“No one understands my work. Consequently, they view me as a fool.”
“What’s the ‘ASAM’ team?”
“It stands for Advanced Science Against Malady. It’s Dr. Carmen Victoria’s personal team of scientists. I gave a presentation yesterday and they laughed me out of the conference room. Bastards.” Albert led them down a stairwell to the ground level. They entered another hallway and stopped at a door secured with a digital keypad and card reader. He swiped his security card and entered his access code on the keypad. The door clicked and opened. “The records room is all yours, but I’d be fast with your poking around. The security office is just down the hall and the guards will be making rounds soon.”
Before entering, Jameson gave Albert an appreciative nod. “Thanks for the help and good luck with your work.”
Stepping into the records room, Jameson and Luna froze in place when a shrieking alarm blared throughout the hospital. A recorded voice repeated an alert.
“Malady Ward breached. Malady Ward breached. Hospital lock-down in three minutes.”
The door to the records room closed automatically.
Jameson spun to catch the closing door and saw Albert’s boot wedging it open. “Hurry,” urged the doctor. “We need to evacuate, or we’ll be trapped in the hospital.”
“Dammit!” Jameson’s fist hammered the door frame. “Give me two minutes. I’ve come too far to turn back now.”
Screams and gunfire sounded from the floor above.
“Whatever you’re after,” said Albert, “it may have to wait for another day.”
“He’s right, Jameson.” Luna clicked a magazine of bullets into her rifle. “With shots firing, we must keep moving.” Hooking her arm through his, she pulled him into the hall with Albert.
Guards poured out of the security office, sprinting up the stairs toward the chaos with weapons drawn. Their radios squawked with calls of hysteria and pleas for help. The warning message blared over the loudspeakers.
“Malady Ward breached. Malady Ward breached. Hospital lock-down in two minutes.”
Albert shuffled down the hall. “Jameson, Luna, follow me. The exit is this way.”
Jameson shook his head. “I’m going to see what’s happening upstairs. Maybe I’ve still got time. Luna, go with Albert and get to safety.”
Luna’s eyes narrowed in defiance. “I’m with you.”
The two ran for the security office.
Albert rolled his eyes. “Wait for me.”
A row of large monitors spread over the guards’ desk. On the screens, Jameson watched the fighting as the security cameras captured it. The Malady Ward patients attacked the security guards, doctors and hospital staff, biting, clawing, beating them with lengths of broken furniture and choking them to the ground with electrical cords. Jameson leaned closer to examine the carnage. People, wounded from the explosion and wrapped in bandages, acted out in fits of wild rage. Bodies of medical personnel lay strewn about the halls and common rooms. Blood stained the walls. Jameson watched as a wave of Oasis guards ran into the fight wearing ballistic vests and face masks, shooting down the frenzied patients and aiding the victims.
Albert adjusted his glasses, staring intently at the monitors. Astonishment rattled his voice. “In stage three of its lifecycle, the Malady parasite is known to elevate hostility, even make people dangerous, but this is highly abnormal.”
“And look at the guy in the middle of it,” said Jameson, tapping one of the screens, “the skinny punk with the blond hair.”
“It’s the man from the train!” Luna exclaimed.
“He’s staring at the camera,” added Albert.
He’s staring at me, thought Jameson. Who are you?
The warning message resounded through the hospital, hardly audible over the deafening pandemonium.
“Lock-down in one minute.”
Albert clutched his medical satchel. “Can we please leave? Further delay will render us maimed, infected, dead or all three in that order.”
“Luna, cover us,” ordered Jameson.
Luna’s ruddy lips curled to a smile as she aimed her laser sights on the feral mob trampling into the hall. The wild-eyed patients swarmed and Luna’s rifle became thunder and lightning. She dropped the infected horde one by one, but the advancing attackers climbed over the bodies.
Albert, Jameson and Luna reached the exit. The security key pad beside the door flashed red and blinked the words: Building Locked.
“We can’t get out!” Albert shouted. He wiped his sweaty forehead with the end of his tie.
Jameson drove his elbow into the key pad, shattering the device. Sparks flew and wires crackled. “Stand back!” He kicked the door with his heavy boot, breaking the latch from the frame. They escaped through the door, running across the parking lot. Jameson looked back at the unending crowd of killers. Luna kept firing as they followed Albert to an ambulance parked behind a large dumpster. He opened the rear doors. “Get in!”
With Jameson and Luna secured, Albert scrambled into the driver’s seat and locked the doors. The ambulance sped off, rumbling down the parkways of Wolfgang Commons, toward East Main Street. Dense trees with low hanging boughs lined the park’s road and swayed in the morning wind. Rays of silver sunlight shone in shifting beams, turning the sprawling green campus into a strange, landscaped jungle. Jameson and Luna sat in the back of the ambulance, on the floor, backs pressed to the wall.
“I was so damn close, Luna,” huffed Jameson in frustration. “I just needed two minutes in that records room and I’d have found it.”
“Maybe,” replied Luna. “But at what cost? I didn’t see that battle coming. I mean, a hospital? Who would guess a deadly riot would break out? We’re lucky we survived.”
Jameson took her hand. “You’re right. Did any of them—”
“I’m fine,” she answered, appreciation tensing her lips. “We’ve been through far worse than that.”
“True. But if that was a taste of what Karma’s become since I left, we’re going to need more ammo.”
“I see that look in your eye, Jameson.”
“What look?” he asked playfully. “Oh, you mean the one when I’m worried about Malady-heads infecting you?”
“Exactly. Like I said, I’m fine. I’m always fine,” she reached up and touched the side of his stubbly face, “thanks to you.”
Albert turned on the interior lights. The ambulance had been converted to an open concept, mobile chemistry laboratory complete with burners, graduated cylinders, volumetric flasks and various tubes set on tiered racks. Graphs and charts covered the walls and a whiteboard depicted endless equations that looked more like the scribbled runes of a madman than precise mathematics. The doctor glanced back over his shoulder. “Thanks for getting me to safety. I’ve seen a lot of Malady-induced outbursts, but that was a nightmare! If not for your shooting, Luna, I’d be mashed potatoes.”
Luna smirked from the doctor’s odd expression. “No problem. Interesting ride you’ve got here.”
“It’s been a,” his pause exposed his search for a believable lie, “side-project of mine for a while.”
“You stole it,” said Luna dryly.
Albert banged the steering wheel. “Oasis owes me for the crap they’ve put me through.”
“I don’t care what you’re up to,” Jameson interjected. “As soon as the way is clear, you can drop us on the roadside.”
“I’m not dropping you off anywhere on campus. You saw how violent those patients became. It’s too dangerous.”
“I’m not afraid of the infected.”
“I’ve noticed,” said Albert. “People who live like you are normally far into their sickness. The more I think on it,” Albert glanced back again, this time with a suspicious eye, “it is highly unusual, and statistically improbable, for a Void Land drifter to be so healthy.”
“Just good at dodging bullets, doc.”
“Why don’t we just head to my—holy crap!” Albert jerked the ste
ering wheel. The ambulance screeched as it swerved, barely missing a mass of people running into the road. Jameson hunched over the passenger seat and peered through the windshield at the crowd. The man with the white-blond hair and fiery orange eyes led the pack.
“Follow him,” Jameson ordered. “Don’t let him get away!”
“Are you insane?”
“Do it, or I’m taking the wheel and you’re walking.”
Albert stomped the accelerator. The ambulance lurched forward, engine revving.
Jameson hung out of the passenger window with shotgun in hand. The man looked over his shoulder as he ran, grinning with defiance.
Jameson opened fire but his shot missed when the man sprang upward, rolled in the air, and landed back on his feet in full sprint. He ran faster, moving with surprising speed. Soon, he was far ahead. The ambulance raced to close in.
“I’ve seen him before,” Albert said. “He’s from Graves Enterprises. I’m sure of it.”
The man stopped suddenly and faced the ambulance, standing still in the road with knees bent and fingers hooked like readied claws. Albert locked the brakes, skidding to a short stop. Jameson fired again but the assailant leapt into the air, bounding from the vehicle’s hood to the high branches of an oak. In the cover of the knotting boughs, the orange-eyed man disappeared from Jameson’s view. Jameson slammed his fists against the roof and called for Luna.
The ambulance’s rear doors flung open. Luna Briggs stepped into the road with her rifle poised. Jameson watched her pan the surrounding trees with her scope. He whispered through gritted teeth, “We’re going to get you.”
“I see him!” Luna called. She fired and the bullet ripped through a tree branch. “Dammit!” She switched on her laser sight and swept the red beam over the canopy of leaves.
The tree-tops rustled.
Luna fired, missing again. “He’s gone.”
Jameson climbed out through the passenger window and joined Luna in the road. Seeing her frustration, he put his arm over her shoulders.
“I never miss,” she said. “He vaulted from the branches about twenty feet up, dropped to the ground, and then rolled out of view! I’ve never seen a person move like that.”
“Where did he go?”
Luna pointed to a steep embankment that sloped to a muddy culvert. “Down there, into the storm drain.”
Jameson dropped two shells into his shotgun and slid down the muddy hill, hurrying for the drain pipe. Luna followed.
Chasing after them, Albert called, “Where are you two going?”
Jameson didn’t look back. “Hunting.”
Chapter 2
At the twenty-four-hour Greely Park Diner, Jack Halligan slid into his booth by the window, where he could watch the people of Karma City carrying on as best they could. A mother pulled her child away from a homeless man who crouched on the curb, coughing into gloved hands once outstretched for handouts. Another man in a suit and overcoat waited at the bus stop with a newspaper under his arm. He gave up his spot under the glass shelter so the woman and child could escape the cold wind. The man turned up his collar, shivering as the cars streaked by, blowing up litter on swirls of smoky exhaust. A smile passed between the man and woman. The bus arrived and collected the three, leaving the shelter free for the homeless man to claim for his camp. Jack knew the beggar would be there a long time. Days. Weeks. He would die there.
In the diner, a different world existed. A kinder world. Jack inhaled the comforting smell of stale, midday donuts and burnt home fries. The smells of a new day. Being a writer, the little details of city life—the scents, contrasts, and comparisons—colored the world around him. Then his eyes moved around the diner, examining the people. He counted a dozen new faces. Some looked tired and troubled while others stared into space, lost in their drug induced lethargy. They’re sick. Everyone’s sick. Still, there remained a positive energy in the diner and for Jack, that was the detail that mattered most.
The migration to Karma City became more apparent as newcomers took up residence throughout; the numbers often crowding once quiet pockets of town like Jack’s community in central Karma, Greely Park. He shrugged. Good for business, I suppose. But they just don’t understand. There’s no cure in Karma City.
Jack poured cream into his coffee, watching tiny white clouds bloom like a brewing storm Listening to the patrons in the booth behind him gossip about the explosion, the destruction of the East River trestle and the horrendous murders at Oasis Hospital, Jack felt disturbed. Such violence at Oasis Hospital wasn’t possible. Nowhere else in Karma City did a more peaceful place exist. And Jack knew that Dr. Carmen Victoria, passionate and dedicated to the people, must surely be grieving.
Donna came to his booth and gave him a hug. “Morning, Hun.”
For a moment, Jack got lost in Donna’s simple beauty. Her blue apron hugged her slender waist and her silky, red hair fell in loose curls around her rosy cheeks. Her almond-shaped hazel eyes warmed him more than any cup of coffee could ever do.
“Your new article is in print today,” Donna said proudly, handing him a wrinkled copy of the day’s paper. “The new folks have been chatting about it. They’re finding it really helpful.”
“That’s good. Because when I pitched the concept to my editor, she was reluctant at first. I explained to her that while Malady is widely understood in Karma City, all the newcomers from the Void Lands either don’t know how severe the sickness really is, or their present sickness is degrading their memory of it. I’m glad if my writing helps them.”
“You do important work.”
“So do you, Donna. You lift spirits. An almost impossible feat in this world.”
The bells on the diner door jangled; a group of customers entered. “Guess the rush is starting,” said Donna. “The usual today, Hun?”
Jack smiled. “Heck, yeah! But I’d like extra bacon, please.”
She gave him a kiss and left to put in his order.
No other woman in the city compared to Donna Lynne. For seven years, Jack came to the Greely Park Diner for breakfast and every morning, Donna made sure a clean booth waited for him. He was her favorite writer and she enjoyed his articles in the Karma Daily. Jack enjoyed bouncing ideas off her and found her witty intelligence inspiring and motivational. What could possibly be better than starting the day with a great meal and in the company of this radiant, intelligent woman? Watching her greet the customers, serve their breakfast and refill their coffee, he counted the smiles she created.
Donna had a way with people that few could duplicate but all could appreciate. So many people outside the diner suffered with varying stages of the parasite. But Donna didn’t keep count. She didn’t care. At Greely Park Diner, people got the kindest service, the best food and most importantly, they got to forget about the microscopic worm inhabiting them, even if only for a little while. That’s what Donna did for Jack, and that’s why he loved her.
Jack unfolded the newspaper. His article covering the Malady pandemic made the front page.
“Welcome to Town. Don’t Get Sick”
By: Jack Halligan
A recent wave of inbound travelers has filled the already crowded streets with new faces, new hopes and likewise, new heartbreak. Natives of the Void Lands flock in caravans to Karma City, the brightest of the remaining big cities, believing this place to be a shining pillar of wellness only to crash against the horrific truth that there is no cure against the microscopic parasite called “Malady.” The real tragedy is that many people do not understand the terms of their infection. For the parasite, this is just fine. Read on if you think you’re ill, or if your sickness has made you forget.
Humans are the obligate host of this invading micro-worm. From the brain cavity, Malady affects a person in three stages. The larval stage brings the night terrors. The pupal stage brings memory lapse. I’ve just entered this stage. My memories are falling into a strange fog. During the third stage, adulthood, the host suffers from a serious and deadl
y depression. The three stages combined equal insanity.
Malady makes a monster of us all, but the parasite doesn’t kill us. It’s the effects of the parasitic lifecycle that render so many dead. One might get so tired from sleepless nights that he falls down the stairs. Another might forget to eat for weeks and starve to death. I once reported on a woman who became so paranoid in line at the store, that she turned on the man standing behind her and dug out his eyes with her nails. Bottom line: you can’t live with Malady because Malady won’t let you.
Over the near century of its known existence, Malady has caused the degradation of the human condition, collapsing cities far and wide, and turning neighborhoods to graveyards. Our world is one of lawlessness, chaos and crime. To every newcomer reading this, remember that infection is only one threat out there. STAY SAFE. I hope you enjoy your visit to the city, but I think you’ll find that Karma’s a bitch
Donna brought a steaming plate of eggs, sausage and extra bacon.
“Thank you,” said Jack. “Smells great.”
“You look a bit distracted. Things okay?”
“Didn’t sleep very well. That damn nightmare again.”
Donna sat in the booth across from him and clasped her hands over his. “The one of your father?”
“Yes. Hard to believe he’s been dead for almost twenty years.”
“You were seventeen when he died. That’s hardly old enough to understand, or accept, how sick he was,” assured Donna. “His death was an accident. It wasn’t your fault.”
“I keep telling myself that.” But he wouldn’t have gotten sick had I just listened to him. Jack buried his father, but not the guilt. He often wondered if his own infection was his punishment. He took a bite from a strip of bacon. “You know what the most frightening part of the nightmare is?”
Donna shook her head.
“When I wake up, I can smell his cologne throughout the apartment.”
***
The white beam of Jameson’s flashlight illuminated the twisting drain tunnel. The light bounced from the line of water coursing between his steps, sending eerie shadows up the curved, stone walls. He sorted through the unending jumble of echoes. The far-off rush of the subway and the moaning of the infected were bonded by the steady drip-drop of water—a sound that haunted as much as it soothed, like rusted bells and broken chimes.
Karma City Page 2
