Days' End

by Scott L Collins

  “Very good,” the bartender replied dryly, grabbing the necessary bottles.

  Nysa had the distinct impression that the bartender was having a rough evening having to deal with the enormous egos of some of the world’s best doctors. She dug into her purse and dropped a ten on the bar. Not a life-changing amount by any means, but certainly a gesture of appreciation. The bartender gave her a warm smile and thanked her.

  Mr. Stevens entered the room and proceed to a podium placed on the small stage at the back of the room. Dressed in a black, three-piece, pin-striped suit, Nysa could see the shine on his shoes from where she stood. He stood, confident and still, waiting for the conversations to die down. When the last person fell silent, Mr. Stevens began.

  “Welcome, everyone, to Mr. Scario’s private laboratories. Each of you was selected for very specific reasons—some for being a leader in your field, some to do the legwork, some for other miscellaneous tasks.” Mr. Stevens strode to the front of the stage and gazed at the audience. “You all have one thing in common: you are exemplary workers. Mr. Scario expects nothing less.” Quick glances were exchanged among those nearest him. Mr. Stevens continued. “When you retire to your rooms this evening, you will find a letter advising you of the location of your work area. Your room key will also access the appropriate floor of your laboratory. Tomorrow at 8:00 A.M. please be there for a tour of your work area and to request any additional equipment that you may need. The specifics of your task will be given to you when you arrive at your laboratory. I’m sorry I don’t have any time to answer questions this evening. I’ll be available tomorrow to answer what I can. Thank you for your time and enjoy your evening.”

  He left the stage and exited out the door through which he had entered.

  The Great Mortality continues its destruction. I have taken to plundering the homes of the dead as it’s easily done. Nobody else will go inside so I can take what I want without consequences. I fear I have become the man everyone believed me to be. Although I know my actions are wrong, I no longer care. What punishment can be worse than this curse I continue to live with? Is there no end?

  January 31, 7:55 AM

  Nysa’s main lab was on Level B-6, Room 1. The room was enormous, but situated in such a way that minimized the amount of walking that would be necessary going back and forth between machines and desks. She didn’t expect to need any additional equipment, as the room seemed to contain everything, even some machines she couldn’t yet identify. She made her way through the various work desks, centrifuge machines, PCR machines, and supply cabinets, running her hand over the spotless counters and equipment, pausing occasionally to inspect something.

  There were three other individuals in the room. She recognized Dr. Leyden, who was fiddling with one of the PCR machines. Two younger women were standing at one end of the work desks speaking softly to one another. At precisely 8:00 A.M., Mr. Stevens entered the lab and approached Nysa.

  “Dr. Knight, a pleasure to see you again. Welcome to your main lab. Levels B-5 through B-10 of this facility are all laboratories. As the project lead, you are in charge of all of them, but you will be spending most of your time here.” He made a sweeping gesture to the massive room. “You have oversight responsibility in all areas of this project, but your primary duty will be the extraction of the DNA we will be using for this task. Tomorrow morning you will be provided with some samples containing blood and hair.” Mr. Stevens paced continuously among the workstations as he spoke. “The reason you were selected for this assignment is that Mr. Scario believes you to be one of only a handful of people who will be able to retrieve the sufficient amount of DNA necessary for the reassembly of the fragmented DNA and subsequent replication. This is the most crucial part of the whole process. If you are unsuccessful in your task, the DNA we are attempting to obtain and restore will be lost forever. Do you have any questions for me at this point in time?” as he finally came to a stop near the elevators.

  “Plenty,” Nysa stammered, “but first let me meet the rest of the team, settle myself in, and then if I still have questions I track you down. Agreed?”

  “Very well. Good luck, Dr. Knight.” Mr. Stevens turned and left the room. Nysa stood for a moment watching him go. She had been momentarily overwhelmed at the enormity of her task and especially at his statement that the DNA would be lost forever should she make a mistake. She fought off the panic building in her chest.

  Nysa meandered slowly through the lab, eyes shifting back and forth trying to take it all in. She checked the supply cabinets to ensure the proper equipment, enzymes, and chemicals were available to her. Of course, they were. She eventually arrived at the desk where the young women eyed her intently.

  “Good morning,” Nysa said, shaking hands with each of them. “I’m Nysa Knight.”

  “I knew it was you,” replied the shorter of the two. “She wasn’t sure, but I knew as soon as I saw you. I’m Mary Alice and this is Laura. We’re your assistants. We’ve got quite a broad range of experience between the two of us, so we’ll be able to help you with just about anything you might need. You name it and I’m sure one of us will be able to lend a hand.”

  Laura interrupted. “Mary Alice and I studied together at Yale. We were just discussing the advances you made in the field. I must say it’s refreshing to see a woman making breakthroughs. And not to sound like a brown-noser,” Laura shifted her weight and blushed, “but you are an inspiration to those of us trying to be taken seriously in this field.”

  “Thank you, I’m flattered. Hopefully when this project succeeds, you will have made names for yourselves as well. If this experiment is as revolutionary as it is secretive, I’m sure we all will have our pick of jobs. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mary Alice, and I look forward to working with you. You, too, Laura.” Nysa smiled at each of them and continued her review of the facility.

  She arrived at the PCR machine, a device used in the replication of DNA fragments. Dr. Leyden was still tinkering with the machine. “Good morning,” she greeted him.

  “Any new details on what exactly we are doing here?” he inquired.

  “Nothing more than we already knew. We’re cloning something. According to Mr. Stevens, I’ll be getting some samples with blood and hair tomorrow morning. Once I extract the DNA we need, I guess we’ll know a bit more. At least we’ll be able to narrow it down to human or animal. Have you heard anything?”

  “Nothing concrete, but with this much expertise floating around, and all the secrecy, I don’t think we’ll be cloning his dog. If I were a gambling man, I would put my money on an extinct species, but probably a human,” he replied while continuing to examine the equipment. He made minor adjustments to the machine and then spun his chair around to look at her. Smoothing his hair back he continued. “It’s the only explanation for why we’re all here under the conditions that have been set.”

  She was shocked into silence. Nysa had formulated her own speculations about their work, but to hear it verbalized so bluntly took her off-guard.

  “We’ll find out soon enough,” she stammered and walked away.

  Nysa spent the rest of the morning visiting the other levels of the building, inspecting the equipment, and introducing herself to the other doctors and assistants on the various floors. Dr. Leyden had been right when he said there was a lot of expertise here. Of the doctors she had met that morning, she had recognized almost all of them as leaders in cloning-related fields. Dr. David Eisenhauer and his wife, Alice, for example, had almost single-handedly perfected the nuclear transfer technique used in the cloning process. When there was a question in the scientific community related to this process, these two were the ones you went to.

  Dr. Stephen Phipps, while recognized as very knowledgeable in his field, was avoided by most other doctors. He had developed a reputation for thinking a little too far outside the box. Some of his most recent publications were outlandish at best, in most of the medical community’s opinions, and were published more due to respect
for his previous work than for his current contributions. Still, he was one of the best when it came to the identification of, care for, and implantation of viable embryos. He had spent most of his career researching various fertility treatments.

  The complex itself was amazing. After a brief tour she’d already discovered the medical facility on level B-4, a fully loaded day spa on B-3, and three restaurants, a cafeteria, and a bar on level 2. She found out upon her arrival on the second floor that the three restaurants were of different ethnic origins. Maybe this place won’t be so bad after all, she thought. Nysa strolled to the cafeteria, grabbed a sandwich, bag of chips, and a Diet Coke and went back downstairs to the lobby. She stepped out of the elevator and walked to the front desk where Bekki stood patiently.

  “Is there a place outside where I can sit and eat lunch? A picnic bench or table of some sort? It’s such a beautiful day, and I’d hate to spend all of it inside.”

  “Absolutely,” Bekki replied. “As you exit the front doors, walk out about one hundred yards following the driveway. When you get to the dead tree—don’t worry, you’ll know it when you see it—turn about forty-five degrees to your left and there is a nice picnic table under a tree about another one hundred and fifty to two hundred yards down. It’s very relaxing. There is a creek that runs close by so you can hear the water. Just don’t cross the creek. It’s the border of the grounds, and you don’t want to get yelled at by the guards. Have a nice lunch, and I’ll see you when you get back.” Bekki sat down and started working on her computer.

  The grounds were amazing. As she made her way down the driveway, Nysa basked in the afternoon sun. She passed the small trees that had started to grow on either side of the road and gradually came to a small path off to her left. Sure enough, there was a distinctly dead tree right where the path and driveway met. She turned down the path, entering the shadows of the older, more mature pines. She found the picnic area easily enough and sat down to eat her lunch.

  The sound of the water rushing and tumbling down the creek bed was soothing. The warm sunlight breaking through the dense trees in small lasers of frolicking light caressed the back of her neck and shoulders. The smell of pine was fresh in the air. Best of all was the lack of the normal honking, revving, and screeching brake sounds she was used to. With the exception of the splashing water in the stream, the breeze dancing through the leaves and the occasional birdsong, there wasn’t any background noise to speak of.

  She relaxed and ate her tuna fish sandwich, letting the sounds surround her and allowing the sunlight to drain away the stress of the morning. The sandwich was surprisingly good, considering she had bought it in the cafeteria. The chips, Flaming Hot Cheetos, were outstanding as always. When she finished eating, she sipped her Diet Coke and watched the leaves drift down from their homes high in the trees. Her mind drifted back to a day much like this one when she’d been able to spend the afternoon lying back in Alastair’s arms on a small blanket. They’d had a picnic in the woods and then spread a bedspread and had spent their day kissing and teasing one another.

  The peace of the moment was broken when she heard a branch break on the other side of the brook. Nysa, startled, snapped her head in his direction, attempting to locate the source of the sound. She had trouble spotting the intruder but was able to pinpoint the location when he finally spoke.

  “Sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to scare you. I hope you’re enjoying your lunch. It’ll be a while before we have weather this nice again, I can tell you that. It’s pretty rare to have such a temperate day this early in the year. Good day now.” And the guard continued on his way to whatever destination he had in mind.

  Nysa watched him go, thinking it strange that guards patrolled the grounds. Of course, if they really were cloning an extinct animal, she could understand how Mr. Scario wouldn’t want any outside observers. She had, after all, seen Jurassic Park. She didn’t really believe they would be cloning a dinosaur, as the facilities didn’t have that much security. The guard had been carrying a rifle, but Nysa figured it was more of a defense against animals on the outside than any animals being made on the inside. They were in the middle of nowhere as far as she could tell, and bears and mountain lions must roam through this area from time to time. On that note, Nysa finished her soda, gathered her trash, and started back to the labs.

  She was making her way slowly up the path when she heard a tremendous cracking sound above her. She looked up and saw one of the large branches overhanging the path breaking loose from the tree. She dashed forward in an attempt to get out from under it. Her blouse and lab-coat did little to protect her from the falling branch. As she leapt ahead, various twigs and limbs caught her shirt, gouging into her skin and stopping her forward momentum, causing her to then stumble backward into even more of the branches. As the tree limb settled, it pulled, poked, and scraped her, finally dragging her to the ground.

  The guard reappeared. “Are you okay?” he asked as he approached her. “What happened?”

  Nysa was trying to get back into an upright position but was having difficulty pulling free of the twigs. She was vaguely aware of the pain in her back but was focused on getting out from under the tree branch. The guard stepped forward and helped her to her feet. She saw his face contort as he glanced down at her back.

  “Looks like you might need to go to the medical facilities,” he stated. “I’m no doctor, but a few of those gashes might need some stitches.”

  They trudged back up to the laboratory, the young guard supporting her as the adrenaline in her system began to subside and the pain in her back became more and more pronounced. By the time they reached the medical floor the sentry was all but carrying her. He laid her gently on the exam table as a doctor and nurse entered the room. Nysa related the story of what had happened as they turned her onto her stomach so that they could examine and clean the wounds.

  “Mostly superficial lacerations from what I can tell,” the doctor noted. “There are a few that managed to cut a bit deeper, and I’d like to clean them more thoroughly and stitch them just to be careful. I’m sure you’d prefer I play it safe to reduce the chances of scarring.”

  “Yes, please,” mumbled Nysa as the nurse retrieved a suture kit. The guard walked to the door while the doctor picked up a syringe and began to administer the anesthesia.

  “Wait!” cried Nysa. The security man looked back at her. “I wanted to thank you for your help out there. It would have been pretty hard to get out of that tree and up here without your help.”

  “My pleasure, ma’am,” he replied. “Next time you’re wandering in the woods, look out for the wild trees. They look tame but can get pretty nasty.” He winked at her and left the room.

  Nysa laid her head back on the table and the doctor continued suturing her wounds, pausing every now and then to do additional cleaning. When he was done, Nysa went back to the main lab to let Dr. Leyden, Mary Alice, and Laura know that she would be taking the rest of the day off to recover, but that she would be back first thing in the morning. It took her a while to explain what had happened and to assure the two women that she was, in fact, fine and didn’t require their assistance in getting back to her room. Dr. Leyden seemed less concerned about her injuries and told her that he would remain in the lab for the rest of the day working, should she need to contact him for any reason. Nysa thanked them all and, grimacing as she walked, shuffled to the elevator and back to her room. Once there, she gently undressed and carefully laid down on her bed for a nap.

  I have heard rumors that the church is in possession of it. Is that possible? Can it have survived unharmed for so long? Oh, if I could look upon it once more I might be able to live again. How my life has fallen to ruins. I know I should be helping my fellow man, but worldly possessions have taken hold of me. I must take credit though; I have become quite successful in business and have accumulated quite a bit of wealth. Would the church sell me the shroud, the last remnant of his existence? my last link to a life I lived so long
ago?, I wonder? From my dealings with them in the past, I would guess not. I will have to find another way. Possibly a replica will quench my desire. There are quite a few promising artists that I have available to me. I think I will commission Piero’s son to make me a copy. I will have to find someone within the church who will allow him access to it so that he can recreate the image. I have some acquaintances who might be able to help me with that. With the right incentives, I may be able to sneak him in to the Vatican. I must be very careful though, they must not know why he is there nor what he is doing.

  February 1, 8:00 AM

  After stopping by the main labs to say hello and tell her partners she was okay, Nysa spent the rest of the morning checking all of the supply cabinets, advising the other doctors and technicians as to their objectives as far as she could make them out at the moment and to find out if any additional chemicals, machines, enzymes, or other supplies might be needed in their designated stages of the cloning process. She walked slowly, as her shirt and lab coat were rubbing on the wounds on her back. Although they were bandaged, just the weight of the fabric of her clothing was uncomfortable. But she persisted. She made a list of some chemicals she believed they were a little light on, just to make sure there were no delays in the process once it was started. She was probably being overcautious, but from what she knew of Mr. Scario, it was likely the best way to handle things.

  “Call and have someone bring these down,” Nysa said, handing her list to Laura upon her return to the main lab. “Or up, whatever,” she added as nobody seemed to know where the supplies were stored. Certainly there were other floors containing additional provisions, she just hadn’t seen them. Chalk it up to Mr. Scario’s secrecy.