by Kristen Judd
When Adam cracked open one eye some time later, Kondo and Sally were fast at work near their workstations, ferociously typing away on their keyboards and running back and forth throughout the lab. It took Adam thirty more minutes before he was able to lift his head off the table, another ten before he had enough strength in his vocal cords to speak.
He tried to speak but only grunts and guttural groans escaped his lips. Sally was the first to notice he was awake. She rushed over to him but didn't touch him. She was holding a specimen in one hand and a dropper in the other.
"You're awake! That's great."
"Any luck?" he asked, his words forming coherent syllables again.
"We're getting close," she said, as she left his side to go to her station. Adam knew that was scientific for "we've got nothing." He wasn't surprised. Hopeful, but not surprised. The harnesses were removed from his ankles and wrists. He slid his feet over the edge and tested his strength before trying to stand. Other than the swelling, he felt stronger. He glanced at the clock on the wall. He had been out for over seven hours.
His neck was stiff, and he couldn't move it more than a few inches either direction. He raised his hand to a large protrusion under his left jawline. He was getting worse fast. There was a suit, gloves, and mask for him waiting by his desk. He placed the surgeon's mask over his mouth and inserted his hands into the latex gloves. He didn't bother with the body suit. He was already infected; he just didn't want to contaminate the specimens. Kondo had placed everything at his workstation. The glove box already had sample specimens inside the protective box ready for manipulation. His monitors were linked to the most recent results and tests Sally and Kondo had run. He scanned through the data. He picked up a vial of blood and inserted an eye dropper into it. He placed one drop onto a petri dish and held it under the microscope. Had he not been dying, he would have thought the virus was the most beautiful creation he had ever seen. He watched the cells move. It was like a dance, and he could hear the music playing. Adam usually had a high respect for safety and precaution when working with lethal chemicals and contagions but already being infected was liberating. He was free to work without barrier or worry.
The virus had given him the greatest gift a scientist could ever ask for: a clear mind. After analyzing the virus' movement for thirty minutes, he knew what he must do.
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CHAPTER
- TWELVE -
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The Prime Minister of England's motorcade came to a stop at his residence at 10 Downing Street, also known simply as Number 10. The three-house-in-one mansion sat adjacent to St. James's Park and only a few blocks away from Buckingham Palace and the Palace of Westminster. His private RaSP bodyguards escorted him to the door then remained outside. His wife was out shopping and would be home later, so he went to his office, poured himself a glass of champagne, and sat in the sofa that had been passed down all the way from Queen Victoria. The sofa had been reupholstered several times over the years, but it still maintained its original beauty. He stretched his feet over the armrest and closed his eyes.
The Prime Minister was only five minutes into his afternoon nap when a sharp pain arose in his chest. He rubbed his chest with his thumbs, thinking it was just indigestion, but it only got worse. Eventually, he sat up, the pain too unbearable to lie down. The pain had filtered to his left arm. His fingers tingled. Thinking he was having a heart attack, he called his doctor. By the time he arrived, the Prime Minister was sweating profusely, and his entire body was numb. He was in the fetal position on the rug, shaking.
"What happened?" The doctor immediately checked the Prime Minister's temperature. 103.7 degrees Fahrenheit. "You're burning up. When did this start?"
"About forty-five minutes ago," the Prime Minister said.
"How did it begin?"
"Pain in the chest, then numbness down the arm."
The Prime Minister thrashed on the floor suddenly, his jaw going taut. The doctor held him until the seizure stopped.
The Prime Minister's eyes were hazy when he looked up at the doctor.
"Am I going to die?"
The doctor was already prepping a needle to help with the pain. He suspected the Prime Minister had suffered a mild heart attack, followed by a seizure. He wasn't so much concerned with those as he was with the fever. If they didn't get that under control, the Prime Minister would die.
"I'm giving you something for the pain," the doctor said. "It should help reduce the fever as well. We're going to need to get you in the tub right away."
The doctor called to the guard by the entryway.
"We need as much ice as you can get. Now!" he shouted. "You," he pointed to another guard, "help me carry him to the tub. We need to get his temperature down immediately."
The guard and the doctor struggled to carry the Prime Minister up the winding staircase to his master bedroom. The doctor had instructed the Prime Minister about his weight, but he hadn't listened. The three hundred plus pounds was finally coming back to bite him. The guard and the doctor finally managed to lift him into the clawfoot tub. The second guard came rushing in with three large bags of ice. Two more guards followed right behind with more ice. The doctor cut the bags open with a pocketknife and dumped it all over the Prime Minister's body.
The Prime Minister's face was flush and bulgy. The shaking had stopped but his eye whites were bloodshot.
"Mr. Prime Minister, I need your help."
He didn't respond. His head flopped to the side, his mouth drooping. The doctor knew they were losing him. He needed to do something fast or the Prime Minister was going to die. He rushed back down the stairs to the study and slid back into the bathroom with his medical supply kit. He grabbed a clear bottle of epinephrine and filled a syringe. Not knowing if he was doing the right thing, he slammed the needle into the Prime Minister's heart and injected all the epinephrine. Nothing happened at first. The Prime Minister lay there motionless, not breathing. Then he shot up, gasping. His eyes were wild, and he grabbed the doctor by the collar and pulled him close.
"He killed me," he said. "That bloody bastard. He killed me."
The doctor had no idea what the Prime Minister was talking about. He looked to the guards who were as blank as him.
"Who killed you, sir? You're alive."
The Prime Minister just kept repeating the words, he killed me, he killed me, he killed me—
The doctor checked his temperature again. It had only gone up. The doctor didn't understand. It should be going down with all the ice around him. The ice had melted and was spilling over the tub. The doctor hadn't noticed. The Prime Minister stopped ranting just as suddenly as he had begun. He stared off into the distance.
"Prime Minister, can you hear me? I need you to tell me what happened? Who is trying to kill you?"
He motioned for the guards to hold his head above the water. The Prime Minister's head swiveled, and his eyes stared into the doctor's.
"No one is trying to kill you, sir. It's me. Doctor Graham."
The Prime Minister wasn't listening. In his final moments, he replayed the whole exchange in his mind. Did Special Agent Riggs slip something in my drink? He must have. The Prime Minister opened his mouth to speak. He could see it clearly now. Special Agent Riggs had slipped a pill into his drink before they made a toast. He hadn't noticed it then, but now…
"The virus," he hissed through clenched teeth. He was gripping the doctor's collar in his fist. The Prime Minister's face contorted in rage, turning nearly scarlet.
"He used the virus. He put it in my drink. He killed me," the Prime Minister said.
"What virus? No one is trying to kill you. You're not making any sense," the doctor said.
The Prime Minister went to speak again but thrashed against the back of the claw foot tub from a waling cough. Blood splattered on the walls, the water, and the doctor and guard holding him steady. T
he cough worsened until his face went purple and the veins bulged from his neck. The Prime Minister looked to the doctor one last time with terror in his eyes.
"He killed me. The vir—" He never finished his sentence. He died gripping the doctor.
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CHAPTER
- THIRTEEN -
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Special Agent Riggs glanced at his watch. The phone in his pocket started vibrating. He smiled knowingly. He pressed on and waited. The voice on the other end didn't wait for him to speak.
"It's done."
"Any witnesses?" Riggs asked.
"The doctor and two guards."
"Where?"
"His home. Second floor master bath. He was in the tub."
"How many in the house?"
"Seven, counting the three guards on the ground and top level, and the two maidservants. There were an additional four guards on the premises."
"Good. Cause of death?" Riggs already knew, but he was more curious what the local police and news were saying.
"Nothing official. I have a source inside the BBC who tells me he died of a heart attack. The guard who was present said he had a seizure and a high fever. The doctor refused to comment."
Riggs found that interesting. He would have thought abnormal bleeding, but a heart attack would do. It got the job done.
"Great work. Keep me posted if anything changes."
"Roger."
Riggs hung up. His phone started vibrating almost immediately.
"Go," he said.
"Tether Protocol was a success," the voice on the other end said. "I'm sending you a live feed now."
"Hold on, I'm almost to the control room." Riggs picked up the pace, scanned his wrist, and enter the control room. "All right, I'm ready."
"It should be streaming to you now."
The image displayed on the wall screen in front of him. The mushroom cloud filled up the majority of the feed.
"Where is this coming from?" Riggs asked.
"The summit of Mount Erebus in West Antarctica. What you're seeing here is the result of the nuclear warheads planted in the ice shelf. The half a mile of ice covering the volcano is already cracking and sliding away just as you expected. The secondary pulses are in place and set to go off in ten minutes."
"The aircraft?"
Riggs was referring to the twin B-21 stealth bombers that were on their way from MacDill Air Force Base to deliver the final payload that would welcome in Phase Three.
"It's important that we time the detonations exactly. We need this to look like the volcano erupted on its own."
"Understood, sir. The bombers are two hundred nautical miles out. When the secondary pulses go off and removes the remaining fragments of the ice shelf, the nukes will be free to fall into the mouth of the volcano. There will be no evidence that we were even here."
Riggs didn't believe him, but by the time anyone ever found out, it wouldn't matter. The world would be crumbling.
"Let me know when it's done," Riggs said.
"Aye aye."
The feed went dead. The screen returned to a dark blue with the National Defense Agency's emblem in the center. Riggs left the office and headed toward Phase Three. Pod 543.
Riggs strolled the only remaining active pods. He stopped to see how his other scientists were fairing. Not well. Their bodies were prostrated or lying on their backs in a puddle of their own vomit and blood. He walked to the next pod. The same thing. As he made his way to Pod 543, every single one of the other pods had the same outcome. No survivors. He was fully expecting Adam and his team to be no different. He stopped at their pod and thought to find them writhing on the floor or dead.
Instead, all three were on their feet, alive, and healthy. Upon further investigation, not all healthy. Adam was not faring so well. His face was noticeably swollen even from Riggs' vantage point, often stopping to brace his sleeve to his mouth. Riggs knocked his fist against the glass. Kondo was the closest. It took a moment before the East African recognized Riggs. Riggs could feel the loathing even from here. He ushered the man forward. Kondo did reluctantly.
When he was close the glass, Riggs said, "How's it going in there? I wouldn't want anyone to get sick."
Kondo's face turned into a snarl. "What did you do? Did you kill us like you did the rest of the scientists here?"
"Not if you succeed," Riggs said.
"You're a madman!" Kondo shouted, slamming his fists against the glass. Adam and Sally looked up. Both of their faces went sour. Adam went back to what he was doing while Sally hovered for a moment before also averting her eyes. By now, they would know that Adam was infected with the virus. What they didn't know was that they weren't. Well, that depends. He eyed Kondo up and down, like a pimp would his new prospect. There were no visible signs of decay or swelling.
"You seem to be doing fine," Riggs said.
"No thanks to you. It's only a matter of time before we start exhibiting signs of the virus. Why would you do this? We could have found a cure if we had the time. Why sentence us all to death? And for what? What purpose was there in killing us all?"
"I never wanted any of you to die. I wanted the others to succeed, just like I want you to succeed. If you succeed, we all win. The cure is the only thing that will save us now. The virus is already loose in Europe. In a matter of weeks, it will have spread all throughout Europe, Asia, and parts of Africa. Within two months, nearly all of the Eastern countries will be infected."
The realization finally hit Kondo. "You did this?"
Riggs' puffed up with pride and stroked his hand through his hair. "A necessary sacrifice for the greater good. Get back to work. It doesn't look like Doctor Richards has much time left. If I were you, I would let him die."
Riggs winked and turned to walk away. Kondo screamed at the top of his lungs, pounding and kicking his feet and fists against the glass. Riggs only smiled to himself as he continued back to check on his other little side project. He wondered how Doctor Mayweather was doing with their guest.
Kondo collapsed to the floor after Special Agent Riggs was out of sight. He sobbed in his cupped hands. Adam tapped him on the foot with his shoe. Kondo looked up through tears.
Adam held out his gloved hand. Kondo wiped the tears away, his face returning to one of a determined man. He grabbed Adam's hand and was hoisted to his feet.
"Don't let him get to you," Adam said.
"He deliberately infected you and the other scientists. They're all dead because of him. And you're—"
"Not dead," Adam cut him off. "It doesn't matter what he did. In a sense, he did me a favor. Now we have a reason to succeed. What's stronger than a scientist with a purpose?"
He answered for him, "Three scientists with a purpose and a chance to save the world."
He held Kondo's hand in his for a moment longer and gave him a quick squeeze.
"We can do this, but I need your help. Can I count on you?" Adam asked.
Kondo stood tall and his eyes narrowed. The strong man Adam had first met a little over two days ago was back. Kondo walked briskly passed him and continued his experimentation. Adam held back momentarily, leaning against the glass for support. He rubbed his eyes, but it didn't improve his vision. He could just barely see his hands out in front of him. He inched his way back to his workstation a few minutes later. He didn't have much time now. With his vision failing, his other organs would soon follow.
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CHAPTER
- FOURTEEN -
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The glass doors slid aside for Riggs as he entered the Recreational Habitat. Doctor Mayweather was at the front teaching. She acknowledged him with her eyes and continued speaking.
"Can anyone tell me what continent this is?" she asked the room full of children. Thirteen children of d
ifferent ethnicities sat in small pods, their undivided attention on Doctor Mayweather. Riggs admired the control she demanded.
Each of the children wore metallic headphones that wrapped around their head like a helmet and had a microphone near the base of the jaw. The headset served as a translator for those children who did not speak English, but it also served a much deeper purpose. The subliminal messaging was key in brainwashing the children from an early age. Riggs would need recruits to help him with the next phase of his plan. After the virus had spread all across the globe and most of the human population was wiped out, he'd come forward with the cure, and these children would serve as his future collateral.
"Antarctica," one of the boys near the front said.
"Very good, Balli," she said.
Doctor Kondo Rashidi's son was a prodigy of his own and well on his way to following in his father's footsteps. Riggs scanned the room. He found Abigail sitting near the corner, her eyes on her desk, scribbling. He walked over and took a seat next to her in an empty pod.
"What are you drawing?" he asked.
Abigail looked up but didn't smile. Her face was sunken, and she had dark rings under her eyes. Riggs leaned closer and peered over her shoulder.
"Is that me?" he asked, pointing to a man in suit, flying a helicopter. She didn't respond and kept scribbling on the paper. He had no doubt it was him. The other two figures in the picture were undoubtedly her and her father. They were holding hands and walking outside under the sun, the Dome drawn beside it.
Riggs looked to the front. Doctor Mayweather was displaying the live feed Riggs had seen not too long ago of the explosion at Mount Erebus. The next scene was of the volcano seemingly exploding. That would be the B-12 bombers releasing their payloads into the volcano, activating it. The massive mushroom cloud billowing on the screen was the fallout of such an explosion.