by RJ Crayton
“You’re not a scientist,” Elaan said.
“I’ve been a summer intern in Dad’s lab ever since I was fourteen. Plus, I’d come in and help him out with things, too. Beyond the stuff they were supposed to let students do under safety regulations. I’ve been in labs long enough to know how to do basic lab assistance, and that’s all Kingston needed.”
Elaan scowled. So now he was calling Dr. Wells by his first name. She hated it. She didn’t like Dr. Wells, even though she sometimes acted as his messenger. She knew he was helping cover for her dad, who was becoming unhinged. She didn’t want the government to take her father out of the SPC. She didn’t want him tossed outside along with the general population. So many people were dying up there. Martial Law was in place. And government officials were promising the population they would find a cure.
Elaan sighed. “You know what?” she said, folding her arms across her chest. “I don’t want to know about it. Don’t tell me anything else about what you and Kingston are up to in the lab. Just stop harassing me and Josh, OK?”
“There is no you and Josh,” he said.
“What the Hell is with you?” she shot back. “Why do you do that? Why do you care if Josh and I are together?”
“I don’t care because you’re not together,” Lijah said, his voice filled with a deep timbre that made it sound like his word was final. “If you were to get together, he would hurt you. And I don’t want that for my little sister.”
She wanted to slap him. That made no sense. “Lijah, he’s not going to hurt me. He’s the nicest guy, ever.”
Lijah stared at her harshly. “What were you two talking about when I came in?”
“None of your business,” she replied, probably based on some little sister instinct. He was being mean, so she had no intention of giving him anything, even useless information, until he quit.
Lijah shook his head and laughed. “I’ll ask Josh later.”
Shit. Josh would tell him, because Josh was his friend. Lijah and Josh were friends first, from the second they moved in. But Josh, Elijah, and Elaan were the only teens in the complex, so in the last three months, she and Josh had become closer. Most recently, Josh had looked at Elaan differently. He’d looked at her longingly, like he wanted her. At least that was what she thought, but he never did anything when they were alone. Well, not until yesterday. Yesterday, he’d kissed her. And it had been perfect. Soft lips, minty breath, and a lingering touch that made her think he’d do it again. But then, as if someone had flipped a switch, he pulled away. He apologized, said he was wrong, that he shouldn’t have done that, and left.
This morning, she’d hoped to do their usual routine: breakfast, the exercise room, and then maybe go someplace private to talk. But he’d been mad that she was late, and everything had turned depressing after that. She looked at her brother, venom in her eyes. She fingered the chain around her neck, the one that held her mother’s engagement ring. Her father had given it to her after they’d gotten down here, and she’d hoped wearing it on a day like this would give her comfort. Only, Lijah was sucking what little comfort she had away.
“Mom,” she said, removing her hand from the chain, as she answered Lijah’s question. “That’s what we were talking about. And it’s your mother’s birthday, in case you forgot.”
He ignored the rancor in her voice. “I remember,” he said coarsely. Then he softened his tone. “I’m sorry if this day is hard for you.”
She stood up, feeling a familiar anger rising in her. She didn’t understand why her brother seemed to hate their mother after she died. It was as if he thought she got sick on purpose, or died on purpose, just to leave them. His attitude was selfish, and there was something perverse about it. While Elaan loved her brother dearly, this hatred of their mother was something about him she didn’t understand. Uptop, before the world started to crumble, Elaan and Lijah had been closer. But being down here seemed to put distance between them. She didn’t understand why he hated the idea of her and Josh or why he hated their mother. She looked at Lijah, unable to hide her disgust. “This day is hard for me, it’s hard for Dad, and it should be hard for you, too. But, it’s not. So, I’d rather not talk about it with you.”
“Elaan,” he said, exasperated.
Lijah opened his mouth to say something more, but Elaan had had enough of him. She turned away. “I don’t want to hear it,” she said, storming out of the room.
Chapter 2
Elaan sped through the complex, head down, assuring she avoided eye contact with anyone. She didn’t want to talk to anyone, except Josh. She’d feel better if she talked to him.
She’d check his apartment first. She looked up to get her bearings. The hallway was empty. There weren’t many people in this SPC, the smallest the government had established. This one was a mostly underground facility, originally designed to hold generals and their families in some type of cataclysmic situation. The government had a handful of these underground facilities spread out across the country. This one was set up for twenty-five military officials and their families.
The SPC had a total of 42 people, including military officials, scientists and families. There was a decent amount of unused space, and they’d been told more people might come later, if things uptop grew worse. But none had come.
Elaan arrived at Josh’s apartment door and knocked. His door looked just like hers — some type of blue metal. She tapped her foot as she waited for him to answer. A minute passed and she heard nothing, so she knocked again. He wasn’t there. He might have gone to the exercise room, but Elaan didn’t want to go there. She wanted to talk to him without people, and the few people who were around liked to exercise. In the absence of being able to go outside, the compound’s inhabitants liked moving on the treadmill, bike, or elliptical. She wondered if that was why the weight room was so popular in prisons, or at least what she’d seen of prisons in the movies.
She headed back home, through the labyrinth of corridors. The walls were painted a peach color, perhaps for warmth, but it just made it feel as if everything was the same down here.
As she rounded the corner of the hallway in front of her apartment, she spied her father locking the front door and heading in the opposite direction. She took a step back into the adjoining hallway. She didn’t want to see him right now. She wondered why he’d come back. He must’ve forgotten something. She remained quiet, counted to sixty, and then peered around the corner. Her father was gone.
Elaan walked to the apartment and let herself in. She headed straight through the main room and into the small hallway all the bedrooms jutted off. Her room was dead center, while Lijah’s was to the right and her father’s to the left. As she was about to open the door to her room, she happened to look left and see her father’s door slightly ajar. Odd, because he always shut and locked his door.
Curious, she cautiously approached his room, gently pushed the door open, and looked inside. Her father’s laptop was sitting on top of the bed, open. She knew she shouldn’t be in here. She knew she shouldn’t be prying into her father’s things. But she wanted to see what he’d been watching, which news clips were sending him into such a spiral that he couldn’t work anymore. She looked down the hallway toward her own room, debating whether she should go back. Should she do what was right and give him his privacy? But what if knowing what he was watching — so she could help him feel less desolate — was the right thing to do? Her eyes flitted to the laptop, set on the plain blue bedspread, a desire to know what secrets it held overwhelming her. She swallowed and pushed the bedroom door shut.
Elaan hurried over to the laptop and sat beside it on the bed. The mattress depressed, creaking a little as she sat. A twinge of misgivings rumbled through her, but she ignored it as she hit a key on the laptop and the blue-skies screensaver disappeared, revealing the still image of a paused news clip on the screen.
Elaan took a deep breath and stared at the still image with the triangular play button in the center. Was sh
e sure she wanted to see what he’d been watching? What if it helped her understand him too well? What if it made her as depressed as he was?
She stared at the screen a minute and shook off the thought. She wanted to know. Curiosity had driven her to this spot, to sitting here ready to peruse the contents of her father’s laptop. Elaan clicked the play button. The name of the reporter on the bottom of the screen indicated it was the same woman she’d heard in the earlier news clip: Monica Maverick. Her blond hair was in a ponytail and she wore no makeup, or just the bare essentials needed for TV. She looked grim, appropriate for the situation.
“Welcome, ladies and gentleman,” she said in a somber tone. “This is Monica Maverick, and I’m here again with Dr. James Woodson, who is going to explain to us what’s going on with the Helnoan virus.”
Monica had been facing the camera, but now she turned to Elaan’s father, who was seated across from her in a beige armchair.
The camera zoomed in on her father and part of Elaan was surprised by his appearance. He looked 20 years younger. Really. Just a few months ago, he had looked like that. He still had white hair; his hair had turned white when he was 20, as he was fond of reminding people. Despite the white hair, his actual face had always seemed young. Just a few months back, when this interview was taken, his guilt and worry hadn’t yet marred his appearance. His skin had just a touch of color in it, his face had fewer wrinkles, and his eyes had hope in them. She hadn’t seen hope in those eyes since her mother died.
“Monica,” her father replied in a Father Knows Best tone. “I know the world is worried and people are scared. We told them it was incredibly unlikely that they would get sick, and now people are getting sick. So, they think we don’t know what we’re doing.”
Monica leaned in. “Do you, Dr. Woodson?”
Her father nodded. “We do,” he said. “We are fighting this disease with science, not fear. It is only science that will win out here. The virus we knew about, Helnoan-A, was very hard to transmit. It had been confined mainly to South America. Unfortunately, Mark Dayton, one of the missionaries who went there, stumbled upon a newly mutated airborne strain, Helnoan-B. Obviously, what’s worse is that he flew back to this country and unknowingly began transmitting it to others.”
He paused for an intake of air, and Maverick pounced on the opportunity, jamming in another question. “People think travel from South America should have been restricted, that he shouldn’t have been allowed into this country. Do you regret refusing to recommend a travel ban and a tightening of the borders?”
He was shaking his head even before he began to speak. “There was no medical reason to do that. All virus strains up until that point had been contracted only through contact with bodily fluid. Not to mention that Mr. Dayton was never symptomatic. Like Typhoid Mary, he turned out to be a carrier of the disease who didn’t contract it. Because he was a minister, he had contact with many people and started the current pandemic in America.”
Monica shook her head gravely. “And the fifteen-day incubation period didn’t help either, did it?”
Her father sighed. “No, that hurt us. If we had known, we could’ve stopped him sooner. Remember, fifteen days is the outer limit. Some of the earlier patients became sick around six days following exposure. Once we realized what was going on, the trail of victims very clearly led to Mr. Dayton. We’ve quarantined him and are using him in research for a cure. While his body carries the disease, it doesn’t attack his cells. We’re studying him and hoping to use the way his body manages to ignore the disease as a clue in how to stop it.”
Monica nodded. “And while you work on a cure, what should the dying and infected do? This virus has a ninety-six percent mortality rate?”
“Yes, the government is aware of that,” her father responded, clasping his hands in front of him solemnly. “We’re asking people to stay indoors except for essential travel and work. People should wear N95 respirator masks to avoid any airborne contamination while out. Essential personnel at government facilities are monitored and checked for any symptoms of disease.”
Monica leaned in. “While we broadcast these all the time, please tell our audience, what are the earliest symptoms they should look for?”
Her father looked reassuringly into the camera. “Helnoan falls into the class of hemorrhagic fever, and the initial symptoms are fever and malaise. Unfortunately, these are also symptoms of other, less-deadly diseases. Helnoan escalates pretty quickly after two days of fever. There’s vomiting and blood loss. Victims bleed from the eyes, nose, ears, mouth, and anus. It’s very painful, of course, and the fluid — whether vomit or blood — is extremely contagious.”
Monica grimaced at her father’s description. So did Elaan. The disease was, frankly, disgusting. She shivered, but then turned her attention back to the interview. “Our goal,” her father was saying, “is to keep healthy people healthy, by ensuring the sick are properly segregated. At the same time, we want to treat the sick as best we can. Segregation of healthy from sick is especially important with an airborne disease.”
Elaan sighed and watched Maverick ask a couple more questions. The clip ended, and another automatically started to play. A date stamp on the bottom indicated this news clip was from three weeks later. It was a press conference she’d never seen. Her father stood behind a podium, flanked by two men Elaan didn’t recognize.
“Dr. Woodson,” a reporter called out. “Is it true that your wife has contracted the Helnoan virus and so have your nineteen-year-old son and seventeen-year-old daughter?”
Her father grimaced, then said, “I prefer to keep my personal life private, but yes, my wife has contracted the disease.” He paused and looked down at the ground, as if he didn’t want to continue. “That’s all I’m going to say about her. However, there’s no evidence my children are sick. My children are in isolation separate from each other. We’ll observe them to make sure they don’t exhibit symptoms.”
Elaan sighed, remembering the three weeks she’d spent in an isolation unit, her father only seeing her through a piece of glass, or bringing her meals dressed in a full hazmat suit. It was during this time they discovered her immunity to the disease. Elijah had just been lucky. He’d been quarantined, too, but hadn’t contracted the disease from their mother. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to be genetically immune like she was, like Josh was.
“And you,” one of the reporters called out. “How do you know you aren’t sick?”
“As you know,” her father responded, his tone short. “Everyone working in the scientist compound is tested prior to gaining access to the virus-free environment. I tested negative and because the compound is an isolated area, I have not been exposed to anyone who might have the disease. While at the compound, I had no physical contact with my wife and family. I was only alerted after my wife became ill.”
“Is it true,” another reporter called out, “that the wife of another researcher, Dr. Kingston Wells, has died from the illness?”
Her father looked at one of the men standing behind him, as if seeking permission, and then turned back to the reporter. “I know Dr. Wells as a colleague, and I know his son is around the same age as mine, but I’m really not aware of his family situation in regards to Helnoan. If his wife has died, then he and his family have my sympathy.”
“There’s a rumor that the researchers on the project are refusing to work on a cure unless their families get moved into the scientists’ compound, which has restricted access, and better protection from the virus. Is that true?”
Given where Elaan was sitting right now, she realized it must have been. But her father simply shook his head and gave an indignant huff. “We’re doctors,” he said. “Our goal is to cure people. We wouldn’t put the nation further at risk with such demands. We are working on ways to stop this disease from spreading and killing people, which is what we’re here to talk about. As I was saying before we got sidetracked to personal stories, we’ve used Mr. Dayton’s genetic informat
ion to try to construct both a vaccine to keep people from getting it, and a treatment to help cure those who have contracted the disease. We’ve had good luck vaccinating, first in mice and now in primates. I know it’s unusual to use primates, but we’ve found with Helnoan, their responses are most similar to humans. If all goes well, we’ll be able to use the vaccine within a month.”
“Who will get access to this?” a reporter called out.
Her father leaned into the microphone. “That’s a question best answered by Dr. Nelson, who will be in charge of distribution.”
Her father stepped back from the podium, and a younger gentleman with blond hair and a grim expression took her father’s place. There was silence as the man prepared to speak, and in that silence, Elaan heard the apartment door open. Shit! Her father was back.
Her body tightened, and her heartbeat sped up. She was about to be caught. With a burst of adrenaline, she hopped off the bed, turned back and gently shut the laptop screen. She dropped to the floor, slid under the bed, and tried to be completely quiet. Hopefully her father would be quick and not discover her. Maybe he’d think he closed the laptop before he left. She waited for her father to enter the room, trying to lower the sound of her breathing, which seemed loud and rapid. Closing her eyes, she tried to still her body while she waited. And waited. And waited. Only, he didn’t come.
A couple more minutes passed, and she heard Lijah say her name. “Elaan,” he called. “Elaan, you in here?”
She knew Lijah wouldn’t come into her father’s room, so she breathed out in relief and slowly crawled from under the bed. She walked closer to her father’s door. If it was just Lijah, he would probably go to his room and shut himself in. Then, she could quickly slip into her own bedroom. She’d pretend she’d been sleeping, and hadn’t heard him. She just needed to wait for him to go.
