The Rising Dead

by Devan Sagliani

  Satoshi decided to study infectious disease in America after that. There was nothing left for him at home. His mother gave her blessing. She had refused to return, preferring the company of her widowed sister to an empty house. He applied for a job and was quickly picked up by research firm in Tucson on a limited Visa. While he hated his new home, the sterile, dry heat and casually racist neighbors, he loved the work so much it didn't matter. He spent long hours at the lab studying how microbes interacted with skin cells and blood samples. He discovered, much to his own amazement, that he no longer yearned to work as a physician directly interacting with patients. The thought of never having to deal with another hospital administer sounded like a dream to him. No he'd much rather work as a scientist. He was particularly interested in splicing apart viruses in an effort to reverse engineer them. He'd spent months attempting to increase blood flow to necrotic cells by introducing infectious but relatively harmless pathogens and felt close to a break through. Instead he'd come home to find his apartment had been broken into in his absence. Everything but his mattress was gone, and that had been torn to shreds. When he returned to his lab his pass no longer worked. When he asked what was going on he was told to go home and wait for someone to contact him.

  Satoshi drove to a bar instead and ordered a beer. A white man with slicked back hair in a black suit and tie showed up a short time later and sat next to him. He quickly struck up an overly familiar conversation with him, the central thesis of which seemed to revolve around how Satoshi should move to Vegas to work for his employer. He knew a lot about what Satoshi had been up to, too much in fact, and while the tone of his voice was relaxed and casual Satoshi felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up when he spoke - as if each word was its own threat.

  “Who are you?” Satoshi had asked.

  “You can call me Bob,” the had replied, handing him just a card with a Black Helix logo on it. The man in black promised that everything would be taken care of if Satoshi just came along. His employer had close ties to the government. He would be given a place to stay, a lab of his own, an open ended work visa, and more money than he could ever spend in one lifetime. Satoshi didn't remember saying yes. All he remembered was the man's wide smile as he was led from the bar outside to a black town car and driven to a private jet on a secluded airstrip in the middle of nowhere.

  He'd been working at the labs in Las Vegas ever since. Truth be told he'd never been so happy in his life. He had a huge two story house with a pool and jacuzzi in a gated community. The closets were filled with clothes in his size and taste when he arrived. The entry way table had a selection of tickets to shows, sporting events, and concerts - more than he could attend. The fridge was fully stocked and so was the wine cellar. He fell into bed that first night, a California King, and passed out. The next day they drove him to his new lab. All of his original research was there waiting for him when he arrived. He was given a personal assistant, along with a body guard, and told to begin picking out his research team from a list of pre-screened applicants.

  He'd spent most of his time in the lab from then on, working around the clock on taking apart some of the worst disease known to mankind. He'd tinkered with everything from Nodding disease to Crohn's to rabies to Ebola. Occasionally someone would pop in to check up on him but for the most part he was left to his own devices. He'd made remarkable strides in isolating pathogens and introducing them in unexpected ways into both sick and healthy cells. When he finished he would upload the results into the mainframe and log out for the day. He'd fall into bed each night feeling content and empty in the best possible way.

  Everything had been perfect - until last night. He'd come home late, as usual, and flipped on the television. The minute he heard reports of the ghost tanker he felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. That name, Islas Maria, had been in a researcher folder on the mainframe. He'd always assumed that his work would be used to target and treat diseases, sick kids like he once was, by top pharmaceutical companies. That was the extent of his ethical dilemma, that only the wealthy and connected would be able to initially afford the fruits of his labors. He'd assuaged his prickly conscience with thoughts of other scientists taking apart the medicine and making generic copies for countries like India and less fortunate African nations.

  How could I be so naive? How could I be so fucking stupid?

  They'd made a weapon from his work. He knew it at once. He'd seen the symptoms listed on the television screen and knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that they had nothing to do with leprosy. Biological warfare - that's what it was. He barely slept that night. He felt like the father of the atomic bomb, like Oppenheimer. His work would be used to kill millions, possibly even end life on earth. For hours he contemplated killing himself, trying to think of the most painless and effective method. Perhaps someone would come for him, to do the job for him, to keep him from talking, from telling anyone his story. Maybe they'd send Bob again. He listened for footsteps, half hoping they would end his crippling guilt, but they never came.

  Morning eventually arrived and he returned to the lab feeling jumpy and tired. He logged on to discover that the research folders were now locked. In fact the only access he had was to his own work. The rest of the system appeared to be offline.

  They are already covering their tracks, he thought. That's why they don't have to worry about killing me. They've compartmentalized. They can deny all of this when the time comes.

  He could exactly how it would play out. Their million dollar marketing team would release a statement about how Satoshi was a rogue scientist working on his own pet projects, how they'd taken him in and he'd betrayed them for his own dark designs.

  All the blame will fall solely on me.

  One thing they hadn't taken away from Satoshi was access to the samples, his work. If he could take one with him, if he could make a copy somehow, maybe he could tell his side of the story. He fumbled with the clear lid of the sample but couldn't get it open with his gloves.

  Damn! I'm running out of time. Soon they will lock me out of my own lab and I'll be taken God knows where, Guantanamo or some black site and kept in isolation. This may be my last chance to prove my innocence!

  Satoshi ripped his gloves off in frustration. He reached up and yanked his protective mask free as well. He was sweating profusely now, panting from excitement. He leaned over and pried open the lid to his most virulent sample. He turned and looked up at the security cameras monitoring him. Nothing happened. He laughed. He had been expecting sirens to go off, maybe armed guards to come running in. He was so tired he was practically delirious. Surely he was being paranoid. No one was coming for him. Still it wouldn't hurt to have an insurance policy.

  Better to hide something now before it's too late, he thought.

  Satoshi broke apart part of the sample with a nearby glass stir rod and transferred it a small test tube, corking it with a rubber stopper. He held it up to get a closer look. In that tiny container was the culmination of his life's work - all he was and all he'd ever be.

  Mother would be so proud, he thought, if only she knew.

  He closed the lid back up and replaced the sample in the fridge. He had a tough decision to make. What was he going to do with the rest of his day? Should he leave early, claiming to be sick? Should he stay and wait for them to come for him? Who would come? Would it be one of the suits from the front office or someone else like the man in black who originally recruited him? What if no one ever came?

  He chalked up his indecisiveness to lack of sleep. He'd have to go home and rest. He had never taken a sick day. No one would give him a hard time for needing some rest, not after all the work he'd done. He was one of their most valuable employees. He had no doubt about that.

  He was undressing when he began to feel the tickle in the back of his throat. He didn't pay much attention to it, chalking it up to the dry Vegas air or maybe some mild allergy. He was so hot. He couldn't think straight with all his clothing on. He needed
his car keys, but he didn't know why. He couldn't remember where he'd parked his Mercedes. Come to think of it, he couldn't remember driving to work in the first place. He was having trouble thinking clearly, having trouble remembering things. Everything felt foggy in his brain all of a sudden. He had a terrible headache coming on. His sore throat now felt red raw, like someone had dragged a fork through it. He coughed to relieve the tickle and a fine mist of blood sprayed out onto the counter. It felt like chunks were coming loose inside of him but he wasn't able to focus on it. He looked down to see blisters forming on the back of his hands. His skin itched all over. Something was wrong but he couldn't figure out what it was. His stomach gurgled as he leaned over and threw up a fluid stream of black bile all over the counter top. It felt good to get it out but left him empty inside. He'd never felt so hungry in his life before. He felt like he would die if he didn't get something in him right away, something warm and living and full of blood. Just the thought of tearing apart a small animal, a rabbit, yes, or maybe a dog, mmm, or even a small child, made him swell with manic bliss. A sharp pain in his arm brought him out of his vivid daydream. He'd bitten his own arm. Dark burgundy coagulated blood began to puss out of the wound. It hurt so much he screamed in agony. Anger surged through him, a terrible rage for not being able to feed, to quench his overwhelming hunger. The rage came in waves, filling him up, making him strong, numb, unstoppable. It was as if the anger was a living being capable of overriding all of his other systems. It was his God now. Yes. It would take care of him. It would lead him to food, living breathing food. It would take all the pain away. Satoshi gave himself over to it and soon the last of his troubled thoughts vanished like dew drops evaporating in the desert sun. The last things he saw were his blistered hands pushing open the security door and heading down the hallway.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Graham had his pants all the way down, bunched around his ankles. He was lost in thought. Mornings were his special time. Once the scientists were all checked into their labs they immediately got to work and forgot all about their assistants. The “geniuses” would have their heads buried deep in their personal research projects until well after lunch. Usually around one or two they'd bug him to run some menial errand. Sometimes they'd forget him until nearly five. Graham had grown used to it. He didn't even mind anymore. One day he'd have his own lab to screw around in. Until then he'd learned to take advantage of the quirks in the system, to use them to his advantage. His record was three releases in one session. He was sure he could do better. He'd even begun to bring his own hand lotion to help with the process.

  He always chose the last stall in the bathroom, the one marked Handicapped, because it was the largest and afforded him the most privacy - not that anyone ever came in. He set down his thermos of coffee and his cell phone next to a pile of adult magazines he'd picked up at a liquor store on the strip on his way over. New porn. Was there anything better? He started with the Hustler, skipping right to the prize, flipping open the centerfold and letting it hang in front of him.

  Might just go for the record today, he thought as he let out a low whistle of appreciation.

  The girl was no more than nineteen years old with dark chocolate brown curls that framed her baby doll face and unnaturally large endowments. Her nipples were puffy and bright pink. Graham had a weakness for puffy nipples.

  He wondered how they got these girls to let them take all these naked photos of them? They couldn't be paying that much money. Between the magazines and the internet their friends and family were guaranteed to see it. Still every month a whole new parade of gorgeous young girls were lined up like a feast of flesh to satisfy his darker urges and curiosities.

  Maybe they didn't have families anymore? Or maybe they wanted to piss their family off. Revenge. That had to be it. He didn't want to think about it anymore. It wasn't going to help his fantasy. It always started the same way. Graham imagined the girl as his next door neighbor Candice, from when he the street he grew up on in Cherry Wood. She'd been left home by her wealthy family and invited him over to seduce him so she could finally lose her virginity. It didn't matter that the girl changed, or that the layouts would vary from pools to the ocean to luxury apartments. He needed it to start there for the illusion to work. Where it went from there didn't matter. It always ended the same anyway.

  “She's flawless, absolutely flawless,” Graham muttered. “Skin like a saucer of cream. I bet she even smells good when she's taking a . . .” Just then a low, guttural moan echoed off the bathroom tile. Graham froze and held his breath. It sounded like a large animal had gotten into the lab. Maybe they were testing on something bigger than rabbits and no one had bothered to tell him. It couldn't be chimps. Whatever that was sounded at least as big as an orangutan.

  Spikes of adrenaline shot through him leaving an acid taste in his mouth as he went flaccid. He gingerly folded the magazine and set it down next to the others. The last thing he needed was to be caught in the bathroom spanking one out. How would he explain it to his parents, that he couldn't get another job in his chosen field because his work file was literally marked jerk off?

  He heard the door open and another unearthly growl that bounced off the tiled walls. His heart thumped in his chest and he immediately fell quiet as the grave. He was trapped! He'd have to pray that whatever this was, it would get distracted and leave if he held out long enough. Suddenly he was grateful that he'd finished his business and cleaned up before cracking the magazine. He pulled his feet up onto the toilet seat, doing his best to make as little noise as possible. His breath felt caught in his chest, burning there. He slowly exhaled, trying to calm himself down. Just when he felt he was on the verge of stopping his impending panic attack, the first loud crash rang out! Someone was going stall to stall kicking the doors open one at a time!

  Graham did his best to stave off the fear but after the third door was booted open, he caved and cried out.

  “Who the hell is that?! This isn't funny! I'm going to kick your fucking ass if you don't knock it the fuck off!”

  If he was going to die, he was going to at least fight back. Almost immediately the sound of the growling and moaning stopped. For what might have been the longest minute of his adult life, Graham sat in silence, not daring to move or make another sound for fear of giving himself away. After a long sixty seconds had passed, he decided that whatever it was must have given up and moved on to easier prey. Graham let his feet rest back down on the floor and let out a loud sigh of relief. Maybe his coworkers had finally figured out what he'd been up to and decided to play a prank on him. Fuckers.

  He leaned over and picked up his thermos, pulling his head back up just as the door to his stall came flying at him. Satoshi's face was already contorted beyond almost all recognition. Blood poured from his eyes and a foul stench came from his open mouth as he lunged for Graham teeth first, driven on by a terrible hunger. Graham let out a high pitched scream like a girl and wildly kicked his legs at him. Satoshi pupils were misted over with living foam, like an old, blind cat. He was nothing short of a monster.

  Graham bolted to his feet and shoved past the ghastly looking half naked man trying to eat him. Satoshi lunged at him, mouth open, desperately trying to bite. Graham knocked him to one side and Satoshi's clammy hands scratched at him as he dashed past. He practically knocked the door off its hinges as he bolted out of the bathroom leaving his stack of dirty magazines behind. He lost his footing as he reached the hallway, his legs moving faster than his feet, and toppled into the wall with barely enough time to get his hands up in front of his head. A split second longer and he would have knocked himself out cold. He couldn't think straight. Cold, numbing fear was spreading through him. He was vaguely aware of a biting pain in his twisted right ankle but he ignored it, scrambling back to his feet and hobbling down the hallway towards the exit. He threw open the door and bright sunlight blinded him. He turned his head long enough as he exited to see that Satoshi had recovered and was chasing after him
. Forcing the door shut he leaned against it. Satoshi began throwing his body at it, nearly knocking Graham over. He tried to dig his feet in and use his body weight to block it but Satoshi had grown unusually strong. He seemed oblivious to pain as well, driven by a single minded desire to attack and kill. Graham's ankle was now screaming. He looked down to see it swelling over the side of his shoe. A hard thrust from behind knocked him over and he felt the skin of his palms scrape against the sidewalk. That unearthly growl sounded behind him. Graham heard himself whimpering as he forced himself back to his feet and scrambled towards the grassy park and the safety of the quad. Glancing back over his shoulder he saw that Satoshi was already after him.

  “Help me,” Graham cried out, no longer caring if he sounded desperate. “Someone please help!”

  A group of scientists and suits loomed up ahead. They seemed distracted by something. A flash of color just past them revealed a cluster of students racing through the park, firing neon colored dart guns at each other and hollering. All eyes were on their antics. No one seemed to be noticing the real life drama playing out just a few feet behind them.

  I'm going to die, Graham thought. I'm going to fucking die here and no one even cares!

  Graham gave a final scream that seemed to turn their heads. Satoshi was almost on top of him. With a final burst of energy he flung himself forward like a gazelle avoiding a wild cat, but it was too late. Satoshi sprung ahead and knocked him over with a guttural snarl.