The Comatose

by Kate Myers

  Oh, and for the record, when I wandered a few words down in the dictionary to deratization, I was surprised to learn that there is an actual term for the extermination of rats. I guess we learn something new all the time.

  Deratization doesn’t really fit here, but dehumanization does. These deranged, they’re us, except they cannot speak, rationalize, be calm, and refrain from beating the crap out of anyone in their closest vicinity.

  The scariest part? It can happen to anyone. You, me, Keith, Max, A N Y O N E.

  It happened to Cynthia. It happened, and I couldn’t stop it, I couldn’t stop her.

  Keith reassures me that we are safe here, that no one knows where this place is, that the water is safe, the food is edible, and we can stay here until we figure out what to do next. At first, I didn’t believe him. It wasn’t until he went on and on about the solar panels, the water filtration system, and the pretty heavily stocked food reserves, that I finally was able to relax in the slightest.

  I didn’t understand how any of this worked, and almost immediately I regretted asking him. Keith is a man of precise knowledge. He’s analytical and one heck of a problem-solver. He has a knack for details, and I see it every morning while he measures his coffee, and in the excessive amounts of time he spends going over each piece in his mountain of paperwork. And I especially saw it as he dove straight into the details of the complex but yet simplistic efficiency of solar panels and how photo-something energy can be stored in rechargeable batteries.

  His explanation really was fascinating, but my eyes glazed over, and the more he spoke, the more I was distracted by how much he talks with his hands and how I really miss my bed.

  I really wanted to believe him, though. I thought we might actually be safe here. I thought I could finally slow down enough to process what had happened, what is happening.

  But I was wrong, and he was wrong.

  And as my gaze travels to the gun in my hand and across the room to Max, standing firmly in place, I swallow down the panic rising as another knock permeates the cabin.

  4

  Max

  The other person begins, “Oh, you’re going to freak them out. Stop. Let me talk.”

  Dad and I exchange confused looks, and my heart decides to speed up, somehow even quicker than my normal anxiety, and I think it might thud-thud out of my chest.

  Another knock.

  The same person speaks, but louder this time. “Keith, buddy, it’s Wiley. Are you in there? Let us in.”

  Quinn mutters something as Dad and I nearly trip over each other to fit through the bedroom door at the same time.

  We make it to the front door in record speed, and my mind races to make sense of the situation. This isn’t real, this can’t be real.

  Dad reaches the door first, forcing me to take a hefty step and stand behind him, eagerly waiting for what is about to happen.

  “I can hear you idiots in there, let us in.”

  My throat tightens around the words fighting their way out of my mouth. “It’s him, it’s really him.”

  Without even giving me a chance to process this information, the door is open, and Wiley has one arm around me and one arm around my dad, and we’re all smashed together in one huge hug, and I’m so overwhelmed with emotions and I’m so thankful and relieved, and then the realization of Skylar’s condition hits me like a freight train, and I can’t resist the tears anymore.

  Wiley laughs. “Max, ahh, buddy, you were that worried about me?”

  A man comes from behind Wiley. “I hate to break up this reunion, but I’m dying of thirst. I’m guessing you have uncontaminated drinking water here?”

  I wipe my face with the back of my hand. “You’re the guy, the guy from the warehouse.”

  “Yes, sir.” He extends his hand. “Alexander Sanchez.” His grip is firm and strong, and his dark eyes don’t break contact with mine as he clears his throat. “That water?”

  Dad interrupts, “Right, right, yes. We have water, right this way. We have a state-of-the-art filtration system fully capable of removing any contaminant with a carbon activated…” His voice trails off, and they turn toward the kitchen.

  “Where’s Sky?” Wiley asks enthusiastically.

  I take a deep breath and face him, surveying his face as he realizes something isn’t quite right.

  “Oh god, no. No. No, don’t tell me she’s…”

  “She’s here.”

  His eyes blank. “I don’t understand.”

  A million words try to form in my head, and I choke them all down.

  “Wiley, something happened. We don’t really know what it is yet. But, she’s here, she’s…”

  “You’re not making any sense, Max. What happened?”

  I let out a deep breath. “The day we got here, the driveway had washed out.”

  “Yeah, we had one hell of a time with that. Sorry, go ahead.”

  I raise my hand to my head and dig my nails through my hair.

  Shuffling from behind both startles and reminds me that Quinn is here.

  She conveys in a hushed tone. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but maybe it’s best if I talk to Wiley?”

  She strides from the bedroom and extends her small hand to him. “Hi, I’m Quinn. I know this is a lot to take in right now, so I’ll be quick and go over the basics. Skylar seems to be in some degenerative unconscious state. Keith and I have hooked her up to IVs and are doing around-the-clock monitoring of her progress, but we haven’t been able to really figure out what is happening, why it’s happening, and how to help her.”

  Wiley’s eyes widen, but he remains quiet.

  “Keith and I have determined that Skylar will need artificial nutrition soon if her current condition does not improve drastically, in order to prolong her life.”

  “Can I see her?”

  “Yes, of course, she’s right in here.”

  I follow closely behind as we make our way back into the bedroom. Laying his eyes on Skylar, Wiley clasps his hands over his mouth. He’s at her side immediately. He reaches down to move a strand of hair out of her face and murmurs, “Oh, Sky, this kills me to see you like this.”

  My hand finds its place to rest on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Wiley.”

  He turns to me with tears in his eyes. “You didn’t do this.”

  “I can’t help but feel like it was my fault.”

  “I know you would have never let this happen if you could control it. I know you love her, too.”

  And with his few words, all the pieces of me break all over again.

  Quinn resumes, “We know no known cause of her condition, which leaves us unable to properly treat her. There seems to be some possible correlation with the water contact, but we have yet to be able to determine anything sound.”

  “What do you mean, water contact?”

  Quinn looks up at me momentarily, almost asking for approval, or maybe offering an apology for what she’s about to say.

  “There was a…situation on the day we arrived. Like Max said, the driveway was out, so we had to continue on foot. We crossed the creek, and Max and Skylar we’re unable to successfully cross without completely going under. They got to the embankment, but Skylar was weak and showing signs of fatigue. Her symptoms quickly escalated, and before we reached the house, she had become unconscious. Her vitals have remained weak but consistent.”

  “There has to be something we can do,” Wiley intervenes.

  Dad and Sanchez enter the room.

  “This is what I was telling you about.” Dad motions toward Skylar.

  Sanchez hands Wiley a glass of water. “Here, drink.”

  Wiley reluctantly takes the glass. “Keith, you’re the smartest man I know, you have to fix this.”

  “Although I appreciate the compliment, I’m not a doctor. Luckily for us, Quinn was in her second year of medical school, but there are only so many tests we can run here.”

  I had no idea Quinn was studying to be a doctor, and I can’t
help but suddenly feel guilty for not making more of an effort with her when she was trying to help all along.

  Quinn begins, “We have limited supplies, and this poses our biggest issue in helping her.”

  The words are out of my mouth before I know it, “I’ll go.”

  “Now, now, we need to discuss this. No running off unprepared,” Dad interjects.

  “How long has she been in this condition?” Sanchez questions.

  “Roughly twelve days,” Quinn clarifies, matter-of-fact.

  “Interesting.”

  Everyone turns to glance at Sanchez, as if he may offer some kind of advice or input.

  “I’ve seen something similar to this before. You probably have, too, if you knew where to look.”

  Wiley becomes more alert. “Wait, is she? Is she one of them?”

  All business, Sanchez explains, “It’s possible, although each case seems to be different. I’ve never known one to hang on this long, but I’ve also only seen…”

  I cut him off. “No, she’s not like them. She’s shown no signs of aggression, she’s been unconscious!”

  Dad places his hands on my shoulders and breaks my concentration. “Calm down.”

  “How am I supposed to calm down when he’s saying she’s deranged?”

  Sanchez shakes his head. “Is that what you’re calling it? Anyway, no, that’s not what I’m saying. She’s not deranged, she’s… I guess we don’t have a name for it yet, but there are different ways this virus is impacting people.”

  Dad appears as if a lightbulb turned on above his head. “So you’re saying there are different strains?”

  “Exactly, so far, there are three.”

  We simultaneously ask, “Three?”

  “Yes, three. The deranged, as you’re calling them, the people in this condition,” he points to Skylar, “and the mind-controlled.”

  “Mind-controlled?”

  “That was the goal all along, until something went wrong.”

  5

  Max

  We are all sitting around the table, Quinn to my right, Dad to my left, Wiley and Sanchez across from me. It kills me a little every second I’m not next to Skylar, and I fight to keep myself planted in the seat. Dad called a meeting of sorts, so we could all try to get on the same page.

  “I just think it’s best to be transparent with information at this point,” Dad pleads.

  “Sir, if you’ll forgive me, it would take far too long to fill you in on every detail,” Sanchez replies. “Perhaps, more of a need-to-know basis would suffice.”

  I can’t help but feel like he’s hiding something. His close-cut hair is lined precisely; everything about him screams military or police of some sort.

  Dad shakes his head. “Could you at least tell us who, what, when, where, and why?”

  “This has been forming and coming into fruition for quite some time. These men are somehow more organized and seem to be more powerful than any other organization out there, including the government. The founding members are unknown, and the population of their organization is also unknown, along with the headquarters, if there even is one. They call themselves The Reformation, or individually The Reformers.”

  A collective silence fills the void.

  Sanchez takes a small breath, clearly annoyed with having to give us this information. “That answers your who, now on to the what. The Reformation was able to fabricate some type of mind-controlling bio-weapon as a means to gain control over the population. Over the last few months, they have been targeting easily to infiltrate cities. Columbus, Ohio, being one of those cities. The goal was to mind-control the population and essentially have all available resources for themselves.”

  Sanchez readjusts in his seat, appearing strangely uncomfortable all of a sudden.

  “That should cover your who, what, when, where, why.”

  He looks at each of us in the eye, one at a time, waiting for some type of response.

  Dad stares blankly at his fingers and then to Alex. “Do the cities Houston, LA, Seattle, or Denver mean anything to you?”

  Sanchez’s eyes flash to Dad. “Yes, sir, why?”

  “I found them, along with a few others on some paperwork I stole from DimChem.”

  “Those were the cities I mentioned earlier for being weak to this type of attack.”

  “It was the water supply, right?” Dad continues.

  The rest of us sit dumbfounded, either biting their nails (Quinn), rolling an invisible ball of lint between their fingers (Wiley), or nervously bouncing their knee up and down (me).

  “That was one phase, yes.”

  “There were multiple phases?”

  “Seasonal flu shots were also contaminated in most areas.”

  “Okay, so if I’m understanding this correctly, this group, The Reformists.”

  “That’s another word for them,” Sanchez interjects.

  “They fabricated a virus, to use as a bio-weapon, to gain control of the entire population, for personal gain, and were able to contaminate public water supply and tamper with vaccinations?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I can’t even begin to wrap my head around how that is possible.”

  “Sir, I told you, they are a very powerful organization.”

  “Okay, well then, tell me this, what went wrong, what happened? Because if I’m not mistaken, we’re not mind-controlled, and neither are those crazy people beating other people to death.”

  “You are correct in this assessment, sir. What happened is where I am drawing a blank. Something went wrong with the virus, and instead of there being one strain that produces the desired mind-controlled effect, there are the deranged, the mind-controlled, and those in Skylar’s condition.”

  My stomach tightens, and I can’t fight the urge any longer. I sit forward in my seat, elbows rested on my knees, still bobbing up and down. “I need to check on her.”

  It’s as if I’m unheard when Dad recalls, “The chemicals being used to produce the bio-weapon are highly unstable and have a high risk of failure, or, well, catastrophe, once used together. I ran lab work against the vials the men in black were forcing us to fabricate, and the redacted report, even though incomplete, proved that whatever they were forcing us to make was not good, not good at all.

  “I had the report in hand and was going straight to my boss to tell him I wasn’t wrong and show him the facts, so he would believe me. I couldn’t believe it myself, seeing him there. Lifeless.” His voice trails off. “I knew something really bad was happening and that maybe he was wrapped up in it himself. I had to get out of there.”

  Before I can even control my body, I’m standing, and words are coming out of my mouth. “I’m going to check on Skylar.”

  Quinn reaches forward and touches my forearm. “I’ll go with you.”

  I jerk away and find myself holding my forearm with my other hand, trying to rub away her touch. I have to immediately remind myself that she poses no threat, she’s only trying to help.

  “Sorry, I’m a bit jumpy.”

  “It’s okay.” She maintains her focus on the table.

  “You two go check on Sky; let me know if you need me. We’re going to continue to talk; I have more questions for Sanchez,” Dad orders, motioning toward Sanchez.

  “I’m just going to sit here and pretend like I’m not holy-shitting to everything being said,” Wiley chimes in.

  I cross the threshold to my bedroom and immediately notice Skylar looks paler than she already had become. My heart drops, and I’m by her side in a flash. Quinn fumbles with her IVs and takes Skylar’s blood pressure.

  “She needs nutrition,” Quinn acknowledges in a small voice. “It’s not a permanent fix, but it’s the only thing I can think of to prolong whatever life she has left so we can figure out what’s happening to her.”

  “What do you need?”

  Her eyes meet mine. “I know the basic supplies, but we need to get them at a hospital or clinic of some sort.”


  “Okay.”

  “What do you mean okay?”

  “There is an after-hours urgent care clinic in the next town. I’ll go.”

  “You need to talk this over with Keith.”

  “Fine, I will, but he’s not going to stop me. I won’t let her die, not like this.”

  6

  Keith

  There is this gnawing uncertainty, all the unknowns bubbling into this mess of a puzzle I can’t quite seem to figure out.

  A highly organized group of men has fabricated a weaponized virus to take over the population. To control us. To manipulate and use us for their personal benefit. But it didn’t work. Their plan partially failed because the virus mutated in some capacity and impacts individual people differently than they anticipated.

  I need to figure out why.

  The why to the failure seems to be because the chemicals were highly unstable, that part is obvious from the redacted report. But the why the virus is impacting certain people differently is still unknown.

  We are aware there are three strains. The deranged, the mind-controlled, and because of the symptoms, let’s call the last group the comatose. Are there other strains that we are unaware of? We have to also consider us—we are unaffected. Are we unchanged because we are immune or because we have not been contaminated?

  In regard to contamination, it seems the mediums used are the public water supply and vaccinations. That explains why the radio broadcast said to come in to receive the vaccine—they were targeting those who had yet to be contaminated. We skipped our flu shots this year, partially due to the inconsistent ineffectiveness they pose, not to mention how busy I got with life and simply forgot. The majority of people in the United States vaccinate, so it’s safe to assume the majority also has been infected with this virus. As for the water supply, well over three-quarters of the United States uses public water, so it’s also safe to assume those people were infected, too.

  I’m a stickler about clean drinking water, though, resulting in us not consuming tap water. We have a whole house water filtration system that reaches Wiley’s house, too. Because we live in a duplex, our homes are connected, and our basements are only separated by a door. It was a no-brainer to split the cost. All we had to do was get an extension on the unit and run the system on his end, too.