The Virus

by Steven Spellman

  She didn’t know if the vomit was saturating the truck with its putrid fumes yet, but in her mind, she was already suffocating. She had never before been forced to endure any situation like this for any length of time, and it was decidedly unpleasant. In fact, Delilah had just made up her mind that she was tired of this mysterious hidden piece game, when she opened her mouth to shout at Lieutenant Dan that she still needed someone to clean up the mess she’d made on the floor, but before she could sound off her displeasure, a faint click from Geoffrey’s general direction halted her attention. By the time she had turned back to where he was kneeling, the spot that he had been staring at was beginning to move and open. A foot by half foot rectangle of flooring moved into the rest of the flooring, revealing a compartment. Geoffrey lifted out a white Styrofoam container that filled the compartment. The container was relatively square and Delilah thought that it might contain food. Forty-five minutes ago, and that would’ve been a most welcome reality, but now, after her recent ‘spill’, not so much so.

  When Geoffrey opened the box, it did not contain food, but rather the sawdust material that he had described earlier, and what looked like a thin washcloth.

  “Spread the sorbent evenly over the spill site, and use the cloth to reclaim the debris from the affected site. If the cleanup is performed properly, it should leave behind no odor or residue.” Lieutenant Dan instructed through the speakers. It was clear that he was not used to speaking in every day conversation. Geoffrey could easily imagine him talking as he just had to a soldier under his command on the battlefield dodging enemy fire, or a subordinate officer, over schematics of rival territory. Meanwhile, Geoffrey followed the lieutenant general’s orders as obediently as one of those soldiers or subordinate officers, spreading the ‘sorbent’, the trademark name for the sawdust mixture, Geoffrey assumed, over the ‘spill site’, giving it a few moments to absorb, and then, wiping it up carefully with the washcloth. The sorbent had absolutely no smell and, except for the fine grain of it, looked nothing like sawdust. The cloth was abnormal as well. It appeared to be a regular washcloth, though very thin even for a wash cloth, but it felt like a moist chamois. It was so moist in fact, that he was sorely tempted to ring it dry after he had soaked up the sorbent-saturated ‘spill’ with it, but, it was the very fact that he had just soaked up the sorbent with it, that he resisted.

  As he was nearly finished with the necessary but unpleasant task at hand, Geoffrey noticed that he had heard no word from Delilah since he began. He placed the sorbent filled cloth back in the container, careful not to spill any of the mess, and once the container was safely closed, he turned to see whatever had become of his female companion. He turned and saw that her mouth was drawn in a line, and her gaze was unmoving at the horizon, stuck upon the spot where the two lifeless bodies had been earlier. Lieutenant Dan’s men had moved the mother and her miniature, though not nearly as miniature as it should’ve been, offspring away some time ago. They had even shuffled the sand trail and imprint that was left behind by the two corpses, so that there was no sign that they had ever even been there at all. Even though the two latest victims of The Virus had been removed, the hideous images of them remained burned in her mind as indelible as if mutilated mother and child were there still in the sand. Every moment she spent staring at the images in her mind, they were engraving themselves upon her psyche as surely as if the bodies were still there on the side of the inlet.

  It was likely that Delilah would’ve remained in this position indefinitely, had Geoffrey not introduced himself and a shining bottle of champagne into her line of sight. He held the bottle up with one hand and with the other, he gave Delilah’s knee a gentle but firm squeeze.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed softly. She turned away from the horizon and saw the bottle. She looked confused for a moment and the smile that spread across her face looked painfully forced, but it was there. Finally, Delilah shook her head violently. Both she and Geoffrey knew that such realities as they had witnessed could never be shaken completely out of either of their heads, but to occupy their focus elsewhere, at least for the moment, was good too. “Oh.” Delilah repeated, but this time with less of a violent start. Once she had reasonably returned to herself, she said, “I guess I was pretty out of it, there, huh?”

  “Yeah, you were.” He answered, as compassionately as he knew how. “But what else could be expected, especially when you’ve seen something like…” he was reluctant to even intimate the sight of such an unsettling scene “like, that.” He made a vague gesture, indicating the inlet behind him. “I don’t think that’s something either of us will ever forget.”

  “Yeah, I think you’re right.” Delilah answered, in a tone and vacant expression that indicated she was being pulled back into a bottomless chasm. Even though Geoffrey’s conversation had been meant to do the exact opposite, it was only reminding Delilah of the images in her mind.

  “Right.” Geoffrey said, more to himself than to his fellow captive. Then, in a louder and more jubilant voice (which was not easy, under the circumstances) he said, “But look what we have.” He raised the bottle higher, where Delilah would be forced to look up and away from the inlet to see it. At the same time, he moved closer and deliberately positioned himself between her and the inlet so that she would have to intentionally move around him to see it.

  “Champagne!” she said once she realized what she was looking at. “And, oh my God! Is that…that can’t be.” She tilted her head to the side, “Cristal.” She reached out quickly to snatch the golden bottle, filled with the shimmering and very expensive liquid. Geoffrey could’ve easily moved the bottle out of her grasp, but didn’t. Once the bottle was secure in her grasp, Delilah coddled the champagne to her chest like a newborn babe.

  Just as quickly as Delilah had hugged it, she snatched it away and stared at it in wide-eyed wonder. “Cristal! And it’s cold, too!” she shouted, excitedly. Holding the frigid bottle nearly at arm’s length, she admired the rare luxury for a moment, and then lost no time uncorking it. The cork flew a short distance before finally landing in the exact spot where Delilah had vomited earlier. Geoffrey saw that this was about to happen and had groped at the air-bound cork before it made its landing, but to no avail. It hit the spot with a muffled thud. Geoffrey loomed over it, knowing that if he and Delilah didn’t finish this entire bottle of champagne, it would go to waste because its cork was not fit to reseal it—not if anyone intended to re drink from it again, that was. Geoffrey didn’t bother to pick it up. It was no good now, anyway.

  His attention was now drawn to the spot where the cork had initially landed. It was clean, as if nothing had ever been there. In fact, the entire area that Geoffrey had wiped once, twice at the most, with the special cloth as he had simultaneously gathered up the sorbent all but shined as if he had given it a brisk scrub. Geoffrey was tempted to bend down and smell it. It looked so clean that he half expected the area to emit a fresh lavender scent, but he didn’t bend over. When he turned back to Delilah to draw her attention to the oddity, she had already drained nearly a quarter of the champagne bottle and would have finished the upturned bottle had Geoffrey not resumed his place beside her and smoothly lowered the bottle from its elevated position. Delilah wiped her mouth with the other hand but didn’t try to stop Geoffrey from gently taking the bottle away.

  “You know, we do have some very nice champagne glasses.” Geoffrey said with a smile, gesturing toward the table where two champagne glasses were sitting atop the table. Delilah turned her head to look. When had those gotten there? It didn’t really matter, though, as was clear by her face as she turned back to Geoffrey. He noticed that her eyes were glistening as much as the expensive bottle. She was still trying hard to forget the deceased and ruined mother and child images plaguing her brain, and by the looks of things, that wasn’t going so good. The champagne helped, which is why she was trying to dispense with it rather hastily.

  “Yeah, I guess this really isn’t the time for moderation, huh?�
�� Geoffrey mused aloud, and lifted the bottle to his own lips as well. Once he had drained a little less than a quarter of the contents himself, he passed it back to Delilah who lost no time in re-elevating it. The quarter of the bottle that both Delilah and Geoffrey each had downed, almost instantly took effect and both were satisfactorily woozy. Even though Delilah raised it back to her lips, her alcohol-affected equilibrium didn’t allow her to remain that way for long, nor would her tolerance allow her to overwhelm it so quickly. It was the same with Geoffrey. Both were still drinking straight from the bottle, but much more slowly now, as if they were indeed sipping from the empty glasses on the table not far away.

  In time, the golden liquid lessened, and with it, the world around them, until the destruction in every direction, the guards looming everywhere, the gruesome sight from earlier, the very Virus itself, held no meaning. It all flowed together in a dance of unreality not unlike a vague dream that one doesn’t even properly remember having. The sun was beginning its descent now and the clouded horizon assumed a hypnotic array of grays, reds, and oranges, just beyond the water’s edge. It was simply magical, doubly so for the two VIPs because they hadn’t laid eyes on a sunset in over a year. The bottle was empty now, and as the sky’s flaming orange jewel made its final peek beyond the horizon, Delilah again lifted her face, no longer streaked with tears and makeup, toward Geoffrey. This time, there was no philosophical meandering holding him back. He lowered his head and kissed her with all the denied passion that had been smoldering beneath the surface. Delilah matched that fervor more than equally, and they kissed for a very long time, tongues and hands both groping wildly in a flaming dance of ecstasy, as the sun drowned itself into the open ocean and darkness covered the destroyed land all around.

  Chapter 28

  When Geoffrey woke up the next morning, the first thing he noticed, after struggling to piece together a vague memory of what had happened the previous night, was that he didn’t have a hangover. He clearly remembered drinking, and he remembered drinking a lot. He couldn’t recall exactly what it was—only that it was shiny, and that it was good—but he knew that it must’ve been potent because it wiped out most of his memory of it. As more time passed and he had the opportunity to awaken more fully, a clearer picture of the happenings of yesterday trickled into his mind like a leaky faucet. He already remembered one bottle of champagne, but now, he remembered Delilah popping the cork on a second bottle as well. He must’ve been the one to retrieve the bottle from the hidden compartment in the floor, but he couldn’t actually remember doing it. He also didn’t remember, as yet, whether more bottles followed, though something inside him whispered to him that there was, indeed, a third. After that, it was useless trying to recall anything; it was lost to the bottles.

  Still, his recollections leading up to that first bottle were becoming more recognizable by the moment, but, even then, only in bits and pieces. Geoffrey sat on his bed (exactly how he made it back to his bed was one of the many things lost to the bottles), rubbing his temples and simultaneously trying to organize his mind and clear it of the foreign voices that were growing more intense with each passing week. There was so much going on with him lately that he didn’t muse on it much, but now that he was thinking on it deliberately, he noticed that other people’s internal thoughts were becoming louder, more profound, and easier to discern from farther distances and with more obstacles in between. By all accounts, his telepathy was strengthening. Though he didn’t use it nearly as much, his ability to project thoughts as well as receive them was becoming stronger. He could feel it, just below his skull somehow, bulging against his cranium, becoming stronger and more intense. Consequently, it was more difficult to not use it more and more, but there was a reason he tried not to speak into anyone else’s head besides Dr. Crangler’s. As the doctor had informed him, this thing was best kept as quiet as possible, and would certainly draw attention, the likes of which Geoffrey would definitely not want. Besides, Geoffrey had spoken telepathically to the doctor, but only after lengthy preparation. Intruding directly into someone else’s head could get him killed, or at the least, hurt very badly.

  None of this altered the fact that, whether he liked it or not, he was still changing and there was no way to know how far that change would progress. The thought resurfaced that he was becoming more like the alien intelligence and, at this rate, he would have more in common with that alien intelligence than not. If his new ability could be somehow generated in others as it was passed on to him, then the entire human race would eventually become, as he had already prophesied, the newest alien intelligence. Even without telepathy, it wouldn’t be long before this new mind reading, singularly-connected breed of humanoids would, like The Virus wielding aliens, want to ‘branch out’ and conquer those they deemed inferior. Perhaps a planet wouldn’t be enough. Perhaps, this single human entity—especially scarred by the millions upon millions death toll inflicted by the merciless Virus—would only find solace in laboring to conquer the entire galaxy. The idea of a Bonaparte contingent spreading out in every direction, leaving little else but ruined, unchartered ecosystems and foreign life forms that had called them home, sent a shudder all through Geoffrey, and made him yet again turn his thoughts elsewhere.

  He tried again to think of the happenings of yesterday, but that was a dead end. He had already scoured as much from his Cristal affected brain as it was willing to give. He would do himself no further good beating himself up for clues. He rubbed his temples again. Obviously, the staff were making their rounds because though he saw no one and heard no footsteps, a virtual cacophony of voices filled his mind. As he listened more acutely, he noticed that it was not one or two voices that he was hearing, but rather like a small army of people were all talking at once. The sounds in Geoffrey’s head didn’t have the confusion of a bunch of people all talking at once, but rather it had a certain ebb and flow to it. It was a decidedly erratic ebb and flow, but an ebb and flow nonetheless. It took Geoffrey a few moments to realize that he was hearing not only the nearest occupants of the underground facility, as was usually the case, but rather he was hearing the cumulative thoughts of the entire facility, perhaps the entire complex, though it was too early to assume.

  Obviously, being allowed out into the open world, if only for a matter of hours, had had a profound effect on the evolution of Geoffrey’s abilities. He didn’t know if it was the break from the crippling confinement, or the respite from the ever-present Cleaning Lights, but whatever it was, it had enhanced his extrasensory perception considerably. He fancied that along with foreign thoughts, he was now beginning to receive foreign feelings as well. He rubbed his temples yet again, but the sides of his skull protested at the repeated pressure. With a long sigh, he slumped over and tried to figure out his next move. One thing was for certain, he needed to see Delilah and figure out what had taken place the night before. Though he thankfully lacked the migraine and nausea of the expected hangover, he still retained some of the other less savory side effects, like dry mouth and general fatigue. He smacked his lips, as if that alone could return some moisture to his partially dehydrated tongue, and moved his head and arms around to try to work some of the uncomfortable stiffness out of his joints. After he finished and could think of nothing else to do, he returned to his slumped position until an idea finally came to him…

  He stood up and lifted his hands as if to press them to his temples again, but instead, let them drop heavily back to his sides. He shut his eyes tightly, and concentrated. Dr. Crangler had been looking on this entire time from one of the monitors in one of his smaller offices, so he could see clearly everything that was going on. What he couldn’t see, however—because he distinctly heard it—was Geoffrey’s voice, booming into his head. The startled doctor gripped his head with his hands, just as he did the first time Geoffrey had spoken into his brain like this. Besides Geoffrey’s voice being way too loud in his head, there was a new fortitude, a new dimension…a new power to Geoffrey’s telepathy
that was currently overwhelming the doctor in a way that, even though he was nominally used to Geoffrey’s abilities, his brain couldn’t tolerate it.

  “Stop it!” he screamed. He sounded more like a helpless child than he would’ve liked. “Stop it, Geoffrey!” and immediately Geoffrey withdrew. The doctor blinked his eyes and rubbed his temples until they, too, were sore in an attempt to regather his wits. As soon as his breathing and heart rate returned to normal, he hastily left his office and headed to Geoffrey’s room. He nearly tripped over his own feet as he turned the many facility halls in his rush. Once he finally made it into Geoffrey’s room, there was a noticeably discombobulated look about him. He was had shaved and combed his hair but his eyes were wide and his hands were trembling. “What the hell is the matter!” he demanded. Geoffrey’s eyes were wide now. He was surprised by the doctor’s outburst.

  “I’m terribly sorry, Dr. Crangler. Really, I’m terribly sorry…” Geoffrey began, understanding his recently elevated abilities had worked, but had had a very undesirable side effect. “Really…I’m…”

  “Yes, Geoffrey, I understand you’re terribly sorry, but, again, what the hell is the problem?” Dr. Crangler asked.

  “Well, I wanted to know what happened last night. Obviously, something…different happened to me.”

  “I don’t understand, Geoffrey.” Dr. Crangler answered, now almost completely back to his normal self. “What happened was what you asked for. Delilah and you were escorted off the premises for the day so you could implement the plan you presented to me.”