Gunfire echoed from the edge of her camp.
Pagan pulled the blinds back, eying the outside suspiciously.
“Infected?” she asked, slipping on her loose tank top.
Bullets sounded off in quick succession.
“No.” Pagan hopped out of the bed, slipping pants on over his muscled legs.
“We’re under attack.”
JOSEPH
Cheyenne Mountain Complex, CO
Joseph stood at the end of a reddish wood conference table. The MIM team of doctors looked exhausted after hours spent debating the future of Richard Thompson, patient zero of the worst pandemic in the history of mankind. Soda cans and coffee cups lay scattered around the table. Stale, dried out sandwiches sat on a platter in the corner. No one’s appetite was very big today aside from Dr. Hollis. With his unslung hand, Joseph pointed at the projector screen. He cleared his throat. “Let’s get back to the basics.”
Clicking a controller, the slides switched on the screen with a lazy-blinds transition. The people before him looked tired to say the least. Colonel Byrnes sat on the side of the table farthest from Joseph. Dr. Weinroth sat closest to Joseph. Dr. Nguyen next to her. Dr. Hollis nodded off next to Colonel Byrnes, and Dr. Desai sat on the other side.
“Since we are all in agreement that a cure cannot be found, we must attempt to move forward with the development of a vaccination. There are four different types of vaccines that are possible: the first is a live virus attenuated vaccine. Measles, mumps, and chickenpox operate like this.”
“Is this even feasible for the subject virus?” Dr. Desai said. She looked down at her papers. “The virus is highly contagious with bodily fluid contact.”
“If Patient Zero is any indicator of behavior associated with live virus inoculation, then it’s not a plausible method of vaccination,” said Dr. Nguyen.
“I agree,” said Dr. Weinroth.
“As do I,” Joseph said quickly after her. He smiled something only meant for her. He pushed the button again, and the device made an audible clicking noise.
“How do we feel about a killed or inactivated vaccine option?” Joseph asked the group.
“We don’t know the affects pieces of the virus may have in a live host,” Colonel Byrnes said. His mood never changed from a natural glower.
Dr. Nguyen tapped his pen on the paper in front of him. “The mutations are too fast. You’ve seen infected blood work. We are lucky the computers can keep up with such fast mutations. How can we possibly defend the host cells while the virus mutates?”
The doctors looked down at their notes. Papers shuffled. They took swigs of coffee, tea, and soda, hoping that a jolt of caffeine might somehow push their drained brains beyond the fog to find an answer.
Byrnes frowned up at Joseph, rubbing his forehead. “Joseph, we don’t need an explanation on how vaccines work. Why don’t you take a seat?” He gestured with a free hand. “We already know your next few slides: nanoparticles, toxoids, and biosynthetic vaccines.”
Joseph sighed and took a seat, letting his arm settle on the armrest. He tossed the controller on the table. His knife wound was healing with Dr. Weinroth’s help. Joseph made sure to give her a friendly smile.
“When stuck, it can’t hurt to go back to the basics,” Joseph said.
Byrnes exercised his fingers in front of him, his scowl deepening. “I’m not sure we have the technology here to create a virus-like nanoparticle. Toxoid vaccines are primarily used for bacteria-related illness. That leaves a biosynthetic vaccine as the best option. We will change the antigen that the virus injects into the cells. The immune system will recognize the virus upon infection and respond positively, providing defense against the virus.”
Dr. Weinroth coughed into her hand. “With all due respect, and I mean all due respect. Do you know how long it takes and how much live testing we have to do in order to create a biosynthetic protein that not only does what it’s supposed to do but is safe for the patient?”
“About fifteen years,” Byrnes said. His face was flat as if he had already lived every day of those fifteen years, watching all those around him die in the process.
“And we have at most a month,” Dr. Weinroth said. She peered down at a piece of paper. “Two. If the military holds.”
“That’s a big if,” Byrnes said.
Dr. Desai looked perturbed by their assumptions. “I’m not sure we can even discuss it. It isn’t realistic.”
“None of this is realistic, doctor, but we have to try. I am advocating for open surgical tissue harvesting to increase tissue mass available for analysis.
Joseph’s brow creased. Patient Zero is not an autopsy. “Hold on, Colonel. Patient Zero is still alive. He’s a person, not a walking corpse like the others. An open mass tissue harvest will greatly increase his chances of mortality.”
“That’s true,” Byrnes peered down at his notes. “But we don’t have time. We must extract lymph nodes, liver tissue, and lung tissue from the host immediately. We will need a quick analysis of the material and original virus if we want to stand a chance at getting something. Really anything.” He eyed Rebecca as though speaking to his daughter. “Put him under. He’s dangerous anyway. Take the needed specimens and keep him in an induced coma. He won’t feel a thing.”
Dr. Weinroth shuffled her papers, uncomfortable under his gaze.
“I don’t think that’s necessary. I believe we can get all the information we need from non-invasive testing.” Joseph nodded his head in agreement. “If that doesn’t work, I will agree to more dangerous harvesting methods.”
“Time is our enemy. Dr. Nguyen needs time if he is to—work his magic. Don’t have a bleeding heart over this man. If we can still call him that.”
Joseph frowned. “You can’t just cut him up into pieces. He’s a human being.” He adjusted his glasses up the edge of his nose. The crack in his lens split Byrnes into two unhappy pieces.
“He’s infected. It’s between us and the virus. The faster we can figure out how this thing ticks the faster we can defeat it. Plain and simple,” Byrnes said, letting Joseph know his displeasure at being debated with a frown.
“If you want to kill infected, go outside this mountain, Colonel. There are plenty of infected to hack up out there. We need to exercise some caution. Potentially killing Patient Zero does us no good either.”
“And what would you know about what’s happening out there?” Byrnes said. His voice was sharp and poignant.
“Plenty,” Joseph said. His eyes met the colonel’s. His gut went from a simmer to a boil.
Byrnes gave him a sneer. “Like you’ve killed a thing. Please back me up on this one. You understand the importance of gathering good expedient data. The more data we can get the better.”
Joseph cut in. “Infected aren’t the only things I’ve killed.” Joseph fixed his eyes on the two Byrnes. Both of them infuriated him.
Byrnes ground his teeth at the other end of the table, his eyes reaching out to slap Joseph’s face. I don’t care if he tries to whoop my ass.
Dr. Nguyen’s eyes grew large underneath his small round glasses. He coughed into his hand, breaking the stalemate. “Colonel Byrnes is correct, Dr. Jackowski. During the Ebola outbreak in West Africa, we made the most progress when conducting high volume tissue harvesting through more intrusive procedures.” Dr. Nguyen flattened his lips. He didn’t need to spell it out.
More intrusive operations on patients to contain the outbreak were easier to authorize when the disease was abroad, in a jungle, infecting people that weren’t Americans. Doctors would eagerly use the data, ignoring the higher risk operations conducted as a necessary risk.
Dr. Weinroth flipped her auburn hair over her ear before she spoke. “Although, I too would like an expedited solution to this pandemic,” she said. She gave Joseph a glance out of the corner of her eye. “I believe we should try non-invasive testing as a medical priority. The patient may benefit, and more importantly, may provide us with even more clues with less
trauma to his body. Clues that if he has expired, we may not find.”
Dr. Desai’s long black curls shook around her shoulders. “Yes. Perhaps he will provide us with a way to manage the disease.”
“Manage? That’s ridiculous. We need results now.” Byrnes slammed his fist on the table. Exhaling sharply, he calmed himself. “People are being slaughtered,” he said softly.
“He’s not some sort of lab rat for us to grow an ear on. Those that can feel, judge best,” Joseph said.
“His humanity is debatable.” Byrnes crossed his arms.
“Regardless, we have a responsibility to find a vaccine for this disease. The last data report we ran, inoculation of the surviving populations and military forces, will bring our success rate up to seven percent.”
“Up from what?” The words tumbled out of Joseph’s mouth.
Dr. Weinroth picked her papers up and straightened them out. Her throat moved as she swallowed tentatively. She thumbed through her stack and slid a single sheet over to Joseph. He hesitated a moment before he touched the paper as if he reached for the virus in eight-and-a-half-by-eleven standard letter form.
He lifted the paper up to his eyes and bent his head downward so he could look over his glasses. The paper was filled with charts of data and corresponding graphs. Everyone was silent as he read.
Dr. Weinroth broke the silence, her voice rushed as if she were trying to outspeak his internal reading. “Within the Cheyenne Mountain Complex, we have stockpiled a host of vaccines for every known infectious disease. Enough for tens of thousands of people. If we can find one that we can modify, we may have success.” Joseph ignored her, digesting the numbers on the sheet.
“That’s a big if,” Joseph said, studying the information. He felt his gut drop inside of him.
A list of calculations ran down the sheet. A pie graph was one hundred percent red. The next graph had a sliver of blue in it, time tables and numbers in separate columns.
“Our success rate is between zero and seven percent,” Joseph said under his breath.
“That is correct, Dr. Jackowski,” Byrnes said from across the table. His hard-as-bullet eyes softened a tiny bit. “If we move fast, we only have a small chance of success.” He capitalized on Joseph’s digestion of the morbid information. “One man’s life means little in the face of this threat. We should bring this to a vote.”
Everyone around the table nodded in agreement.
“Should we move forward with invasive testing for mass volume harvesting or continue with less credible non-invasive procedures?” Byrnes said.
Joseph locked eyes with Dr. Weinroth.
“All in favor of invasive, say aye.” The colonel nudged Dr. Hollis with an elbow. Dr. Hollis stared around the table, blinking rapidly, entering the conversation for the first time. “Doctor, we are taking a vote.”
“Yes. Of course we are,” Dr. Hollis said.
“Aye,” Byrnes said. His mouth clamped shut as if it were an order to the rest of the doctors. He raised his hand slowly in the air.
Dr. Nguyen glanced at Joseph. “Aye.” His hand went up.
“Dr. Hollis?” Byrnes said.
“Aye,” Dr. Hollis said with a nod.
Byrnes glared at the rest of the table. Dr. Desai sat quietly examining her hands. Joseph knew Dr. Weinroth was on his side. Byrnes frowned, unable to get his majority vote. The doctors put their hands down.
“All those in favor of less invasive tissue harvesting on the human subject, say aye,” Joseph said.
“There’s no need. Neither group will get a majority,” Byrnes said, disgusted with the outcome of events.
“Let’s see,” Joseph said.
Byrnes snorted and looked away.
“Aye,” Joseph said. His voice was clear and loud.
Rebecca gave him an affirming smile. “Aye.”
“Aye,” Dr. Desai said.
“Aye,” Dr. Hollis mumbled.
“What was that, Dr. Hollis?” Joseph said.
Dr. Hollis’s second chin trembled. “I said, ‘aye.’ I believe we should move forward with as much testing as possible.”
Byrnes’s face soured as though he were sucking a lemon. “Dr. Hollis, you cannot vote twice,” he growled.
Dr. Hollis shook his head. “Who do you people think you are? Of course I can vote twice.”
“Dr. Hollis, please. Vote for one or the other,” Joseph said. Dr. Hollis folded his hands over his belly and stuck his receding chin outward. “I will not. Forward or not at all.”
“You can’t change your vote, Hollis,” Byrnes said.
The heavy doctor stared at the colonel and raised his eyebrows. “Then I won’t vote.”
Joseph smiled. “Then that settles it. Three to two. Non-invasive testing of Patient Zero.”
Byrnes sighed impatiently as if he were dealing with children. “Goddamn it.” He stood up, and for a second, Joseph thought that the slender colonel would race around the table and pummel him. The colonel strode for the door. When he reached it, he pushed down on the doorknob and stopped.
He spoke down to Joseph. “What are you waiting for? We have tests to begin.”
Joseph smiled at the soldier doctor. “Yes, we do.”
TESS
Little Sable Point, MI
Tess slipped on the tan leather shoulder harness that held her semi-automatic Colt .45 1911 handgun and two spare magazines over her tank top.
Her feet dug into the sand as she ran. Pagan sprinted next to her, holding his M27 Infantry Automatic Rifle fitted with a bipod and a 3.5x Squad Day optic. The gunshots grew louder as she got closer to the entrance of Little Sable’s protective ring of vehicles. Men shouted at one another.
Thunder’s voice rose above the rest. “Keep your heads down!”
She squatted behind a trailer tire, still far enough away to stop and think. She drew her black 1911, holding it in both hands and pointing it to the sky.
Looking back at Pagan, he gave her a nod and they burst into the opening. Thunder and five of his Red Stripes took cover behind trucks and cars. They pointed guns across car hoods at four soldiers in tan, brown, and gray camouflage. The military? Where did they come from? The lighthouse should have seen any trucks on the road.
Tess lined up her sights on a blonde woman standing twenty-five yards away pointing a carbine in their direction.
“Put your guns down,” a blond-bearded man yelled, rapidly transitioning his aim from biker to biker. His head had a horrific scar that ran down the top of his skull like a divot on a golf course fairway.
Thunder pointed his twelve gauge short-barreled Benelli at him.
“Fuck you. You throw your guns down,” Thunder growled.
“I got a shot, Thunder,” Rat-Face shouted. The skinny biker with a shaved head squinted down the barrel of a scoped 30-06 Springfield bolt-action hunting rifle.
The tension rose every second the standoff continued. Pagan set his M27 rifle on the back of a pickup truck, letting the bipod fling out from near the end of the barrel.
“Everything is going to go bad unless we do something,” he said softly. He closed one eye, using the other to line up his shot.
“I can see that,” she said sharply. Tess exhaled heavily. Sometimes I wonder if I’m the dumb one. She stood up and shouted. “Hey, you.”
The disgruntled soldier aimed in her direction, looking for the voice.
“Beard guy,” she said, lifting her chin at him as if she were picking a fight. The scarred, bearded man pointed his weapon at her. Tess pointed her gun back at him with a nice little cock in her wrist.
“Where is she?” he blurted in her direction.
This guy is off his rocker. “Where is who?” she retorted.
“What did you do to her?” he yelled. What is wrong with this guy?
“We didn’t do anything to anyone. Everyone is welcome here.”
“Where’s your leader?” Beard Face said, eyes darting back at Thunder with his shotgun. His eyes said he wo
uld carve the big biker to bits in a second. Tess doubted he could, but the crazy guy looked insane enough to try.
Thunder faced her way, his gray beard resting on his chest like a bib.
“That’s all you, Tess,” he grunted.
“You sure you don’t want to talk to crazy pants?” she said to him.
Thunder laughed. “He may be a bit more receptive to the words of a woman. But if he gets antsy, maybe we will see what a couple of slugs does to him.”
“This isn’t ’Nam, Thunder,” she said, lowering her handgun and holstering it up underneath her armpit. She clipped the retention flap over the handle of the gun so it wouldn’t fall out.
The unsettled man breathed hard while he stared their way. He’s like some sort of bull. Time for him to meet his matador. She hoisted herself up and hopped over the cars then stopped, collecting herself. Am I insane for stepping between these guys?
“If you meet me in the middle, we can talk,” she yelled out at him. She gave Thunder a glance over her shoulder. “Then if you want to play guns with Thunder and the Red Stripes, you can be my guest…after I get out of the way, of course.” The bearded crazy lowered his M4 a bit, watching her from over his sights. The weight of his presence hung in the air. Seconds clicked painfully by, and she feared she had made a mistake by stepping into the open.
“Lower your weapons,” Beard Face commanded. His military crew moved to a low ready, guns pointed downward. Beard Face marched across the weak grass that had started to turn brown, purpose filling his strides. He kept his chin slightly downward as if he expected to be sucker punched at any minute. She could see his eyes scanning the defenses for threats.
She walked his way, trying to keep her posture erect but relaxed as if she didn’t have a care in the world.
They met in the middle of the two hostile groups for a moment, standing and watching one another, making a quick assessment of what the other was dealing with. She put a hand on her hip.
His steel blue eyes pierced her almost jet black ones. His cheeks were sunken and a thick snarled beard hung almost as low as Thunder’s, but he was forty years his junior. His camouflage was stained with sweat and dirt, making him appear if he had returned from the horrors of a World War I trench. The whole world is one battlefield.
The Rising (The End Time Saga Book 3) Page 7