by Paul Seiple
"Chuck Mannis on line one," a robotic voice said.
Mitch paused the video at the point the guards dragged Ken from the main corridor of the cells.
"Chuck."
"This is going above my pay grade, Mitch."
"Are you asking for a raise?" Mitch asked.
"You know what I mean. It just hit Maryland. That's six states. I cannot keep downplaying the threat. At this rate, it will be nationwide by February," Chuck said.
"I'm paying you an absurd amount of money to downplay the threat. Do your job," Mitch said.
"I am doing my job. This thing you created doesn't want to stay hidden. It's practically screaming to be seen," Chuck said.
"Just a bit longer. We are close to a cure," Mitch said.
Chuck coughed. The sound blared through the speakers in Mitch's office and bounced off the walls.
"Don't tell me you're sick," Mitch said.
"I'm fine," Chuck said, clearing his throat.
"Scott Wright approaching," the robotic voice said.
"Chuck, I have to go. This may be the good news we've been waiting for."
Mitch ended the call.
"Chuck is a bit nervous," Mitch said, picking up his tea.
"Rightly so. You have him trying to hide a virus apocalypse," Scott said.
"If I didn't think he could handle it, he wouldn't be tasked with the job."
"Fair enough. I have some interesting news about Barber. I think you should come to the morgue."
The fifth floor of the ARMA building resembled nothing close to a morgue. There were five fifty-inch televisions mounted to a wall. Each monitored the spread of Judas in different states.
"We need a sixth television," Mitch said. "It's in Maryland now."
A ten-foot long table sat against the opposite wall. Five laptops, each with a different color screen saver, were on the table. In the middle of the room, Ken Barber lay on a metal gurney. A clear plastic tubing surrounding the body shielded Scott and Mitch from threat. Four metal arms dangled from the ceiling above Ken.
Scott stood at a machine with two handles that looked like joysticks on a control panel. He tapped a button. The front right arm over Ken jerked. Scott maneuvered the right joystick until the arm was resting over Ken's chest. The machine was reminiscent of games found at arcades that promised great riches if you could only grab them with the metal claws.
"His organs were intact. Which isn't surprising, given that he recently turned."
Scott lowered the arm and peeled the flesh away from Ken's chest. The screensaver on the first laptop faded and an image of Ken's lungs appeared.
"Perfectly healthy lungs. This is much different from Subject 16."
Scott pulled a keyboard from underneath the control panel and typed BECKY MONROE. The screensaver on the second laptop was replaced with the image of a teenage girl. A chart popped up to the right of her photo.
"Subject 16 was autopsied on December 10, approximately an hour after being exterminated during an assault. Given that there was no flesh in her digestive tract and the lessened degree of skin deterioration, I would place her turning very close to her extermination."
Mitch moved to get a closer look at the laptop. Becky Monroe was the image of a typical fifteen-year-old. She had long blonde hair, a bright smile, and a small patch of acne on her forehead. She was wearing a Moorehead softball T-shirt.
"Subject 16 was an athlete, in excellent shape, and no health conditions," Scott said.
He typed again. The laptop screen switched to an image of Becky's lungs.
"Notice the deterioration? 16 had the lungs of a ten-year smoker at the time of turning," Scott said.
"Are you telling me that in less than a month, this virus has evolved to the point it no longer damages organs?" Mitch asked.
Scott smiled. "Judas shows a remarkable fight to keep its host intact. Unlike something like Ebola, Judas understands that keeping a host alive is crucial to its survival, and it's experimenting with ways to preserve the host," Scott said.
"Amazing. Just like we are experimenting with ways to weaponize it," Mitch said. "I never liked chess, but this puts the game in a new perspective."
Scott tapped another button. The back-left arm jerked. He shifted the left joystick until the arm was inches above Ken's head.
"I'm not a neurologist, so I need to check with Rick on this, but look."
Scott guided the arm to pull back Ken's scalp. The screen on the third laptop displayed a close-up image of the remainder of Ken's brain after the gunshot.
"There isn't much there, but it's telling." Scott typed on the keypad, bringing up another image on the third laptop. "See that tiny green dot?"
Mitch squinted and nodded.
"It's a still functioning neuron," Scott said.
"Is that real-time?" Mitch looked at his watch. "Ken's been dead over twelve hours."
"It's happening as we speak. It's not uncommon for the brain to continue to send signals for a few minutes after the heart stops. But this is unheard of. It's as if Judas is trying to jumpstart a dead battery. In this case, it's Barber's brain," Scott said.
"The virus is still alive inside of him?" Mitch asked.
"Not only is it alive, it's trying to save the host."
"And in 16? Was Judas still present after extermination?" Mitch asked.
"Nope. There has never been a trace of Judas in any of the autopsies we've performed. It's as if Judas wiped the host clean of its presence once it realized the host was no longer sustainable. Until now," Scott said. "There's no way Judas can regenerate brain matter, but this explains why the dead... well... why they don't die until the brain is damaged."
"Why do you think Judas is trying to present in Barber?" Mitch asked.
Scott smiled again. "Because of another new development."
The fourth laptop's screensaver gave way to an image of cells under a microscope.
"This was a sample taken from a subject in the holding cells about a week ago," Scott said. "Judas is extremely active. I assume it's attempting to create the new form of Staph to help preserve flesh."
"Ok," Mitch said.
"And this is from a sample of Barber's flesh. There is absolutely no sign of the virus, yet we know it's there because it's attempting to kick start what's left of his brain," Scott said.
"Judas has found a way to make itself invisible?" Mitch asked.
"I think it's always had the ability to go unseen. I thought it jumped to a stronger host after extermination, but it seems to have the ability to hide in a dead host, at least for twelve hours," Scott said. "The strain in Barber has not had the opportunity to jump to another feeding source."
"Biding its time until another host comes along?" Mitch asked.
"Exactly. It's highly intelligent. There is no doubt it understands the importance of survival for every last strain. This is not like zombie movies where the hero shoots the dead in the head and the threat is eliminated. The virus lies dormant. If someone who isn't immune comes in contact with Judas even in an exterminated host, infection occurs."
"The physiology is taken from the flu strain?" Mitch asked.
"That's why it's spreading so fast," Scott said.
"Carolyn Swann said she couldn't perfect an airborne transmission. I thought she lied to me when it began to spread," Mitch said.
"I don't know if she lied or not. What I know is Judas has an incredibly high contagion rate," Scott said.
"How long can it survive in a host after the brain has been destroyed?"
"I'm hoping Barber will answer that question. We need to be very careful with this, Mitch. The virus is unpredictable and has proven to be a formidable enemy. I was cursing the flu in 2009 from my bed. Now I'm thankful for it."
Mitch tapped Scott's shoulder. "Judas is not our enemy."
“That may be true, but I can cite numerous instances in history when allies stab one another in the back,” Scott said.
Eight
"So you really
have no idea where we are going?" Liz asked, tearing open a package of peanut M&Ms.
"Not specifically. But I think we should try North Carolina."
Liz shot a puzzled look at Alan. "Back to the place where the bad men are trying to kill you?" She added a sarcastic emphasis to "bad men" to let Alan know how ludicrous his plan seemed.
"Well, hopefully, we're going to avoid the bad men." Alan matched Liz's sarcasm. "I'm banking on the people who I saved still being there."
"And who did you save?"
Liz shoved a handful of M&Ms into her mouth. When she was nervous, Liz always turned to a candy rush. She also spoke with her mouth full. It was a pet peeve that made Alan's skin crawl, but seeing her now, after so long, it didn't matter. Liz was as perfect as the day they met in sophomore English so many years ago.
"Q Warren and Nick Preston," Alan said before taking a swig of cherry Pepsi.
"Surgeon General Q Warren?" Liz asked.
"Yeah."
"He's dead," Liz said. "Nick Preston too. They were in a car wreck a few months ago. I didn't know Preston, but I knew his brother, James, who died in a plane crash. That family must be cursed. Or either lucky as hell, considering what’s coming."
"James isn't dead. I highly doubt Q and Nick are dead," Alan said.
"How do you know James isn't dead?"
"Nick had communications with him. James is hidden somewhere. ARMA wants to find him because he knows everything about Judas. So that makes him dangerous."
"Like you," Liz said, popping the top on a Mountain Dew.
Alan nodded and continued. "Mitch ordered the capture of Nick. Q happened to be with him. But Q figured out Judas as well. Mitch needs Nick's tech savvy. I feel they all are alive, but Nick is the only one Mitch wants to keep alive."
"What makes you think they are still in North Carolina?" Liz grabbed more M&Ms. "They are smarter than you. I would think they would know to get as far away from the people hunting them as possible." Liz flashed a quick smile to let Alan know she was half kidding. "And what makes you think they will help you?"
"They will help us because they are smarter than me, and even I know to help someone who saved my life." Alan returned the smile. "I think they are still in North Carolina because I don't think James is too far from there."
"Why?"
"Wouldn't you rather listen to the radio than listen to my voice?" Alan asked.
"Yes, but you've gotten me into some deep shit, and I need to know everything. So spill it."
"James, along with Carolyn Swann, Bob Salk, Richie Kincaid, and several others were sent to a small town in Carolina called Black Dog to try to stop the spread of Judas..."
Liz cut Alan off. "The town where that fertilizer plant exploded?"
"Let me finish. Tom Hendricks was head of operations at ARMA. He devised an experiment to test Judas in the wild. Hendricks thought he could contain it to two people and watch its progression. He severely mistook Judas's capabilities. In less than a week, over half the town was sick. That's where James and the others come in. They couldn't stop it either."
"What really happened to Black Dog?" Liz asked.
"The virus wasn't intended to be a weapon. It was created as a need for the actual weapon called The Judas Kiss. The Kiss was a smart bomb small enough to fit in the palm of your hand. It could be programmed for specific targets. Hendricks had the first batch programmed to seek out and eradicate Judas in Black Dog."
"It didn't work?" Liz asked.
"No, it worked. What's left of Black Dog is probably the safest place to be right now. I guess Judas hitched a ride on someone who escaped before the bombs hit."
"James?" Liz asked
"He isn't sick. Well, he wasn't last time I saw Nick. The main selling point of the bomb was to reduce civilian casualties. Anyone not infected with Judas was spared. So I’m guessing someone had to be infected or a carrier. I'm not the doctor here."
"Good thing," Liz said. "Did you ever think ARMA didn't want the virus contained to Black Dog?"
"Not until I learned Mitch Ashe wasn't too concerned with the spread of Judas," Alan said.
"And who is Mitch Ashe?" Liz asked.
"A billionaire entrepreneur with an ego the size of New York City."
"Before or after this virus wipes it out?" Liz asked. "Wait, is Ashe the guy who got into all that trouble with that DNA company? Wasn't he selling the results or something?"
"It was never proven, but yeah, probably."
"So why put it out there that James died in a plane crash?" Liz asked.
"Same reason Q and Nick died in a car crash. Their disappearances have to be explained in order to silence questions," Alan said.
Liz reached for Alan's face and stroked his cheek next to the scratch Elliot left.
"I'm okay," Alan said.
"You don't feel sick?" Liz asked.
"No."
"Will you tell me if you start feeling the symptoms?"
"Of course," Alan said.
"What are the symptoms?" Liz asked.
"I don't know all of them. The main one is an acquired taste for human flesh," Alan said. "If I start looking at you like filet mignon, will you kill me?"
"Oh, it will be my pleasure." Liz smiled again and sipped the Mountain Dew.
"I've missed your sarcasm," Alan said.
"Who said I was being sarcastic? You're a real asshole. Well, you were a real asshole before this, but now you've gone and played mad scientist..."
"I know, Liz. I'm going to end what we've started or die trying. Once we find a safe place, we can go our separate ways, and you'll never have to see me again. I have to make sure you're safe, though. So you're stuck with me until then."
Liz took another swallow of soda. She wouldn't dare say it to Alan, but part of her was happy to be stuck with him again. To that part, it didn't matter if he played a part in destroying so many peoples' lives. Liz knew it should, but Alan was actually being vulnerable and open. Alan was secretive for the last few years of their marriage. This was the Alan she loved. And that love was strong enough to mask that her ex-husband was responsible for the death of innocent people. She wanted to hate him, but she couldn't.
"We need supplies," Alan said.
"Yeah, I'm out of M&Ms."
"You're a doctor. Do I need to tell you how bad those things are for you?" Alan asked.
"That's rich. You're drinking soda. Do I need to tell you how bad that is for you?"
Alan sipped the Pepsi. "New rule. No stones in glass houses. Besides, you're drinking Mountain Dew."
"Hey, we may die tomorrow," Liz said.
"We're not dying tomorrow."
Alan pulled the SUV into the parking lot of a hunting and outdoors store. The parking lot was empty except for the small white security car parked near the dumpsters.
"You know they are not open, right?" Liz asked.
"I'm aware of that," Alan said, stepping out of the SUV and opening a back door.
"You're going to rob Dick's on Christmas Eve?"
"Technically, I think it's Christmas Day now," Alan said. He smiled as he held up a crowbar.
Nine
Katie Grossman tapped the screen on her watch. Only fifteen minutes had passed since the last time she checked, but it felt like hours. The flight was sixteen hours in. The worst was over. Only two more hours and Katie would land in Shanghai for a cybersecurity conference. She still couldn't believe her company had her fly out the day after Christmas.
Two hours would feel like an eternity if the older gentleman sitting across the aisle from Katie didn't stop coughing. She had no reason to believe he would. The man hacked the entire flight. Katie's noise-canceling headphones were no match for the deep, dry cough. It wasn't the sound that bothered her as much as the number of germs spread by each cough. Katie kept thinking back to a documentary on how the flu spreads. A single cough sends an average of three thousand droplets of saliva into the air. Some at speeds up to fifty miles per hour. Being a numbers p
erson, Katie figured the man averaged a coughing spell every five minutes. Most of them bordered on violent. At that rate, he had infected the entire plane.
Katie was a germaphobe. She didn't shake hands. She fist-bumped. She always had hand sanitizer. That would be no defense against the sickened air. She closed her eyes, slipped the headphones back over hear ears, and tried to disappear into a podcast about the sinister side of social media influencers.
Oliver Wright felt fine when he boarded Flight 297 to Shanghai. He was excited for the much-needed time away from the corporate world of technology, although it wasn't going to be much of a vacation. The cybersecurity conference was set to last three days, but it gave him a reprieve from the scandal at TechFirstFright, an online game about a serial killer that grew into a worldwide community. Someone decided to honor Malcolm Frank Montgomery, the killer in the game, by murdering five people over the course of three weeks. The break from emails and calls from the media requesting a statement was welcomed.
The coughing started just after take-off. Oliver was surprised he hadn't caught a cold until now. Being the chief information officer for TFF and dealing with five deaths had his stress at near heart-attack-inducing levels. Oliver's immune system had to be bearing the brunt of the worrying.
He felt worse as the trip progressed. The hint of a tickle in the back of his throat turned into a scratching that felt like it was being shredded in a cheese grater. He developed a dull ache behind his eyes about three hours in. An hour or so later, a burning in his throat felt like salt sprinkled into an open wound. It was followed by the sour taste of the breakfast sandwich Oliver ate while rushing to a security check before the flight. Oliver wasn't a stranger to the feeling. He’d dealt with acid reflux most of his life. He knew it would happen after scarfing down breakfast, but this was more intense. The accompanying nausea made Oliver miserable. Travel sickness wasn't on his list ailments.