by Jeff Olah
“I’ve seen all the footage. It’s just more of the same in a different location. And we needn’t bother ourselves with that man—I’ve already got my eye on someone else. We have no need for Dr. Lockwood. His ideas didn’t align with what we are trying to do here.”
“We?” Daniels said. “I hate to burst that delusional little bubble you’re living in, but you’re the only one who believes this project is anything but a train wreck at this point. And I’m making the recommendation to our friends that we put this project on hold. I’m not going to let them put another dollar into this without some sort of oversight.”
“I’ll tell you what—you go ahead and make whatever recommendation you see fit. This is going to happen with or without you. And just so there’s absolutely no confusion, the United States Department of Defense no longer looks to you for validation or approval. If you weren’t aware, they’ve already begun phasing out your group. They’ve also set up more testing facilities in more countries than you could possibly imagine, none of which report to you. And they sure as hell aren’t crying about a few broken dishes.”
“Broken dishes? These are men, my men. And they aren’t expendable just because you have a timeline. It doesn’t work that way.”
“But it does,” Goodwin said. “If we don’t get this done within the next twelve months, someone else will. Do what you need to do, although for now, we are moving forward and will fix the issues as we go.”
“I have to say—”
Interrupting yet again, Goodwin sat up straight. “This is going nowhere. Let’s have someone with a bit of real data shed some light on these recent developments. You and I are too far removed from the actual day to day to see some of the more encouraging results.”
Daniels nodded. He then turned to the young man seated to his right and spoke quietly into his ear. The young man stopped taking notes, stood, and moved out of the room.
“Okay,” Daniels said. “What is it?”
“If I may… Ms. Briggs, our Senior Analyst, has done weekly projections based on our recent test subjects and the conclusions are extremely optimistic.” Back to Daniels he continued. “I think she can inject some logic into what we’ve seen here today, and put your mind at ease regarding the direction we intend to follow over the next few years.”
Sitting forward, Shannon glanced from Major Daniels over to Goodwin and then back to Daniels before standing and moving to the screen. Reaching for the remote, she scanned the footage and paused on the fourth video. “This is where we have an issue.”
“Ms. Briggs?” Goodwin said. “Where is this going?”
She stepped back and powered off the screen. Again turning from Goodwin to Daniels, she said, “Our problem is that it’s mutating.”
“What?” Daniels said.
“She’s mistaken,” Goodwin replied.
“No, the data is all there.” Shannon stepped forward. “The newer test subjects are showing increased signs of neurologic detachment syndrome, but on an extremely amplified level.”
Major Daniels smiled for the first time since they’d entered the room. “I understand the science behind what we intended to do; however, for this, I’m going to ask that you explain it to me like I’m a third grader.
Goodwin pushed away from his chair back and stood. “We’re done here. I’ll make sure you get a full report—”
“Marcus, this is the exact reason I made the trip down here today. The least you could do is allow me to hear what she has to say—she is your data analyst after all.”
As Goodwin paused and breathed in through his nose, Shannon took the opportunity to continue. “Mr. Goodwin, Major Daniels has a valid argument.” Her hands began to shake. “Three of the facilities have reported human to human transfer from the experimental group to the control group.”
Through clenched teeth Goodwin spoke directly to her. “Yes, I am aware.”
Turning her attention to Major Richard Daniels she said, “This means we now have infected individuals who were never given the Ares injectable. It appears they were infected through the transfer of plasma.”
Daniels cut his eyes at Goodwin. “Transmitted through blood?”
Shannon continued. “Yes. If early indicators are correct, the mutated cells responsible for shortening the synapse functions on the battlefield and in hand-to-hand combat have also decreased or completely removed certain inhibitors.”
“This is why we’re seeing men attacking, and in some cases, actually eating one another?”
“Yes.” Shannon avoided eye contact with Goodwin and was surprised he hadn’t yet stopped her. “As of the last two weeks, this glitch has resulted in the test subject’s neurotic inability to feel or express impulse control. Those infected through blood to blood transfer essentially lose all ability to reason. They are controlled by only two impulses… feed and survive.”
Waiting for her to finish, Goodwin moved the door, turned the handle, and held it open. Back to Major Daniels he said, “You’ve got what you came here for. If there’s nothing else, I’m going to have to say goodbye. I’m already late for another meeting.”
Major Daniels moved to Shannon, placed his hand on her shoulder and nodded. He then stepped around her to Goodwin, shook his hand, and stepped out of the room.
As Major Richard Daniels strode out into the lobby, Marcus Goodwin slowly closed the door and returned to his seat. He motioned for Shannon to take a seat across from him and waited as she settled in. “So, that went a bit differently than I was expecting.”
“Mr. Goodwin, I’m sorry. I did what I thought was the right—”
“Ms. Briggs, there is absolutely no reason to apologize. You know I’m actually glad Daniels has the full picture. As you were giving him the details, I realized something. First off, he probably has no idea what you told him, and second, he really has nowhere to go with that information. No one’s going to listen to him anyway. He’s a nobody on this project and at this point, more of a distraction than anything.”
“But don’t you think the others should know about what we’re seeing?”
“Not all of it. And not just yet.”
Shannon breathed out hard. “You’re going to fire me, aren’t you?”
“I’ll admit, it did cross my mind. But the more you spoke, the more I realized where your special skills could be of use.”
“Okay?”
“There is small assignment that I’m going to need you for. You will still be involved with the analytics from this project, just from a different location.” Marcus Goodwin once again leaned back in his chair. “Tell me Ms. Briggs… how do you feel about small towns?”
1
Present Day...
The tracks that the massive vehicle had created through the melting snow slowly faded with the setting of the sun. He and Griffin sat in the cab and spoke quietly as the others slept in the makeshift beds laid out along the rear of the armored vehicle. Ethan couldn’t remember what day it was, although he knew he hadn’t had more than three hours sleep in the last forty-eight hours.
Parked in the shadows at the rear of the police station, the vehicle that had become their home for the last two days was cool, but not cold. The growing mound of sleeping bags and blankets, combined with body heat from six tightly spaced individuals, kept the interior at an even seventy-two degrees.
“It has to be tonight,” Ethan said. “I’ve wasted too much time in this town. My sister is out there somewhere all alone and one way or another, I’m going to get to her.”
They stared out the windshield toward the station as the first full day of sun was coming to an end. Griffin pointed to the snow covered foothills and turned to Ethan. “I agree. The ground is almost dry. I’ll bet by morning we can scoot through the east end of town and make it to the city by midday—that is if we don’t get another storm.”
“I don’t really care. I’ll find another car and go alone.”
“Trust me, I want out of this place more than you can possibly ima
gine. Going house to house for the last three days and surviving on other people’s leftovers is about to push me over the edge.”
Ethan grinned for the first time in days. “And the constant running for your life—that’s gotta add to the level of suck. Kinda like being thrown into hell without a life jacket.”
Griffin turned his gaze from the dying daylight back to Ethan. He motioned into the rear cabin, to where the others were fast asleep. “We should stay together. It doesn’t make sense to go it alone. You know that.”
“Again, I don’t care. My only priority is—”
“I get it. You want to go after your sister. Your parents. But you gotta know that going out there all alone isn’t going to help them. And you probably don’t want to hear this, but if they didn’t find somewhere to hide or fall in with another group, there isn’t a reason for you to go looking for them anyway.”
Ethan tightened his jaw and breathed in through his nose. He didn’t respond.
“Listen,” Griffin said. “I know we didn’t have the best start and I am sorry about your friend—”
“David, you mean David.”
“Yes David. I mean, I don’t know if you’ll ever be able to understand why I did what I did, but I still stand by my actions. If someone hadn’t acted, you’d be dead and possibly others as well.”
Again focusing his attention through the windshield, Ethan watched as a pair of wayward Feeders struggled to navigate the slick asphalt. Moving from the south end of the lot out onto Mineral Street, the taller one, probably a hair under six feet, toppled to the ground several times. With each new effort to right itself, its traveling companion moved further away.
“I don’t know,” Ethan said. “I just can’t do this. I’m not supposed to.” He paused, looking into the rear cabin and lowering his voice. “They need someone—someone else. My mind isn’t here with these people, or even here for me. I’m already running toward the city and then to my sister. I’m not the guy they need, I never was. Maybe you are, but I can’t be. Not right now.”
Checking the side mirror and then scanning the lot out through the passenger window, Griffin shifted in his seat. “Okay, so you find a car. You get lucky and it has gas and you’re able to get it started somehow. You make it out of town and up the mountain and find your parents. They’re okay and agree to go with you to find Emma. Then what?”
“What do you mean? Then I get them the hell out of the city and find my sister.”
“Sorry to break it to ya big guy, but your plan has a few holes.”
“That’s your opinion.”
“Yeah,” Griffin said. “But there’s no way you’re doing all that on your own. Over the last five days and nights, we’ve saved each other’s rear end more times than I can rightly count on two hands. That was us—all of us. Saving each other. You go out there all lone-wolf like and there’s no one to watch your back. You won’t last twenty-four hours.”
“I think I can handle—”
“No, not alone you can’t. Besides, your weapon is useless without ammo, and if you remember, we’re all bone dry. I know you didn’t forget about what happened at the apartment complex last night. You tried to fire an empty weapon twice and if Ben hadn’t stepped into that kitchen when he did, you’d be dead… or worse.”
“I’ll find what I need before I leave.” Ethan shook his head. “It’s been five days and my family could be—”
“You’re right, Ethan, it has been five days. But you also know that this storm that’s been dumping buckets of snow for the last six days has all but eliminated any real chance we would have had of getting up the mountain.”
“Yeah and it’s over. Time to go.”
“I won’t try to stop you, but you’re making a stupid move here. And you’re not a stupid guy. So do what you gotta do. But trust me, things are gonna end real bad for you. Real painful and real dark, and you’re no good to your family as a stain on some frozen mountain road.”
The rear cabin was deadly silent. Cora, Shannon, and Carly lay side by side with their heads resting comfortably against the rear door. At least one in a deep enough sleep that her rhythmic snoring kept pace with the breath sounds of the others. The trio, now bruised and battered from another long day of scavenging, slept like there wasn’t anything else that mattered.
Much closer to the cab, Ben lay on his right side lengthwise near where the women’s shoes protruded from the mound of mismatched blankets. He mumbled every few minutes, although he hadn’t made a sound in the last half hour and finally turned onto his back and opened his eyes. “Ethan,” he said in a whisper.
He waited as the Ethan and Griffin turned. “You’re not leaving by yourself.”
Ethan nodded. “Yeah kid, why’s that?”
“You need us.”
Turning in the driver’s seat and leaning into the rear cabin, Ethan said, “You think so?”
“I do.”
“Listen,” Ethan said as he turned from Ben to Griffin and then back to Ben. “This is not up for discussion. And I’m not trying to convince you that what I’m doing is sane or rational, even though it appears that’s exactly what I’ve been doing for the last hour. As soon as the sun sets, I’m going.”
“No,” Griffin said. “You’re not. Not until you let the women say their piece. Carly won’t bounce back from that. She needs you more than anyone. I’m not gonna be the one to tell her you left. That’s on you—Not us.”
Ethan nodded. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll stick around until the women wake up, but I need a favor. From both of you.”
“What’s that?” Griffin asked.
“I need three hours, no questions asked. There’s something I need to take care of—tonight. When I get back, we’ll finish this.”
2
It was cold. His head hurt, his stomach ached, and breathing into his own hand, it smelled like three-day-old garbage. Frank Jarvis couldn’t quite remember when he last ate or showered. His pants were dirty and his shirt torn, but he was proud of the fact that not one of those things were able to lay a hand on him. By his estimation and the growing moments of silence, their numbers were dwindling. He just prayed that the two cans of albacore tuna would be enough.
He cursed himself for not eating breakfast. Lying flat on his back with his jacket rolled under his head, Frank’s lower back again began to twitch and tighten. The spasms began as he tripped over the dead man’s body while attempting to run away from the back doors.
Three bags of groceries and a book he was supposed to return to the public library were all he owned at the moment. He wondered if this were it. If this was where he’d die. He figured with his wife having passed away more than five years before and with the way he now lived his life, he maybe had ten years to live anyway. But hey, it was ten years. A person could do a whole hell of a lot in ten years. That is if those things running the streets didn’t tear him apart first.
. . .
Five days ago, he woke up in his bed. He pulled his knees to his chest and stretched his lower back for thirty seconds. Reaching for the remote, he flipped on the television and scrolled through the channels looking for the DIY home repair show he watched every day. Off Air, Technical difficulties was what the screen said.
In his fifty-eight years, Frank had yet to learn the art of patience. Television powered off and the remote tossed aside, he slowly dropped his legs over the edge of the bed and slipped into a pair of wool socks. Moving to the bathroom to complete his morning ritual, the aging hardwood floors creaked under his one-hundred seventy-five pounds.
Before heading to the kitchen, he turned right at the end of the hall and moved into the living room, figuring if he tried another television, he’d have a different result. Flipping to channel 1094, he discovered he was wrong. However, three stations beyond his off-air home improvement channel, something appeared to have the news anchor out of sorts.
Leaning into the worn leather recliner, he couldn’t initially get a fix on why the woman was in t
ears. He doubled the volume and scratched his bald head. As the obviously distraught woman turned to her co-anchor, the station gave a quick warning about the graphic nature of the following clip and then the images began to roll.
He quickly recognized the location as the Orion Civic Center not more than an hour’s drive from his front door. People were panicked and running from a yet unseen threat. As the frantic crowd began to shift direction, the camera and its operator were tossed to the unforgiving asphalt.
The next ten seconds were filled with a shot of a clear blue sky peppered with intermittent flakes of snow. Aligned along the left corner of the screen was a traffic signal that turned from green to yellow, and then to red. Two thick red drops fell onto the lens as the camera was toppled and turned onto its edge.
As the cloudy image refocused, a woman’s face could be seen. Her head rested against the pavement, her hair pressed back by the blue loading zone curb. She first plead for mercy from an unseen attacker, and then just screamed. Just before the station cut the video feed, the attacker could be seen shoving his blood-soaked face down onto the woman’s neck. The anchor apologized and immediately went to commercial.
Already agitated by his disrupted morning ritual, he switched off the television and walked into the kitchen. “Something’s not right about the world these days. Why would they show that? Gotta be this new generation, they’re always trying to one-up the other guy.”
Standing over the coffee maker, Frank peered out the large kitchen window into the backyard. Catching his own reflection, he shook his head and grinned. At six-foot-one, he was built like an athlete, even at his advanced age. In his mind, he was still a robust twenty-something, even if his deteriorating joints and sometimes failing memory told him otherwise.
He spent exactly forty minutes showering and gathering his things before stepping out into the brisk morning air and walking the short distance to the corner market. He filled three bags with supplies, enough to last him through the weekend. He then started his trek to the library. Glancing back toward the clock outside City Hall, he became aware of two things.