“But there are,” Phoebe said, dabbing the corner of her eye with a napkin.
“Beyond the rumors?” Cutler said.
Victoria pulled away from him, turning in her seat to face him. “Are we taking stock in rumors now?”
She'd stopped pacing. “There’s a reason rumors exist. I can speak to their validity."
"Can you?"
"I have evidence that virus has spread to people within the city.”
"Which city? New York?" Cutler said skeptically.
“Yes,” Phoebe said.
“I don't understand," Victoria said. "It's impossible. They would’ve said something. They would’ve contained it. There would have been alarms.”
Phoebe clasped her trembling hands in front of her. “The virus can’t be contained. It's been confirmed through experiment.”
“All the more reason why they would have told us. They'd inform us of what to do and what not to do to stop the spread of infection.”
“Unless,” Cutler said, his eyes focused on the table before him, “it’s already too late.”
Phoebe swallowed hard as she fought against turning away from them. “I hadn’t made progress with the virus in so long, I got fed up and decided to go rogue in my testing.”
Victoria clasped her husband's hand. “That's not like you, Phoebs.”
"Perhaps I've been transformed by this."
"You're not making sense."
Phoebe sat down and squashed her hands between her knees. "We were only allowed to work on synthetic blood for practical reasons. It’s cheaper, and easier to manufacture samples for specific purposes. The only problem is, we ran out of ideas for those purposes.”
“So you used real blood,” Cutler said.
“A sample of my own. There are minimal differences between synthetic and real blood, mostly having to do with genetic mapping. The problem lies in the artificial nucleoid. In order to rectify losses during transition into the synthetic shell, they have to fill in gaps with randomized—" She looked at their confused faces. "I'm sorry, you won't understand. Just know that I was frustrated and desperate. And I realized...” Her voice caught in her throat. “I found out I contracted KV.”
Victoria’s hands flew to her mouth. Cutler stared up at her with extreme sympathy tugging at his worn face.
“Should we be concerned?” he said.
Phoebe shook her head. “I went to see Daniel today. I had him pull a random sampling of blood from both ViraTech and Juniper Academy, including both of yours.”
"Phoebe," said Cutler.
His face broke her heart. He looked too scared to ask the question.
“We’re infected too, aren’t we?”
“Yes,” she said, stifling a sob. “And... no.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Every sample I tested, except for one, was infected.”
“Which means the disease is far more widespread than the government knows,” said Cutler.
“Or more than they’re willing to admit. They have to have known the extent of the problem. Why else would they require me to work only on synthetic examples?”
"Because it's cheaper?"
"You're smarter than that, Cutler. It's because synthetic blood is a shell game. A diversion. It's something to keep scientists busy while they secretly plan for the apocalypse."
"You're being dramatic," cried Victoria. She rose from her seat, realized there was no place to go, then sat back down again.
"No, I'm not."
“Why wouldn’t they tell us? Why wouldn’t they warn us?”
“It would incite panic,” said Cutler, putting his arm around her. “If everyone knew they were going to die, just imagine what that would do to the human psyche.”
Phoebe balled up her fists. “I can’t believe they’ve gotten away with keeping this a secret for so long. The synthetic blood was just the tip of it. They must’ve paid off doctors, corrupted machinery.”
Victoria looked up at her. “You said there was an anomaly.”
Phoebe took a deep breath. “You and I are infected, as well as Daniel. Also every other sample I tested... except for one.” Here she turned to Cutler. “For some reason, your sample was clean.”
“Clean?”
She shook her head slowly. “You’re not infected."
His hands spread before him, as if trying to gather answers from the air.
Phoebe looked directly at his face. "Those samples were old, taken way before the two of you were married. You've had plenty of exposure, plus time for incubation. Cutler, there are genetic markers unaccounted for in synthetic blood. That could be a key."
“Which means what, exactly?”
“It means,” said Phoebe, “that you’re immune.”
No sooner had Phoebe sat down at her desk at ViraTech than Charles Forte, ViraTech's Assistant Supervisor of Research, knocked at her open door, her bag swinging from his fingertips.
“You left this in here last night,” he said.
She jumped up from her chair, heart pounding. “I thought so. Where's my head? I was worrying about that bag all night."
She tried not to show panic, or relief. The truth was, she had been worrying about it, ever since Victoria and Cutler had left, and she realized that she must have left the thing at work.
“I think you owe me a drink,” he said, pulling it out of reach when she grabbed for it.
Her face tightened. “I owe you thanks. And if you don't mind, I'm not in the mood.”
Charles laughed and handed over her bag, keeping a hold of it for just a beat too long. “I can hold out till you are.” He winked before he turned and let the door fall shut behind him.
She put her back against the door, feeling her heart pounding. Then opened the bag. She placed it down for a second run-through. When she finished, she sat down, her mind numbed with panic. The vial of her blood was missing.
“By the way,” Charles said, popping his head back into the room, “boss wants to see you.”
She stared at him, mouth agape. His smile was oily as ever. She nodded her head mutely and waited until he left to let his words process. As soon as they did, she felt her chest contract.
Walking down the hall in a daze, her bag still clutched in one hand, she knocked gingerly on Tom Davis's door.
“Come in,” Davis said brusquely. Normally, the lack of emotion in his voice comforted her; Phoebe Mayer's comfort was rooted in the clinical, after all. This time, however, the very fact that he spoke without human feeling sent shivers down her spine.
A large man with a mop of black hair and a bushy moustache, Davis sat behind his desk, filling the room with his presence. When he gestured for her to sit, she did so without saying a word. And when he went back to his Omnis without addressing her, she sat patiently, a million words with no meaning buzzing around in her head.
After an interminable silence, he looked up and said, “Ms. Mayer, are you aware of the protocol concerning testing of non-synthetic blood?"
"I am."
He leaned back, allowing room for his desk drawer when he pulled it out. He reached in pulled out a vial of blood.
"We found this is your bag."
Every ounce of moisture left her mouth.
“Would you care to explain your reason for breaking protocol?”
“I hadn’t made progress on Keresian virus in some time,” she said, licking her lips. “I was sure I would be able to make some progress if only I was allowed to work on real blood.”
“And did you?”
“Yes, sir,” Phoebe said, shifting again.
"And?"
"And what, sir?" She was stalling now.
“I don’t have time to sit here and pull every scrap of information from you, Ms. Mayer. Spit it out. What kind of progress did you make?”
“Oh, yes, sir,” she said. “I am prepared to present evidence that the population at large is infected with Keresian virus.”
The words were surreal as they left her m
outh. She wanted to reel them back in, modify them somehow. Soften the blow. She wanted rationality, but sympathetic language. Not the cold clincalism that had prepared the way for the virus in the first place.
Mr. Davis nodded his head, as if completely nonplussed that it was now a fact of human existence that existence itself had a deadline.
And it was this moment of coldness, of mundane and routine acceptance, that clued her in. Suddenly, her fear left her.
“You already knew," she said. "You knew the whole time.”
“Of course we did,” Davis answered. “Do you have anything else for us, Ms. Mayer?”
Phoebe opened and closed her mouth, like a gasping fish. Given the restrictions she’d faced, she had suspected that someone knew. But Davis’s cavalier attitude had thrown her off balance. There was no buffer against this kind of stark reality.
“Anything else, Ms. Mayer?” He seemed to swell in size as his voice became louder, gruffer.
“A cure,” she said.
His interest at last piqued, he said, “You’ve found one?”
“An immunity,” she said slowly. She had to play this right, or Cutler could be whisked off to a government facility and never heard from again. The fate of the world’s population could rest on his shoulders, but she couldn’t do that to her sister. Or to him, for that matter. So much for 'her needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few' mentality.
It was her first truly human thought in years.
“You found someone in particular?” Davis asked.
“I-I don’t know. All of my test examples came back positive for the virus, but it stands to reason—”
“It stands to reason that you don’t have evidence of a cure.”
“Not yet, but with time and resources, I’m certain I can find one.”
“Have you told anyone of your findings?” He was back to looking bored again. He swiped at his Omnis and pressed a few buttons without making eye contact with her.
A cold feeling was creeping up her spine. She had felt uncomfortable before, but now she was terrified. Would they reprimand her? Was she about to get fired despite being on the brink of discovery? If she said she spoke with anyone else about her findings, at best, they’d be hauled in for questioning. At worst... she didn’t want to think about it.
“No, sir,” she lied.
“Not even this Daniel Blake?” He looked up at her, eager for her response.
“No, sir,” she said again, this time more forcefully. “He assisted me in gathering samples, but I never told him what they were for.”
“And your family? Your sisters?”
“No, sir.” Her palms were beginning to sweat. She discretely wiped them on her pants.
“Very well,” He nodded curtly...
Over her shoulder.
There was the squeaking of a chair behind her.
Then the sharp prick of a needle in her neck. She yelped and jerked, but a strong hand came down on her shoulder and held her in place. When she looked up, Charles was standing over her, that same slick grin on his face.
“No,” she whispered, just as he pushed down the plunger and a hot liquid burned its way into her system.
“It’s unfortunate to lose such a brilliant scientist,” Charles told Davis as he gently removed the needle from her skin.
Davis stood up and leaned forward on his desk. “There are other brilliant scientists. We need people we can trust. Not people we have to worry will go blabbing to their boyfriends.”
“Speaking of,” Charles said, folding the needle into a cloth and placing it in his pocket. “What would you like me to do with Mr. Blake?”
Her fingers were growing cold. She couldn't feel her toes.
The mention of Daniel’s name gave her renewed strength. She tried to stand up, but Charles’s hand once again on her shoulder pressed her back into the chair. Her body gave under the force of it.
“Question him,” Davis said. “If you think he knows anything, dispose of him as well.”
“Understood,” said Charles. He looked down at her. He shook his head disapprovingly. “So unfortunate.” His voice was watery and far away.
She could no longer move her limbs. Darkness crept into her vision, irising shut.
“Fetch Mr. Callahan to... take care her... when it's over,” Davis said. “And have Tricia bring me my breakfast. No cream in the coffee this time.”
“Yes, sir.” He cast one last glance at her before leaving the room.
The last thought in Phoebe’s head was not of Daniel or either one of her sisters.
It was of Cutler Copeland, and the miracle that lived in his blood.
If only she'd known sooner.
If only she’d had more time...
It was the last truly human thought she had.
* * *
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* * *
Thanks for reading. I hope you liked this Top Secret short. Don’t forget to get started on The Last Builder, the first book in The Last Builder series. Snag a copy through my website: http://SimeonGraves.com.
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Talk to you soon,
Simeon
First Signs Page 2