Redivivus Trilogy (Book 1): Threnody

by Kirk Withrow

  With a chuckle, John replied, “Just remind me not to piss you off, Hulk.”

  “I’ll share, don’t worry,” said Reams in a serious tone, still not completely realizing why John was gawking at him.

  With his one free hand he scooped up the heavy blood-stained length of steel pipe he used to dispatch old man Hasker. John thought he saw something dark flicker behind the large brown eyes gazing down at the once ordinary object now transformed into a brutal, skull-smashing melee weapon. John wondered if what flashed behind Reams’ eyes was a grotesque, rapid-fire slide show of all the horrors witnessed by the end of the pipe over the last few days. Perhaps it was the realization that everything once ‘ordinary’ like the pipe was now being transformed into something dark and sinister.

  John’s contemplative reverie was suddenly shattered by a strange rhythmic buzzing sound that erupted on the far side of the room. For a brief moment the two men stared at one another bemusedly before glancing around the room to locate the source of the disruption. Confused, neither man was able to identify the frustratingly familiar sound. Out of habit, John’s hand moved to his side to ensure it was not his cellphone. Simultaneously realizing his cellphone was not on his belt, and that the sound was indeed a cellphone, he lunged toward the source of the noise. In a panicked flurry of movement, he grabbed the phone and tapped the answer button.

  “Hello?”

  The shaky word threatened to fracture and fall apart as it passed his dry, cracked lips, as if the whole thing was simply a mirage. He heard only the low hiss of dead air in reply. Again, John forced the pained word past his lips, accompanied by the dread that it really might be a mere figment of his imagination.

  “Hello? Anyone there?” he repeated, audibly deflating like a latex balloon gouged by a needle.

  After another agonizing moment of nothing, a sound crackled through the speaker sounding both broken and very far away. Though he could not make out the words in their entirety, John knew immediately who held the other end of the line. The voice he heard was that of his longtime friend Dr. Lin San, who currently resided in Brazil where she worked in biomedical research. In his earlier unsuccessful attempts he only dialed local numbers, not having considered calling internationally.

  A rapid barrage of questions from both sides followed, succeeding only in cancelling one another out. Lin finally managed to get his attention, and John strained to hear her desperate, fragmented message through the static plaguing their tenuous connection.

  “John, …can’t hear…listen…can hear me…terrible has happened…Brazil… spread to the United…world. …horrible, a plague the likes of…quired a drive containing files…periments aimed at creating a new biologic…the origin…has a near one hundred percent mortality... victims reanimate or…threshold needed for life…become violent and serve as vectors.’’

  Reams gazed intently as all the blood drained from John’s face. The look of terror left in the wake of its departure sent a cold chill up his spine.

  Despite the overwhelming visceral sensations accompanying his rising dread, John tried diligently to focus on what Lin was saying as her impossibly distant voice continued with renewed urgency. “I…boarding a plane heading …States now…evacuation of those left alive...need to analyze…drive and…cure…too late if not already…hope you …safe. …possible, meet me… CD…lanta…if someone is infected …don’t…near…no longer who they were…see you…”

  The line went dead as John tried fervently to hear the rest of her message, as if he could reestablish the connection merely by sheer force of will. When his strain caused the muscles in his face to ache, he realized she was gone.

  “Lin! Lin! No! No! No! No!” exclaimed John, shaking the phone as if that action might somehow restore bring her back. He tried in vain to redial the number but, like everything else, it was now dead.

  As John lowered the now useless phone in defeat, Reams said, “What the was that all about? Who was on the phone? Your wife?”

  Reams saw a look of pained disappointment on John’s face and realized it probably was not his wife. “Look, I’m sorry man, I just…” said Reams, his voice trailing off.

  “It’s okay. It was an old friend of mine, a research scientist in Brazil. She seemed to know something about what is going on. The call was pretty broken, but I think she was calling to give me a warning, and maybe to ask for my help. I think she said something horrible happened in Brazil and was behind what is going on here. She thinks it is a virus that originated from experiments aimed at creating a ‘biologic’ something, maybe a weapon. That part was pretty badly broken. She said she has a drive with files – I assume data about the current epidemic – and that she was being evacuated to the U.S. to try to find a cure. I think to Atlanta, maybe to the CDC? She works for a comparable agency in Brazil,” said John flatly.

  Reams interjects, “What? Doesn’t she know it’s already here! It’s not safe here! She can’t come here!”

  John’s flat expression did not waver as the same thought shot through his mind as soon as she mentioned her destination.

  Calming down slightly, Reams added, “Did she say anything else?”

  “Yes. She said the disease is nearly one hundred percent fatal, and the infected either succumb and ‘reanimate’ or are maintained just above the threshold for life for a period in order to propagate the disease. Those infected become violent toward the uninfected, and she warned not to go near any infected individual no matter who they were before infection,” said John still wearing the mask-like, expressionless face.

  “How can the infected tell if a person is uninfected? Why don’t they attack one another?” John asked more to himself than to Reams.

  Reams, for his part, did not seem overly affected by John’s words, as he already had firsthand experienced the majority of what he said. John, on the other hand, was completely floored once again upon hearing the reality of their situation put into words by a highly trusted, longtime friend. The blood that fled from his countenance during the short phone call had yet to return, making John appear like a ghostly apparition in the dimly lit room.

  After a few moments of silence, Reams spoke up, “John we either knew or at least suspected most of what she told you. It doesn’t change anything for us now. We need to get going if we are going to go through with this.”

  Raising his head in disbelief, John replied, “Doesn’t change anything? I came from a few states over where things seemed like business as usual and landed here to find this.” John made a broad sweeping motion with his hand to indicate the horrors and carnage abounding just beyond the confines of their little temporary safe zone. “Reams,” John continued in a quiet, somber tone, “she’s in Brazil. If this shit is happening there, it is, or will be happening everywhere.”

  “Okay, but it still doesn’t change anything here and now. We still have to get out of here, and we still have to look for others,” replied Reams.

  John knew Reams was right, and he certainly knew whom he meant when he said ‘others,’ but still he couldn’t escape the enormity of what he had just heard. If the mass of infected smashed against the fence less than a hundred yards away was indeed just a microcosm of what the world as a whole was experiencing, then maybe this truly was the world’s dies irae. Perhaps this plague was civilization’s final threnody. A slight shudder pulsed through John’s body as he again thought of all the infected thrown against the fence like the fecula of the Devil himself. Fighting those thoughts back, he strengthened his resolve before saying, “You’re right, Reams. I’m ready. Let’s do this.”

  With that the two moved to their respective positions and steeled their nerves for whatever was about to befall them.

  Chapter 11

  Lin San and John Wild first met at the beginning of their freshman year at Stanford University. They both enrolled in an introductory biology class and simultaneously, albeit independently, saw fit to dismiss themselves after the elementary nature of the material left them feeling
bored and insulted. As they made their way toward the rear exit, they moved silently along their respective sides of the classroom, with all the stealth of a ninja on an assassination mission. In an instant, however, all hope of a covert extraction ended when they clumsily collided with one another, sending them both crashing to the floor along with an entire tray of small metal dissection pans. John could not clear the mental image of the finale at a performance of Stomp as the deafening clang of the metal reverberated in his ears. Scrambling out the door with the weight of their combined embarrassment dragging them down, they erupted into uncontrollable laughter as they fled the building. The bonds formed by this chance collision and their combined humiliation proved to be more durable than the strongest covalent bond, as they quickly became one another’s closest confidante.

  The overwhelming sadness Lin felt when she graduated from Stanford after only three years seemed wholly out of place on what should have been a joyous occasion. Though their relationship was nothing more than platonic, the prospect of leaving John behind to pursue her PhD in neurobiology at Harvard University was as daunting and unsettling as getting a divorce after fifty years of marriage—such was the depth and strength of their relationship. Needless to say, when she learned the following year that John had been accepted into the medical school at Harvard, her elation could not be bridled.

  To say they were destined to be the closest of friends could not be further from the truth. Beyond their ‘well above average’ intelligence, John and Lin shared few other commonalities. They represented the epitome of the saying ‘opposites attract,’ and they both knew that had they not literally ‘bumped’ into one another that first day they would likely have never been so much as acquaintances. John was far too crass, laidback, indifferent, and frankly reckless for Lin. Lin, on the contrary, was his antithesis with her dry, by the book, no nonsense approach to life that made her appear more like a venerable librarian than a freshman college girl. Another integral factor in their blossoming friendship, at least from John’s side, was a peculiarity he had possessed for as long as he could remember. Immediately upon meeting anyone, John would instantly decide if the person would become a friend or not, sometimes before the person ever uttered a single word. The decision, or more aptly the verdict, seemed to materialize without any real conscious interpretation of information or apparent active participation on his part. He, himself, could not really explain it once he became aware of it; it was just the way he was. Once he decided he liked a person, there was nothing he would not do for them. If he did not get such a feeling he hardly paid another thought to the person. This was the first of many of John’s quirky peculiarities that Lin would come to discover as their relationship developed.

  Chapter 12

  From the Journal Of Marcus Johnson, PhD

  June 16, 2014

  I’ve been trying to figure out what is different about Lazarus that allowed him to survive the LNV infection when no other test subject has done so. Indeed, I’ve been obsessed with that question and I know I have been staying in the lab for far too many hours in pursuit of the answer. I have left further work on the development of LNV itself to Sanji, while I have focused entirely on Lazarus. Sanji knows as well as I that it is important to know what happened with Lazarus so LNV can be modified to prevent such events from occurring in the future. Still, I can hear him talking to the techs about me.

  I know he is in with Mr. Handler and I know he has been reporting to him directly about me. After Lazarus I mentioned my concerns about the project and what we were doing to Sanji. I heard him talking and laughing with one of the techs shortly after; I know it was about me and what I said. Later that day I saw him at his workstation secretly discussing my comments with Mr. Handler. I’m not going to discuss anything further with Sanji.

  As for Lazarus, I have made some interesting observations and discoveries. He often exhibits repetitive and almost compulsive behaviors. He does not seem to feel pain as he will occasionally engage in behaviors to the point of injury and will continue as if he does not even notice. I surmise that this loss of nociception has to do with the antagonistic effect of TTXrP and/or the anti-Nav antibodies on Nav1.7 channels. Nav1.7 channels are found in nociceptive neurons located in the dorsal root ganglion as well as the trigeminal ganglion and are more sensitive to TTXrP than Nav channels found in the Purkinje fibers of cardiac muscle. I have also noted that while his overall activity levels seems very much depressed, Lazarus exhibits increased wakefulness to the point of not having any discernable sleep though EEG monitoring seems to be of questionable accuracy. Lazarus also seems to have a ravenous, insatiable appetite though strangely his food preferences have shifted dramatically to meat. Further testing determined that he expresses significantly increased levels of the hormone orexin-A. The exact reason for this is unknown but I surmised that viral transfection within the CNS led to a disruption in orexin gene control leading to overexpression. The hormone ghrelin was also increased but this is likely secondary to decreased sleep time. This could contribute to increased appetite as well.

  For now, Marcus out…

  August 15, 2014

  I am so close. I think I am finally about to unlock the true secret of Lazarus! I know there is much I could learn from necropsy but I cannot bring myself to kill this magnificent creature! Of course there are things I can only learn from the direct evaluation of Lazarus’ tissue, particularly the CNS tissue, but I have no right to end this creature’s life to satisfy my curiosity! After all, God saw fit to spare him alone from the ravages of LNV. I did subject Lazarus to a PET scan for the purpose of functional brain imaging. There are multiple areas of suspected damage as evidenced by a diminished signal in the dorsal and ventral prefrontal cortex, the angular gyrus, orbitofrontal cortex, ventromedial hypothalamus, and the amygdala. Interestingly there is increased PET uptake in the lateral hypothalamus. I suspect these are accurate findings as they correlate well with the behavioral changes I have observed.

  Sanji continues the work on the project and is becoming increasingly hostile toward Lazarus and myself. Yesterday he said, ‘Kill that damn monkey or I’ll do it myself! You need to get back to work on the project!’ I know that was Mr. Handler talking through Sanji and I’ll be damned if I let either of them do anything to Lazarus. It is the fault of this God-forsaken project that Lazarus even exists. I’m not sure either of them truly knows what we are doing here! This is the last straw! Lazarus has told me it is time. Hell is empty and all the devils are here!

  Marcus out.

  Chapter 13

  October 3, 2015

  The plan, as John described it, involved him bursting out of the front door of the maintenance hangar, securing the door behind him, and making his way across the airport grounds to hangar four. Reams was to monitor the horde at the fence from the roof, ensuring they were adequately distracted and displaced before heading out the back door and making his way to his truck beyond the far side of the public lot.

  Once outside John was instantly assaulted by the cool, gentle breeze of the night air. After the stuffy, stale air of the recent cramped confines, it was a welcomed reprieve. Unfortunately, it was cut mercilessly short as the mephitic odor of the infected things assailed his senses, nearly sending him into paroxysms of regurgitation. Fighting back the urge to heave his guts out, he pressed on like the silent shadow of a ninja. He was reassured that he did not see any of the things on his side of the fence as he closed to within fifty yards of the front door to hangar four. He could see the thick oily stain surrounding Hasker’s body, which lay prostrate on the tarmac about thirty yards away, highlighted by one of the solar runway spotlights like a macabre work of art displayed for the whole world to see.

  Nearing his goal, John emerged from the shadows that had kept him invisible thus far. No longer wishing to keep his presence a secret, his demeanor transformed into that of a wild berserker as he began chaotically thrashing his extremities, banging the crowbar and hammer into any solid object in his
path, and yelling taunting derogations at the hungry onlookers. Everything seemed to be going according to the plan, as the entire mass seemed to take notice of the morsel now parading before them. As if tethered to one another, they immediately shifted as a single unit toward the commotion outside hangar four.

  Reams looked on, surprised to see his new friend’s crazy plan was actually working. With a slight shake of his head, he readied his gear and moved to the rear door in preparation for his departure.

  John stared wide-eyed with the full attention of the group fixed on him, as the terrible, assiduous moaning and growling started with a feral intensity for which John found himself utterly unprepared. Perhaps that was a little overboard? Another disconcerting sound surfaced—that of the now impossibly flimsy fence clanging and groaning under the barrage of upright corpses. He quickened his pace, wondering just how much weight the small, insignificant chain link fence could withstand.

  Upon reaching the door he was not surprised to find it locked. Delving deep into his pocket, he produced the key ring Reams had given him. Fueled by adrenaline, his hands shook and buffeted as he worked feverishly to slide the key into the lock. For an instant he worried Reams had given him the wrong one. Losing his grip on the key, it tumbled to the ground as John cursed his apparent lack of dexterity. He scooped up the key, and this time, drove it straight into the lock. The effort was rewarded with a satisfying ‘clunk.’ At the very same time he felt something wet hit his arm. When did it start raining?