“Oh come on Grace, you know I worry about you. Nearly forty, married to this place, hanging around with me. I don’t like to see good things go to waste.”
She smiled at the old man. The closest friend she had in the Facility, and therefore the closest friend she had.
There was a commotion from behind her. She turned round and saw a group of people crowded under the TV. Someone turned the volume up.
Pictures of flaming buildings, soldiers firing their guns, jammed motorways, and what looked like military checkpoints filled the screen. The newscaster spoke in ominous tones - London was being closed to contain the virus outbreak.
“Looks like this is the real thing,” said the Professor. “They’ve really done it this time.”
Grace spun her head round, “What do you mean, ‘they’?” Then she saw the glint in his eye. “You’re toying with me.”
“It’s what you’re thinking though isn’t it?” he said. “Is this virus man made? How ironic would that be. A virus made in a lab somewhere like this one, deep underground, safe from the hell on the surface. Imagine, maybe even this lab.”
“Don’t,” said Grace, feeling uneasy. For some reason the uncomfortable feeling came with an image, the image of the man in the shadows, with the expensive suit and fancy haircut. “Who was the man in the containment room this morning? The one at the back of the room?”
The Professor creased his bushy eyebrows. “He looked familiar to me, I think his name is Taylor. I’ve seen him mulling around in the administration section a few times in the past months. He did have an air of the unseen hand in the whole business, didn’t he?”
Grace shivered. She remembered Taylor’s eyes, his stare. She shook her head a little, as if shaking off a nasty smell.
“Come on Professor. Let’s get to work. We should have our samples now. I want to know if this is an actual virus we are dealing with.”
They both finished their drinks and left the crowded canteen and its drama filled news show behind.
The first run of tests suggested they were dealing with a virus, with a 98.568% probability. The negligible uncertainty was only from errors introduced by their equipment, so there was no doubt.
Grace opened up her instant messaging client and pinged Harry.
>Hey Harry guess what
>Hello Grace. I know, it’s a virus. We confirmed it about thirty minutes ago
>And you didn’t tell us? :0
>I didn’t want to bias your results. And anyway, we have only really confirmed that it’s not a bacteria. And then I had to go and have a coffee :)
>ok then, I guess I can let you off. Do you want the details?
>Please. I can’t wait for the official presentation.
>it’s a virulent bugger, threaded through the complete system. It seems to have replicated at an extraordinary rate. His infection was estimated twelve hours ago and from what we see the virus has a near 100% cell coverage. That is, every single cell in the host has been transmuted by the virus.
>That sounds unusual
>It is. For one thing it gives the host absolutely no chance of fighting back as even the auto-immune system has been compromised. That's not the worst of it though.
>Go on. You have me intrigued.
>Every system in the host has been hijacked and taken over by the virus. It seems to have stopped most of what we would call the vitals - the heart, the nervous system, the lungs, and rendered them useless meat. The only activity that seems left is muscular activation and some pretty basic brain functions.
>Turned the host into an empty vehicle?
>That’s a good analogy, I’ll use that in my presentation.
>I would like some credit.
>We’ll see. Anyway, you want to hear the rest?
>There’s more?
>Indeed there is. We got some preliminary brain results through. The whole brain is dark apart from very basic sensory applications and, again, muscular activity. All it can do is move and sense. The whole human host is reduced to a device for hunting other human hosts and, well, devouring them with the end being to further its own propagation.
>A simple machine. Eating, killing. Terrifying.
> Very. It will turn you into a shell. There’s nothing left of the original person.
>Nothing left, so it can’t be reversed?
>No. The epilogue to this story is that whilst the host is busy doing its thing, there is another division of the virus busy destroying all non-necessary brain function. It’s as if it wants to make sure there’s nothing left of the original person. Totally destructive.
>Pretty efficient, I would say. Once it gets a host, it doesn’t want to risk rebellion.
>Exactly. Evolutionary perfection.
>How does it transfer energy?
>We don’t know. We’re working on it.
>I’m impressed, sounds like you guys have done some pretty good stuff quickly.
>Not really. Its not a difficult virus to find. But thanks.
>I have one more question.
>Shoot.
>A million dollar question. Do you think it’s man made?
>You too
>What?
>Never mind. To answer your question, you used the word ‘efficient’ before. That’s the scary thing - I’ve never seen anything so efficient. Never. Remember, it even goes to the trouble of destroying what’s left behind of the person.
>That’s the first time you’ve said person instead of host.
>Is it? I didn’t notice.
>You’re worried that this is man made?
>Yes I am. I’ve never seen anything like this before, ANYTHING. And we work at the very edge of viral research. This would be one hell of an evolutionary leap if it was natural. There have been no in-between steps that we’re aware of. Everything it does: destroying the host, shutting down exact regions of the brain, activating exact regions, has all just appeared, boom. From nowhere.
>Extra-terrestrial? Maybe our virus has floated in on a meteorite?
>That’s a thought I prefer. I might go with that for now to keep my faith in humanity intact.
>Ok, let’s go with that. We have an ET virus. Does it have a name yet?
>Yes, VST-5684.
>Catchy.
>Very. We’re calling it the Zombie though.
>I can see why. What’s next?
>I’m taking a break. Going to get some dinner.
>You want to grab some in the cafeteria?
>Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll eat in my room, I need to make some phone calls.
>Sure, I understand. I should probably do the same.
>I’ll give you a shout tonight. I might need a drink.
>Ok. Thanks for the heads up by the way.
>No problem. And remember, on the QT please. None of this is official until I give a presentation. Probably tomorrow.
>Sure. Catch you later.
>Bye.
Chapter 3
Grace sat in her small room, on the bed. It was a functional bedroom, the same as every other professor, doctor, student and intern room in the Facility. Most lived in the Facility - the only day workers were cleaners, cooks, etc. Shifts varied from a couple of weeks up to a year. Grace was currently on a two month stint. She wondered how anyone could handle a year. Holed up hundreds of feet underground. Enough to make anyone go crazy.
Her room was furnished with a single bed, a small bedside table, and a desk with a lamp and internal network access points.
There was no wifi. All internet connection was constrained to wires. Any communication with the outside world had to go through the main Facility switch board. Everything was logged, and everything was monitored in real time.
She picked up the phone that hung next to her bed and waited for the dial tone.
There was a beep and instead of the normal dial tone, a recorded female voice spoke:
“We are sorry to inform you that due to technical difficulties, all external communications have been suspe
nded for the foreseeable future. Please refer to the communication’s page on the intranet for further information.”
Grace frowned. If she missed her nightly call to her eighty year old mum, mum would worry, she had anxiety issues.
Grace logged her laptop on to the intranet and checked the communication’s page.
The same message, except this time asking her to refer to recorded messages on the internal phone line. A Kafka-esque circle of non-communication.
She swore quietly, then got up to have a shower in her prefab plastic bubble en-suite bathroom.
Grace woke early the next day. She had decided not to go for a drink with Harry the previous night. She had wanted to avoid public places and the inevitable questions about the virus. They could wait for her presentation at lunch time.
She had her breakfast in her room and made her way to the lab.
The Professor was already there, it was only 7:30am. He was sitting at his terminal, next to Grace’s. The dull hum of machinery filled the room. Gentle lights blinked on various devices, and the faint scent of formaldehyde permeated the room. These things, which many would consider banal, soulless and empty, Grace found comforting. She had spent so many years in their presence. It was like a womb.
The Professor turned to her. His face was grim.
“What’s wrong?” said Grace, not expecting the Professor to be so glum, given their achievements yesterday.
“I’m afraid I have some bad news, Grace.”
“What?” she said, turning on her terminal and putting her coffee on the desk. She didn’t sit down, but stood with her hands on her hips.
“We’ve been asked to postpone the presentation, pending review.”
“What do you mean, pending review?”
“I got a call last night, at around eight o’clock, I was called to the Secretary’s office.”
The Secretary’s office was actually the Home Secretary’s office. He wasn’t there very often, but there would always be a representative present, usually a high up civil servant.
“Who’s there at the moment?”
“Davis.”
Grace let out a derisory snort. He was held in low regard in the Facility, although being mostly harmless.
“And someone else.”
“Who?” said Grace, already suspecting she knew who.
“Our friend from the viewing lab yesterday. Taylor. He sat in the corner the whole time, behind me. He wasn’t introduced to me, and said nothing.”
Grace sat down. “What don’t they like about my report? I would have thought, given our audience here, that nothing needs to be censored at this stage. It’s not as if we’re going public.”
“I was told, with no wriggle room, that certain parts of the presentation won’t stand.”
“Which parts?” said Grace. She could feel her jaw tighten and her stomach tensing. Anger.
“The parts that are more speculative. Regrading the origins of the virus.”
Grace sat in silence for a second, her brain firing fast to an exciting and terrifying conclusion.
“My God, Professor, don’t you see, I’m right!”
The Professor made a calming motion. “We don’t know that.”
“Then why the hell do they want to suppress that part of the presentation? The bastards created the virus! Or at least some bastards somewhere in the world, and they know which bastards it was!”
“Or maybe they just don’t want to start a lot of panic and nonsense gossip.”
Grace shook her head. “Rubbish. You think I should agree to it?”
“We don’t have any choice, Grace. This is coming from the top.”
She sighed and bit her lip. She used to bite her lip when she was a schoolgirl and faced with a course of action she didn’t want to take. It was a habit that had followed her through her life.
“What the hell is going on Lloyd?”
“I don’t know. And it looks like they don’t want us to know either. Look…”
The Professor used the remote control to turn on the large HD TV on the wall. He changed it to what should have been BBC1.
“All External broadcasts are suspended for the time being. Please refer to the intranet communication’s page for further details.”
Grace shook her head angrily. “This isn’t on. I know the secrecy involved in this place, but what the fuck do they think this is? Some sort of gulag? We are the brightest bio and viral scientists in the country, they can’t treat us like this.”
She stood up quickly, accidentally knocking her coffee over. It spilled onto her keyboard.
“Calm down Grace!”
“No, Professor, you should know me by now and know that this isn’t a good time to ask me to calm down.” She marched towards the door. “Are you coming?”
“Where are you going?”
“To find out what the hell is going on.”
The Professor quickly stood up and stumbled after her as she rushed out of the room.
Chapter 4
A crowd had already gathered in the canteen. Assorted white coats, suits, and technicians stood in small groups, the general hubbub of conversation punctuated by now familiar complaints of no phone lines, no TV, no internet.
And especially, how they were all too important to be treated like plebs.
The large TVs of the canteen, which yesterday had been busy beaming the chaos taking place across the country above them, now showed only the ubiquitous nothing message:
“All External broadcasts are suspended for the time being. Please refer to the intranet communication’s page for further details.”
Grace and the out-of-breath Professor joined a group of bacteria scientists sat in a corner by the wall. Grace sat next to Harry.
“Bet you wish you joined me for that drink last night now?” said Harry. “Who knows what’s going to happen today, the mood is ugly.”
“Never mind last night, I could do with a drink now.”
Harry smiled. “Do you guys know anything? It feels like we’ve suddenly been shut down in a hole.”
The Professor and Grace both shook their heads.
“We may be about to find out,” said one of Harry’s colleagues, pointing to the door, where the Secretary’s assistant, Davis, had just entered. It was unusual to see him in the canteen. He would usually only show himself for morale raising events. It looked like he was adding emergencies to his public appearance’s list.
He was immediately subject to a barrage of questions, the interrogation firing like the opening salvo of a battle. Voices fought over each other to make sure their own particular displeasure was known.
Davis patted the air, trying to quieten the hoard of unruly scientists.
“Ok, ok, please, be quiet. I have a statement that will explain everything, please, thank you.”
Harry leaned over to Grace and whispered, “Look around, amazing how quickly people will descend into a baying mob, once you sprinkle a little fear into the mix.”
“Please,” said Davis, “quiet, thank you.”
The questions stopped and the conversation sank to a hum, and then to nothing. An uncertain and heavy silence sat in the room. Expectant.
Ready to blow, thought Grace.
“Thank you.” Davis, his blue suit perfectly creased, looked over the assembled crowd. “As you know, there has been an outbreak of some magnitude of an unknown virus on the surface. Despite our government’s best efforts to contain the outbreak, which first hit our borders three days ago, it has swept across the country in an unprecedented fashion, the vector being, well, everyone.”
“What percentage of coverage are we talking about sir?” asked Grace.
Davis spied out Grace. “Last estimates were 85%.”
“In three days?”
“In three days.”
There was as second or two of silence and then a gasp, followed by raised voices, and then more questions. The realisation of what was happening was beginning to hit.
They h
ad a specimen of the virus in the lab, they had all seen what it was like. They all knew the virus was fatal. 85%. Do the math. Nearly the whole country wiped out in three days.
Including a lot of loved ones.
People began to cry.
“What the hell are we doing down here then? I need to get to my family!” shouted Doctor Stockbridge, a stout virologist from Sector 8. His face was flushed with anger.
Similar protests followed.
Davis took a step back. Involuntary, thought Grace, but telling. He felt the anger and fear in the room.
“Why didn’t you tell us what was happening,” shouted a woman’s voice.
“We need to get out of here!”
“You can’t keep us down here, we have to go.”
Davis raised his hands again, “Please, please, I will answer your questions but you must give me a chance to speak.”
Quiet returned reluctantly to the room. The atmosphere reduced itself to a gentle simmer.
“I understand that a lot of you are afraid, and that you may feel we have kept you in the dark, and that you have been kept away from your families and loved ones.”
A few rude accusations flew towards Davis. He ignored them.
“While this may be the outcome, it certainly was not the intention. I only received those numbers myself late last night. I have been kept on the dark as much as the rest of you. It seems, that, if I am to be candid, the situation above ground is now out of control.”
Davis looked shaken. His face was ashen white and Grace was sure she could see a quiver on his lip. He was scared, just like the rest of them. He had known all of this before them, had more time to process the knowledge. He most probably had his own family, that was now gone.
Cries of anguish echoed around the room as one by one, people realised what was gone. The wife, the daughter, the husband, the young son, the nagging mother. What were the chances they were in the 15% that were still alive, if that number was even accurate?
Davis started talking again. “Our communication lines ceased operation this morning at 4:32am. We don’t know if this is intentional or whether a catastrophic failure has occurred in the topside systems. Either way, we have no further contact with anyone above ground.”
Surviving the Fall: How England Died Page 36