Kallie glanced at his bare hands on the sleeves of her blouse and tried not to think about those crawling germs. “Well, sure. Hasn’t everyone?”
“No. They’re too scared to notice or too ignorant to object.”
Kallie shrugged her arms out of his grip. “That’s the second time you’ve mentioned ignorance. What is it you think you know that I don’t?”
“Finally,” he said, flinging up his hands and clenching his fists. “Something intelligent.” He laced his hairy fingers, rested his meaty forearms on his thighs, and peered at Kallie. “I was a medical research scientist for the Gildenberg Consortium. Do you know who they are?” When Kallie shook her head, he mimicked her. “Of course you don’t. They’re an exclusive international group of the most influential people of our time: world leaders, politicians, billionaires, experts in science, finance, industry, media—any expertise deemed essential by the consortium to govern civilization and control the world.”
Kallie shifted to put more distance between them. “Oh my God. You’re a conspiracy nut.”
“It’s not conspiracy if you have proof.”
“What proof?”
“An antibiotic against the most virulent strain of staff infection and an antiviral for the flu that just wiped out a hamlet in Upstate New York.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Is it?” Jacob scooted closer. “Do you know why all the countries agreed to follow the advice of the Global Health Association? Because members of the Gildenberg Consortium hold influential positions—sometimes the highest positions—in every major government in the world.”
Kallie shrugged. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Jacob frowned—and made a noise that implied he might have overestimated her intelligence—before stating the obvious. “Control and power. The easiest way to control a population is to isolate its factions and convince them to self-restrict. And the most efficient way to get a population to self-restrict is to prove a credible threat. Control the narrative, and make sure the faction leaders are rewarded by the loss of their community’s freedom.”
“This isn’t the Middle East. Our country doesn’t have factions.”
“Of course it does. The patriarchal family tribes.”
Kallie stared at him in shock. “My grandfather is not working with the government.”
“Not willingly. But answer me this: Would your grandfather still be in control if you were allowed to live anywhere you wanted and marry whomever you wished?”
“You’re crazy.”
Jacob chuckled. “Maybe. But not about this. Women’s rights have been deteriorating ever since our world leaders declared a global state of emergency in 2021, and POTUS announced his revolutionary Five Year Plan. You’re too young to know, but at that time, our government offered huge tax credits and major discounts for early adapters who fell in line with the new living and transportation restrictions. Why do you think they did that?” When Kallie didn’t respond, he answered for her. “Because it was in the best interest of the government—and the Gildenberg Consortium that runs it—to have everyone sell off their individual homes and cars so families could join together in large, easy-to-manage compounds.”
“That’s not the reason,” she said, feeling more confident. “The government was trying to keep people from infecting each other. Everyone knows germs spread fastest in a crowd. It made sense to limit public interaction and avoid high concentrations of people. If we didn’t live with family, we’d probably die of loneliness. So you’re wrong, Jacob. Tribal living benefits Americans, and our government spent billions to help us do it.”
Jacob stared back, dumbfounded. “You really believe that shit, don’t you?”
His astonishment unsettled her. “Well, sure.”
“And what about the cars? Do you agree with the allotment of one vehicle to every tribe? How’s that working for you?”
Kallie shrugged. “It’s hard, sure; but it’s not my place to agree or not.”
Jacob leapt from the bench and loomed over her, eyes blazing with rage.
“The hell it isn’t! This is exactly what I’m talking about.”
He threw up his hands and marched through the cabin, preaching to every seat and space as if they were occupied by members of a particularly thick-headed congregation. “Those sons of bitches turned our mass transit into goddamn death chambers, spraying passengers like cattle in a slaughterhouse, dousing them with UV radiation. And when those who could afford it went back to their cars and gridlocked traffic, as any intelligent person could have predicted, what did our wise and compassionate leaders do? Did they increase carpool lanes? Improve filtration systems in trains? No. They recalled the cars, destroyed the majority, and redistributed one vehicle per family tribe.”
He circled his hand in an all-encompassing gesture as he stalked through his kitchen then stopped on the other side of the table. “They made traveling so untenable that we, as a society, chose to work, shop, play, and study at home.” He planted his hands on the table and glared at Kallie. “They manipulated us into self-incarceration, and you won’t question the government? Bullshit!” he yelled, hammering his fist on the wood. “You’re a doctor. Caring is what you do.”
Kallie flinched as her own words hit her in the face.
Much as she wanted to deny it, she feared Jacob was right. She was full of herself and hopelessly naive. Sure, she might argue with her parents about the unreasonableness of their fears and the ridiculous restrictions they heaped onto their already restricted lives; but it never occurred to her to challenge the legitimacy government law. After all, the president’s Five Year Plan went into effect nineteen years before she was born. She had lived her entire life subjugated by the restrictions and hazardous practices Jacob had described.
“You’re seeing it now, aren’t you?” Jacob said, stepping over the bench to sit.
Kallie tilted her head, somewhere between a nod and a shake. “I don’t know. We do seem to be feeding our own fear. But no one’s forcing us to stay indoors and cling to people who look, act, and think like we do. And as far as I know, the government never said we had to send our girls away to other families or replace dating with computer algorithms.” She shrugged and shook her head, apologetically. “I’m sorry, Jacob. I get what you’re saying about the tribes. And men definitely have the power. I just don’t buy into this global conspiracy. We did this to ourselves.”
He heaved a sigh so loud even Kallie’s grandfather would have been impressed.
“You’re underestimating the reach and influence of the Gildenberg Consortium. Who do you think manufactured all the antimicrobials that caused the pandemic of 2021? Who do you think fueled hysteria and manipulated social reform? Who do you think defined a crisis so eloquently they convinced a global super power to buy into their fully tested, fully functioning solutions? And not just our country: Those sons of bitches hijacked the whole God damn world.”
Now it was Kallie’s turn to stand and pace. “This is crazy. Antimicrobial Resistance is science. Even Alexander Fleming acknowledged the dangers of penicillin soon after he discovered it. You can’t blame the Gildenberg Consortium for the Post-Antimicrobial Era.”
“Bullshit! Who do you think determines so called scientific fact? Every medical reality you think you know has been fed to you by experts and officials governed by them.”
Kallie stared agape. “You’re delusional.”
Jacob didn’t bother to answer; he just stood up and walked out of the room. A minute later, he returned from his bedroom with two security boxes. He kept one in front of him and pushed the other across the table for her.
“What’s this?” Kallie asked, sitting back on the bench.
Jacob reached over and opened the box in front of her. A hundred tiny bottles lined up in five color-coordinated rows. Jacob placed his finger on the first bottle in each row as he explained their contents. “Antibacterial, antifungal, antiparasitic, antiviral for influenza, and an
antiviral for chickenpox.”
Kallie shook her head. “Impossible. We’ve exhausted every antimicrobial known to science, and every new discovery has met with immediate pathogen mutation. These bottles might contain what you say, but they won’t cure anything.”
Jacob opened the box nearest to him and turned it to face her. “Test them.”
Kallie stared at the vials, color-coordinated to match the alleged medications. Each of the five colors was marked with the most recent strains of a different horrifying disease. Kallie leaned back, instinctively trying to put distance between herself and the vials.
“You’re mad.”
“No,” he said. “I’m a research scientist tired of watching the world go to hell.”
Kallie looked from her box to his and back again. The virulent staff infection labeled on the orange-capped vial had infected nineteen patients, six nurses, and two doctors before the infectious disease team had isolated the contamination. All those infected died within a week to a month of contraction. She didn’t want to consider the pandemic that could arise from the contents of the vial with the blue cap.
She closed her eyes. “Okay,” she said, opening them again when she felt brave enough to continue. “Supposing everything you’ve said is true, how did you get these vials out of your lab? There must have been security. If the Gildenberg Consortium has even a quarter of the power you suggest, why are you still alive?”
Jacob smirked. “Who says I’m alive? It took three years to replicate and smuggle what you see in these boxes, followed by a very public and very thorough death. Unfortunately, it took so long that three of those cures no longer work with the current mutated strains of fungi, parasite, and chickenpox. That’s why we need to act immediately.”
Kallie gasped. “We? I don’t know what you’re planning, but I’m not doing anything with you. Or with those. I’m a doctor. I’m sworn to—”
“Kill? Because that’s what you’re doing, you and your chickenshit colleagues. Blaming your failures on antibacterial resistant infections when the truth is you’ve given up the damn fight. While you’re sentencing poor saps like Eddie Spink to death, privileged people all around the world are getting cured. Clinical researchers in consortium-funded labs, like the one where I used to work, are generating new drugs every week for consortium-funded doctors to administer in astronomically expensive multi-drug blasts designed to confound even the quickest mutating pathogens. A process, by the way, that was only made possible because of the forty-eight-year global ban against using antimicrobials. While the rest of the world has been suffering and dying for the greater good, these selfish pricks have been shooting up and having a God damn party.” Jacob jabbed his finger into the wood. “The Gildenberg Consortium is dividing humanity into masters and slaves—and every one of us is helping them do it.”
As outlandish as it sounded, everything Jacob said rang true.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Do you believe in coincidences? I don’t. You wandered onto my property because I need you.”
“Need me? What for?”
“I’m going to lock up the National News Corporation using an advanced sealant, stolen from another consortium-funded lab by a recently murdered friend of mine. Then I’m going to gas the studio with a fast-acting, lethal strain of influenza. When people start to die, I’ll let them know where in the studio I hid the cure, along with the level-four restricted syringes that you will supply. The NNC will televise their exclusive and highly dramatic story, along with my carefully crafted statement describing the facts I have just shared with you. They won’t care that the use and manufacturing of antivirals are outlawed, nor will they cling to their propaganda-inspired belief that they won’t work. They will inject themselves with the drugs because they’ll want to live. By the time rescue teams break into the studio, the influenza will have been arrested and my statements will have been proved.”
Kallie stared in horror. “No. Absolutely not. I won’t help you, and your plan wouldn’t work even if I did. You said it yourself, that consortium will make you out to be a bioterrorist nut-job. They’ll make everyone think it was a hoax.”
He shook his head. “Not everyone. People all over the world will start to question and resist. They’ll stop blindly submitting to government restrictions and demand a vote. Women will stop allowing and contributing to their own subjugation. The patriarchal family tribes will deteriorate. Doctors and scientists will dare to experiment again with drugs and treatments and discover the truth. The Gildenberg Consortium will fail. I’ll be dead, of course—that’s inevitable—but my actions might save humanity.” He leaned forward and fixed her with an uncompromising gaze. “How many lives will you save with your bogus excuse for medicine?”
***
One week later, Kallie stood at the door of CADLab working up the courage to either enter or run like hell. Inside her pocket she fondled two rolls of mints, a lipstick, and a round, stubby marker. They clicked together like ticking bombs. She pulled her hand away. What was she thinking? The contents of the vial hidden inside one of those harmless items could start an epidemic.
Or could it?
She had tallied the pros and cons and compared them, ad nauseam, followed by a long and serious discussion with Amy Lee over a sterilized cup of coffee at the dispenser shop across from the lab. In the end, they had agreed to take the risk. Amy, like Kallie, needed to know.
They had to know the truth.
Kallie hit the call button and was buzzed through the security door and metal detector to reception, where Fred, a medical university graduate and aspiring researcher, asked for her identification. While they had met on several occasions, CADLab policy required Fred to scan her driver’s license. Kallie’s name would be entered into the records. Anyone who checked would know she had come to visit Amy.
“Identification?” Fred asked again.
Kallie shivered. If Amy got caught analyzing the contents of these bottles, they’d both get thrown in prison without a trial.
“Sorry, Fred. I spaced out for a sec.” She took out her wallet and handed him the card. “Here you go.”
Fred scanned the license, returned it, and buzzed Kallie through the next door.
“Go on in. I’ll let her know you’re here.”
At the end of the office-lined corridor, Kallie saw yet another security door, this one programmed with a palm-reading. The door opened, and a curvy Asian in a long white coat emerged. Aside from the straight hair braided to the middle of her narrow shoulders, Amy didn’t resemble Kallie in any physical way. Her stubbornness, on the other hand, rivaled any Anderson.
Amy gestured to a cushioned arm chair and took a seat behind her desk. “How’ve you been, Kal? It feels like forever since I’ve seen you.”
Not true, of course; but the casual conversation that ensued gave Kallie a chance to surreptitiously stuff the mints, lipstick, and marker between the cushion and the side of her chair. After she left, Amy would find a reason to straighten up and pocket the items. In this way she could sneak the vials into her lab without raising suspicions. CADLab screened their researches. The small cylindrical items Kallie had brought into the facility, while unremarkable for a visitor, would have raised flags for Amy.
***
Seven agonizing days passed before Kallie received a call from Amy asking her to meet at the coffee shop. During that time, Kallie had not returned to the San Gabriel Wilderness, and since Jacob Roszak didn’t have a telephone, she had not spoken to the man who would might possibly become humanity’s savior. Or one of the worst bioterrorists of the new millennium. That verdict depended on whether the two antimicrobials secreted in the lipstick and marker were effective against the respective bacteria and virus hidden in the two rolls of mints.
Savior or terrorist?
Kallie had been so eager to hear the results she had walked five miles rather than risk carpool delays with the family van. Now she was on her second cup of coffee. Without taking
her eyes off the CADLab building, she pulled the lid off her sanitized cup, leaned in for a sip, then put the cup down. She couldn’t stand it any longer. She had to call.
Amy answered on the second ring. “Hi Kallie. I’m heading for the door. Be out in a sec.”
The door opened. Amy stepped out of the lab. Kallie raised a hand to wave through the window. A second later, the world exploded.
The detonation shook Kallie off her chair and shattered the shop’s front window, spraying her with shards of glass. She felt her chest heave with a scream but was too deaf to hear the sound. Her head throbbed. Blood dripped in her eye. She staggered to the door. People screamed and shouted as they raced into the street to see what had happened. Some of them, like Kallie, bled from wounds. In the hysteria, Kallie searched for Amy, praying what she had seen hadn’t actually occurred—that somehow, Amy had been knocked away by the explosion instead of blasted into pulp.
Fire leapt to nearby buildings, adding to the panic. Kallie rubbed the grit from her eyes and peered through the smoke. She couldn’t find Amy, but she did see two brawny men in black paramilitary uniforms cutting through the panicked crowd and heading straight toward her. Fear gripped her gut. They had to be first responders here to help the injured or put out the fire. They couldn’t be after her.
Why would anyone be after her?
But even as she asked the question, she knew the answer—everything Jacob Roszak had told her was true.
Kallie ducked behind a couple of men in blue company caps and throat-to-boot coveralls, staring over the white cups of their respiratory masks in horrified amazement at the destruction across the street. She left them to it and ran, staying low, behind the row of curbside cars before sprinting into an alley. Bullets struck the corner building, chipping bits of brick and mortar—and with them, any lingering doubts she might have had.
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