Grim Fever

by R Scott Mather

  “No. He was the arrow, not the archer.”

  “Are you saying someone intentionally infected him and sent him out into public?”

  Choi slides a phone from her coat pocket. “Watch this.”

  A video taken from a phone propped on a table shows a young Asian man with glasses working alongside Ada. He announces everything he’s doing aloud like it’s an educational video. “Right,” Ada says, encouraging the young man. He’s typing on a laptop. She tells him it’s too hot and to turn down the temperature. “Okay.” He stands up and goes off-screen. Ada cocks her head, watching him, and then her bright blue medical gloves flash across the screen as she sprays something on the laptop keyboard. She hid her hands underneath the table. The young man returns and says he lowered it to sixty-eight. He continues typing—with his bare hands.

  “Ada infected this kid?”

  Choi nods. “Did she tell you what the virus’s original intent was?”

  “Something about creating a virus that would kill all other viruses?”

  “An omnivirus. Yes.”

  “So why did Ada infect that lab assistant?”

  “She wanted to test the spread capacity. They believed it to be benign, but they wanted to test how contagious their virus was. Once they discovered that it was both dangerously contagious and fatal, they called me in. But they weren’t forthright with what happened. I discovered the truth along the way.”

  “Despicable. They couldn’t test that in a lab? They had to let it out into the world?”

  “Yes. When I learned that, I halted my original work and investigated the company.”

  “Is that why I never saw you again in Washington?”

  She nods.

  “What were you planning on doing with Lindsay?”

  “We wanted to interview her to find out how she became infected, and most importantly, how she survived. But she saw through our phony CDC cover. Smart girl.”

  Lindsay’s smiling face flashes in the front of my memory.

  “That McNulty guy seemed too aggressive for a simple interview,” I say as Lindsay’s ghost vanishes from my mind.

  Choi exhales through her nostrils. “He was not my choice. Peter Creston insisted he send his personal private security detail with me. McNulty was a loose cannon. He could have killed you and Lindsay with that car stunt. If I’d have known what he was planning, I wouldn’t have let him.”

  I flashback to McNulty ramming his car into mine, crushing the passenger side of my truck.

  “It was then,” Choi says, “that I realized Mr. Creston’s intent. He didn’t want to question Lindsay; he wanted to kill her.”

  “Why? Couldn’t she have helped with a vaccine?”

  “At that time, Mr. Creston wanted no part in finding a vaccine. He wanted to end any trace of survivors that might link back to his lab. Ada Curry later had the idea to create a vaccine from a survivor’s blood.”

  I attempt to let this barrage of information settle, to make some sense. It’s too much all at once. I don’t know if I can trust Choi. It doesn’t appear that I can trust Ada. I rub my temples and try to make sense of it all.

  “Why did Ada bring me here? It wasn’t for my protection, was it?”

  Choi reaches into Ada’s leather bag on the table and pulls out a syringe full of clear liquid. She hands it to me. “I believe she intended to kill you once she had your blood.”

  I take it. “What is this?”

  “I would guess it’s a lethal dose of something. You are a loose thread. They need to snip you away.”

  A wad of emotion lodges itself in my throat. I inspect the syringe, turning it from side to side. I’m shocked when it’s not fear that floods my mind but curiosity.

  Do I deserve to die? Yes, Peter Creston and Ada Curry sent Grim Fever out into the world, but I helped spread it. I helped cause the worst outbreak since the Black Plague. Shouldn’t that warrant the ultimate penalty?

  Choi opens her mouth to speak when the front door squeaks open. She reaches behind her back and freezes, her eyes tense and focused.

  “Ada,” a man’s voice booms from the front entry, “is it done?”

  28

  Choi snatches her handgun from behind her back and aims it at the hallway. She raises a finger to her lips.

  The footsteps grow louder. “Ada?”

  A gray-haired man in a shiny navy blue suit comes around the corner. He sees me, and his face contorts with confusion. He turns his head to see Choi and flinches.

  “Don’t move,” Choi says.

  The man twitches like he’s going to run, but he thinks better of it and turns toward Choi, hands raised. “Dr. Choi.” A nervous smile curls in the corner of his mouth.

  Choi flicks the gun to her right, gesturing for him to move away from the hall.

  He complies, clears his throat. “You know I’m not here alone, right? No matter what you do to me, you won’t make it out of here alive.”

  Choi maintains a steady gaze, her gun aimed at his chest.

  “Where’s Ada?” The man’s voice cracks, his false bravado wearing thin. “Did you kill her like you killed McNulty?” He sneers at Choi, then eyes me. “Chad Chaucer. The lone survivor.” He shakes his head. “Do you realize how much you’ve cost me?”

  “Do you realize how much you’ve cost me?” The anger leaps off my tongue. “Your virus ruined my life!”

  He rolls his eyes. “If you would have just died like everyone else, we would’ve had it contained. But no, you ran around the country like a little spark among the brush.”

  “Please stop talking, Mr. Creston,” Choi says, her voice emotionless.

  “He’s—”

  “Enough.”

  Creston’s mouth hangs open, his eyes saddened like a scolded child. It’s clear he’s not used to anyone else controlling the situation, but he’s afraid of Choi.

  “You’ve run out of options, Mr. Creston,” Choi says after a silent moment. “The truth is out. Evidence of your involvement is already spreading on the internet. Like a little spark among the brush.”

  “What evidence?”

  “Make the correct choice, and you won’t get hurt.”

  Creston laughs. “You think you’ve got anything on me? Ada might go down, but she’ll never turn on me.” He smirks. “You’ve got nothing, and you know it. By the way, you didn’t think I’d come here alone, did you?”

  From my peripheral view, I catch a shadow moving in the kitchen window.

  “Behind you!” I shout to Choi.

  Bursts of gunfire.

  Shattered glass.

  Creston lunges for me.

  I stand and plunge the syringe into his chest.

  More gunshots.

  A warm splash of liquid wets my face.

  Hot pain roils in my chest like something took a bite out of me.

  Creston wobbles, then swings at me. His arm moves like the minute-hand of a clock, slowed by whatever was in the syringe. I take a step back, easily avoiding his loose fist.

  Dizzied, I look at Choi. She rises from a crouched position. Her face is a stone sculpture. She pulls open the door, peeks outside, nods once, then turns around.

  I collapse back into the chair. My vision narrows. Everything sounds distorted, echoing like I’m in a tunnel.

  Creston staggers forward, wobbling. He glares at Choi. “You…you bitch,” he slurs. He takes a step toward her.

  Choi lowers her gun and takes a step aside, calm as if avoiding the flight path of a butterfly. Creston collapses, his face slams on the corner of the counter, and his head bounces once off the tile floor.

  I’m sleepy. I’m falling. No. I’m…floating.

  “Mr. Chau—”

  29

  Beep. What's beeping?

  My eyelids flip open. The dim room is a blur, but judging by the starchy sheets and clinical odor, I recognize I’m in a hospital bed. I’m plugged into various machines, and my mouth tastes like I licked the desert.

  “Ah, there
you go. You’re awake.” I don’t recognize the voice, but she has a thick Pittsburgh accent.

  I open my mouth to speak, but it’s too dry, and the raspy sound that comes out doesn’t sound like words. “Water, please,” I’m able to whisper.

  A nurse that reminds me of my mom holds a cup of water near my chin and directs the straw to my lips. I suck in the cool liquid, let it glide over my tongue, and swallow slowly. I’ve never had a more refreshing sip of water in my entire existence.

  “How do you feel?” the nurse asks.

  “I don’t know.” I’m not good or bad. Just…here.

  “Doctor’ll be by in the next fifteen minutes.” She writes something on a whiteboard near the door. “Need anything else?”

  I shake my head.

  She turns and leaves, her blond ponytail wagging behind her head.

  I close my eyes and lie back as memories flood in. Ada’s house. Choi. Gunshots. Stabbing a man with a syringe. I wonder how long I’ve been out. My scratchy eyes can’t make out what it says on the whiteboard. Someone else walks into the room. Dark hair. Short stature. Female.

  “Hello, Mr. Chaucer, how are you doing?”

  “Hi, Dr. Choi. I’m okay. I think.”

  She approaches my bed.

  “Wait,” I say. “You’re not my doctor, are you?”

  She laughs, deeper and more throaty than I expect. “No, I’m not your doctor. Did the nurse tell you the full extent of your injuries?”

  I shake my head.

  “You were shot in the chest. The bullet broke two ribs, went straight through your right lung, and exited below the opposite shoulder blade, missing your heart and spine by the narrowest of margins.”

  My head tingles, and sickness swirls in my empty stomach. “Shit.”

  “You’ve already had two surgeries in the three days you’ve been here. A full recovery is expected, though you will require quite a bit of healing time.”

  I turn my head toward Choi. The room wobbles a bit, and I realize I’m under some heavy pain medication. “Who are you?”

  She cocks her head to the side, confusion etched on her forehead.

  “I mean, who do you work for?”

  “Ah. I’m a contractor of sorts. That’s all I will say on the matter.”

  I let her response fill my hazy mind. I want to pursue it, but I let it go. “What’s going to happen to me when I get out of here?” Prison. A nice cell near the yard. A beefy roommate.

  “That’s why I’m here, Chad.”

  I think that’s the first time she’s ever called me by my first name.

  “I can arrange for your past to be…corrected.”

  “You mean the prison outbreaks?”

  She dips her chin. “Say the word, and it’s done. And I have a contact at the CDC who would love to have you visit, but I’ll leave that choice to you.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not sure I understand. Why what?”

  “Why would you do that for me?”

  “It wasn’t your fault. The virus, I mean. You made a difficult—albeit selfish—choice. But one can understand the decisions you made given your options.” Her lips curl into a caring smile. “And you saved my life. I did not see Creston’s gunman, and he would have killed us both had you not warned me.”

  “This is a lot to process.”

  “It is.”

  “Hey, what happened to Creston?”

  Choi sighs through her nose. “The syringe contained a lethal dose of morphine.”

  “So...Ada was going to kill me.”

  “Yes.”

  “And where is she?”

  “In a jail cell.”

  “And you can make a call and wipe away my rotten past?”

  “I can if that’s what you wish to do.”

  I’m lucky to be alive despite all the people I’ve infected. Killed. I lost my wife, Leanne. The person who knew me better than I know myself. I lost Lindsay, with whom I shared an unbreakable bond. I fell for a con, a death trap, and somehow escaped with my life.

  With moisture finally coming to my eyes, I blink away tears and look at Choi. “I’ve decided what I want to do.”

  30

  My hospital discharge was eighteen months ago. I needed another surgery, and I have trouble breathing at times, but otherwise, the recovery has been smooth. I stayed in Pittsburgh for multiple therapies and became good friends with my physical therapist. We went to the same high school six years apart. We’ve discovered several mutual acquaintances.

  I’ve visited some old friends. Told some stories I’m sure they don’t believe. I also had dinner with Leanne’s parents. All this time, I thought they blamed me for her death, but they were more supportive than I could have ever hoped for. I still keep in contact with them. Lindsay’s niece plays for the varsity soccer team, and the family invited me to a game. Lacy has grown to be the spitting image of her aunt; it’s almost too painful to look at her.

  Dr. Choi—I never learned her first name—helped me get in contact with the CDC. Using my blood, they developed a vaccine that received emergency use authorization five months ago, its effects overwhelmingly positive. The country has gone an entire month without a Grim Fever death.

  Ada Curry will spend the rest of her life in federal prison. Even more damning evidence than Choi provided came to light, and it was ugly. Had Peter Creston survived, he would’ve seen the same fate as Ada. As it is, Creston Widmer Pharmaceuticals collapsed and sold its assets to pay for the multitude of class action lawsuits presented against it.

  Now I sit and await my future. The room is silent. My chair squeaks with even the slightest movement, bringing me even more attention.

  “Please rise for the honorable Dana Hawking. The People versus Chad David Chaucer is now in session.”

  Whatever judgment comes, I deserve and will wholly accept.

  Acknowledgments

  My heart goes out to all those affected by the recent pandemic, whether directly from COVID-19, the loss of loved ones, stress, anxiety, depression, job loss, or any of the myriad challenges presented to us globally. Also, to all the healthcare workers—thank you for your dedication.

  I want to thank Tom Celik, Louis Robinson, and S.L. Baron for their feedback on this book. Charlie Knight edited this book and provided suggestions and honesty that exceeded my expectations. I look forward to working with them again. And to my family, who allowed me to work mostly uninterrupted—thank you for your endless support and love.