The Kielder Strain: A Science Fiction Horror Novel

by Rebecca Fernfield

  “Dogs are the carriers. These pups are … dispensable.”

  “Ugh. I love my job, but some days …”

  “I get it,” he replies with a glance at Shep curled up in his cage. “It’ll be worth it though—once we get the vaccine right.”

  “When do we start human trials?”

  “As soon as we get this to work.” He gestures to the small glass bottles of vaccine sat neat and tidy in the cooler.

  “Barnard said there’s been another death.”

  “He’s correct. So far, no one who has been bitten has survived, and the last two dog attacks were twenty miles from Whitby.”

  “It’s spreading then.”

  “Yes.” Tension tightens across Max’s shoulders, and a dull ache spreads heavy fingers across the back of his head. “It’s up to us, Sal. We’ve got to figure this out.” He’ll also be more than happy to deposit the generous bonus into his bank account once the vaccine was created and found effective. He pulls on a pair of thin rubber gloves, reaches into the glass-fronted chiller, removes a bottle of the live virus, and moves across to the tray of syringes Sal has set out.

  “Perhaps this one will work?” Sal opens the cage labelled Beagle X 354.

  “We need it to, Sal. If the spread continues …”

  Taking the pup by the collar, one hand under its back end, Sally lifts the dog across to the table and waits as Max prepares the virus. He takes the glass vial, inserts the syringe with a practiced hand then withdraws 10ml.

  “Hold him still.”

  Sally soothes the pup with kind words as Max feels for a suitable spot.

  “This won’t hurt, fella.”

  “It’s a girl.”

  “OK. This won’t hurt …” He searches for a suitable diminutive, gives up, and gently pinches a fold of skin, slipping the needle under the top layer between the pup’s shoulder blades. The dog shows no evidence of discomfort. Max retrieves the needle and rubs at the injection site. Poison administered. “There you go, all done.” He disposes of the syringe and empty vial in the hazardous waste bin.

  “That wasn’t so bad, was it.” Sally strokes the pup’s head, hands protected by plastic gloves. “I don’t think she even noticed.”

  “No, Sal. I don’t think she did. Sadly, she will notice its effects. As soon as I inject the vaccine put it back in the cage. No extra cuddles. Got it?”

  “Yes.” She holds the pup a little tighter.

  “And under no circumstances are you to re-open the cage door!”

  “I know, Max!”

  “I don’t care how cute he-”

  “She.”

  “She is. This particular strand of the rabies virus is quick to take control of the subjects and they exhibit extreme aggression within the first two hours.”

  “I know. This is the seventh time we’ve done this.

  “I just need to make sure you understand—there’s no cure if you’re bitten.”

  “I’ve been reading the reports; the symptoms are terrifying.”

  “Doesn’t bear thinking about, but they’ve caught this early, the damage will be limited. The original colony has been destroyed so they’re hopeful that they’ve curtailed the spread in that way.”

  “How many human fatalities have there been so far?”

  “Counting the five people reported as having been bitten yesterday, that would be a grand total of twenty.”

  “Yes, but the five aren’t dead yet.”

  “Sadly, once they’ve been infected there’s no hope. It’s not like the ordinary lyssavirus. With that we could offer treatment before the symptoms presented, with this mutated version there’s nothing we can do—even if we do intervene at the earliest stage our medicine doesn’t work, and once the symptoms do present, it’s a fait accompli, which is why what we’re doing here is so important, and why this little fella,” he takes the pup in his arms, “is doing us a tremendous service.” The dog strains against his hold and Max’s heart begins to race. “Best not tarry any longer, Sally. Pass me the vaccine.” He gestures to the pre-prepared syringe on the table. The virus administered to the dog, along with a strong sedative, he carries it to the cage.

  Max returns to his desk and begins to enter the details of the trial into his research notes. Keeping an accurate record of each trial is crucial. Each time they go through this process is a step closer to finding the right mix. His hopes are high with this latest batch.

  “How long will it take … before we know?”

  “A couple of hours,” he says staring at his monitor. He types in more data.

  “May I take a break now, Dr Anderson?” Sally asks primly.

  He leans back and turns to her. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry—I get so involved that time slips away.”

  She smiles with relief. “Can I bring you a coffee? They do a nice flat white in the café?”

  He looks at his watch. six-thirty pm. “I didn’t realise it was so late. You should have gone home hours ago. Are they still open this late?”

  “Till seven.”

  “Hmm. No, it’s ok. I’ve got my supplies here,” he says nodding to the kettle at the end of the counter. Why don’t you call it a day? I work late, but I don’t expect you to.”

  “If you’re sure!”

  “Yes, of course. Get off home and I’ll see you first thing.”

  Marta turns the camera feed off. The girl was on her way home and Max was obviously going to work late again. Once she’d finished her meeting, she would show him exactly why he belonged to her and why the silly ring on his stupid finger meant exactly nothing. She walks to the sideboard.

  “Drink?”

  Blake Dalton grunts a yes without taking his eyes off the computer screen and the text displayed there.

  “As you can see, Blake, the dog shows no signs whatsoever of the arthritis that was crippling it before.” She picks up the bottle of wine from the sideboard and pours another glass for Blake and some for herself.

  “I agree, the change is marked, and the regeneration of the organs and scar tissue is remarkable.”

  Marta slides close beside him as he scrolls through the data, her hips level with his face, and slips her hand across his shoulder. She passes him the glass of wine. “Now, where were we …”

  “Idiot!” Nate’s shout reverberates against the camper van’s walls. His angry face is reflected back at Lois from the surrounding windows. Outside the dark is complete. A small lamp hanging from the back of the driver’s seat the only light.

  Lois ducks, her head sinking into her shoulders as spittle lands on her face. “Don’t’ shout! They’ll hear.” She leans back against the cushion. The sourness of the decades old fabric leaking its years of accumulated sweat in the damp. Whose idea was it anyway to camp out in the forest in November? His! She shifts uncomfortably on the seat, cold, hungry, and now with a lump rising in her throat, her heart beating too fast, and her cheeks burning as she thinks of the others outside. The walls of the van were thin and the fabric of their tents thinner.

  Nate peers at her, searching her eyes. “What the hell did you think you were doing?”

  She breaks his gaze. “Shut up! I know.”

  Nate runs his hands through his hair, pushing his fringe back. It stands to attention. Lois can’t help but watch as a single clump of greasy hair wilts back down, the tip touching his forehead. He really needs to wash his hair. Nate turns to the window, his scowl reflected to Lois in the black glass.

  “It won’t make any difference.”

  “That job was perfect. You could come and go without a problem in the Institute. You were our mole.”

  What the hell was he talking about? “Mole?”

  “Yes. A plant.”

  “Plant?” She’s completely lost now.

  Her response seems to ignite his ire. “For Christ’s sake, Lois. You were in the perfect position to find out exactly what they’re doing in there and now the police have got you on their radar too.”

  “We alread
y know what they’re doing!” She counters, ignoring his comment about the police though her stomach twists at the memory of PC Latimer’s scathing questioning. Damned meat eaters—they were all the same; understanding of just how cruel they all were. “They’re testing on animals.”

  “Yes, but we needed intelligence: where the animals are kept, what security details are in place, when will the place be empty so that we can get in?”

  Lois cowers as Nate’s anger seems to balloon. “We could go in tonight?”

  “We don’t have all the information we need and not likely to, thanks to you!”

  “I couldn’t help it, Nate. She was just standing there and all I could think of was how many animals had been killed in that video we watched.”

  “Video?”

  “Yes, you know—the one with all those coyotes laid out—the one where the trappers had killed them and their paws were caught in those steel traps. It was horrific. Don’t you remember?”

  “She wouldn’t have been wearing coyote! We’re in England, not Canada!”

  “I overheard the lab assistant talking to her boyfriend.”

  “And?”

  “She was complaining about the dogs—said they were all dying and they should use rats instead but the director won’t allow it.”

  Nate growls. “This is exactly why we need to get into that place and destroy their work.”

  “What about the dogs?”

  “The dogs?”

  “Yes, the dogs. We need to go in and rescue them. That’s the whole point isn’t it?”

  She flinches as Nate narrows his eyes as he searches hers. Contempt leaks from him. “Listen. You’ve got to see the bigger picture, Lois. Attacking one woman in the street isn’t going to help.”

  “It was the canteen.”

  “Sure, the canteen.”

  “What about the dogs?”

  “Listen, we hit them where it hurts: cost them money, destroy their research—that’s the bigger picture.”

  “And take away their animals—that’s what’ll hurt too.”

  “Sure.” Nate replies but he’s staring beyond her. He snaps back to awareness and narrows his eyes. “Right. There’s no point in wasting any more time freezing our arses off in this forest. We go in tonight.”

  7

  A bang jolts Max from sleep and the sickness of being shunted from unconscious to awareness washes over him. His arm, which had been laid across his belly, flips involuntarily and knocks the mug of coffee on his desk. Cold, dark liquid pools next to the laptop and spatters over its keyboard.

  “Damn!”

  He tips the keyboard upside down. The screen flashes, illuminating the desk, and he lurches for the roll of paper towels at the end of the lab table, pulls off a handful of sheets, and mops up the mess before lifting the keyboard off the desk and letting the offending liquid drip down, relieved that it had only been the dregs that were left in the mug.

  “Damn!” If he was lucky no harm done. If not, having to admit to Marta that he’d wrecked another laptop would be embarrassing.

  The lab is silent apart from Shep’s snores. The test subjects that had died earlier in the day have all been cleared and taken for incineration in the basement furnace and only Subject 354, or Molly as Sally had named her, remains.

  He checks his watch. Eleven twenty-six. Hell, he’d catch it from Laura. He calls her.

  “Hi,” is her sleepy response.

  “Sorry, babe. I fell asleep.”

  “Uhuh. Well, come on home now.”

  “Just going to do some final checks, then I’ll be there.”

  “I’ll be waiting.” Her reply is lazy and sensual, and tugs at his groin.

  “Get some sleep. I’ll kiss you awake when I get there.”

  “Hmm. But which lips will you kiss?”

  He stifles a groan of yearning. “Whichever you want me to.”

  Her sigh is deep. “You know which. Don’t be long.” The phone clicks to dead.

  Getting home is suddenly urgent. The next minute is spent throwing the ruined paper towels in the bin and making sure the laptop is still functioning. He blows a sigh of relief as the screen flashes and his research notes reappear and the cursor pulses. He clicks save and shuts it down.

  The tack, tack of heels catches his attention as he turns to the row of cages at the back of the room. As the tack, tack grows louder and the swing doors outside open and shut his scrotum shrivels. Marta! It’s too late to switch the lights off - she’ll have seen that they’re on - and there’s nowhere to hide. As the tack, tack reaches the lab he ducks beneath a table. Shit! He waits. The door opens and Marta tack, tacks in.

  “Max!”

  He’ll have to stand; if she finds him cowering … “Dr Steward.” He grabs a pen from his pocket and pops up from behind the desk.

  Startled, she takes a step backwards. “Max! You scared me.”

  “Sorry. Just dropped a pen.” He holds up the pen as evidence.

  “I’m glad I found you.”

  Here we go! “I was just about to go home. Laura’s waiting for me.”

  “Hmm. I bet she is,” she responds with a smirk and takes a step closer.

  Distract her. “I was just about to check on Subject 354. I think we may be close to a breakthrough; the latest vaccine has got us further than any of the others. The dog was injected with the latest vaccine this afternoon and, so far, she isn’t showing the usual symptoms.”

  “Show me.”

  With relief, Max walks across to the cage where Molly/Subject 354 lays curled up in sleep. “Her vitals aren’t exactly normal. She has a raised temperature but so far has not shown the deterioration and aggression that is usual at this stage.”

  “And she’s not dead, so that’s a plus.”

  “It is,” he agrees. “Some of the others had lived a little longer, though not by much, and by this time they would be showing the classic signs of the infection.”

  “And she’s not. In fact, she looks perfectly normal.”

  “Yes, which is why I stayed on tonight, but I really must go home now.”

  Marta turns to him, places a hand upon his shoulder. “So soon. Can’t you stay a while with me—share a coffee? I have some news you may be interested in.”

  “No, I really-”

  “No? But you might when you hear what I have to tell you.” Her hand slides down his chest. “Come on now, Maximillian. We’ve had fun in the past.”

  “Yes, but-” He holds up his left hand, and the ring of gold on his wedding finger.

  “That didn’t stop you before, did it, Maxi? Hmm? Not when you wanted the funding for your zebra fish.”

  “No, but-” He grabs her hand as it slides below his belt.

  “But?” Their eyes lock. “I helped you, Max. Don’t forget who it was that got you the position in the first place. And don’t forget, if it wasn’t for me convincing the board - and believe me I had to work hard to get their approval - then you wouldn’t have made the breakthroughs that you have. All those patients would have died—if it weren’t for me. Don’t I deserve a little respect for that? Hmm? Don’t I deserve a little love and affection for that, Max?”

  She pushes her body closer to his. The ache that he’d felt for Laura has no sense of morality and it rises again as Marta’s hand reaches to stroke between his legs. “Don’t tell me that you don’t want to, because I can tell that you do.” She leans into him. Her lips are gentle on the sensitive skin of his neck as she kneads at him, and he can’t help the groan that escapes his lips. “What happens in the office, Maxi, stays in the office.”

  He gasps as she cups his balls. “Tell me the news,” he says through a groan.

  The light in the lab flickers.

  She kneads him and kisses his neck as she whispers. “Titan Blane Industries.” She squeezes. “They’re very interested in our research.”

  He groans as his excitement grows. For a second, he makes an effort to pull away.

  “They’re offe
ring millions, Max, millions …”

  He forces his mouth on hers, all thoughts of Laura lost as he hikes Marta’s skirt up her thighs. God, but he wants this woman. He forces his mouth on hers then pulls her panties down. She reaches for his zipper and slips her hand inside. It’s cool against his skin. He runs his fingers through her hair, pressing his tongue hard inside her mouth. They stand locked together, stroking, kneading, making the ache desperate. She pulls away.

  “Yes … and if we play it right, we could be rich beyo-”

  The lights black out.

  “What the?”

  “Just a power cut.” Too aroused to care, Max lifts Marta to the desk. She wraps her legs around his hips.

  The door slams open.

  “What the hell?”

  “Get off, Max,” Marta hisses and pushes at his chest, long nails digging into his flesh as she forces him away.

  Max pulls at his trousers as chaos breaks out and torchlight sweeps the room.

  “You said it would be empty!” a voice shouts.

  “It should have been,” a woman’s voice shouts back.

  Flashlights fill the room as the overhead lights stay dead.

  Max fumbles at his zipper as Marta scuttles behind the table. Someone sniggers.

  “Looks like they were up to more than paperwork.”

  A snort. “It’s Doctor Anderson and the Director, Doctor Steward.”

  Max recognises the voice. Marjory Maybank’s daughter; the girl who, it turned out, was a bit of a hothead, if the accounts from this morning were true. Sally had told him about the scuffle in the canteen. The police had to be called to the fighting women and Lois had been given a telling off. He’d scoffed at that. She’d have been arrested for assault if it had happened in the city, but here, in the rarefied, and obviously lawless, atmosphere of Kielder and its secretive Institute, the local ‘elites’ were protected. As usual, it was who you knew rather than what you knew; but wasn’t he evidence of that? A surge of guilt. No doubt, the girl’s uncle or aunt worked here. Marjory had all her fingers in all the pots around the village and it was well known she’d made generous contributions on more than one occasion to the pot of funding for their research. Not that she wasn’t well rewarded for it. He’d seen the photos of her villa in Spain and the yacht she kept down at Henley.