Rhonda, Job, my uncle, and Gemette all come to visit me in quarantine. Mr. Fairchild comes too, which surprises me. Other than those visits, and eating as little as possible of the regular meals of mush Barrett pushes through my meal drawer, I read. I glance at the clock on the wall. I checked in just after ten the night of the Last Supper. It’s almost six p.m. now.
I’ll be out in four hours.
I pick up the last journal. It’s only half full, and it begins two months before Dad died. I wonder what he’ll say in his last journal. Probably nothing great. It’s not like you know they’re your last words when you’re writing them.
The entries are all about a specific virus Dad was working on in order to create his super vaccination. I vaguely remember him talking about it. He combined the worst viruses on earth in order to create a virus for which he could make a vaccine with the intention of protecting mankind from everything with one shot. It’s nine-thirty when I reach the second to last entry. It’s dated only ten days before he died.
I can barely breathe, because I remember that day. Dad promised we were going to play on the beach. The beach and ocean were visible from the window of our condo, and I pestered him to walk in the sand and splash in the water every day. He put me off a lot, but that Sunday we were going. Until he changed his mind at the last minute. He said there were too many jelly fish, but I saw the flag. It wasn’t blue, it was green. No jellies.
I squash the memories down and force myself to read what he wrote; I want to find out what he worked on instead of spending time with me. I hardly believe what I read. He bailed on the beach because he had a breakthrough in a new viral treatment method.
One of the things I learned at some point, but had forgotten, was how viral vaccinations work. All viral vaccinations take one of three forms: first, a live but weakened virus, second, inactivated or dead viral cells, or third, a partial virus. In each case, the idea is that after vaccination, the human body will prepare a defense to a less devastating version of the virus that keeps the person from getting sick if they’re exposed to the full strength virus. Of course, the most effective vaccinations use a live virus, but there’s a significant risk to the very young, the very old, and the sick members of the population, since even a weak virus can still do some damage. It creates better immunity, but it results in more substantial illnesses too, or in rare cases, even death.
None of the three normal vaccination methods work with Tercera because it reproduces too quickly. The human body doesn’t even recognize it as a threat when it’s first introduced. It spreads like wildfire, and then sits inert for a long time. By the time Tercera starts attacking vital functions, it’s too late. The virus is already everywhere, shutting everything down. When it was introduced ten years ago, it spread so fast that most people couldn’t have been vaccinated, even if they’d had a working vaccine.
His entries explain that my dad’s breakthrough isn’t a vaccine at all. In the process of splicing viruses to create a consolidated one, he spawned another virus—a more aggressive one. Instead of taking over human cells, or repopulating in the human body itself, the virus takes over other viruses, including malignant ones. It lays dormant until it encounters other viral cells in the host body, and then it gobbles them up, creating more of itself as it goes. It was more aggressive than Tercera, but if his notes are right, it’s less damaging to humans. The only side effect my dad identified in primates was a stimulation of brain function that reduced the need for sleep.
He was preparing forms for government approval to move forward with human testing. It tested one hundred percent effective with no negative side effects in lab rats, sheep and monkeys. Why didn’t someone find his notes and do something with this after Tercera broke out?
The next passage in his journal answers my question.
I miss the resources of my big lab so badly that I almost called my old boss to bring them in as partner, but I already have one partner who adds nothing and creates problems. I don’t want another, even if Philip would pay the fees for this application in a heartbeat. If I hand it over to Pfizer, I’ll lose all control. I wish Jack had the money for the application right now. He thinks we should create a demand first, and then our requests would be expedited. I refused of course. Jack never worries about the human lives at risk.
Create a demand first? As in release a disease that could kill people? Something that would need to be cured? My blood runs cold. Who was this partner Jack? Thank goodness my dad refused. What a monster.
Jack’s a much bigger idiot than I realized. Even with him creating issues every step of the way, I’m going to get approval and release this. It will cure every virus that presently plagues the human race.
Holy crap. If he hadn’t died, my dad would’ve saved the world. I force air through my nose and exhale through my mouth. I need to finish this entry.
Despite the difficulties, I really strive to keep my work life separate from my home life. My father never let up and I resented him for it. I want to be there for Ruby. I didn’t want to bring work home at all, but my partner and I are at odds right now so I needed a place to work that he couldn’t reach. He wants to sell the Triptych virus. I used components of Variola, HIV and Influenza to make it, and modified them all. I even coded it to only impact human cells so it won’t be as likely to mutate, but you still need a loaded gun to invent a successful bullet proof vest.
I only created it to formulate a durable vaccination, one that will prepare human cells for most anything. I created Triptych first, but now the hacker virus should render Triptych unnecessary. I built in a three-year waiting period so if it ever does get out, there’ll be plenty of time to treat for it before anyone dies.
Unfortunately, that very thing makes Jack think we should release it. He says it’ll improve the market for the hacker virus. He even has a buyer lined up, a political activist who—it doesn’t matter. I refused him. I locked Triptych up so he can’t reach it. I’m only keeping it in case my hacker virus fails human trials. Then I may need to reopen Triptych to try again with my multi-faceted vaccine.
I know we need money—I’m in debt up to my eyeballs—but Jack’s not thinking straight. He hasn’t been sleeping well, and I understand marital problems well enough to empathize. He says the vultures are circling. Since he does the books, I guess he’d know.
He thinks we’ll have plenty of time to deal with the fallout if we sell. Since I work alone, no one will ever track it back to us. The scariest thing about selling Triptych is actually the quirk I engineered into it. Since it lays dormant for so long, any humans infected wouldn’t even know anything was wrong. It could spread to most of the world’s population before anyone realized what was happening. I set it up to pass from person to person through the epithelial cells like leprae, because I wanted the vaccination to do the same. I’m tired of big pharma making a killing on everything. I want to make the world better, not worse. But if it ever got out, it would proliferate unchecked.
I engineered an early warning system so if it ever did get out, even by accident, I’d be sure to notice. At first I planned to use hair loss, but it was too hard to code so I ended up adding a facial rash. It’s innocuous enough that I don’t think he’ll notice it, but I’ll know if it’s ever released. Thousands of people with the same facial rash should hit the news.
My dad created Tercera.
He would’ve stopped it before anyone died, if he’d survived his partner shooting him. Ironically, if my dad had let Jack sell it, he wouldn’t have stolen it, and maybe my dad would have survived to disburse the cure. If my dad had been more of a villain, civilization might have survived.
The final entry is short and dated the day of Dad’s death.
Jack and I had another fight. He threatened to call Ruby’s mother if I don’t agree to sell Triptych.
I almost drop the book. My mother died giving birth to me.
The sky is blue. Tercera kills. We all need sleep to function. My mother died the day I was bo
rn. These are all things I know for a fact.
My dad, my aunt, and my uncle have always told me my mom’s dead. I have one photo of her and my dad from years before I came along, and nothing else.
If Jack’s threatening to call her, that was a lie.
I still refused, and he knocked me out and removed the virus right out of my safe. I paid a fortune last week to put in a hidden safe that can only be opened by me and mine. He won’t steal from me again. No one will.
I’m so close to the solution that would render this entire discussion moot. I’ve isolated the special mechanism by which Triptych passes. It builds up first in the epithelial cells so it transfers via simple touch. I only need to incorporate that transmission method for the hacker virus and it’ll be complete. Jack doesn’t want me to add it, because if I do it’s not marketable. Why would anyone pay for something that will be transmitted by touch almost immediately after it’s released?
He’s missing the point. My goal was never to make buckets of money. It was always to create a new world—a better world. He accuses me of wanting fame. He may be right. I miss the renown of working at a big lab, the respect, but that’s not my only reason.
If I’m being honest with myself, more than anything else, I want to come out of hiding.
Come out of hiding? Why were we in hiding? I was so young when we moved to Galveston that it’s mostly a blur. I thought he gave up his fancy job to have more time to spend with me.
I gave up a lot when Ruby and I ran, but more importantly, I want Ruby and her generation to lead a very different life than I led as a kid. She won’t get sick. Her body won’t betray her.
He gave up a lot when we ran from what?
I don’t know if the hacker virus will work against Triptych once I change its transmission mode, or what other side effects might manifest in humans. I can’t risk using it before it’s been tested, but I have the data, and the samples to develop antibodies for Triptych. It’s tricky because the human body won’t develop these on its own. The miserable virus I made knocks out the antibody response almost immediately.
To combat that, I developed an extra zealous antibody here by reverse engineering the strands. The bad news is that it would be tremendously hard to administer, not to mention cost prohibitive. With the rate at which Triptych would spread, there would be no way to immunize everyone in time. I made the antibodies I reverse engineered self-replicating with contact from any virus so they’ll last indefinitely once injected. I have no idea how they’d react with the attack virus I’m working on. I’d be nervous to give the same person both.
I’m putting the rest of my research somewhere safe. Somewhere only my blood can reach. If anything happens to me, Ruby will be safe. At least I know Ruby will have what she needs.
A huge chunk of pages following the last entry are torn out. Nothing but blank pages follow. The clock says it’s ten minutes til ten.
My mind spins furiously. My dad invented Tercera. He must have. His partner Jack stole it and infected people. Before Dad could cure it, someone murdered him. But how did all of that happen? What happened to the hacker virus? Did he put it in the safe and lock it up, and if he did, is there even a remote chance it might still exist?
Highly, highly unlikely, but maybe his research shows how he engineered it.
Except the rest of the pages he wrote are missing. These journals discuss the hacker virus, but don’t contain hard data. I glance at the clock. Five minutes.
My aunt—the person who brought me these journals—including this last one, has had them in a stack in her office. They were just sitting on the floor in a pile, so it’s a safe bet she’s read them all. Which means she already knows about my dad’s research, and she knows my mom’s alive. She never said a word about either to me. I had no idea we were on the run, or why. It slowly occurs to me that my aunt never told me my dad had been murdered, either. She actively lied to me for more than a decade.
What’s more, she knew about a cure to Tercera ten years ago, and did nothing. Maybe the reason she didn’t hate me for letting my dad die is that she allowed billions to die.
My aunt’s a bigger monster than me.
At ten o’clock, I barely make eye contact with Barrett as I walk out the door to head home. Aunt Anne owes me some answers. I may have failed my dad, and my aunt may have failed the human race, but I won’t let Wesley or anyone else die when there may be a cure.
I’m going to fix the mess my Dad made if it kills me.
Chapter 7
I prepare what I’ll say to my aunt the entire walk home. Three main things upset me. First, why did my aunt conceal that my mother was alive? After my dad died, shouldn’t she have contacted my mom? Second, why didn’t my aunt ever tell me my dad created Tercera? I get that it might be depressing or stigmatize us, but she should have at least told me. And finally, if she knew my dad cured Tercera, why didn’t she go to Galveston to recover the cure herself?
I pause in front of the door, take a deep breath, and shove it open.
“Welcome home, Ruby!” a large banner proclaims.
“Welcome home!” my family yells.
Rhonda, Job, Uncle Dan and Aunt Anne crowd around me. They don’t take turns hugging me, so it becomes a giant jumble of arms and legs. The smell of rabbit stew makes me smile, until I catch sight of what’s resting in the center of the kitchen table.
An enormous cake with chocolate frosting! Cocoa beans only grow in Latin America and Hawaii, and we no longer communicate with or travel to either location. Cocoa is basically impossible to find, and I haven’t had chocolate in years.
“How is that possible? Or am I hallucinating?” I glance at the cake and back at Rhonda.
She smiles greedily. “The Fairchilds had some cocoa powder, and Wesley’s mom brought over an entire tin of it to apologize for the horrible ordeal Wesley put you through.”
Wesley’s poor mother. Her only son is Marked, and she’s sending me an apology gift. A valuable one at that.
I intended to immediately pin my aunt down, and not let up until she’d answered my questions, but now that I’m here, it’s hard. When Job stands up to start on dishes, I realize I can’t wait any longer.
“Aunt Anne,” I say.
She turns to face me across the table, and squares her shoulders. She gestures at Uncle Dan to sit at her side. “Job, please sit. The dishes can wait. We need to talk.”
She brought me the journals. She knew exactly what I’d find, so she’s had two days to prepare.
Uncle Dan reaches over and takes his wife’s hand. He clears his throat. “Kids, we need to tell you something that Ruby recently learned, but we’ve kept from you until now.”
“What’s going on?” Job sits down and glances from his parents to me, and back again. “You’re freaking me out.”
“It should,” Uncle Dan says. “This is big news. We’ve been waiting until you were old enough. We planned to tell you when Ruby turned seventeen.”
I don’t know whether to believe them. It seems awfully coincidental that I found out days before they ‘planned’ to tell me.
“Ruby’s dad, my brother,” my aunt says, “created Tercera.”
Rhonda’s jaw drops. Job’s mouth quirks up in a smile, and I shake my head. Not a joke.
“How long have you known?” It’s the most crucial of all my questions. If they knew all along, they really did let the world burn. Please have an excuse, some reason why you didn’t know until recently. Please.
“We know about your dad’s development of Tercera from reading his journals,” Aunt Anne says. “We didn’t read those journals until it was too late to do anything about it.”
I want to believe that. Badly. “Why didn’t you read them right away?”
Aunt Anne and Uncle Dan share a glance, then Aunt Anne says, “All we ask is that you listen. Listen to our explanation of what happened first, and then make judgments later. Because Ruby already knows that’s not even the most shocking revelation.”
Uncle Dan frowns. “It’s not. The worst part is that Ruby’s father also engineered what he believed was a cure.”
“A cure?” Rhonda gasps. “That’s not bad, that’s good!” She glances at me. I can see when the realization hits her. She turns back to her mom and dad. “How could you sit on information like this? All those people died.”
“Yes, millions died. Billions. You know that academically, but you don’t remember what it was actually like.” My aunt leans back into her chair. “None of you do. You don’t even understand why so few humans survived. We’re not sure exactly how Tercera got out, though everyone suspects World Peace Now released it.”
World Peace Now, or WPN, pronounced like weapon by its detractors, is a religious cult that proclaimed early on that Tercera was more than a simple rash. They claimed it would end humanity. They secluded themselves right away and are currently the largest group of survivors in North America. The Unmarked have nearly one hundred small communities, most with only a few thousand survivors. No one’s quite sure how many Marked kids are alive out there, but we donate enough hormone suppressants for a hundred thousand a year. WPN has at least seven heavily fortified ports, with more than half a million citizens. They outnumber the Marked by hundreds of thousands, and they outnumber the Unmarked by a wide margin as well.
“My dad’s business partner sold it,” I say.
My aunt says, “Your father’s partner stole the virus and released it, yes, but we aren’t sure who Jack is, and we don’t know who he sold it to. It could have been WPN or one of its founding members.”
“How do you know my dad wasn’t involved?” I need to know. He did something that sent him on the run, and later he did something that got him murdered.
“From what we can tell, when Tercera emerged,” my aunt says, “your father had been dead for at least a week. He couldn’t have had anything to do with its release. The blood of millions is on his partner, or if they aren’t the same, possibly the man who murdered him.” My aunt’s eyes widen and she stares at me. “Who you saw. I hadn’t thought about it before now. Can you describe him?”
Marked (Sins of Our Ancestors Book 1) Page 6