Elixr Plague (Episode 3): Pandemic

by Richardson, Marcus

  "Don't worry. I've got my best people on it. We'll get you that sample," Desmond said, extending his hand. They shook, and he left the lab in higher spirits, despite the dark news he’d received from his new head scientist. No wonder Norman Yang had acted so uncharacteristically in the final month or two of his life. He’d known that whole time about his daughter, and the poor man didn't—couldn't—tell anyone.

  Th sadness in Desmond Martin’s heart turned to a rock hard desire for retribution. Norman Yang had been one of the few true friends that Desmond could claim in his adult life. Most people were attracted to him for his money and power. Yang had been a truly likable man. And he had paid the price for getting too close—it was a fear he secretly harbored for his wife as well.

  As Desmond stalked down the corridor past room after room where white-clad scientists inspected bits of equipment or reading test results on monitors, his mood darkened. He had done everything in his power to create something beautiful, to help mankind ascend to a higher level of existence, and a group of cretins—hung up on religion and stuck in a world that hasn't existed for 600 years—destroyed all of it out of pure, blind puerile hatred. And now, mankind was balanced on the knife edge of extinction.

  Desmond nodded to Teddy and the others waiting at the elevator shaft to take him back down to the tunnel level. He swore to himself that if he did nothing else in the remaining days of his life, he would at least accomplish two things. One, he would devote every ounce of power and influence at his disposal to reversing the Elixr Plague and re-creating the original formula. It was the least he could do for mankind, to at last provide the gift of a long, healthy life, especially after unleashing such a nightmare upon the world's population.

  And two, he would see to it that those responsible for corrupting his dream would beg for death. A slow, painful death.

  10

  Splintered

  Viking Museum

  Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan

  Darren stared at the others after his pronouncement of a new Dark Age.

  “Dramatic much?” snorted Brandon.

  “Think about it,” Darren said, spreading his hands. “They locked down Manhattan, we all know that. Professor Turgin said before he left this morning that LA is under quarantine, too. And now this…in Chicago? That’s practically our backyard, guys.”

  “On the other side of a Great Lake and the whole state of Michigan, yeah…I’m more worried about Detroit than Chicago.”

  “You’re missing the big picture, Brandon,” Darren pressed. “Look, they quarantined three of American’s biggest cities. How many millions of people are trapped behind the lines right now? And Turgin said they’re sealing off border towns—”

  “That’s what the guy in the street said, too,” Carl added, reappearing behind Darren, wiping his face with a paper towel.

  Amanda looked at her useless phone. “I bet that’s why we have no signals…they already cut off communications. Son of a bitch—they’re locking us down, too…”

  “Did anyone say how many people have died in New York?” asked Brandon.

  The room fell silent. “Well,” Darren said after a long moment, “it must be a lot if they don’t want anyone to know about it…”

  “But, no one’s died outside of New York yet, right?” asked Brandon.

  Amanda shook her head. “Not that I’ve heard…”

  “So they must think the Elixr virus is going to kill a lot of people, right? It’s not like they’ve ever quarantined New York for anything else before, you know?”

  Darren frowned at Brandon. “Maybe something happened overseas. With London? We never did find out—”

  “Maybe people are dying in Los Angeles…” muttered Carl.

  Amanda crossed her arms. “No one’s heard anything about London for the past few weeks. It’s really disrupted the financial markets—”

  “Which explains why the prices of gas and shit have gone through the roof,” Brandon added.

  “But I haven’t heard anything about a lot of people dying over this yet…” Carl said. “So the government is just running scared.”

  “Yeah, real scared,” Darren said, turning to include Carl in the group again. “You don’t block off major cities like this without some serious repercussions. Just look at Chicago. I think we just heard...” He swallowed. “I think we just heard that reporter get murdered, guys. If people aren’t even dying from the sickness in Chicago yet, can you imagine what it’s like in New York right now?”

  “Yeah, but Chicago is the most dangerous city in the country anyway…they didn’t need whatever the hell is going on for that reporter to die,” Amanda countered in a quiet voice.

  Thunder shook the building and lightning illuminated them in pink hues.

  “True,” Darren admitted, “but what’s the quarantine doing there—it’s making people just outside the barrier flee, worried they’re going to get trapped if the authorities fall back.”

  “Why would they do that?” Brandon asked.

  “If you’re a cop, or a guy in the National Guard, and you got 10,000 terrified, desperate people running at you—and who knows how many of them are infected with a virus that kills everyone it infects—” asked Darren.

  “—and there’s millions of people…” muttered Amanda.

  Darren nodded. “When the people in those cities try to break out, there’s going to be a lot of folks dying on both sides, without the virus doing anything. It’ll be a war zone before the sickness even kicks in! The suburbs sound like they’re already emptying, according to that reporter. Where are they gonna go when people from the city reach the suburbs?”

  “Anywhere but where there’s a city…” muttered Carl.

  “The UP is looking pretty good,” said Darren.

  “About as far away from cities as you can get and still be on dry land,” muttered Brandon. “Damn guys, we gotta do something!”

  Lightning flashed through the doorway from the main lobby area, a strobe light in the darkness, temporarily blinding Darren. The thunder that followed it seemed more distant than before.

  “What can we do?” asked Carl. “We got the van, sure, but we’re trapped in a town that’s probably going to be locked down soon, and everyone is going crazy all around us!”

  Darren walked out of the room while they argued. He needed space to think, to piece together everything so he could come up with a plan. They needed to leave, that was a solid fact, but how?

  He walked by the hastily put together replica of L’Anse aux Meadows, the first confirmed viking settlement in North America. Drawings and photos printed from the internet lined the walls. Whoever had put this together had done so on a shoestring budget in a few hours. He smiled at a handwritten sign that read ‘work in progress.’

  “…don’t care! We need to leave,” shouted Amanda. “So we’ll be stuck in traffic—at least we’ll be moving...”

  Darren stared at a wall map of Scandinavia while Brandon and Carl argued with Amanda. He agreed that they needed to leave, but it sounded like Amanda was all for leaving immediately. Without planning and figuring out where they were going to go, Darren thought that idea was reckless at best, and pretty dangerous at worst.

  He stepped into the last room on the ground floor, where someone had started working on an exhibit focusing on the tools and jewelry of viking life. Along the far wall, illuminated by a passing car’s headlights, a replica suit of viking ‘dragon scale’ leather and chain mail armor glittered. Darren walked over and ignored the ‘do not touch’ sign, tracing his fingertips over the intricate little metal loops and links. It was far too shiny and rust free to be real, but whoever had made this replica had done an excellent job in his opinion. He tested the weight of the edge of the mail—it was far too heavy to be aluminum. The whole hauberk probably weighed about 20 pounds or so. Fairly accurate. He raised an eyebrow and nodded in appreciation for the curator’s attention to detail.

  “Where in the hell did you find a suit of ma
il like this?” he mumbled.

  “Darren!” Brandon shouted from down the hall.

  When he rushed back to the little radio room, he found Brandon and Amanda facing off against Carl. “Hey,” Brandon said, hands in his pockets, “we’re getting out of here. You comin’ with?”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Carl said. “We need to stick together.”

  “For what?” demanded Amanda. “So we can all die together? You heard the radio—this shit is getting real.”

  “Professor Turgin—” Darren started.

  Brandon belched. “Fuck it. I’m not hanging around here to die for some shit that’s been sitting in the mud for a thousand years. I should’ve left earlier when Turgin did, but I’m a sucker for free beer.”

  “Eleven hundred,” Darren muttered. “It could have been eleven hundred years…”

  “I don’t fucking care,” Brandon snarled, throwing his hands up. “The world is falling apart out there, can’t you guys see that? We need to get the hell out of Dodge, or we’re going to die with the rest of them!”

  “No one said anything about anyone dying,” Darren offered weakly. “Not way up here.”

  “Tell that to all those assholes out there!” B yelled.

  “They’re gonna find our bones here in a thousand years,” Amanda added quietly.

  “Not my bones,” Brandon snarled. “I’m outta here. Who’s coming with me?”

  “I will,” Amanda said quickly.

  Carl looked at Darren. Darren looked at Brandon. “I’m not leaving until at least tomorrow morning, after I’ve sobered up and had a chance to figure out what to do next.” He shrugged at Amanda’s accusing look. “I don’t want to go out there in this storm, already three sheets to the wind, and die in a car accident stuck in the traffic jam from hell. Do you?”

  “Tomorrow’s going to be too late, man,” Brandon argued. “Can’t you see that? We need to leave—now—before they seal off the town.”

  “If they haven’t already,” Amanda added.

  Brandon held out a hand. “Gimme the keys to the van, Darren.”

  “Guys,” Darren started, showing his palms, “we don’t have any supplies, or…or anything. Where are you going? How are you gonna get there if you run out of gas? You want to walk all the way back to campus?”

  “If I have to,” Brandon said, leaning in toward Darren, the force of his words pushing everyone back. “Yes, I’ll fucking walk. And I know I don’t have any supplies. We’ll find something on the way. There’s stores out there—”

  Darren, almost a head taller than Brandon, held his ground. “Those stores will be swamped and emptied with the number of people on the roads right now,” Darren pointed out.

  “This is insane,” Amanda said, throwing her hands up, “we’ve got to do something, Darren—not sit here with our thumbs up our asses.”

  Brandon thrust his hand at Darren. “Just give us the keys.”

  “Guys,” Darren tried one last time. “They signed the van out in my name—”

  “So what? You think the university is gonna charge us with car theft at a time like this?” Brandon demanded.

  “No, I just—let’s just wait one night and—” Darren began.

  “No—I’m out,” Amanda snarled.

  “Gimme the keys, man,” Brandon demanded again. He clenched his fists.

  Darren straightened his back and widened his shoulders. He was by far the biggest of the grad students on Turgin’s team, with a body built for physical labor. Or violence. Darren’s mouth compressed into a thin line, the alcohol buzz giving him sudden license to put Brandon in his place. “Come and take ‘em, then.”

  “Jesus, guys, again with the molon labe, shit—what are we, in high school?” asked Carl. He stepped between Darren and Brandon. “Just chill.”

  Brandon gave Darren a long, hard look, then stepped back and raised his arms to keep Carl away. “If you’re gonna be a little bitch and keep the keys, then fuck you, too. We’re out. We’re not waiting around any longer. No one’s coming to save us, Darren, we gotta save ourselves.” He stormed past them and headed for the main door.

  Amanda paused, watching Brandon leave. He glanced at the others. “Last chance, you coming with us or not?”

  Darren looked at Carl, whose head shook just slightly. “No, I’m not,” he said to Amanda with more conviction in his voice than he felt. “I’m staying, here, at least for tonight. And so is the van.”

  Brandon threw his hands up in defeat from the door. “Whatever, man. For what it’s worth, good luck to you both. Come on, Amanda.”

  “Sorry guys, but I’m not sitting here,” Amanda said, as she moved past Darren.

  “No hard feelings.” Darren replied.

  “Fuck you and fuck your feelings,” Brandon spat back. “You’re making us walk.”

  The door slammed behind them, shutting out the storm again, and Carl and Darren were left in silence.

  Carl sighed. “So…that went well.”

  Darren rubbed his face, a sudden wave of exhaustion settling on his shoulders. “I can’t handle this shit right now. I need to sleep. I’m gonna go see what I can find to lay down on.”

  11

  Return to Darkness

  St. Charles, Illinois

  By the time Seneca and Ward climbed up the ramp and made it to the covered bridge that extended over the Fox River, they were both ready to take a breather. Seneca squatted behind the wooden, steel-reinforced railings and shrugged out of his pack, his back slick with sweat. He exhaled and pulled a water bottle free of his gear, downing it in two gulps.

  Ward did likewise on the other side of the walkway. “This end of the world shit really sucks.”

  Seneca snorted. “Tell me about it.” Gunshots still popped off in the distance, and they watched the flashlights lance out into the night lighting up targets over by the Main Street bridge. “Whoever the hell is over there is doing a great job of keeping those things occupied. We need to get to my Jeep and get gone while we have a chance.”

  “Great,” Ward said, standing and dropping his empty water bottle to the ground. “Where is it?”

  “Just on the other side of this bridge,” Seneca said, still keeping his voice low.

  Ward moved to the railing and squinted. “You mean that one over there that those guys are trying to break into?”

  “What?” Seneca demanded, bolting to his feet.

  “That’s pretty low, man. Jackin’ a guy’s ride in the middle of the zombie apocalypse.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Seneca said, raising his rifle. He adjusted for the distance and fired a shot, which missed on purpose, but definitely got the attention of the would-be car thieves. One of them pointed at the bridge, and two others fired back.

  As much as Seneca had missed, the carjackers had missed even more. But Ward didn’t. He fired one shot and the guy who’d spotted them crumpled to the ground.

  Someone popped up on the far side of the Jeep and fired a shot that came far too close to Seneca’s arm for comfort. He dropped below the railing and started crouch walking toward the east end of the bridge. “Cover me!”

  “On it,” replied Ward, already lining up for another shot.

  When Seneca popped up over the railing about halfway across the river, they were waiting for him. A chunk of wood splintered up into his face and he ducked down again. “Shit!” he hissed, wiping blood from his cheek.

  Two more shots from Ward silenced the incoming gunfire long enough for him to join Seneca. “We got a problem.”

  Seneca switched mags on his rifle and slammed the new one home. “Yeah, couple of assholes are trying to take my Jeep.”

  “No, we got the groaning, biting, undead type of problem,” Ward said. “The idiots down there shooting at us don’t see ‘em, but they’re coming from the Main Street bridge…from behind.”

  Seneca popped over the railing again and took a look before the thieves got another shot off. He ducked down, flicking bits of ra
iling out of his hair. “That’s gonna make it hard for us to get out of here,” he admitted. “But they can’t have that Jeep—it’s got everything, fuel, comms, weapons, water…we have to take it back.”

  Gunfire erupted from down by the river, but Seneca knew immediately that the thieves were shooting at him. He stood and looked down as the zombies closed in on the now-trapped carjackers. “They’re screwed.”

  Ward joined him at the rail, and pointed at the Jeep. “So are we.” The undercarriage of the Jeep was glowing. One of the carjackers—unarmed—stood and waved at them.

  “Fuck you!” he yelled, his voice echoing across the water, before he was brought down by the writhing horde of zekes that swarmed around the now burning Jeep.

  Seneca watched his Jeep go up in smoke, watched the zombies back away from the flame, as if primal instinct prevented even them from self-immolation. Eventually Ward tugged on his arm. “Come on, man, we gotta get out of here.”

  “We are so screwed.”

  Ward shook his head. “Not yet we’re not, but we will be if we don’t get off this damn bridge. We got some friends who made it up the stairs at the far end.”

  Seneca looked where Ward was pointing, at the east end of the bridge, now wreathed in the black smoke from his burning Jeep. Two figures shambled out of the smoke, sniffing the air like dogs hunting a squirrel.

  “They can smell us…Jesus…” Ward whispered, dropping into a crouch with his weapon trained on the zombies.

  “Fall back,” Seneca said as three more zekes appeared behind the first two, all bumbling along toward them.

  “No shit,” Ward replied. “The question is where? My house is Swiss cheese now, remember?”

  “First, we get back to our gear,” Seneca said, looking out over the river as they ran. His gaze fell upon the lights still waving on the rooftops along Main Street. That was where the survivors had retreated.