With the Rising, his dogged obsession in all things microscopic had become one of the greatest assets in mankind’s arsenal. Professor Cutler liked that, not that it hadn’t always been true, but at least now the world knew it.
Well, what’s left of the world.
And with no intellectual equals within two thousand miles, he’d got the girl as well. Professor Cutler also liked that. Recognition and a healthy sex life. Had there ever been any other research professor in the history of mankind who could boast that? For one person, at least, the global catastrophe had worked out just fine.
Cutler sat back down, content with the thought as to how fortunate he was, regardless of how well deserved it may be.
He pinched the first pipette between thumb and finger and corrected the angle by a fraction of a degree. Satisfied all was regimented to perfection, he leaned back and stared at the computer screen, willing it to life. Eventually the screen lit up, accompanied by a soft chord of strings. Professor Cutler took no time to bring up the program that interfaced with the microscope. On the screen a glowing white blur appeared. Contented everything was in place, he launched the recording software.
“Test serum one-one-seven,” he said into the microphone beside the monitor.
He picked up the syringe and squirted some of the still warm blood into the petri dish. Setting it aside, he picked up the vial, and despite the lack of purchase from his latex gloves, he twisted off its cap with ease. Reaching across the table he picked up the first pipette, dipped it into the container and drew up a drop of serum. The droplet was added to the pool of blood and Cutler used the tip of the pipette to stir the elixir in. Happy that it was thoroughly mixed, he placed the petri dish under the microscope and dropped the used instrument into the bright yellow medical waste bin beside his workbench.
The screen flooded with a view of corpulent red blood cells and the room took on a pink hue as the computer monitor turned crimson. Professor Cutler adjusted the focus to see the blood cells before picking up the second pipette.
He sucked up a small amount of ooze from the container holding the loathsome zombie bile and brought it over the dish with his blood.
His hand hesitated, hovering over the petri dish as if he were waiting for the light to turn green or a starter’s whistle to sound its shrill call.
A little mantra, (a prayer would be the correct term if Professor Cutler were religious,) circled in his mind.
“This will work this will work this will work.”
Slowly he lowered the virus laden fluid into the blood.
* * *
Nathan emerged from the bathroom, face clean-shaven with red, leopard spot nicks. He rolled up the very corner of his towel and wedged the point into his ear. Swirling the tip frantically as he did reminded Sarah of a dog scratching an itch.
Standing in front of her with just the towel in his hand and the one around his waist, Sarah was struck by how skinny he was. She hadn’t seen him in this state of undress for such a long time. His muscles were well defined, but instead of looking toned he just looked gaunt.
She looked down at Jennifer on the bed beside her. She too was thin, but it was more due to the growth spurt she’d had in the last few months than malnourishment. When Ray had come to Sarah at the end of February with the stock take, they had all cut their rations even further, with the exception of Jennifer’s.
Nathan took the towel out of his ear. “This is the weirdest thing to feel. Like...” He paused, searching for the right words.
“Like things are normal,” Sarah said as she stroked a brush through Jennifer’s damp hair.
“Yeah,” Nathan agreed. He walked over to the dresser, rubbing the towel to his head, giving his damp hair a final rubbing. Hanging from the side of the unit was his drying Nirvana T-shirt. The faded shirt looked newer, the water sodden fabric making the colours appear darker than usual.
Nathan threw the towel he’d been using for his hair over the back of the room’s solitary chair. He reached onto the dresser and picked up his leather wristband. There was an almost imperceptible tan line across his forearm where he wore it and the brown leather of the band was scuffed and cracked, but the distressed look had been in fashion before the Rising and Nathan had said it added character. As he fastened the leather strap by its plain silver buckle, Nathan caught a glimpse of his arm.
“Jeez, would you look at that,” he said, displaying the underside of his arm to Sarah and Jennifer.
Around the grey square of residual glue left from a sticking plaster was the puncture mark from where Doctor Robertson had taken blood. Around the small red hole was a coin-sized bruise, bright purple and angry.
“That looks sore,” Jennifer said.
Nathan prodded at the bruise, gently to start with, then deeper. “Nah, its fine.”
“I thought Doctor Robertson told us to keep the plaster on for twenty-four hours,” Sarah said.
“She did. Must have fallen off in the shower,” Nathan said, continuing to poke at the discoloration.
“You’d better go and get it. I don’t want to find a used plaster stuck to my toothbrush.” Sarah screwed up her face and made an ewww sound as she stuck her tongue out at Jennifer. Jennifer giggled and joined the chorus.
“I’ll look for it in a minute,” Nathan said as he felt his T-shirt. Feeling the garment was still wet, he turned back to Sarah. “Is there an iron in here?”
“An iron? No I don’t think so,” Sarah answered. “What do you want that for?”
“Take some of the dampness out of my shirt,” Nathan replied.
“Why not get some clothes from the ship’s stores?” Sarah asked, looking at the shabby T-shirt. Rather than trying to launder out the grime and viscera of their rescue, Sarah had settled for a pair of jeans and a military style green shirt.
Nathan feigned shock. “And lose my identity along with everything else?”
“They’ll clean it and hand it back,” Sarah said. “You’ll be missing it for a day or so. That’s what I did.”
“I don’t like other people doing my laundry. They always do it wrong. Like when Elspeth put in that fabric softener that brought me out in a rash.”
“That was only once,” Sarah countered, “and she felt guilty for months after.”
“I wish Elspeth were here,” Jennifer said in a quiet voice.
Sarah paused from brushing the young girl’s hair. “I know, we all do.”
“Will she have turned by now?” Jennifer asked.
Nathan looked at Sarah, his face blank in shock at the question.
Jennifer hadn’t been her normal boisterous self and Sarah now realised that she’d been too busy with her own grief to think about Jennifer’s.
When Sarah didn’t answer, all Nathan could let out was a dumb ummm sound.
“That would depend on the infection,” Sarah said. “Some people last longer if they’re stronger or if there wasn’t much infection.”
The simple explanation called up dozens of faces for Sarah. The faces of the people she had seen turn. The first one had been her flatmate.
Sarah had awoken to the sound of pounding coming from the landing outside. There was a jingling noise and as Sarah drew closer to the door, a whimpering sound like an injured dog came from behind it. Through the spyhole, Sarah could see light and shade twist through the glass as someone or something scratched and thumped outside. Just as she was about to turn the lock, the door flew open and in stumbled her flatmate Tricia. Her face was pale with wide, raw eyes staring out at Sarah. She lurched forward, almost collapsing as Sarah reached out to steady her.
“Lock it!” Tricia screeched as she slumped down the wall. It was only then that Sarah noticed a glistening trail of blood had followed her in.
Seeing the blood, Sarah had knelt down to help her friend.
“The door! Get the friggin’ door,” Tricia hissed.
Tricia’s keys were still in the door and around the barrel of the lock were gouges where the keys had
scratched into the paintwork. A scream echoed up the landing and Sarah thought she saw figures in the hall below. She didn’t wait to get a good look. Instead, she had yanked the keys free and shut the door.
“What happened? Are you okay?” Sarah blurted out.
“No, I’m not okay!” Tricia sobbed, tears streaming down her face. “Some fucker attacked me! There’s a riot goin’ on!”
Upon Tricia saying that, Sarah had become more attuned to the sounds from outside: breaking glass, shouts and screams all punctuated by distant sirens.
This had been Sarah’s induction into the Rising and Tricia was only the first person Sarah would lose to it.
“Will the soldiers shoot her when she turns?” Jennifer asked.
Sensing Sarah’s mood darken, Nathan tried to shut down the conversation. “Let’s not talk about this just now.”
“I’d want to be shot,” Jennifer added. “I don’t think it would be nice to come back. I wish we were all here.”
“I wish that too, Jennifer.” Sarah said hugging her close. Tears started rolling down her cheeks and onto the little girl’s hair. “I wish they were here, too.”
Nathan sat down on the bed next to Jennifer and put an arm around both girls. “You made the right decision, Sarah,” he said, trying to comfort her. “You made the only decision.”
“What about the rest of them, Nathan?” Sarah asked, more tears in her eyes. This morning the last of her hope, exhausted by melancholy and the chorus of moans outside, she had decided to die. Now that disregard for her own life had brought the reckless deaths of her friends. “It wasn’t the right decision for them.”
“Ryan’s with those Marines. He’ll be all right,” Nathan said, feebly trying to placate her.
“It’s my fault,” Sarah sobbed. “If we’d just have stayed put, maybe signalled the helicopter or something, rather than running for it…”
Nathan squeezed his fingers gently into Sarah’s shoulder. Her soft warm skin had an addictive quality to it. Her vulnerability just made him long to be close to her. He said, “If we’d have stayed, we would all have died of hunger, or been overrun trying to get food.” He squeezed her shoulder again and stroked his palm down her arm. “Remember the Hanson brothers. And if we’d have signalled the chopper there’s no telling if they would have seen it and we would still have had to gone outside. No, you made a good call and we all agreed with you. No one argued against it because we knew it was our only hope.”
“It’s just so wrong, it’s all so wrong,” Sarah protested at the injustice.
Nathan reached over and kissed her tenderly on the cheek. “We’re safe now.”
“Nathan don’t,” Sarah snapped and pulled back.
Nathan let his embrace slip and he sat back.
“Don’t what?” Nathan rubbed at his eyebrows with his thumb and forefinger. “I mean, I’m just... We’re only...”
Not for the first time, Nathan couldn’t find the words. He stood up, grabbing his jeans and his wet T-shirt.
“Fuck it. I’m going to find an iron,” he said, discarding his towel as he hopped into his jeans.
“Nathan,” Sarah reluctantly called out in a weak voice.
Nathan ignored her, and barefoot he padded out of the cabin, clutching his wet T-shirt.
* * *
The door to the laboratory burst open and Doctor Robertson stomped in. Cutler smiled without looking up from his work. When Amy got into a mood like this it reminded him of little girls pretending to be grown up, chastising dolls with stern looks and wagging fingers while they clomped around in mummy’s shoes. A snort came from behind him.
“The Captain just threatened to have us executed!” Doctor Robertson exclaimed.
“Just in time with the liquid nitrogen. I want to preserve some of these samples.” Professor Cutler held out a petri dish, gaze still firm on the computer screen.
Doctor Robertson thumped the flask of liquid nitrogen onto the workbench and snatched the sample out of his hand.
“Aren’t you listening to me?!” Doctor Robertson placed a forceful hand on Cutler’s shoulder and spun him round to face her. “He’s threatening to kill us if we don’t start producing results and bowing down to his orders!”
“Amy my dear, you know he can’t do that.” Professor Cutler clasped her free hand in both of his. “What would Ascension Command have to say if he came back without us—and more importantly, without our research? Hmmm...”
Doctor Robertson pulled her hand away from his light grip. “He’s got two people left on the mainland and he’s looking for an excuse to blame us.”
“Well, that’s terrible, but I think these latest findings will placate him.” Cutler let a smile grow on his thin lips. “The resequencing worked this time.”
He clicked on the mouse and zoomed in on the blood sample, bringing the cells into sharp focus.
Doctor Robertson’s face dropped in disbelief. She bent down to stare at the screen.
“Look, the pathogen isn’t affecting the sample,” Cutler said as he moved out of her way.
“That’s amazing!” Doctor Robertson gasped.
“The tissue immunised with the modified agent shows normal cell function,” Professor Cutler said, trying not to sound boastful.
“Which one?” she asked.
“One-one-seven-A,” Cutler replied.
“This is a huge leap forward,” Doctor Robertson said, still stunned by what she saw on the screen. A wave of excitement rushed up within her. After four years of dead ends and failed experiments, here was the first tangible breakthrough. She turned round to face Professor Cutler, and grabbing him by the lapels of his lab coat she pulled him in, planting a huge open-mouthed kiss on his lips.
When Amy finally pulled away, Cutler was short of breath, grinning and very turned on. He caught his breath and let his pragmatism take hold.
“It’s just a blood sample,” he said. “We won’t know if it works until we test it on a living human being.”
“But we’d need to immunise them, then deliberately infect them,” Doctor Robertson said, still flushed from the kiss.
“I know, it’s unethical. But we don’t have to deliberately infect anyone. We can immunise the collection party,” Professor Cutler reasoned. “I mean, what’s their attrition rate at the moment? One in ten? Okay, the study will take longer, but—”
“No, no, no,” Doctor Robertson said, tapping a finger against the desk as she thought. “It would never work. The Captain wants results now, and he’s not willing to risk any more men. We have to think of a quicker way of proving it. Still, it’s a tremendous breakthrough.”
Cutler nodded in agreement. “And for once, something the Captain can understand.”
* * *
Bates stomped towards the ship’s makeshift gym to work out some of the frustration boiling inside him. For the second time today Patterson had interrogated him over what had happened on the mainland. Annoying though this was, what really pissed the marine off was the news that the rescue operation had been postponed. Bates figured that battering hell out of the bench press was preferable to battering hell out of the executive officer—or battering hell out of Lawrence French for his remarks about promotion through attrition. Bates knew that if anyone could survive on the mainland it would be Cahz. But he also knew the longer he stayed there the higher the likelihood that something would go wrong.
The gym was the best idea. If he struck a superior officer it would exclude him from the rescue operation. Patterson and Bates didn’t get along and the executive officer would use any excuse to put him back in the brig.
As he marched past the open armoury door he spotted Idris with a trolley of stacked ammunition.
“Where you going with that?” Bates asked.
“Just loading the bird up,” Idris answered, a nervous smile on his face. “You know, prep for the rescue mission.”
Bates folded his arms. “Patterson’s just told me the op’s been scratched due to the storm.
”
“Yeah, it was,” Idris said, trying to push past Bates. “I’m just getting organised to take off when the weather clears.”
“You know it’s against regs to store ammo in the chopper if it’s being tied down for a storm.” Bates lent against the bulkhead, deliberately blocking Idris’ way. “Hey, wait a minute...”
“Bates...” Idris looked around checking to see if Bates was the only one within earshot.
“What?” Bates said, trying to keep his smile from detracting from his innocent tone.
Idris placed a finger up to his lips.
“Ahh,” Bates said as he mimed zipping his mouth shut.
Idris took one last look around before continuing to load up the trolley. He asked, “How the hell does someone so dumb live so long?”
Bates took the ammo box Idris was struggling with and stacked it on top of the rest. He replied, “I stay alive by avoiding doing stupid things like flying out to the mainland in a storm!”
“Storm’s four hours away,” Idris said. He lent in closer to Bates. “That gives me time to find Cahz and the rest before it hits.”
“But that chopper won’t fly in a storm,” Bates pointed out. “Even if it does, you can’t land it back on the ship with thirty foot waves.”
Idris shook his head, “I ain’t coming straight back.”
Domain of the Dead Page 8