Ami fetched the baby-wipes as Trips plugged up the bathroom sink and poured water into the basin. She lit more candles and put them on the shallow shelf in front of the mirror then stood at the ready with the baby-wipes. Trips washed until the water ran clear.
“You didn't get any in your eyes or mouth, did you?” Ami regretted it as soon as she asked.
“Oh, my God, Ami, I don't know!” Trips said in a pitchy voice as he pulled down on the rims of his eyes and looked at his teeth in the mirror.
If he panics, you’ll panic. Don’t panic. Ami gulped back the lump in her throat studying the red welt swelling under Trips’ stubbly beard. He pulled the plug and watched the dark water swirl down the drain.
“Probably shouldn't add that into the waterworks.” Ami cringed, again regretting she'd said anything. Blustering, she slammed into him and kissed him.
“Stop! What are you doing? Don't kiss me!” He took a baby-wipe from the package and wiped her mouth. “Idiot.”
“Phh,” she said, in a fake laugh, swiping the back of her hand across her mouth. “Nasty.”
He pulled more wipes from the package and daubed his face while perched on the rim of the tub. “God, my jaw hurts. What should I do? Maybe I should leave.”
“No, you’re not leaving. If you die, or turn, I'll have to kill us both, so don't do it.” He tried to rise and Ami wriggled in between his legs. “You’ve already been exposed to the water. Meantime, what would kill the pathogen? Think.” Ami twisted, rearranging the small bottles on the bathroom counter. “I have ammonia, but you can’t drink that...anyway...”
“Getting sprayed by the water main, now toxic blood? This can't be good. Where's your phone? Mine's dead.”
Ami smoothed Trips’ hair. “We’ll fix this,” she said as she stepped into the living room. She handed him her phone. “Call Ichiro, maybe he knows.”
“I should call my dad and get us airlifted out of here, is what I should do.”
“No, don’t. Please don’t. Either you’ll spread it or they’ll put you in quarantine and--”
Trips held up his palm. “Okay, okay. I’m calling Ichiro.”
They paced the floor in opposite directions.
“So, here's what we do,” Ami tapped her lip with a forefinger, “You take a mega dose of penicillin to get rid of any bacteria, you know, since the bacteria is the host at first, but we'll need to test the vector to figure out the incubation period.”
Trips gesticulated with a face-wipe, speaking into the phone, “Yeah, and like, I got freakin' vampire blood in my face! Like in my eyes and my mouth, Ich! Am I going to? You know...Am I?”
Ami turned on her heel, crossing toward the kitchen. “It’s the only thing we can do. We have to test you at the lab, and we'll need samples. We’ll have to pick them up along the way for comparison. Think my keycard still works?”
Trips turned and made eye contact with her. “Wait. What samples? You mean like vampire bits? Are you fucking crackers?”
Ami thumbed her hand toward the apartment door. “Yeah. Samples. In the hall.”
Trips eyes shifted to the door and back to hers. “That's zombie bits.”
They stared at each other. Ami raised an eyebrow. “It's a start.”
Trips nodded, and paced toward the kitchen. “Right, okay. She says we take zombie bits to the lab. Can we even get in the lab?” Trips asked gazing at Ami.
Ami nodded. “Ichiro can get us in if my keycard can't. Sit down.” She handed him a glass of scotch.
“Okay.” Trips clicked the phone off and sat down. “He'll come after the gig. Is that too long? I might turn by then. I need something to eat. Maybe that's how it starts. You get really hungry. You look pretty edible.”
Ami smiled, and took a sip from her glass. He downed his drink and leaned his chair back on two legs. She poured a little more into his glass. “You know, I have this feeling that you're fine. You've already been exposed to the real deal. If it doesn’t kill you, the antigen sets up and you have antibodies. Just a theory.”
“Like it. It's the I-won't-die-theory.” Trips said, downing his second pour.
Ami unwrapped the cellophane on a box of Scottish shortbread cookies. “If you get chomped you could get sick and die from sepsis, but turn? I don't know.” She took a cookie and passed the tin to Trips.
“Well, that makes me feel better... I guess,” he said, taking a handful of cookies.
Ami crossed to the fridge and got out a bottle of penicillin. “Prophylactic dose of penicillin.” She tossed Trips the medicine. “Probably still good.”
He took the pills and poured himself another two fingers, then said, “Wait. Why do you have penicillin?”
Ami arched an eyebrow and sauntered into the bedroom, Scotch in hand. “You can't drink if you're on that.”
“Wanna bet?” Trips said, following her in with the bottle and the cookies. “My charger!” he exclaimed, flopping on the bed. “Looks like Ichiro set up solar in here, but I'll configure it for the rest of the apartment, if I live that long.”
“You're not allowed to die on my watch. We should change into armor,” Ami said, undressing.
“Totally, but I’ve got to eat first.” Trips crunched cookies and walked off to forage in his supplies.
I’m not wrong. I can’t be wrong. You’ve got to be okay, but what exactly happened in the car. He looked at me, and something... Ami concentrated, and sighed. I just can’t remember. “Alexx can leave us in the gorilla cage at the lab with drugs to kill ourselves, if I'm wrong,” she called from the bedroom.
“Phh. Please. Why not just find a crypt, like Romeo and Juliet?”
“You’re such a romantic.” Ami turned the hex-nut ring on her finger, remembering the engagement ring Trips had offered her at his Uncle’s estate, but it was too grand. Instead, they’d found a drawer of hex-nuts in the barn. It had suited. She sighed. Going with you to the conference in Scotland, having a normal job, your Uncle’s estate, it all feels like a distant dream. I can’t accept this. You’ve got to be okay. You can’t make me fall in love with you and then die.
Trips crossed his arms over his bare chest leaning against the doorjamb. “Threw something in the oven. Gas is still working, so heating water on the stove.” He raised his right hand up. “All bandaged.”
Ami crooked a finger, and felt her face go hot, as she watched the light hair on his chest glistening like spun gold. “A little sexual healing?” I can’t believe I said that.
He cracked a sideways grin and lifted off the doorjamb. “Hmm, now, that’s an idea,” he said, sauntering towards her.
Ami’s stomach muscles clenched as he got closer. “In DC you were still suffering from that horrible bike accident in Boston.”
“But I was almost completely healed the next morning.” He knelt on the end of the bed.
“Thanks to your miraculous healing touch.”
Ami swallowed hard, salivating. “It worked in DC. You were still beat-up from your bike accident the night of the party, but then the next morning —”
Trips narrowed his eyes, mimicking thinking hard as he grazed his front teeth with the tip of his tongue and unbuttoned the top of his jeans. “You know, I think I remember, but maybe you can give me a refresher.”
Chapter 9: Left A Bit o' Meself Behind
At the street entrance to Black Hall Institute Laboratory, Alexx slowed the car. “Weird, it looks deserted. Used to have cops.”
“Where is everybody?” Ami asked, scanning the translucent worm of Tyvek tunnel that ran alongside the building.
Trips grabbed onto Ichiro’s headrest from the backseat. “We should take advantage of this.”
“Break in? Piece of cake,” Ichiro said, turning around in the passenger's seat. He made eye contact with Ami.
She noticed his eyes weren’t quite focusing on her. “No dippity-doo. That's not what I said.”
“What dude? The Emm-Cee?” He smiled. “That’s me.”
“What are you on?” Ami
scoffed.
“How was your gig?” Trips asked, frowning at Ami.
Ami rolled her eyes and turned away.
“Dude, they had a kickin' set-up and played Gold Finger clips. You would have dug it.” Ichiro looked over at Alexx. “I thought you guys weren't supposed to go to the lab.” He slid down in his seat. “How come it's all crunchy?”
Alexx glanced at Ichiro as she turned down the next side street. “We went over this, Bunny. We're going to the lab to test Trips 'cause he got vampire blood in his face when the moon roof broke, okay?”
Ichiro continued to marvel at the deep dent in the glove compartment. “Real dashboard, get it, dashboard?” Ichiro chuckled as he fingered the crack and released his chair back. “Lookout, dude. Nap time. Hey, there's no roof!”
Trips groaned as Ichiro's chair landed in his lap. “Geese, Ichiro didn't know you cared. Alexx, pull over, I've got to do something,” Trips said, trying to wriggle out from under Ichiro's headrest. Ichiro was already snoring.
Alexx pulled the car to the curb. Trips got out and slid the backseat headrest lock over. The seat folded down, bumping Ichiro’s headrest, but he barely stirred. Trips opened the passenger door, changed the angle of the headrests so that the back was under the front as zombies began to gather.
Alexx revved the engine. “Hurry up!”
“I am!” Trips yelled. A creature grabbed his shoulder. He wrenched it away. He kicked the zombie back, slammed Ichiro's door, opened the back door and slid butt first into the trunk.
Ami pulled his door closed and cried “Go, go, go!” Then leaned back holding her nose. “They stink so bad!”
Alexx gunned the car into the street plowing through three zombies. “I'm going to have to get a better brand of washer fluid,” she quipped, clearing brown goo from the windshield.
Trips leaned forward from the hatchback propping his feet on either side of Ichiro's head. “Not so bad,” he said, offering Ami a puffy faced half smile.
Alexx slowed the car into short-term parking. “This is so weird. There’s no guard.”
“Oi, Ichiro, wake up!” Trips barked, pushing the passenger’s seat forward as he pulled the chair lever.
Ichiro slammed headlong into the dashboard, then came up with his palms covering his bleeding nose. “What the hell, dude?”
Trips held up his hands. “It's the spring. I didn't mean to.”
Ichiro tipped his head back, his nose gushing blood. “Well, I’m awake now, jerk face!”
Alexx squinted at Trips as she shoved fast-food napkins up Ichiro's nostrils.
“Really sorry, Ich,” Trips said, sheepishly, darting a glance at Alexx. Ichiro jabbed his elbow into the seat upholstery, his head still at an awkward angle. “Maybe you should stay here Ich.”
“He’s not staying here alone, Trips,” Alexx said, dabbing at Ichiro’s upper lip.
“You can stay with him.” Trips twisted the hilt of his sword.
“We need him to wipe any trace of us on the computer.” Ami glanced at Trips and nodded at Alexx. “He’s coming with us.”
Ichiro's nose was a perfect mess of yellow napkin fluff, caked-on snot and dried blood by the time they were ready to exit the car.
Trips opened his door. “Okay, so you and me first Alexx. Then Ichiro and Ami.”
Ichiro slammed his door getting out. “Why you first? Huh?” His voice was strained and nasal.
“Shhh, they’ll hear us. Whatever. I'm sorry. Go ahead,” Trips said, pointing with his sword.
“No, you,” Ichiro said.
“Ugh.” Ami sighed. “Follow me.”
They followed her across the parking lot to the basement entrance of the building. The guard’s desk was abandoned. “We’re in the building but we still have to get into the lab.”
Alexx pulled out a handheld scanner. “Wish Ich wasn’t so messed up. It’s his. I don’t know how to use it.” She flipped the on switch.
Ichiro looked down at the machine. “That’s mine?” He took it from Alexx’s hand. Red laser light flashed around the room.
“Ugh, stop,” Ami said, shielding her eyes.
“Let me see,” Trips said. He scanned Ami’s card, then Alexx’s, pushed a code into the keypad on the machine then pointed the scanner beam at the barcode reader. After several tries, it clicked open. “Handy gadget that.”
Once in the lab, Ami felt more confident. She unlocked the supply closet, as Trips made himself comfortable spinning in a swivel chair. “Stop doing that. We’re not here to have fun. This is a huge deal, breaking in here.”
Ami briskly crossed to Trips and dropped a test-kit on the workbench counter, then she sat down at her desk. “Hurry up. We can’t stay long.”
Trips frowned. “What am I supposed to do with this?” he asked, tossing and catching the plastic bag as he spun in a slow circle.
“It’s self-explanatory. Come here,” Ami said, looking up from her computer screen.
Trips ambled over to her desk and plopped down in the seat perpendicular to hers.
Ami took the bag from him and held it up. “The test kit includes swabs for saliva collection, an automatic lancet and pipette for blood collection and phials for urine.” She said, identifying the various test tubes in the bag. “This one is for spit; this one is for blood, and this one is for pee-pee, okay? Don't contaminate them, and don't confuse them.” She handed him the bag and turned back to the computer. “Hurry up. I have to get my notes.”
“I can handle the spit and wee, but I'm not sticking myself with a needle.”
Ami huffed, ripping open the bag. She removed a length of rubber tubing, an alcohol swab, and jammed the plastic tube of the syringe between her teeth, then pushed up Trips' sleeve, tying the hose above his elbow. “Ready?”
“Ow,” Trips said.
Ami frowned at him, taking the syringe from her mouth and attaching a glass tube. “I haven't done anything yet.” She swabbed his inner elbow and stuck in the needle.
“Again, with the ow,” Trips said, frowning as the first of three test tubes filled with his thick red blood. “You need all that?”
Ami inverted each test tube, set them in a rack on her desk and bandaged him up. “Go, run do the rest,” she said, turning away as he stood up. “Go.”
“Where?” he huffed, fingering the remaining phials in the plastic bag.
Ami swiveled around in her chair, pointing toward the door. “God, Trips, downstairs! Follow the signs. Alexx is down there. She'll protect you. Just go do it! And fold your arm. Keep pressure on the bandage.”
“Meh,” Trips said, as he walked out of the laboratory.
“So high-maintenance sometimes,” Ami muttered, as she entered the pass phrase to get into the database. “Please work.”
She was in. She grabbed anything new the CDC had generated and started the file transfer to her laptop. In the meantime, she ran a list of queries for comparable data regarding blood type, emissions, antigens, antibodies and brain wave activity to draw together a list of symptoms.
Right away, she noticed a pattern. In zombies, new tissue didn’t integrate. Either they’d explode from over feeding, or they'd rot from the inside out. She also noticed that if zombies don't eat, they become increasingly plant-like and herd together for protection. So, there might be a way to control them, she thought, if they don’t feed.
The vampires showed something different. Blood was absorbed directly into the bloodstream. Even when starved, they exhibit increases in strength, speed, and agility.
Patterns of light sensitivity and a reconfiguration of bone structure were noted by the CDC. Vampires morphed into human predator hybrids with elongated snouts and jaws like wolves. Ami wondered if old stories about shape shifters were more than legend. Maybe this virus has occurred before in isolated areas.
She read about deaths from bleeding and bludgeoning. “So maybe they're like hemophiliacs. They can't rebuild tissue. How weird, so they don’t heal if they become injured? They bleed out?”
> She heard a noise and looked up from her computer. It was still. Nothing seemed out of place. She glanced at the clock. Damnit, samples should be on the block. We’d be half way to centrifuge by now. She took the zombie slop from her bag and Trips’ blood to the bio-bench and switched on the heat block. She looked up at the clock again. More time had passed than she’d expected. They should be back by now. Where are they?
She picked up her phone and texted Alexx, then tossed the phone on the desk and started processing the tissue samples. She transferred five hundred micro-liters from the sample tubes into the micro pipe headers and placed them into centrifuge tubes. She looked up at the clock again. I hope I have time for this. We need to get out of here before we’re found.
“Sure hope Ichiro has a shell program that can ghost the machine,” she said as she checked the data transfer. The little bar on the laptop screen was still filling and emptying. “Go fast thingy.”
She crossed back to the bio-repository to finish the first step of the DNA extraction when she heard a loud thud in the hallway. “'Bout damn time,” she said, carefully transferring the gel buffer. She looked up when she heard something scraping against the walls and scurried to the door, listening. “You guys?”
She stood stock-still. The noise stopped. Her fingers itched to unlock the door just as the handle rattled violently. Ami stepped back. Oh, my God, what do I do?
Sweat was forming on her upper lip as the back of her thighs hit the top of her desk. She looked down. She spied the cell phone. She picked it up. Her fingers streaking the cold glass with sweat. The phone lit up. It needs a code. Her scalp tingled. I can’t think.
The door handle rattled. She glanced at the door then back at the foreign object in her palm. It wants a number. She stared blankly at the phone screen unable to remember the passcode to unlock it. The door handle stopped rattling. Ami gulped in air trying to calm down.
Boston Under Siege (Book 1): Virus: Page 6