by A P Bateman
The Ares Virus
By
A P Bateman
Text © Anthony Paul Bateman
2015
All rights reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, printing or otherwise, without written permission of the author.
Author contact: [email protected]
For my wife Clair
For putting up with all my silliness
To Summer and Lewis
For keeping me silly
ONE
The air was crisp and clean. Little wind. Fall was finally edging through after a balmy summer. The forest felt alive with movement and noise as he listened to the night sounds, his senses slowly becoming in tune with his surroundings. Nocturnal creatures were foraging for food, occasional screeches piercing the night. Some hunting, the others hunted.
His feet crunched on the stony ground, popping seed pods and the first of the brittle fall leaves as he walked around the vehicle and opened the trunk. He caught hold of the corpse under its ankles and heaved it out towards the opening. He allowed the feet to drop to the ground then got a good hold under its arm pits, dropped his own weight and pulled the torso over his shoulder like a slaughter man carrying a quarter of beef. The cadaver was heavy. The dead man had been two hundred and thirty pounds in life. Still was. The body was fat and gelatinous. Rigor mortise had subsided and the form was cumbersome. But the man was six four and two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle and bone and he easily lifted the corpse out and around the vehicle and to the open driver’s door. He dropped the body as well as he could into the seat. It was a big vehicle, a Chevy Tahoe. The body slid a little on the leather seat but the man heaved it back up and got the seatbelt around and buckled up. It was difficult using the gloves. But they were necessary. He had worn them the whole time he drove the big SUV up the mountain road and he had worn them whilst he had pinched the dead man’s nose shut, clamped the other over his mouth and straddled him, holding him still with his two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle until the man beneath him ceased struggling and accepted death.
He switched the vehicle’s ignition on and the V8 rumbled into life. He wound down the driver’s window and then took a tool out from his jacket pocket. It was a spike on a handle. A honed screwdriver filed down to a dart’s tip. He got down on to his back and wriggled his frame under the vehicle and put the tip on the bottom of the fuel tank. Holding it in place, he drove the palm of his gloved right hand onto the pommel of the tool’s handle and the tip ruptured the tank spilling out a small but consistent trickle of fuel onto the ground. The flow of fuel was satisfactory. The engine was running and sucking petrol steadily. It was similar to plumbing whereby there was now a free flow effect. He got back up brushing the debris of leaves and earth off his back and returned to the driver’s window. He reached in and turned the lights on. The beams cut a swathe of light through the darkness into a void of nothing beyond. The patch of ground was fifty yards off a track which in turn ran a half mile from the road. It was a mountain road and the road in question wound a ribbon both a half mile behind the Tahoe and forty yards and two hundred feet below out in front of the dazzling beams. The site had been chosen well. Another hundred feet below the road was the next section of black top. With enough momentum the Tahoe would hit the first section of road, crash through the barrier and carry on below. The leaking fuel tank should emit enough fuel and the impact should create enough sparks as the two tons of metal smashed into the asphalt and rocks and metal crash barrier below. It was the fuel vapor that mattered most and the small puncture in the fuel tank would guarantee a steady amount.
The man reached in through the window past the cadaver’s shoulder and he picked up the length of stick he had earlier trimmed and tested as he had waited for darkness to fall. It was similar in dimension to a walking cane. He used it to press down on the footbrake and then with his right hand he shifted the automatic selector into drive. He took the stick off the footbrake and the vehicle eased forward so slowly that he did not even have to move. Positive creep, the manufacturers called it and it enabled perfect hill starts. He positioned the wooden stick over the throttle and then pressed down hard all the way to the floor. The V8 growled and the big Chevy shot forward throwing debris up with all four wheels. The man twisted away, keeping a firm grip on the stick and the SUV immediately started to slow but not enough before it reached the edge of the precipice and disappeared from view. A full two seconds later there was an almighty crash of two tons of metal impacting on the asphalt like cannon fire. A tearing, screeching sound and silence once more, before a second shattering impact on the meandering section of road further below. The man could hear a faint whoosh and almost immediately the night gave way to a warm yellow glow.
He stood at the edge and watched. The flames grew and licked gently at the night sky. They didn't rush, simply enveloped the vehicle and teased at the gas tank heating the metal and waiting patiently for the tank to split and release the rest of the gasoline. He took off the gloves and tucked them inside his coat.
The eventual explosion was bright, but not loud, and surged high into the air. Flames imploded on themselves, turned a tight circle then threw themselves full force towards the sky. There was enough light from the flame to see a large smoke pyre in the shape of a giant mushroom billowing skywards.
He was satisfied with the effect although outwardly he showed no sign of emotion. He did not smile, nor allow himself any sense of relief at the completion of the task. The efforts of the exertion had left him breathless and hot, but the sensation was subsiding and the distinct chill in the air was enough for him to raise the collar of his jacket. He casually tossed the stick into the fringe of the forest as he turned around and walked back into the night.
TWO
She had heard the expression before. Only now she knew what it really meant. An ‘air of tension’ had taken hold of the entire facility. It had moved through the building like a thick fog, enveloping all in its path and consuming relentlessly. For some, the tension was euphoric. What had been achieved in the past four months of the five year project was illuminating. The anticipation of what now lay ahead had even the most senior staff acting like children at the end of semester. They were looking ahead, some realizing that their career paths may have dramatically widened with the culmination of the project. Others, like her were unable to process recent events. It would appear that many though had not given it a second thought. She knew that none of this project, and nothing that was about happen today would have been possible without one man. Her mentor, her boss. The man who had found the few breadcrumbs that Mother Nature had left for them to follow. The man who had put the pieces together in the right order and found the picture staring back at him.
She tidied her workstation and put the computer on stand-by and switched off the monitor. There was little clutter at her desk. She liked it that way. No clutter in her work life, no clutter in her home life and certainly no clutter in her love life. Although she would have to agree that the latter was not by choice, merely circumstance born of fourteen hour days and little hope to change that just yet.
She felt the tension like everybody else, and had it not been for yesterday’s tragic announcement she would quite possibly have joined in on today’s mood within the facility. Only now she was far from happy. A momentous occasion such as this should have been something to savor, something to treasure for the rest of her career. Yet now she was left with the feeling of emptiness which had somehow avoided her senior colleagues. On the surface at least.
She slipped off the white technicians coat and smoothed down her skirt. It was part of the suit she
had bought for the interview five years ago. She had thought it smart and sophisticated at the time and had thought how it would also be suitable attire for possible dates in expensive restaurants, weddings of her colleagues or friends and smart social gatherings. It was her only suit and quite possibly the third time she had worn it. On the plus side her figure hadn't changed over the five years, but on the minus side it said a hell of a lot about her life. A quick glance in her compact told her she was passable and then she picked up the folder and her note cards and walked to the door.
She was nervous as she climbed the few steps to the stage and walked to the lectern. She remembered the old cliché about speech making and that was to picture the audience in their underwear. One glance was enough to make her want to pack up and go home right now. Mostly a collection of middle-aged men or older still, with muscles running to fat, long since softened by polishing a seat with their backsides for too many years. There was also a scattering of sour-faced women who had been hardened forever, the price paid for fighting their way to the top in the last bastion of a man’s world.
There was a dazzle from the lights in the auditorium. Her podium was a little too high and the microphone seemed too far away. But it hadn’t been set for her and the realization suddenly added to the stress, making her sad for the department’s recent loss. Her boss was tall and would have set up the microphone as he practiced his speech most of this past week. Much was riding on this project and the recent developments meant selling something altogether different from the initial brief.
“GOOD ...” The sound made her jump. Several people in the front row jumped or flinched along with her. A technician dutifully trotted out across the stage and finely tuned the volume adjustment on the microphone. He smiled briefly and mouthed a good luck to her. She smiled back. She liked him. They had both been tearful at the recent news.
She took a deep breath. She could see the look of amusement on the faces in the audience and she felt frustrated that she was losing them at the start.
“Good morning ladies and gentlemen,” she paused, relieved that the microphone was now on her side. “My name is Isobel Bartlett and I am Senior Consultant, and acting Head of Technical Advancement in Bioresearch. Before I start today's presentation, I would like to express my deepest sorrow for the recent loss of our esteemed colleague, and creator of the project, Professor Joseph Leipzig. Without him, I know, as do my colleagues that ARES would not have got off the ground. And our greatest technical achievement would not have been announced today,” she said. “As you are no doubt aware in your briefs, ARES is our name for bio-formulae Xarianchloro 47B. A project initially started in the late sixties as a weapon to hold in the Cold War. To keep it in layman’s terms, although it is described in further detail in your briefs, this is fundamentally a virus with similar genetic structure to Spanish Influenza. The project was soon shelved following more sophisticated development of nuclear weapons including ICBM’s. However, we have developed the project in such a manner that we have been able to tap into its potential in ways not thought possible. Ares, the ancient Greek god of war was our name for possibly the most audacious weapon of modern warfare. We chose this name because in Greek mythology Ares himself was a god of great flaws. He was a blunt instrument, and although other war gods used strategies and guile, Ares himself was a god of domineering, overwhelming force. He had an affair with Aphrodite, the goddess of love, and was left ridiculed and embarrassed by her husband. However, Ares was the greatest warrior in ancient Greek history and subsequently the most feared and revered,” she paused. Her lips were dry and she took a quick sip of the glass of water in front of her. She put the glass back down and noticed she was shaking a little. “As was our brief, we achieved an accumulative virus closely representing the symptoms of flu. What differs, in fact is ARES’ destructive spread through the nervous system, culminating in severe spasmodic episodes. After initial contact the flu symptoms develop over a period of between three and eight hours. The virus is airborne and spread through spores as well as hand contact, body and sexual contact. However, this is not just a common cold. This is aching, agonizing muscle fatigue combined with respiratory discomfort, headaches and aversion to light. After twenty-four hours the virus really begins to catch hold of the subject,” she paused. “Or I should say, victim.”
There were a few hushed tones in the audience. But this was what they were here for.
“It paralyses them, rushes through their body like napalm through their veins, agonizing convulsions occur which will last another twenty four hours. The skin will delaminate from the muscle making voluntary movement impossible. Internal organs virtually rot away. Convulsions and spasms are so violent that they can practically snap the subject’s own spin. Death in any case comes at approximately forty-eight hours after initial contact with the virus. This latter stage pulls upon the worst case scenario of a virus like Ebola.”
She felt the speech lacked the dramatic impact that her audience were craving. She hoped that she wasn’t like a performer dying mid-way through their act. But she had only cobbled together what she could from Leipzig’s notes, and the man had been a natural orator. She bent down and ran her finger on the mouse pad of the laptop on the small table beside her. The large screen behind her came into life and the moving icon, the symbol of the government research facility moved in small semi-circles across the screen. She clicked the icon in the bottom left of the screen and the large screen behind her continued with the display.
“What you are looking at now is the genetic structure of common flu. To the right,” she paused while the next diagram whirled downwards from the top of the screen and rested still, a comparison beside the flu structure. “Is the genetic makeup of ARES.” Two more genetic structures dropped down on the screen. “And here we have Bird Flu and the common cold.”
All of the structures then moved across the screen and rested on ARES which was highlighted in red. All the structure combinations fitted completely. The audience looked unimpressed, they wanted pictures of victims. A video clip of an entire city rendered moribund by a killer virus. Perhaps in time, the video clips would come for real. She hoped not.
“There can be no doubt as to the destructive capabilities of ARES. Though, if you look at the similarities between our virus and that of common flu, you cannot fail to see that many of the traits and idiosyncrasies are the same. That is because common flu is still one of the world's largest killers. It may also be worth noting that the common cold claims many lives each year, costs industry billions of dollars worldwide in lost production and that there is still no known cure for the common cold.” She moved the mouse and the screen changed once more. Two new genetic structures appeared. “Until now, that is.”
There were a few mumbles and hushed tones from within the crowd. Somewhere from the back a man cleared his throat and whispered to the man next to him.
“With our development of ARES we had to create an anti-virus. An antidote. This of course, is common practice. We cannot stare into the mouth of Hell without the knowledge that there is a heaven above us. APHRODITE is the answer to ARES. As ARES was the god of war, APHRODITE was the ancient Greek goddess of love. From our antidote came far more beneficial research than ever could have from ARES ...” she was cut short by a muffled gasp from somebody within the audience. There was no follow-up, the audience clearly wanted to see where she was going next. “APHRODITE could well be the answer to our prayers. The antidote has been experimented with exhaustedly and we feel that there is much to be gained from further research and development. We have gained great advances in creating strains to counter many immune-system attacking viruses. A strain from APHRODITE has been proven to eliminate flu symptoms in trials as well as mere cold symptoms. We believe that not only does APHRODITE contain the secrets of fighting immune-system attacking viruses, but what we may have here is not merely a cure for the common cold, but one which with further research, we believe can be the biggest advancement in fighting HIV and
AIDS. We have great confidence that APHRODITE is merely months away from a strain which will counter Ebola,” she paused. There was emotion in her voice. Here was research worth working towards. Here was what her department had felt so happy about. And who really could blame them? Professor Leipzig was dead, but the door for so many opportunities was open. “I will take some questions now.” There was a hand in the air immediately. It belonged to a large man in full military uniform. She looked at the man and smiled. “Yes, Sir?”
The man stood up and cleared his throat. He was a four star general. “General Chuck Howard, Ma’am. Tell me, with the greatest respect, what has all this talk and speculation about AIDS and a cure for a God damn cold got to do with my weapon? We’re not the World Health Organization; we don’t give a rat’s ass about some shanty town in Africa being struck down with AIDS. Hell, a bunch of pop stars can sing a song for them and celebrities can launch a new range of peace chips. Organic ones flavored with sea salt and wasabi,” he smirked. “You want a result for world freedom from strife and disease; you go work for the World Health Organization. You want to keep everybody in this room happy, you talk about our new weapon and what it could do for us logistically on a global scale.” He sat back down and folded his arms across his chest. He looked pleased with himself. So did half the audience.
Isobel Bartlett looked shaken. She looked down at one of the hard faced women in the front row.
“Karen Somerton, Department of Defense. What testing was carried out with ARES? Were human subjects involved?”
Bartlett shook her head. “No. We tested ARES on both primates and swine. Both closely resemble human organs and respiratory systems. Computer simulation and genetic block building was brought in to get a clearer picture. Believe me when I say ARES is an effective killer. What we did test on volunteer subjects was APHRODITE and her, sorry its ability to break the flu viruses and offer more towards other viruses. In later trials both myself and Professor Leipzig volunteered for infection with common flu. Both of us were cured within twenty-four hours. Professor Leipzig went further and infected himself with strain one avian flu and was cleared healthy within forty-eight hours of the administering of APHRODITE.”
