I flex my tired shoulders. We’ve been at this for hours. “Not so strange considering Murabai and Spencer turned out to be very similar. Both were ambitious people willing to kill millions to achieve their goals.”
Wikus nods slightly, still holding the notebook, staring at its pages. “Yes. Very true. Yet, he was a remarkable man. I confess I’m a bit dazzled, still. To be this close to his mind! When Irons told me he was on his way to this very base? Well, I couldn’t sleep for days. His chances of surviving the journey were close to nothing, but he tried. Risked his life.”
I frown, noting him touching the pages with reverence. “Seems to me that risking his life was the least he do could after being the one responsible for this horrible disease in the first place.”
My words wake him from his daydream. He nods. “Of course. In the end, he paid for his choices. But you can’t deny his brilliance.”
“I think we have a fanboy on our hands, Dr. Paz,” Prudence comments, giving me a wink. “Stop gushing over dead scientists and start looking at the data, Wikus. The test results are here.”
We turn to find Artie standing trembling next to Wikus, holding a file and USB drive. Feeling pity for the ignored assistant, I get up and offer to take the drive from him.
“I can take it, thanks,” I say to him while extending my hand.
Artie’s eyes go wide, and he nods his head profusely, before giving me the files and drive with a sweaty hand. He mutters a thank you in French, then scurries away. Well, at least I can intimidate one person, although I have no idea why he’s so nervous around me.
Later, one of the guards brings us dinner: scrambled eggs and bread. Apparently not hungry, Wikus ignores it and keeps on chewing the other end of his pen, focused on the results. Prudence, on the other hand, dives into the plate gleefully. I eat enough to fill my empty stomach and nothing more.
“It seems affected areas of the brain have undergone a neural hijack. Incredible, isn’t it?” Wikus’s voice diverts my attention from the buttery taste of eggs as he shows brain scans of both patients, as well as neural waves. “I think we can conclude that, much like rabies, the Astroposvirus modifies the behavior of its host to facilitate transmission, rewiring the infected brain into the programmed behavior pattern we have previously observed. The virus is extremely similar to rabies, with the exception that it doesn’t seem to cause encephalitis and the eventual death of the host. Instead, the initial infection only releases a secondary, much more sophisticated one that changes our immune system, hormonal levels and such, altering neurochemical communication to a degree greater than any other parasitic organism known to man.”
He pauses and turn the pages of Spencer’s notebook. “Here—this is the formula. Spencer created a different strain of the virus that, in simple terms, reboots our system. So, to return the subjects’ motor control, sensory capabilities, and mental faculties, we’ll just need to inject the subjects with Spencer’s serum.”
Prudence nods as my interest is piqued at the mention of the serum. “What about the other changes? We also need to consider muscle, skin, and bone mutations. If the serum focuses only on the neurological aspect, maybe—”
“It’s unclear if that’s all the serum does,” Wikus interrupts her. “It’s too soon to speculate.”
I frown at this answer. “But do you think the changes to the circulatory system and the strain on the heart are reversible?”
“Like I said, it’s too soon to speculate. I need more data. And our focus should be on replicating his formula. We can’t use the only serum in the world without knowing how to manufacture it en masse. We’ll do more tests on our animal subjects as well. We can’t risk our subjects to an untested formula; the side effects could be deadly.”
I bite my lip at that but refrain from expressing my frustration. He’s right, but Lily and Roger won’t be happy with the news. Part of me wants to tell them to go back to Redwood and wait until I send word. Roger is the sheriff, after all. But I doubt they’d accept the suggestion. Lily wouldn’t even consider it, I’m sure. They’ll have to be patient.
“Before you protest, Dr. Paz, I’m confident we’ll move on to human trials very soon. We must strive to do our best to achieve results as efficiently and quickly as possible.” We all get up from the meeting table. “And meanwhile, we would appreciate it if you took charge of the infirmary.”
Prudence snorts. “What’s saving the world when there’re knees to mend, right?”
I give her a weak smile, but Wikus places a hand on my shoulder before I have the chance to answer her. “Ignore her, Dr. Paz. We all have our parts to play. And those parts are all equally important.”
My smile cracks a little at his patronizing tone. I can see I’m overstaying my welcome now that Wikus thinks he’s fulfilled his role as courteous host. For him, I have nothing else to offer after this meeting. He gives me the access card for the infirmary and quickly leaves the room, mentioning how much work he needs to do.
We are left alone, Prudence and I.
“And that’s why Wikus is the head of our team, Dr. Paz. A high tolerance for drinking the Kool-Aid and a black belt in office politics. He strives to make everyone feel special, even if their job is bringing him coffee or wiping his ass.” She rolls her eyes. “You aren’t the only one stuck with a dull job. I’ll be working with the monkeys.”
“You’re going to infect them?”
She nods. “Yep. Good thing the animal rights activists are probably all dead, right?”
Unsure if that’s a joke or not, I give her a weak smile. The scientist yawns and stretches her arms before leaving. My hand goes to my neck, still feeling stiff.
As I leave the lab accompanied by two burly guards who barely acknowledge my existence, it occurs to me that I haven’t asked what happened to the original physician in charge. Maybe Prudence can tell me next time I see her.
After a few minutes, we stop. One of the guards shoves a plastic card into my hand and points at the entrance with the “West Dormitories” sign on it. My keycard has the number three on it.
“Thank you. Are my friends here?”
They both shrug and leave. I enter the dorm and find my room, but before I can enter it, my neighbor’s door swings open and Tigh comes out, already dressed in a uniform similar to the ones the guards use. These clothes shine in comparison with the filthy camouflage he’s been wearing for most of our trip. Freshly shaven, he stands straight as always, but his shoulders are relaxed, no frown or narrowed eyes. I have no doubt the first thing he did after being brought to the dorms was to shave his growing-against-his-will beard.
He looks handsome.
A good shower and new clothes can make a person, after all. Now he needs a new haircut. His hair is getting too long for a proper military man. What would he say if I offered to cut it for him?
Tell me he can cut his own hair, probably. I smile.
“Took you long enough to show up,” he says to me with a frown, and then his expression softens. “So how was it? Did you see the labs?”
I can’t help it, an avalanche of words come out before I realize I’m babbling like a student who just saw their first papier-mâché volcano spit soda and soap during a science fair. “What I think, Tigh, is that this is it. They have everything. It’s like freaking Star Trek over there with computers blinking everywhere. If we can’t make a cure here, we won’t make it anywhere else.”
I take a pause to breathe and notice his restrained smile.
“What?” I say. “What did I do?”
“Nothing.” He shrugs. “Never pictured you for a Star Trek fan.”
“Well, I never imagined you could enjoy teen romance movies either, Nelson. Nice to meet you, by the way.” When he introduced himself to Olivia, I was surprised to finally hear his first name. It still sounds a little strange to me.
He crosses his arms. “You don’t get to talk about names, Maria. How long did it take for you to let us know your first name, two weeks? One month
? Never met someone who liked so much to be called Doctor in my life.”
“It took me years and lots of loans to get that title. Can’t let it all go to waste, Sergeant.”
We both fall into laughter, then into an awkward silence. Tigh coughs lightly, and I press a hand to the back of my neck.
“Did you see the rest of the base?” I try to change the mood. “Ask about the Army?”
He rubs the back of his neck, mirroring my movement. “Seems pretty clear to me that nobody got this far besides us.”
I risk resting a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, Tigh. I know you wanted them to be here.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Still, his set jaw and brief avoidance of my gaze tells me otherwise. “I volunteered to join the security team. I start tomorrow.”
“Are you sure? You deserve a vacation after what we’ve been through.” I give him a small smile.
“I’ll feel more useful that way. I asked to be assigned to the patrols so I can keep an eye out for survivors.”
My heart sinks a little. I know he hoped to find more soldiers following Army protocol, but I don’t like this. “You should stay inside, where it’s safer.”
Tigh puts a hand over mine and grins. “If anything happens, you can just patch me up.”
I open my mouth and shake my head. “Don’t joke about this. The weather out there is dangerous; anything can happen. A fall, low body temperature, bad visibility. Really, it’s a recipe for disaster.”
“Don’t worry too much. I’ll be fine.”
It shocks me somewhat how afraid I am of losing him. Silenced by that realization, I just nod and give him a small smile.
THE GIRL IN THE FOREST IX
January 13th, Wednesday, 3 pm
For someone going “vaguely” north, Jacob sure drives like he knows exactly where he wants to go. His pace is methodical. I get the feeling he’s doing constant calculations of the distance we traveled versus the time we took to get there. He even checks his wristwatch to mark how long our gun lessons should take.
If he takes me to the main roads, then I don’t care where he’s going. I really don’t.
I just wish the car ride wasn’t so boring. Peter, for all his faults and stupidity, at least cheered me up. We used to play games to pass the time. Guessing games, mostly, but it was nice. Sometimes we would talk about the past too, but more in a joking way. We’d list all the things we hated that we didn’t have to do anymore, like math homework and chores.
We amused each other to stop thinking about how tired we were. Back then, I thought he was careless and distracting me from noticing danger. Being bored, as it turns out, is dangerous too.
At least the gun lessons help break the monotony. I practiced my stance first, since even holding the thing was awkward for me. Jacob doesn’t do positive reinforcement, but he doesn’t give up either. I have to practice until I get it right, and sometimes it takes a long time to get it right. After the lessons, my whole body is sore for the rest of that day.
There’re so many little things to memorize and repeat, like the grip on the handle, the spread of my legs, and the position of my shoulders.
Then we started trying to aim and fire. He allows me only one shot per day to save bullets. Which means every time we load the gun, I’m a nervous wreck. The pressure to get it right is too much. Half the time, I’m shaking and sweating like a pig.
“Don’t close your eyes. You think the bullet is going to find its way on its own? It won’t.”
I can’t tell him I always close my eyes because I’m afraid of the blast. Jacob acts like a firecracker blowing up next to your ear is no more than an annoying fly.
“Are you just going to stand there? Shoot.”
“Stop rushing me, all right?” I look back at him with an annoyed expression. “I’m gonna do it.”
“Are you going to do it today?”
I clench my jaw but stay focused on my stance. My target is a tree. A very large tree. The truck is wide and thick. It’s thirty feet away and I don’t think that’s fair, but every time I try to inch myself closer, Jacob notices it. He seems amused by my sad attempt at cheating.
Remembering what he taught me, I take a long breath and hold the gun with both hands to keep it steady. Aligning the sights sounds pretty easy, but no matter how much Jacob repeats the technique, I still can’t understand what I should be doing.
“Watch the finger on the trigger. Watch the joint.”
His comment ruins my concentration, but he’s right—I placed the wrong finger on the trigger. Crap, now I have to do it all over again.
“I think it’s about time you shoot,” he says after checking his watch for the third time today. He’s supposed to be teaching me, not focused on whatever he’s concerned about.
“Why? It’s not like you need to go anywhere.” I manage to smile while adjusting my body again. “Right? I mean, you’re just going north, because of… reasons. What’s the rush?”
“You stop worrying about me and think a little more about yourself. Do you think anyone is going to wait until you stand just in the right position? Do the infected strike you as polite enough to give you the time you need to feel comfortable with a blast?”
I roll my eyes. “No. I know that, but you keep pressuring me with the whole”—I wave the gun around a little and imitate his deep voice—“‘Let’s save bullets, Laurie. Don’t waste any bullets, Laurie.’ So give me a break, okay?”
He crosses his arms. “The world isn’t going to give you a break. So I shouldn’t.”
He’s so dramatic! It’s annoying sometimes—all the time.
“Yeah, you should! I—” With a sigh, I lower the gun and my head. I don’t want to cry in front of him. “I know things are bad. I’m not stupid. I stayed alive all this time because I know, okay? Give me some credit—and a break! Nobody is perfect. Maybe... Maybe your daughter is, all right? But I’m not. I don’t like guns. My mom hated guns. S-She didn’t even let me play violent video games. It feels wrong. It’s just... I don’t like guns!”
Jacob moves next to me, placing a hand gently on my wrists and raising the weapon again. “Keep your eyes open. Watch your aim, take a deep breath and pull the trigger. That’s it. There’s no mystery to it.”
Biting my inner cheek, I finally give up and pull the stupid thing. My hands feel the kick, then my arms. While this happens, my ears pop with the blast, smoke invading my nostrils.
“And that’s it,” he says. I raise my head to meet his face. He’s smiling. “There you go. You did it.”
I widen my eyes at the sight of charred wood. I relax and let my arms hang from my sides. “I—I guess I did. Yay for me?”
He pats my head like I’m a lost puppy. “Tomorrow we try something smaller.”
The gesture doesn’t annoy me the way it should. I’m not a little kid. I’m a survivor. A survivor who can now actually fire a gun and hit something on purpose.
Maybe the shot actually hitting the target got to my head, because after getting into the car, I decide I don’t want to be bored anymore. Instead, I put my feet up on the panel and turn on the heater. Jacob gives a sideways glance but says nothing.
Then I get even bolder and insert the Kenny G CD into the car’s player. My silent, grumpy teacher raises an eyebrow. It’s a Christmas-themed disc, so it’s not all that bad, really. It’s only when I start to imitate the sound of the sax that Jacob decides to say something.
“Wasn’t this type of music only for old people?”
“I think it’s cute.” I shrug and pretend to play a saxophone.
He lets out a short laugh. “Cute? What is? The music or the old people who like it?”
“I don’t know. Both. At least it’s something to distract us.”
And he’s back to being serious again. “Being distracted is dangerous. You never know what’s going to happen.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Of course we do. Bad things are going to happen. Bad things always happen.”
He has no answer for that. I rest my head on the window and for a long time we just listen to the music. The car hits a few bumps along the small country road, but apart from the woods, the scenery doesn’t change and everything’s quiet. It won’t be long now. The first highway I see, I’m gone.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Jacob’s voice startles me and I sit straight again. “Talk about what?”
Visibly bothered, he clears his throat and shifts in his seat. “About your mother.”
I stare at the window, at the trees outside. “Do you want to talk about your daughter?”
I almost feel bad about shutting him down after complaining so much about the silence, but thinking about Mom hurts. Everything else comes rushing back too.
“What do you want to know?”
He actually wants to talk about her? Wow. That’s new.
Now that I can, I’m not really sure what to ask. I chew the inside of my cheek. “Did you guys get into a fight?”
“In a way, yeah.”
“Why?”
He doesn’t take his eyes off the road for one second, but I spot the hesitation on his face. “She wanted to help people. I didn’t.”
“But you’re helping me now. Can’t you tell her that?”
“I’m not helping you, I’m investing in you. I need another pair of eyes. We’re a team.”
Heat rises in my face from pride and guilt. Mrs. Patterson thought I was just a dumb kid. She was doing charity by keeping me alive. With Peter, I was the one who thought he needed me to survive.
Jacob thinks we’re a team, and I’m planning on leaving as soon as I can.
I shake my head. We aren’t a team. I can’t even shoot. “What about your wife? Did she die?”
He laughs. “I wish. No, she’s around. Somewhere.”
“Are they together? Your daughter and your wife?”
“Not anymore.”
So he’s keeping tabs on what she does. I sit straight, anxious to keep the conversation going. “Why is she going north?”
Those Who Remain (Book 3) Page 8