Hufu shrugged slightly and shook her head. “You would be surprised. The use of human hair in L-cysteine production has been around for a few decades. As of 1999 it was perfectly legal.”
Waterman broke for a moment. ”Seriously?”
Hufu nodded. “This particular company is still under investigation,” she replied, “but we are reasonably sure it is ground zero.”
Waterman’s journalistic poker face returned just in time. “This has been lifted to pandemic status, what is our recourse now?”
“We've never seen anything like this. Most pandemics, or even epidemics, the only cause for worry is spreading the disease passively. Those infected with VT-3 are reduced to a primal, hungry state and, with that in mind, become hunters. They turn into feral predators and, therefore, actively try and pass the disease.”
“But it's temporary, right?”
“From what we've seen, temporary isn't the right word. Once the infected have fed on sufficient amounts of meat, and therefore consuming enough L-cysteine, they reach a point of lucidity. After feeding they are reasonable for a time and, in most cases, have no memory of what they have done. This is only temporary. The L-cysteine moves through the body quickly and the infected will then need to feed again.”
“And it’s a compulsion.”
“Most definitely. These people are not in control of their own urges. It becomes a viral, feed or die, scenario.”
“How close are we to a vaccination, or cure?”
Dr. Hufu shook her head. “We're still working.”
Waterman pursed her lips and turned toward the camera. “We'll be back with Dr. Miriam Hufu from the Center for Disease Control right after this.”
Alan stood and made his way to the fridge. He grabbed the remainder of the twelve pack that George had dug into and snatched it out.
***
Alan sat in the middle of the nursery with his beer. Several cans were empty and the rest would be empty soon. He rocked himself as he drank. His eyes drooped, and his head kept falling as he nodded off. The beer, and lack of sleep, was making him drowsy. Good.
He looked up in the doorway and imagined Molly dressed in white and healthy as ever. She was holding their baby in her arms. Alan stared at her, smiling. The baby cooed. Molly smiled down at Alan and walked toward him, holding the baby out for Alan to take. He reached his arms out, eager to hold his son for the first time.
Alan’s head snapped straight up and his eyes popped open. He had been dreaming. He looked around the room one last time. No more tears, decisions had been made.
He entered the bedroom and made for the nightstand. Alan paid no attention to the disarray of the bed and the smear of George here and there. He retrieved Molly’s medications and exited down the hallway.
Alan reached into the refrigerator and grabbed a hunk of meat. He set the medications and the last of the beer down on the counter and slapped the meat down next to them. He tore the cellophane off the beef. He opened up all of Molly’s meds and poured a large portion of them into his hand, then stuffed them into his pocket. He took the rest of them and, with his thumb, pressed each one individually as deep as he could into the meat. Once he was finished, Alan pushed the sides of the meet together to try to conceal the changes to the menu. He grabbed the hunk of meat, wiped his hand off on a dish towel, and grabbed the remainder of the beer before heading out into the yard.
Alan stood at the door to the shed. He set his beer down and unlocked it. He could still hear Molly screaming and pounding from inside. He opened the door a crack and Molly wasted no time in reaching through, the hunger tearing her up. Her arms forced their way through the crack that he made but Alan held the door tight, while staying far enough back to avoid Molly’s scratches. He chucked the meat through the crack in the door and, almost instantly, Molly’s hands disappeared. Alan heard the wet, sloppy sounds of Molly feeding. He slammed the door and locked it again.
He turned and leaned heavily against the door. He slid down until he was sitting. He grabbed a beer and took a drink and looked up the stars. Alan waited.
Alan’s eyes snapped open as the sun beamed in his face. He looked around confused, until realizing it was early morning. Very early morning. He hadn’t been asleep long, but, if the medication worked like Tony said it would, everything was on schedule.
Yawning, Alan reached over for a fresh beer and pried it open. He dug around in his pocket and pulled out all of the meds he had stored there the night before. He looked at them for a quick second and then shoved them all into his mouth. Alan chased the pills with a warm beer and choked them all down. He stood up, belched, and unlocked the door.
Alan waited for a moment, half expecting a raging Molly to go right for his throat. The plan was working, though. Molly slept peacefully, her breathing very quick like before. Alan knelt down next to her, leaning over and kissing her tenderly on her forehead. He smiled, sadly, knowing what was ahead, and knowing that he was ready. He laid down next to her, curling up close, and smelled her hair. He lifted Molly’s arm and draped in over himself so that she was spooning him. He could already feel the medications kicking in.
Alan had heard the reports. He knew that the end was coming for both of them and he couldn’t face it. He loved Molly so very much and failed her when she needed him most. Alan refused to weep, though. This was his atonement. They would be together, forever. He would stop her pain one last time and then wait for her on the other side.
Alan’s eyes closed and popped open, closed and popped open before he stopped trying to fight it and gave in. He and Molly slept together peacefully for a few minutes.
Molly’s eyes snapped open. She sniffed the air and realized the food was right in front of her. She rose from the nest of blankets and circled Alan, smelling him and waiting for some kind of movement. Feral, yes, but canny, she looked around suspiciously, as though she were expecting a trap. Molly circled a few times, and, once she felt it was safe, she turned her attention back to Alan. Molly’s lips curled back to reveal her stained teeth and she gathered herself. Molly pounced. She bit deep into Alan’s chest.
His eyes opened wide and he inhaled a sharp breath. The overdose kicked in, overpowering any pain, and Alan lost consciousness as Molly fed.
Molly used her legs and arms to completely manipulate Alan’s body. Her fingers dug into his back and her heels bit into just underneath his buttocks. Even if Alan were awake, he would never have broken that grip.
Molly’s head bobbed in and out, tearing pieces away from Alan’s fleshiest areas. His pectoral muscles were reduced to ribbons fairly quickly and Molly work her way down his abdominals finally reaching his inner thighs. She spent a great deal of time there, picking the femur clean. The toned musculature of Alan’s legs provided an ample feast. Never flagging, never failing to eat more, Molly demolished the surface muscle, skin and tissue. Gouts of blood had sprayed on the walls of the shed as Molly ripped into Alan’s femoral artery and jugular vein. Alan had passed away just after Molly had started on his left thigh, but before she had gulped down both of his testicles.
Breathing heavily, but not close to finished due to her mutated metabolism, Molly started on Alan’s interior organs. With a display of great strength, Molly managed to snap back three of Alan’s ribs and tossed them aside after sucking the marrow from them completely. She then plunged her hands into the soft, warm entrails and ripped handfuls of intestines, Alan’s dense liver and, finally, his heart from the gaping cavity in his abdomen.
Molly chewed on the heart, mewling to herself. She had finally gorged enough and was content to gnaw the chewy muscle as the meat ran its course through her digestive tract.
Stuffed from her enormous meal, Molly fell backward, dropping Alan’s heart. She breathed heavily, staring at him. Her face shifted and, as the doctors predicted, Molly entered a brief state of lucidity.
“Alan… baby?” Molly asked. She looked down at her hands, covered in his blood, and cried out. She knew then that she had killed
him. Molly could even still taste the coppery blood in her mouth and it made her want to vomit. Tears streaming down her face, Molly screamed in anguish, cursing God and Alan and fate. Luckily, the shaking started just then. Unable to control herself, Molly’s body quaked and she clutched her stomach as the cramps returned. With the pain came the hunger.
Molly looked over at what remained of Alan and she salivated. There was just enough of her left, inside, to know how wrong it was, but she needed to feed. She needed to feed so bad. Scooting on her knees, she approached Alan’s corpse. She bent low, brushing her lips over the smile that was etched on his face, more or less permanently.
“So sorry…” Molly managed to get out, before biting into those lips and ripping them from Alan’s face. She chewed them quickly and gulped them down. Molly whimpered for just a moment until the hunger completely took over.
***
Audrey entered the foyer carrying grocery bags. She immediately noticed the quiet in the house.
“George? George, where are you?” she called out. In a huff, she dropped the groceries off in the kitchen and headed to the bedroom. She walked in and stopped when she saw the blood pool. Instead of being concerned, she instantly turned to anger.
“Alan,” she hissed. She followed the trail of blood out of the French doors into the yard. She continued to follow it through the grass and to the shed, where she heard moaning.
“Molly? Molly, is that you sweetheart? I’ll kill him. I’ll kill that bastard.” Audrey opened the shed door. “Molly, honey?”
Feeding time.
***
In the living room, the news station continued to run. A report from Europe, simulcast on the U.S. news network, highlighted what was quickly becoming a global concern. The British anchor had bleak news.
“Breaking news from the United States has the country's Center for Disease Control estimating that the global spread of what they are now calling the VT-3 Virus is imminent. The term pandemic has been mentioned with the first reports of the disease manifesting in Mexico and Canada yesterday. Europe has reported VT-3 infections as of three hours ago. There is an international coalition mobilizing as we broadcast in order to determine the root of the virus as well as possible vaccinations. Viewers are directed to avoid public areas. Staying at home is the best defense. The virus is transmitted through contact with bodily fluids. Due to the nature of the disease, those infected will actively attempt to force bodily contact if need be on any person, regardless of age or disposition. We urge you to avoid anyone suspected of carrying VT-3 even if that person is a trusted family member.”
***
The graphic read “VT-3 Day Fifteen” and scrolled across the bottom of the screen. The room was similar to the one the Surgeon General had addressed the nation in the first time. She was obviously tired and drooped at the podium. Nevertheless, she smiled.
“We are pleased to announce that a vaccination for the VT-3 virus has been reached through the cooperation of our international partners. If you know of anyone infected with VT-3, or suspect anyone of being infected, please call the number on your screen. You will be routed to local processing facilities in your area. Shipments of the vaccine have begun rolling out worldwide. We will have more information...”
The story cut to Gayle Summers, a local reporter, who had some information inside of the hospital where Molly had lost the baby. She stood at the bedside of Leon, the orderly that had attacked Dr. Valdez. Both she and Leon were smiling.
“The first local recipient of the vaccination is Leon Marks, an orderly here at the hospital. He is in good spirits and is expected...”
The End
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
David C. Hayes is an author, performer and filmmaker. His films, like A Man Called Nereus, Dark Places and The Frankenstein Syndrome (and approximately 70 more) can be seen worldwide. He is the author of several novels, collections, chapbooks and graphic novels including Cherub, Pegged, American Guignol, Scorn and Muddled Mind: The Complete Works of Ed Wood, Jr. As a playwright, David's full-length and one-act plays have been produced from coast to coast with a run Off-Broadway for the comedy Swamp Ho and sell-out performances in Phoenix for Dial P for Peanuts(winning a 2011 Ethingtony for Best Show). He is a voting member of The Dramatist's Guild and the Horror Writers Association.
Kevin Moyers likes to write, podcast and have fun with his daughter. He is the author of Brain Farts and Scorn, has appeared in films worldwide (Machined, Reborn and many more) and is all over the Abnormal Entertainment Podcast Network. He is the co-host of Raise Your Spirits with Camm and Kevin as well as Cinema Head Cheese: The Podcast. He lives in the Phoenix area, and he has yet to fortify his home against a possible zombie attack.
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