The Dead Series (Book 2): Dead Is All You Get

by Steven Ramirez

“So, I can’t explain these results,” Isaac said. “We found evidence of a virus, but it’s not like the one we’ve seen in the other patients.”

  “I hope you’re going to explain this in layman’s terms,” Pederman said, smiling.

  “Every virus has a signature,” Isaac said. “Much like a computer virus—or a fingerprint. It’s how we can tell the differences between one and another. It’s also how we learn to treat it.”

  “And the signature for this one is different?” Holly said.

  “That’s what I’m saying. It has many of the characteristics of the other virus, but it is different. I don’t know what the differences mean. But from what I’ve observed in the patient you brought in, it doesn’t destroy the speech area of the brain, which leads me to believe that she may still be capable of rational thought.”

  “That sounds a lot like Doctor Royce over at Robbin-Sear.”

  “Doctor Royce?”

  “We went there to investigate Evie’s murder,” Warnick said. “And two researchers showed us their colleague, who was infected with a new form of the virus.”

  “They’d isolated him,” I said, “but he was still working.”

  “Did he appear violent?” Isaac said.

  “No, but he had this weird tic. He kept swatting at flies that weren’t there.”

  “The woman we brought in did that, too,” Holly said.

  Isaac looked at Pederman. “Dave seems to think she was deliberately infected.”

  Pederman and the others waited for me to say something. It was true that I didn’t have any actual data to back me up, but I knew in my soul I was right. “I do,” I said. “And recently. In fact, I think it happened after Doctor Royce was infected.”

  “But why?” Pederman said.

  “Dave,” Warnick said. “I know where you’re going with this, but I think you’re wrong.”

  “I know what you think, but I’m not wrong. Not about this.”

  “It can’t be. They could never get away with it.”

  “They are getting away with it.”

  “Will someone tell me what in all that is holy is going on here?” Pederman said.

  “They’re using the people of Tres Marias as guinea pigs,” I said.

  The room erupted, with everyone talking at once. It was as if I’d thrown a live grenade into the middle of the conversation.

  “You can’t be serious!” Pederman said. “That would mean …”

  “That it was planned,” I said.

  “So why was that woman in the store? Wouldn’t they be keeping her under observation?”

  “I don’t know why.”

  “Tres Marias as a giant experiment? I can’t accept that.”

  “Mr. Pederman,” I said. “History is full of examples. Evie told us about the Rockefeller Report. For years the DOD experimented on military personnel.”

  “Sure, but they weren’t civilians.”

  “How about this? And I can thank my old high school science teacher—guess I was paying attention that day.”

  “Well?”

  “Tuskegee.” I looked at Isaac, who looked away sadly.

  The room was silent. Pederman lowered his head and folded his hands. His voice was almost a whisper. “But … that was—it was a long time ago.”

  “What was?” Holly said.

  Isaac leaned forward. “The Tuskegee Institute conducted an experiment to study the effects of untreated syphilis in men. It was run by the Department of Health, beginning in 1932.”

  “That was in Alabama,” Pederman said. “They signed up black sharecroppers. The program ran for forty years.”

  “But they eventually treated them, right?” Holly said. “Once there was a cure?”

  I shook my head. “That’s the point—they didn’t. And by 1940, they knew that penicillin could have cured those men.”

  “So let’s say this was planned,” Warnick said. “Who’s doing it?”

  “I think you know.”

  “The mayor?”

  I glanced at Pederman, whose expression was neutral. “Why not? He told us to stay out of his business.”

  “Sure, but ...”

  “Warnick, let me ask you something. When this thing broke out, why wasn’t a state of emergency declared and the National Guard called in?” No reaction. “Wouldn’t that be normal procedure? Who ever heard of a private security company handling something like this?” Then to Pederman, “No offense.”

  “Look, I admit,” Warnick said. “I’ve wondered that myself.”

  “It doesn’t make sense. I think the whole thing is a cover-up.”

  “And Black Dragon is part of it.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe not intentionally.”

  “What does that mean?” Holly said.

  “Look,” I said. “I don’t have all the answers. But I do know that it’s pretty suspicious how this entire operation is being run without any kind of outside oversight.”

  “What about the mayor?”

  “What about him? A reporter is dead. Someone who had knowledge of what was going on here.”

  “Sounds like you want to be part of our inquiry again,” Pederman said. “What about the mayor’s warning?”

  “I …” I turned to Holly.

  “I’ll be right there with you,” she said, taking my hand.

  “Me, too,” Warnick said.

  I shut everyone else out and looked at my wife. This was about her and me and Griffin and the baby—nobody else. “But aren’t you scared of what they might do to us?”

  “It can’t be worse than what we’ve already been through. And we’re still here.”

  “I’ll be with you,” Warnick said.

  Warnick had me. As far as I was concerned, he was the reason all of us were still alive. If anything did happen to me, I had no doubt he would protect my family from the mayor—even at the cost of his own life.

  “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” I said to Pederman. “I’m in.”

  “Damn,” Springer said. “And I was going to put in for some vacation.”

  Pederman glared at Springer. “Not likely.”

  “How much do you know about Black Dragon?” I said to Pederman. “The company, I mean.”

  “Well, it’s privately held.”

  “I wish we could get to the Internet,” I said. “And that’s another thing. What happened to the communications?”

  “I can answer that,” Pederman said. “Everything’s being blocked.”

  “What?” Holly said. “Why?”

  “It’s part of the quarantine. The news media has been trying for weeks to get in here. A total news blackout is in place.”

  “Well, who gave the order?”

  Pederman looked around the room and pulled at his collar uncomfortably with one finger. “The mayor,” he said.

  “There’s something else,” Isaac said as Holly and I walked him to his vehicle. He lowered his voice. “I’m not sure who to tell.”

  “What is it?” I said.

  “Hard to explain. Can you return to the isolation facility tomorrow?”

  Holly and I looked at each other. “Sure. I think we’re supposed to be patrolling the neighborhoods. I guess we could take a detour.”

  “What about Warnick? We should tell him.”

  Isaac seemed skeptical. “Can he be trusted?”

  “I trust him with my life,” I said.

  “That’s good enough for me. I’ll see you in the morning. Make sure no one else knows.”

  Isaac drove off without looking back. I felt the heavy, cloying weight of lies bearing down on me. Warnick and Springer were coming down the steps of the administration building.

  Warnick clapped me on the shoulder. “You guys ready to get back out there?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Ready for whatever.”

  WARNICK DIDN’T LIKE IT. Though we’d convinced him to go along with the plan, his deep, abiding instinct was to tell Pederman everything. “He has a right to know,” he sa
id as we made our way to the isolation facility.

  “Sure,” I said, “but Doctor Fallow insisted. Besides, Pederman already knows we’re conducting an investigation. We need to gather all the facts.”

  “I still don’t like it.”

  “You need to have a little faith,” I said. The look he gave me put an end to the conversation.

  Springer had been assigned to another detail, so I rode shotgun next to Warnick, with Holly sitting behind me. Our Humvee approached the gate to the isolation facility, and the guard opened it to let us through. We entered through the front doors unescorted and headed purposefully across the massive floor. Isaac met us halfway.

  “As I said, we’re not sure how to explain this,” he said. “You’ll have to judge for yourselves.”

  They led us to a cell that held the young Latina from the Royal Ranch Market. The Vollmer twins were already there. They didn’t look happy to see us.

  “Here to dispense more of your sound medical wisdom?” Bud said to me. This tool was begging to be butt-stroked.

  “Knock it off,” Isaac said. “These people are conducting an investigation, and you’ll extend them every courtesy.”

  “Whatever you say,” Bud said and stepped aside so we could get a better look.

  I expected to find the patient in that undead state we were all so familiar with. Animal-eyed, lusting for human flesh. We stood agape. The woman sat quietly in a plastic chair, wearing a thin, white cotton hospital gown printed with a field of lilacs. They had bathed her, and her damp hair was tied back, revealing a young, lovely face. Unlike the undead, she appeared to be breathing normally. She sipped liquid through a flexible straw in a white plastic cup. Her skin color was good.

  She looked normal.

  “I don’t understand,” Holly said. “I thought she was infected.”

  “She is,” Isaac said. “The blood tests prove it.”

  “Technically,” a newly tamped-down Bud said, “she still carries the virus, but the symptoms seem to have subsided.”

  “She wasn’t bitten, was she?” I said.

  The Vollmer twins avoided my gaze, denying me the satisfaction of flashing a shit-eating grin. Finally, Nancy said, “No.”

  I couldn’t let it go—I hated these two. I cupped my hand around my ear. “What was that? I didn’t hear you.”

  The woman tensed and, clearing her throat, said, “No, she wasn’t bitten.”

  Warnick had had enough. “Can we talk to her?”

  The scientists exchanged a look. Reluctantly, Nancy spoke. “She’s somewhat coherent. But I don’t believe she speaks English.”

  “And we’re not sure how stable she is,” Bud said, his ears bright red. Two hundred thousand in school loans, I thought. My ears would be red, too.

  I glanced at a chart sitting in a clear acrylic holder mounted on the outside of the cell. A white plastic label ran along the top. Printed on it was a series of numbers, followed by a name—ARIEL. “Is that her name?”

  “No,” Isaac said. “She can’t tell us her name. I thought it would be better to refer to her as a person.”

  “Lion of God,” Warnick said, reading the label.

  “Someone knows his Scripture.”

  “How long has she been like this?” Holly said.

  Isaac removed the chart and flipped through it. “Since last night. She was already responding to treatment yesterday afternoon, which is why I asked you to come. We’ve been giving her fluids, including antibiotics. Her recovery so far is nothing short of miraculous.”

  “So are you telling me that this … virus is something that can be treated with antibiotics?” I said.

  “No, that’s not what we’re saying at all,” Bud said. “She’s still carrying the virus. The antibiotics are being used to treat any secondary infections.”

  Isaac nodded. “We still don’t know how the virus works, but it appears to have something in common with rabies. What’s puzzling is that it seems to have gone into remission.”

  Nancy stepped forward. Though she looked like a Barbie doll in a lab coat, she spoke with authority. “We plan to try a modified vaccination series using HRIG.”

  “What’s that?” I said.

  “Human rabies immunoglobulin.”

  Ariel mumbled in Spanish, swatting at flies. She seemed agitated.

  “What’s going on?” Holly said.

  “She’s been having these episodes,” Isaac said. “But they pass after a few minutes.”

  “When we found her, she was eating raw meat,” Warnick said. “What are you giving her now?”

  “So far, only liquids,” Nancy said.

  Bud chimed in. “We’ve taken her off the IV. She’s been getting the standard electrolyte therapy—chloride, gluconate, magnesium, phosphate, potassium.”

  “We’re trying to keep her stable,” Isaac said. “It’s all we can do at this point.”

  We gathered in a conference room with coffee from the kitchen that tasted like ass water.

  Warnick addressed Isaac and the scientists. “What’s the story with the other patients?”

  Isaac hesitated, then glanced at his two colleagues. “We’re doing everything we can. Their virus is a different strain, though it has many of the same characteristics as the one that Bud and Nancy first studied.”

  “You mean, when the outbreak began,” I said.

  “Yes.”

  “And you have them on the same treatment program as Ariel?”

  “Yes,” Isaac said, getting testy. “It appears to slow down the progression of the disease but, again, it’s not a cure. Sooner or later they succumb.”

  I still wasn’t satisfied. “And so how is this new virus different?”

  Isaac sighed. “We don’t know, exactly.”

  “Why not?”

  “Look, Dave,” Bud said, balling his fists. “I’m sorry we’re not moving fast enough for you. We just don’t know yet.”

  “How many have you lost so far?” Warnick said.

  Isaac hesitated. He exchanged another look with the Vollmer twins. “Better than sixty percent.”

  “Dear God,” Holly said.

  I set my coffee aside. “Isaac, when you examined Ariel, did you find any needle marks?”

  “As a matter of fact, we did. There was bruising on her left arm, right at the vein, and numerous puncture marks. If I had to guess I’d say you were right, Dave. I believe she was deliberately infected.”

  “Any time frame on that?” Warnick said.

  Bud shook his head. “Hard to say. This particular virus appears to be mutating. Since we have no record of her prior to now, there’s no baseline.”

  “We’ve been charting her progress since she got here,” Nancy said. “Taking blood every eight hours.”

  “What do the results tell you so far?” Warnick said to Isaac.

  “That she’s evolving.” In that moment, he looked old—like the years had just caught up to him in a cruel procession of dangerous living.

  “So, if she can tell us anything,” I said, “we’ll be that much closer to the truth.”

  “We might be able to find someone at the command center who speaks Spanish,” Warnick said. “But that would mean bringing them into the situation.”

  “We have to risk it,” I said. “Who do we trust?”

  Holly touched my arm. “Fabian.”

  “What? No, he’s a kid.”

  “We can trust him.”

  “Who’s Fabian?” Isaac said.

  “He’s an intern working for Black Dragon,” Warnick said. “Good kid.”

  I gawped at Warnick. “You like this idea?”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “I suppose that’s your little woman talking, Warnick.”

  “I’ve been deferring to Holly’s.”

  “Looks like Fabian is the answer,” I said. I was pretty sure the lack of enthusiasm in my voice came across loud and clear.

  It’s not like I hated Fabian, but I didn’t want to give
him another reason to get close to us. Maybe I was being too protective of my family, but I needed to be. It’s how we’d survived all this time. Why in hell did I have to flunk Spanish in high school? When Holly and I returned to our trailer, the aroma of Mexican food filled the air. I hadn’t eaten, and my stomach growled obscenely.

  “Hello?” Holly said as we entered.

  Fabian and Griffin sat at the small dining room table finishing servings of enchiladas, rice and refried beans and drinking sodas.

  “That smells so good,” Holly said.

  “Hey, guys,” Fabian said, getting up from the table. “Griffin said she was getting tired of the cafeteria food, so I thought I’d cook for her.”

  “Are those chicken enchiladas?”

  “Yeah. My mom’s recipe. I made them in the cafeteria kitchen. Want some? There’s plenty.”

  He pointed at a foil pan sitting on the small kitchen counter. There were at least a half-dozen more enchiladas, along with plastic bowls of rice and beans.

  “Don’t have to ask me twice,” Holly said, loading up a plate. “Dave, come on.”

  “Not really hungry.” I walked over to the refrigerator and grabbed a soda.

  Though the conversation was light and superficial, I sat there brooding. I didn’t know what I was feeling. I thought about what Holly had said about being jealous of Fabian. I think in my mind I’d determined that the three of us were a family, and I didn’t like outsiders horning in. Or something like that. In any case, I knew we needed him to help us.

  “How’s the target practice going?” I said to Griffin.

  I already knew Erzen had arranged for Fabian and Griffin to train together, and I didn’t like it. But it was the only way we could legitimately get Griffin back on the team. Griffin got up from the table, ran to her bed and brought me one of her targets. Though there were a couple of misses, nearly all of the shots were clearly centered in the head.

  “Wow,” I said. “Most of these are kill shots.”

  “I think she’s better than me,” Fabian said.

  When we were finished, Fabian got up to clear everything away.

  “Leave it,” I said. “We need to talk to you.”

  “Am I in trouble?”

  I found myself smiling. “Fabian, I know what you think, but I don’t dislike you.” I glanced at Griffin, who seemed nervous. “We need to talk about something very serious. Griffin, can you take Greta for a walk?”