be ruled by women, My Darling.” From what Dr. Crangler had told Delilah, she wielded considerable power (though it definitely didn’t feel that way) now, by virtue of her being the only woman left not infected with The Virus.

  “The strongest man who ever lived,” continued the voice of her mother, “was conquered by a woman, and I named you Delilah because I want you to remember that there is no man so strong that you cannot conquer.”

  Delilah was not interested in conquering a man just now. She was only interested to returning to something that vaguely resembled normalcy. “Is that so?” her mother’s voice asked inside her head “Well, who here seems to be the person most likely to be able to make that happen? As far as you can see, who here seems to really wield the most power?” Delilah’s mind instantly answered for her; Dr. Crangler. He was obviously the one in charge around here. In addition, it seemed like he just might be warming up to her. She felt disgusted that the only course of action left for her was to humble herself to trying to win the affections (or at any the rate, the influences) of a man, but it was better than the alternative. She also found some consolation in something else her mother had taught her.

  “If money can’t get it for you (and God knows you probably don’t need it if you can’t buy it) then use your feminine charms, My Darling.” her mother would say, “They ain’t just for looks. Besides, the only thing worse than not having it, is not using it.”

  “That’s right,” Delilah admonished herself, “the only thing worse than not having it is not using it to your advantage.” Much to her relief, she found that she felt a little better. Had she forgotten that God (but more importantly, her mother) had blessed her with to-die-for hips and breasts, flawless skin, and a face that could bend the strongest of male wills? Well, if she had, it was high time to remind herself…as well as a certain white-suited doctor. It had been so long since Delilah had used her beauty for anything other than to evoke envy (until now, money usually did the trick) that she felt quite lost as to the specifics of going about things. Everything had always come so easily to her, and if she did desire the attention of a certain male, it took little more than a briefly-flashed smile or a careful flourish of her shapely hips to secure that attention. She knew that that just wouldn’t do for Dr. Crangler. What’s more, he was old:
Dinosaur ancient actually, possibly even in his late forties, and it was probable that it would take a considerable campaign to get the job done, especially with his expressly advanced age.

  It shouldn’t be that much of problem though, Delilah mused. He was still a man, after all, and what red blooded male—Big Bang old though he may be—could resist a gorgeous woman, especially when that woman was Delilah Hanson? And so, though she had never had to use her considerable…assets in such a manner before, she figured she’d just have to learn along the way. She had flown into outer space after all. She could do this.

  “Thanks, Mom,” she whispered, and ran her tongue across her full lips so that they’d be nice and moist should Dr. Crangler show up any time soon. A few seconds later, as if the preparation alone had summoned him, the good doctor walked through the door.

  “Hello, Miss Hanson.” The doctor greeted. “Please Excuse the delay…oh, I see that one of my helpful assistants undid your…well, I see that you are up and about.” He didn’t seem happy that Delilah’s restraints had been removed, most likely because it was not at his command. “I had to help another patient to the sterilization shower, and it would seem that he, like you, had some pressing questions that he needed answering…so, how are we feeling?” Delilah had been to the doctor’s before and it always struck her as highly unusual that they would ask how ‘we’ are doing, as if they, too, were a patient.

  I’m sure you’re doing just fine, but I on the other hand… Delilah wanted to tell the doctor. Instead, she flashed the brightest smile she could muster and asked, pleasantly, “What’s a sterilization shower?”

  Dr. Crangler heaved a barely audible huff. “How about we commence with the questions a little later, what do you say?”

  “Of course, of course, whatever you want.” Delilah answered, still maintaining her most winning smile. Dr. Crangler looked puzzled, but other than that, showed no sign that he was in the slightest affected by Delilah’s considerable charms. It was here that the thought crossed Delilah’s mind of how she must look. She hadn’t bathed or seen a hairdresser in God knows how long, and she was sure her plan would work better if she could benefit from a good, long shower and some necessary feminine additives. “But, may I ask, Dr. Crangler,” the smile increased in intensity a few watts, “when will I be able to get a shower?”

  “Actually, very soon, Miss Hanson. That’s precisely why I came, to prepare you.”

  “Oh, Dr. Crangler,” Delilah said, pursing her lips and flourishing her hand (she felt quite silly engaging in all this flirtatious nonsense, but one glance at her surroundings reminded her that silly was better than imprisonment) “I’m a big girl. I don’t need to be prepared for a shower. I know how to bathe myself,” then, with a flutter of her eyelids, “I promise.”

  The puzzled expression returned to the doctor’s face, and remained a little longer this time before he replied, “That may be the case, Miss Hanson, but I assure you, you will need preparation for this shower.”

  “What kind of shower is this?” asked Delilah, the coyness in her voice beginning to break. Dr. Crangler explained the process of the sterilization shower and by the time he finished, Delilah had lost all of her unusually demure mannerisms.

  “What?” she asked, quite alarmed. To be abducted—even for the survival of all mankind—was one thing, to be drugged, another, but to subject her delicate skin to the torture that the doctor just described, and then to be monitored in the process by an unseen audience, well, that was over the line. Entirely over the line. Absolutely not! To hell with her plan (at least for now), Delilah would not and could not, go through with this.

  The doctor’s lips were pulled tight. “Calm down, young lady!”

  “You calm down!” she advised back. “I need a shower, and not that nonsense you’re trying to sell me! There’s no way in hell I’m doing that!” It was obvious that she was deadly serious.

  “Miss Hanson, if you don’t calm down, then I will have to sedate you…again,” said the doctor. For a split second Delilah’s agitation waned as she took this into consideration, but it quickly returned. Certainly, she didn’t like the idea of being drugged against her will…again, but even that was more acceptable to her mind than what Dr. Crangler had described of the sterilization shower.

  “Then that’s what you’re gonna have to do, Dr. Crangler, cause I’m damn sure not going to cooperate! I need a shower—a normal shower—as well as more than a few other things. Body wash, facial cleansers, just to begin with…” Delilah was irate by this time, and though the doctor would’ve gladly put her back in her place, he found it impossible to get a word in edgewise over her high-pitched squeal. He just stood silently, glaring hatefully at his suddenly untoward patient, as she made her ardent demands.

  He was still standing there when a voice reverberated from somewhere in the walls. “Dr. Crangler, report to Operations immediately, please.” It sounded as if it was being broadcast in high definition and the abruptness and closeness of it halted Delilah midsentence, somewhere between demanding a hair stylist and reminding Dr. Crangler that he was a damn fool if he thought she was getting into the sterilization shower. Meanwhile, he rewarded his patient with one last hateful glare, heaved his shoulders in dismay, and exited the room to obey the edict given him.

  Once he closed the door behind him, Delilah took the opportunity to catch her breath. With all the energy she just expended, it took her more than a few minutes to accomplish the feat, but she eventually did. Once her chest had stopped its violent heaving, she chided herself for letting her plan be obliterated so easily. The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced that she had had no other choice. The sterilization shower sounded like a torture chamber: A torture chamber from which her flawless skin would never recover. She was just about to cry over the fact that she had most likely destroyed any hope she may’ve had of getting what she wanted, when her door opened again and a painfully resolute Dr. Crangler reentered. In his hand was a large, white notepad and matching white pencil.

  “It has been arranged for you to take a regular shower, Miss Hanson,” he hissed her name, “and if you would be so kind as to write down the products you require, they will be provided as well.” It was apparent by the doctor’s strained features, that, since his departure, he had been somehow coerced into cooperation.

  Although Delilah couldn’t quite fit the pieces of this sudden change together, that didn’t matter just now. What mattered was that she was finally getting what she wanted. The doctor reluctantly handed her the writing utensils and exited the room in a huff. She lost no time making an extensive list of name brand facial treatments, hair moisturizers, lotions, and the like, until she was satisfied. When she finished, she waited to see if anyone would come to retrieve her list.

  When no one did, she began to yell for assistance. “Hello? Is anyone there?” she beckoned into the open air. She wasn’t a gadget geek, but she knew there must be some kind of surveillance equipment in the room, even if she couldn’t see it. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before someone came to her aid. A white-suited man she had not met before, came through her room door. “Where’s Dr. Crangler?” she asked.

  “Dr. Crangler is, uh, busy at the moment. I will take your list and if you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to your shower. Dr. Crangler will be with you afterward.”

  Delilah thought this over. “I need the things on that list first. I can’t wash with regular soap. Just doesn’t work for me. And the shower you taking me to, it’s a regular shower, right? With running water and a new loofah and everything, right?” the assistant nodded, even though he had no idea what a ‘loofah’ was. “Good. Good. Well, first, I need these things, and I’ll follow you wherever I need to go.” The assistant looked flustered as he took the list and backed out of the room. After about two and a half hours passed and Delilah hadn’t heard or seen any sign of another living person, she began to fear that perhaps she pushed her luck too far. Perhaps, she was mistaken in assuming that she
had the upper hand. Perhaps, she had dug herself into an even deeper hole than that which she was already in. These and other similar apprehensive musings quickly dissipated, however, when she heard the heavy locking mechanism of her door giving way, and in walked two of the doctors from earlier, each pushing a rolling cart filled with the things Delilah had listed.

  Everything was there and the exact name brand that Delilah’s lengthy list stipulated. She looked at the arrangement and smiled. This was the closest she had felt to home since all this craziness began. The doctors left her to her things but one returned a few moments later with a gown, underwear, shoes, and a few other things—everything white—for Delilah to change into after she had taken her shower. Most everything fit, and she felt pampered (or at least close to it) again. With her vigor—not to mention her assessment that perhaps she could work an angle on this situation after all—renewed, she asked for Dr. Crangler.

  “He will be with you later on, Miss. Hanson. After you’ve had your shower.” One of the doctors answered.

  “Please tell him I’d like for him to keep his promise, please.” Delilah returned. “He said that he’d show me to the shower and I’d appreciate it if he did.” The doctor addressed looked puzzled, almost the same look that Dr. Crangler displayed earlier, but eventually acquiesced. Delilah knew what he must be thinking, but didn’t bother to correct him. She would’ve much rather been in her own home where the only people she summoned in the first place were those on the payroll, but since this was obviously not the case, she preferred to deal with one white-suited stranger at a time, and right now, that stranger happened to be Dr. Crangler. The two doctors in attendance left her, but not before assuring her that Dr. Crangler would be with her shortly. It didn’t escape her notice that they, too, spoke and dealt with her as one might deal with expensive china too valuable to be broken.

  It was ironic that now Delilah truly began to understand, at least in a manner relevant to her, the truth of what Dr. Crangler had told her about The Virus that was wreaking havoc on womankind and how important she now was since she seemed to be the last woman on the planet who had not been infected with it. The absolute gravity of the situation was still not something she was able to digest, but if there was any part of the story she could grasp onto for perspective, it was the fact that she was extremely important. Even though Dr. Crangler had set out to make this haughty young lady understand that here she would not have her way so effortlessly as she was used to, it would seem that he may not be as much in the advantage as he would’ve liked. Now, as is often the case, the weightier struggles of mankind would be predicated upon the incredibly less important contentions of a select few—in this case, a select two.