by M. C. Miller
“Stay where you are! We’re coming down to you. The fire by the stairwell is out. There’s debris blocking the way but we’re removing that now. It won’t be long; we can have you out – just hang on.”
The smoke was becoming too much. Interspersed with coughs, Janis strained to say enough to end the call. “Hurry up….you need to get Alyssa out of here…she’s in the BSL4 locker room…I’m going in.”
Janis didn’t wait for a response. She ended the call and rushed back into the fresher air of the locker room. Intent on a single purpose, she flung open a locker door and crouched down. Rummaging through emergency supplies, she found a flashlight then turned to face Alyssa.
“Stay right where you are,” ordered Janis. “They’re coming down for you.”
“What about you?”
Janis leaned down and held her daughter’s face. “There’s something I have to do. It’s very important.”
“I want to stay with you…” Alyssa started to get up.
“Listen,” snapped Janis. “I don’t have time. Where I’m going you can’t go. They’re coming for you. They expect to find you here.” She bent forward and kissed Alyssa on the forehead one last time and hugged her close. “…I love you.”
Alyssa made the most of their parting hug. “…I love you too.”
Energized with purpose, Janis stood and stripped all her street clothes off as Alyssa watched with renewed apprehension. In her eyes were questions Janis had no time to answer. Quickly naked, Janis hurried the door open to the shower room and lunged forward.
With the door shut behind her, the sudden isolation of her task weighed heavily upon her. The gauntlet of BSL4 intake procedures were now a deadly obstacle course. Running them on a time limit would have been bad enough. But having to rush in and out without knowing which moment might be her last made every second critical, every breath a gift that might become her legacy.
Janis looked up at nozzles. Shower water never came on. An ominous sign.
Gripping the flashlight, she raced forward. Beyond the first shower room was the changing area where normally she’d put on scrubs. To save time, she ran right through it. The only thing she really needed to wear was the pressure suit at the end of the line. As strange as it seemed to be passing through various lab sections naked, the thought of a self-destruct device about to go off gave single focus to her advance.
Inside the Inner Work and Interaction Area she found intense heat coming off the door that connected to the BSL3 lab space. Emergency lights were dimmer here and trace smells of smoke scented the air. Dodging around furniture, she sped on.
Next, she entered the pressured suit room where a row of light blue body sacks with attached helmets hung on hooks in a row. Grabbing one of them, she rushed to put it on but found the fatigue of the day fighting against the adrenaline driving her task. The bulk of the suit was cumbersome as never before. Worst of all, the feel of it against her body’s bare skin was cold and peculiar.
She stretched her fingers into place. The double layer of neoprene gloves was so familiar and yet, under these conditions, they seemed better meant for some alien world. By the time everything was on and she had passed through the chemical shower, she wound up charging into the final lab out of breath and sweating.
Adding to her nervous sweat, lab conditions gave her pause. It was darker and warmer than any of the other compartments. She had hoped that the progression of dimming lights and rising temperature she had found on her way back in would not lead to such circumstances. Not only would the dim emergency lights make her task harder, the rising temperature was a certain threat to kill the live virus she was trying to save.
She lumbered across the room in her deflated pressure suit and grabbed one of the coiled air hoses dangling from the ceiling. Quickly connecting it to her suit, she expected the whoosh of intake and inflation that normally occurred.
This time air flow was minimal. Something was wrong.
The weak stream of air was never going to fully pressurize the suit. The little bit of air that did manage to flow in was tainted with a burnt metallic odor. In reaction, she instinctively jerked her head from side to side to get away from the stench but she knew the reflex was futile.
Inside the helmet there was one way to breathe and one air source.
She shifted her focus on the task at hand – live specimen retrieval of 2GenGEN composited in a single contagious agent. Such a sample was at the opposite end of the glove box on the far end of the room. Light levels were weakest in that section. She switched on her flashlight and shuffled forward. Halfway down the glove box the rising heat became oppressive. She jerked the flashlight’s beam from ceiling corners to floor. In both places, streams of smoke were oozing into the space. The sight of it left her no doubt – a fire would soon consume the room. Starting from this most important location, it would undoubtedly destroy the entire BSL4 environment. But long before actual flame broke through the walls, soaring temperatures would render glove box specimens useless. Already, one side of the room was too far gone.
Janis felt nailed to the floor, wrapped in layers of terror, dread, and indecision.
There was no point trying to retrieve the specimen from the far end of the case. From the heat she felt where she stood, she knew that sample was dead.
Only one other sample might be alive.
The thought of it sent chills through her sweat.
She only had seconds to decide. The advancing fire was most probably the self-destruct sequence that had already started. Using an incendiary device would make sense instead of a bomb. A fire in a genetic lab would be more easily explained and accepted than a dramatic explosion that would leave telling blast patterns and residue.
Janis turned and faced the near end of the glove box. At first, only the rising heat at her back drove her towards it. Dragging the clammy pressure suit with her, she scuffled back to the first glove port and drew close to the safety glass. The lack of full pressure in her suit, along with the mixture of heat and sweat, was starting to fog up the inside of her face shield. If it fogged up completely, she’d be blinded with no way of wiping it clear. Whatever she was going to do, she needed to decide fast.
Everything came down to the next few seconds.
It was hardly any time at all.
And yet, what might still be possible in those few seconds could provide a pivotal difference. What was it worth to give all of surviving humanity enough time to avoid extinction? After the GGD3 plague ravished world populations, the survivors would be in no condition to tackle the task of solving what the present world couldn’t even answer. It might take an entire generation or more for the world to recover from the trauma of population collapse. But few people knew the truth and it was now clear, even if a sterility fix was found, The Project had turned as complicit as Eugene Mass in thinking it could arbitrate who would and would not be worthy of survival. Faye’s new model gave a glimmer of hope but not a fix.
If nothing was done, the surviving generation was destined to be the last.
Unable to reproduce, they would need more time. Time to find the solution.
Janis’ heart and thoughts leapt back to the locker room.
Alyssa would also be a part of that world. Her specialness needed enough of a chance to be recognized and leveraged. Between possible worlds available in the next few seconds, what kind of world did she want to leave her daughter?
The Project and others might have plans on doling out extended life to the privileged, the well-connected, the sanctioned few – but power and position had blinded them to the darker possibilities of the savaged world about to be. A humanity on the edge of the abyss needed whatever the present world had left to pass on.
Janis flashed back to what Colin had said.
…the last option…they have no intention of following through on their promise.
The will to make a difference overruled everything else.
Janis flung the flashlight onto a nearby table and thrust her gloved hands
into the glove ports. Leaning her face shield against the safety glass, she struggled to poke fingers into proper place.
Before her, the remaining viable specimens waited in solutions and Petri dishes.
Every vessel held cultures of composite, single-dose 2GenGEN.
But all of them also contained payloads of 3rd Protocol.
Her quivering chills turned to passionate ice locked solid on the target.
These were the specimens she had tested for interactions between 2GenGEN and 3rd Protocol. There was no way to separate the viral strains. Saving one would mean exposing herself to the other. Although this version of 3rd Protocol was not contagious, it remained equally lethal to anything wrecking havoc in the wild.
Frenzied in her motions, Janis paid no respect to lab procedures. Everything around her was about to be destroyed anyway. There was only one way, in the time allotted, to possibly get herself and the target virus out of the lab alive.
Seizing upon the sharpest instrument she could find, she set about slashing through the pressure suit above the elbow. When a sizeable gash opened up, she dropped the instrument and used her fingers to rip the fabric wider.
Immediately, what little air she had in the pressurized suit escaped into the glove box. The weak stream of replacement air leaking in from the air tube wouldn’t be enough to sustain her for long. She would have seconds to do what she needed to do and flee the lab. Glancing to her left through a patch of fog in her face shield, she could see the first licks of flame entering the room at the base of the far wall.
Satisfied that a bare left bicep was exposed inside the glove box, Janis wasted no time snatching the sharp instrument back into her gloved right hand and slashing a wound across her flesh. With the sting of the cut she tensed but kept moving.
Dropping the instrument, she manipulated the glove box arm ports and seized hold of a Petri dish known to have the most abundant viral colonies. Lifting the clear lid off the dish, she soaked an absorbent material into it and watched as infected solution was drawn up into the fibers. Without hesitation she lifted it and slapped the wet fabric onto her bleeding wound. For an eternity that took two labored breaths to endure, she held it there. It wasn’t hard to tell if chemical smoke or something else brought tears to her eyes.
Her fate was sealed.
But it only mattered if she could survive the gauntlet back out of there.
Dropping everything, she yanked her arms out of the glove ports and disconnected her air hose. The suit was completely depressurized now and breathing was near impossible. She held her breath to avoid caustic smoke fumes. On the way back to the door that led to the chemical shower, she felt faint. Exhaustion and fumes along with searing heat threatened to become the perfect storm aiming to defeat her.
She fought for a second wind she couldn’t take in.
Collapsing into the chemical shower on her knees, she raced to hold a protective hand over her wounded bicep as a spray of decontaminating chemicals washed down over her.
When the shower stopped, she crawled into the suit room to face the agonizing chore of climbing back out of the pressure suit. As she struggled to get it off, she could hear thuds and pops as structures in the lab behind her were consumed by fire.
Kicking free of the pressure suit, she stumbled to her feet and raced into the Inner Work and Interaction Area. Immediately, she wished she had remembered to pick up the flashlight tossed aside back in the lab. The work area was dark except for a red glow coming from the edges of the door that connected to the BSL3 lab. No doubt the advancing fire had already overtaken the adjoining space.
Crawling on the floor, she took breaths in measured gasps and tried to stay as far below the smoke level as possible. Following the arrangement of minimal furniture as she remembered it, she managed to find her way to the opposite door and into the changing room where weak emergency lights were still on.
Normally she shed the underlayer of scrubs in this room. Instead, she headed for a first-aid kit and made quick work of sealing a protective patch over her left bicep. It was a minimal barrier to keep the viruses localized in her wound but in the moment it would have to do.
Soot-covered, sweaty, and naked, she stepped into the final shower room and turned to close the door behind her. Just then, an explosion rocked the compartment beyond and jarred the door on its hinges. Somewhere, flames had reached chemicals or a pressurized tank. The concussion had hit the Inner Work and Interaction Area hardest and busted open the BSL3 doorway. Open flame now entered the area.
Janis heaved and pulled to shut the inner shower room door to no avail.
She managed the door closed most of the way but it would not shut tight. A quick inspection of the frame showed why. The door had been rocked just enough off alignment to make a proper seal impossible.
For the first time, fatal panic surged through Janis. She knew right away the heart-stopping predicament she faced. As a last line of defense against an escaping biohazard, safety engineering of the shower compartment mandated that the outer door could not be opened until the inner door was closed. No exceptions. If she couldn’t get a good seal on the inner door, safety systems would prevent any escape through the outer door.
On the other side of that outer door was the locker room.
Beyond that was the Outer Work and Interaction Room.
To make it so far, to be so close – and then be trapped.
This couldn’t be happening. She wouldn’t let it end this way.
Janis grunted and screamed and pulled with all her might.
A wave of terror and sudden claustrophobia coursed through her quivering body and rooted her to the spot. The terrible fear of confinement she had experienced so long ago under USAMRIID quarantine came back with a vengeance. To do her work in labs all these years, she had forced herself to work through the idea of being in confined spaces. But being trapped in one was far different. She had never faced or dealt with the feeling of terror of being imprisoned in a windowless box after the experience at USAMRIID.
Now was not the time to be overtaken and incapacitated by it.
She had to fight against the paralyzing fear.
Turning from the misaligned door, she struggled to focus on what was still possible. There was no sense using wasted effort on something she would never be able to do. She had only one hope left. She reached in and dragged a metal chair from the Inner Work and Interaction Room into the shower. Already the chair was hot to the touch. Wielding it as a club, she lashed it against the outer door. Again and again, the metal chair impacted the barrier. All the while she screamed for someone, anyone to hear her cries. Maybe Alyssa was still on the other side. Maybe she’d hear.
Panicked thoughts ran wild. Even if Alyssa heard, what could she do? Maybe Colin had already gotten down to her and taken her out. Then rescuers should be on the other side; certainly they’d hear her cries. Unless the self-destruct fires were all around. If that were the case, her fight to escape would lead to oblivion.
Behind her, rising heat and smoke flowed through the remaining crack opening in the outer door. If there was any consolation, Janis knew one way or another it wouldn’t take long under worsening conditions to suffer her fate. The end would not be slow but it certainly would be agonizing. She tried pushing fatal thoughts out of mind. She still had some fight left in her. One more crack at the door could be the sound someone would hear. She had to keep trying.
In time, her strength waned. The chair strikes against the door weakened. Her desperate shouts for help grew softer. As smoke filled the compartment, she finally found it impossible to mount any practical attack to open the door.
Staggered, she tossed the chair aside. Slumping down at the base of the outer door, she pressed her naked body against the relative coolness of its metal. She tried not to breathe too deeply. She closed her eyes to try to keep them from burning.
Utterly spent but clinging to fading hope, she pressed her ear to the door and listened for signs of rescue. All she h
eard was her own labored breathing. Suddenly dizzy, she felt she was about to pass out. As consciousness tunneled away from her, she released into the peace that only comes when there’s nothing left to do.
She had tried her best.
Chapter 53
Outer Work and Interaction Area
Sub-Basement Lab
Across the smoky gloom, shafts of shaky light from a pair of flashlights broke through the yawning blackness of the outer corridor. Wearing gas masks, Colin and a uniformed security agent rushed forward and materialized out of the smoke and drifting ash. Kicking aside slanted projectiles of newly fallen debris, Colin fought his way back to the locker room door and flung it open in frantic anticipation.
“She’s not here!”
Behind Colin, the security agent navigated the devastation then halted at the locker room void. The news was not unexpected. As Colin rushed across the room to try the handle on the shower room door, the security agent stood back in the outer doorway and maintained radio contact with an outside command post.
“We know the lab is gone,” confessed the guard. “Sensors indicate the fire is headed this way. It’s in between floors. There’s no way we can get to it. It’s going to have to burn itself out.”
Colin looked the shower room door up and down. “We have to get this door open right away. We’ve got to find a way.”
The guard pulled back. “We’ve been advised against it.”
“I don’t care!” shouted Colin.
“The whole room might go up. Giving it oxygen might cause a back draft.”
Colin swung around to face the guard. “I’m not asking you to stay. But I’m telling you – we need this door open. Do it!”
The guard gave his head a shake. “So far we haven’t had any luck. Sensors indicate the inner door is not sealed. The doors are interlocked. This one won’t open until the inner door closes.”
Colin yelled, “What about an emergency bypass?”
“It didn’t work the first time. By now the relays are probably fried…”