by Greg Keyes
“If you’ll just wait,” he said, “we’ll send for someone to evaluate you.”
“Please,” she said. “He may die without this.”
He hesitated, and she felt a moment’s hope.
“Ma’am,” he said, “I go off shift in an hour. If you give me the meds and the address, I can give them to him. That’s the best I can do.”
She studied his earnest face, then withdrew the antibiotics and the syringe from her pocket. “He needs a shot of this one,” she said. “These he takes by mouth.” She handed them over to them. “I’m trusting you,” she said.
“I’ll do it,” he promised.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m going back to ER now.”
“Ma’am—”
“I don’t need to be evaluated,’ she said. “I’m a doctor. Shoot me if you have to.” She almost hoped he would, because she knew what was coming. But she also knew she had a day or more before she lost the ability to function.
McWilliams shook his head when he saw her, and hustled her into the café, where they would have a little privacy.
“Are you okay?” he asked. He sounded genuinely concerned. That little bit of human kindness was all she needed to push her over the edge, and a soft sob crept out of her.
“Does it look like I’m okay?” she replied.
“I was starting to worry about you,” he said. “I thought you were showing symptoms. I’m so sorry I was right.”
For a moment, she couldn’t speak, and the tears began. McWilliams rested a gloved hand on her shoulder.
“You were going to let me slip isolation?” she finally asked, wiping her eyes.
“I knew you would be careful,” he said. “I thought you deserved to deal with this thing on your own terms.”
“Can you still get me out?”
“No,” he said sadly. “Not at this point. Now I can’t plausibly claim ignorance. Were you turned back by a guard?”
She nodded.
“Yeah,” he said. “I figured that. I couldn’t get you out even if I tried. Best go let them find you a bed.”
She imagined lying among the dying, waiting for the end. It wasn’t an appealing thought.
“Can I stay and work?” she asked. “I have some time, we both know that. The symptoms just started presenting. And I’ll be careful. I’m always careful.”
“I’ve seen enough of your work to know that,” he said. “But careful sometimes isn’t good enough.” He looked back at the waiting room. “On the other hand, most of them don’t have a chance in hell without you anyway. Slim is better than none.”
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll go scrub.”
When she got back to the waiting room, the only coffee that remained was instant, and as she poured the wretched stuff she realized she would never taste good coffee again. She wished that she had savored the last cup more. She wished she had gotten around to buying a grinder and some beans for the café.
Her reverie was cut short by a loud, dull, whump outside. The lights flickered and went out, and everyone began screaming. After a moment, the generators cut in and the lights came back.
Talia heard the staccato chatter of gunfire, and more screams. Through the glass doors of the emergency room, she could see a bright orange-yellow glow.
“What is it?” she asked McWilliams.
“I think we’re under attack,” he said.
“Attack?” The light seemed to go funny, as it did whenever there was an earthquake. Attack? Who would be attacking a hospital? And why? All of it seemed suddenly completely unreal, like a bad dream. She would wake up from it, and she wouldn’t really be sick, and none of this would be happening.
A guardsman burst in and exchanged salutes with McWilliams.
“What’s going on corporal?” he demanded.
“They threw firebombs into the quarantine, sir,” he said. His eyes seemed glazed by the same disbelief that Talia felt. “And into the back door. And we’ve sighted snipers with their rifles focused on the entrances. We’re not sure how many, but they shot Cain and nearly got Rodrigues.”
“Who are ‘they’?” McWilliams barked.
“I don’t know sir,” the corporal replied. “They didn’t exactly identify themselves.”
McWilliams absorbed that for a millisecond, and then turned to Talia.
“Get anybody in here who knows anything about burns,” he told her. “Do it now.”
“We have a burns unit,” Talia said. “I can see if anyone is there.”
She was hurrying down the hall, trying to think who might be available, when she met two men with a gurney. One it lay a man in a hazmat suit that had mostly burned off of him, and he himself had extensive burns—but not so extensive that she couldn’t see his face.
It was the young guardsman to whom she had given the antibiotics.
As she watched him go past, the feeling of unreality faded. The ground was under her again. This was a nightmare, and there was no waking up from it.
“I’m sorry, David,” she whispered, and continued on toward the burns unit. She could still hear the faint reports of gunfire outside.
16
David realized he’d just been staring at the page—maybe for a minute, maybe for longer. He took another drink of water and tried to get his focus back. His side throbbed, and pain radiated out from it to touch him everywhere. It felt, in fact, as if he was a hand puppet on a zombie’s hand.
He looked at the clock, and tried to do a little math.
Talia had been gone a long time. Four hours?
Most likely she had reached the hospital, and been drafted for an emergency situation. There probably wasn’t anything to worry about.
He took his own temperature and saw that it had climbed to a hundred and four, which explained some things—like the morbid zombie-hand analogy. He went to Talia’s medicine cabinet and found some aspirin. He took four and then went back to the laptop. Despite the way he was feeling, the story was taking shape.
Sage called an hour later with the corroboration he needed.
“You sound bad,” she said.
“A little fever,” he explained.
“Just send me what you’ve got, and get to a doctor,” she said.
“Right,” he muttered. “So someone else can get my byline.”
“You’ll get your byline, you flinking idiot. Get to a doctor!”
“I’m at the doctor’s right now,” he said. “Now let me finish the damn thing.”
He hung up before she could say anything else.
* * *
Caesar sat alone in the topmost branch of a redwood, staring out at the city. In the west, the sun was melting into the sea, and beyond the bridge, lights began coming on.
It seemed to him that there were fewer lights than there once had been, that the city was darker. Once again he wondered what Will was doing. Was Will sick with the disease? He hoped not. He could picture Will and Caroline in the kitchen, talking about what they had done that day. He longed to be there again, to be a part of that, part of a family. But it had never been entirely real. When they went places, Will took him on a leash, like a pet. Caesar knew what a pet was, and he knew that was the best thing an ape could hope for in the human world.
The worst—well, there were members of his troop who knew all too much about that. Apes who had been raised with nothing like a family, nothing like love, who had experienced only pain, degradation, and isolation.
And many of them… weren’t right. They were damaged inside, didn’t know exactly how to act, and maybe they never would. And all of this running, the threat of being captured or killed, the hunger—none of it was helping. But if he could find a place where they could be left alone, he knew things would get better. If some apes were broken, their children would not be. They would grow up with apes, as apes, in the trees where they belonged.
If…
He heard a faint rustling, and to his surprise he saw that Cornelia was approaching. Just seeing her made hi
m feel tired, and he wondered what she had come to complain about this time, what things she thought he was doing wrong.
She approached with deference. Not enough, he thought, but more than she had ever shown before.
Caesar watches the city, she signed.
He nodded.
What are you looking for?
When he didn’t answer, she moved closer.
It will be dark soon, she observed.
He shrugged, and waited for her to say something worth a reply. For a moment he thought she would just leave, but was astonished when she reached over and began picking twigs out his fur. He flinched at first, but then he let her continue. It felt good, relaxing, like when Will and Caroline had brushed him or stroked him.
She started on his back, working around to his side, slowly, methodically.
You’re a mess, she said.
No time to groom, he signed back. Always running.
You did well today, she said.
He jerked away, trying to read her expression. Was she mocking him?
But her expression seemed sincere.
I made a mistake today, he said. Might have lost many.
Didn’t, she pointed out.
Maybe soon, though, he said. I was too confident. Stupid. She pulled at a twig, a little too hard, and it stung.
Not stupid, she said. Apes are free because of Caesar. Apes are together. Worth dying for.
She continued to groom him in silence for a few moments.
Caesar is the smartest, she added. Still, should listen to others, take help from others. Caesar alone strong. Caesar with apes, stronger. Apes together, strong.
Caesar recognized what he had said to Maurice, coming back to him again. Koba had said it, too.
Who says this? he asked. Apes together strong?
All of them, she said. Even ones who don’t talk.
He watched the last of the sunset, then touched Cornelia’s shoulder, a gesture of thanks. He’d come up here feeling like something in him was broken. Now he felt it was just a bad bruise.
Together they went down to join the troop.
* * *
“Hey, Dad.”
Dreyfus looked up as Edward entered the kitchen, stifling a yawn. He was a rangy sapling of a fourteen-year-old, with a bushy mess of brown hair.
“Good morning, Edward,” he said. “I’m surprised to see you up so early, with school being canceled and all. I thought you might take the opportunity to sleep in.”
“I kind of… kind of thought I might see you before you left,” Edward said.
Dreyfus had been reaching for the paper, but he left it where it was.
“Is something the matter?” he asked.
“No,” Edward said, his gaze wandering randomly around the kitchen. And then, “Maybe, I don’t know.”
“Have a seat,” Dreyfus told his son. “You want some coffee?”
“Gross. No thanks.” He went to the fridge and got some sort of energy drink instead.
“You worried about the virus that’s going around?” he asked.
“Sure,” Edward replied, studying the back of his drink can. “Everyone is. Aren’t you?”
“Sure,” he allowed. “But I can’t let it stop me from doing what I think is right.”
Edward’s eyes lit up a little.
“Like running for mayor?” he said. “Like getting in front of that mob the other day?”
“Exactly,” Dreyfus said.
“Yeah,” Edward said. “So, there’s this food drive—to try to collect canned goods for the quarantine shelters. I was thinking I should… help out. Do the right thing, like you.”
Dreyfus sipped his coffee carefully.
“I’d rather you not go out, son,” he said.
“But you just said—”
“I know.” He sighed, and closed his eyes for a moment. “It’s just different when you’re a father.”
“Hey, you set the example,” Edward said.
“Tell me more about it, then,” Dreyfus said.
“Mr. Song, our history teacher, is organizing it. He—”
“Hold up,” Dreyfus said. “Henry Song?”
“Yes, sir.”
“The one with the daughter who was over here the other day for a study session?”
“Dad, this isn’t about her,” Edward protested, looking down at the table. “I just want to be like you.”
“Edward…” Dreyfus said, tilting his head.
“Okay, okay,” his son blurted out. “It’s totally about her. Please, Dad—let me. They have filter masks, gloves, fifty kinds of antibacterial hand wash.”
“It’s a virus,” Dreyfus interrupted. “Antibacterial hand wash won’t do anything to prevent it. Not unless you really scrub. And soap is actually better for scrubbing.”
Edward put both hands in front of him, as if he was shaking an invisible box. “Look, Dad,” he said. “We’re either all going to die, or we aren’t. If we don’t, I could come out the other side of this with some serious points.” He paused. “And I would be doing good, even if my motives aren’t perfectly pure.”
Dreyfus regarded his son’s earnest face.
“You’ll wear the gear,” he said. “Every second.”
“Yes, yes,” Edward said. “And you’ll wipe down and shower as soon as you come home.” He looked his son in the eye. “I’m not kidding about this.”
“Neither am I.”
Dreyfus nodded reluctantly.
“Okay,” he said. “Just be smart, okay? Be safe.”
It struck him that in a better world, those words would exist in another context, a context more suited to the life of a fourteen-year-old.
Edward left, and Dreyfus picked up the paper. The headline might as well have jumped out and slapped him in the face.
“Oh my God,” he muttered.
LOCAL BIOTECH FIRM CREATED SIMIAN FLU
Mayor’s Office Involved in Cover-Up
By David Flynn
The 133 retrovirus devastating the region and other cities around the world originated at Gen Sys, a biological engineering firm located in the Bay Area. An inside informant and company records indicate that the virus resulted from a serum intended as a cure for Alzheimer’s disease. According to verified documents, it was designed to help the brain to repair itself. It was tested on primates, and seemed to increase the intelligence of the test subjects.
The virus was developed by William Rodman, a scientist once considered to be on the cutting edge of Alzheimer’s research. His procedures were called into question when a trial version appeared to cause a chimpanzee test subject to go berserk. More recently Rodman began testing an improved version, and then quit abruptly, lodging formal complaints that the testing was being moved ahead too quickly. Rodman could not be located for comment, but a source at Gen Sys has claimed that faulty trials led to the infection of humans.
Independent sources and records obtained by the San Francisco Sentinel reveal that Gen Sys and the mayor’s office colluded to keep the details of this research, and the events that followed, from the public. They have also tried to actively suppress information concerning the escaped apes that wreaked havoc in the city and on the Golden Gate Bridge before fleeing into the Golden Gate National Recreational Area.
Bank records indicate that Mayor House received as much as ten million dollars from Gen Sys and its parent company, Polytechnic Solutions. Police Chief Burston also was named in the documents, but neither he nor Mayor House could be reached for comment. A spokesman for the mayor, who spoke on the condition of anonymity, stated that the claims are “outrageous and utterly without foundation,” but sources inside the administration corroborate the relationship between the mayor and the tech firm.
Official reports from City Hall, claiming that the violence on the bridge was exaggerated, have been called into question. Sources indicate that the primates number in the hundreds, and exhibit unnatural intelligence and aggression. Currently they are reported to be roaming Mu
ir Woods, and Anvil, a paramilitary contracting firm also owned by Polytechnic Solutions, has been hired to handle what has been dubbed “Monkeygate.” Trumann Phillips, the executive in charge of the Anvil presence, could not be reached for comment.
The current death toll attributed to the Simian Flu stands at more than 100,000 nationwide and that number is expected to grow exponentially. Medical facilities are overwhelmed with those who have been infected, as well as victims of escalating violence throughout the city.
“Well,” Dreyfus muttered. “There’s the other shoe.” He set his coffee down and headed for the office.
* * *
“You think being locked up might cost House the election?” Patel asked.
“There’s not going to be an election,” Dreyfus said. “No matter what happens to the goddamn mayor. And who do you imagine is going to lock him up?”
“Well, we’ll find out soon enough,” his aide replied. “They’ve announced a press conference, and if anything’s going to happen, most likely it will happen there.”
Sure enough, a short time later House appeared before the cameras. He still wasn’t wearing a surgical mask, but looked more bedraggled than ever.
I almost feel sorry for the sonofabitch, Dreyfus thought. Almost.
After some adjustments to balance the sound, the mayor began to speak.
“I’m here today to address the allegations directed at me and my administration, and to state definitively that they are entirely false,” he said. “This city is deeply in crisis, and will probably remain so for the foreseeable future. For the moment, that is my one and only priority, and all of the resources of this office are focused on maintaining public safety as much as is possible.
“When the danger is over,” he continued, “I will happily submit to any sort of outside investigation the citizens may call for. In the meantime, I remain in charge. This city is under martial law, and I am its executive officer.
“Thank you. God bless you all, God bless the City of San Francisco, and God bless America.”
* * *
The first mob to storm City Hall formed less than an hour later.
The police and National Guard units repelled the first wave with tear gas and rubber bullets. The crowd backed up, but continued to grow. Police were called in from other parts of the city.
