Mercy nodded.
“Good, good. I trust Lieutenant Cross has been looking after you?”
Mercy said nothing.
“Good, well I heard you had an eventful time getting here. We are living in difficult times. Yes, challenging times indeed, and more challenges lie ahead for all of us, of that there is no doubt.”
“Cut the bullshit,” Mercy said. “Why am I here and where are my friends?”
The woman’s eyes hardened. “My name is Dr Lambert and I run this research facility on behalf of the NSA and Colonel Randel. The phage virus was not a mistake, it was, is, a bioengineered virus, originally taken from nature, one of the haemorrhagic fevers from the African subcontinent. The military were working on this strain for years perfecting it, modelling it, reshaping it into a thing of beauty.”
Mercy stared unblinking at the woman. Her words hung in the air like poison, Mercy knew she was dealing with institutional madness. This woman, this doctor, all of them were insane, deluded, brainwashed.
“You mean the military were weaponising it,” Mercy said.
Dr Lambert continued in a flat monotone. “The original objective was a 30% cull of the world’s population to improve sustainability. The birth rate globally had reached critical levels, within another few decades the planet, her ecosystems would have been completely destroyed. So a 30% cull was the projected target to ensure the survival of the human race. The virus was supposed to select the old and the very young—”
Dr Lambert stopped and looked away, she reached for her glasses and began polishing them with a lens cleaner. When she finished she put them in her top pocket.
“Anyhow, it is what it is and we are where we are now. The virus mutated, went airborne and wiped out 70% of the population of the continental United States. We are unsure how it affected other countries but we assume the same kill rate was realized globally. The airborne phase ceased after about four weeks as planned. The virus was supposed to self-destruct but it didn’t and two years later it’s still with us, mutating once more. The tropes are more aggressive, immune to daylight and seem to be developing some crude form of social structure. Moreover, the dead seem to be responding to the virus’s influence, as you saw in New York City. I read your file—”
Dr Lambert looked at Cross who was leaning against the wall. “You were bitten by one of our weaponised tropes in the early days after the Fall. You call them freaks I believe, the whole thing was recorded by the freak’s camera on its bio suit. The bite was on your left shoulder, wasn’t it?”
Mercy gripped the table and leant forwards. “Yeah, I was bit, down in that subway. That thing wouldn’t let go so I blasted a hole in its head, guess I missed its camera. I can’t remember much of what happened afterwards. I came around in the dark and crawled out of that place, I swore I’d never go underground again—”
“You were unconscious for twenty four hours Ms Dawes. We were able to monitor you remotely using the freak’s bio suit sensors. You didn’t turn, and there’s the rub. You didn’t turn, your immune system stopped the virus in its tracks.”
Mercy shrugged. “Well you’re still here and if what you say is true 30% of the earth’s population is still here so they’re also immune to the virus? So what’s so special about me?”
Dr Lambert looked at Cross then at Mercy. “The thing is Mercy yes, the virus was airborne for a month, give or take, but then it lost that ability. It reverted back to direct spread by inoculation of infected bodily fluids, from the infected to the uninfected; bites, blood splash directly onto open wounds, that kind of thing. We’ve been monitoring it all this time. You survived direct inoculation, a bite, with the phage virus. The rest of us survived through random luck, we were not exposed during the airborne phase. You however, have survived a bite and the airborne phase.”
Mercy shifted on her seat. “OK I get it, so I’m different. Why do you think that is?”
“It’s linked to your genetics, you have Urbach-Wiethe disease, we believe this somehow confers natural immunity against the virus. If we could harness that immunity, well—”
Mercy’s eyes widened. “How did you know about my condition?”
Dr Lambert shrugged, “We live, sorry, lived in a digital age. Everything’s still out there, in the cloud, satellites are still running, data is available, the digital world is hackable. We know all about you Ms Dawes.”
Mercy looked at Cross. “So what’s next? What have you done to me and my friends?” She pulled up her shirt indicating the scar on her abdomen.
“We’ve had some success in transferring trope DNA to parasites.” Dr Lambert paused to let her words sink in. “We’ve genetically modified a parasite that can safely live in humans, a cross between a ribbon worm and a liver fluke, a hybrid if you like. We call it a ribbon fluke. Tropes somehow sense this and regard the host as one of their own.”
Mercy stared, her face blank. “So… what are you saying?”
Dr Lambert stood up. “We have implanted this parasite in your body, your liver to be precise. It won’t harm you, but it allows you to live amongst tropes without them sensing you. You are in effect one of them.”
Cross stirred. “You are our Trojan Horse, Dawes… our Storax Sedan.”
Chapter 10 Storax Sedan
Mercy stared at Dr Lambert then at Lieutenant Cross her mind reeling. She struggled to understand what she had been told. “This is all Cobalt Biotech, isn’t it? It’s not stopped. The nightmare continues. I’m their… your latest toy. I’ve been weaponised, haven’t I? You obviously want me to infiltrate the tropes, study them, kill them. This is all just an experiment to you people—”
Cross’s eyes narrowed.
Mercy continued. “And what the hell is Storax Sedan anyway? You’ve mentioned it twice. Oh, and if I’m immune to tropes, why did they attack me on the hangar roof at Montauk airport?” Mercy ran out of steam and slumped in her chair.
Dr Lambert gave Lieutenant Cross a look. He sat on the edge of the table and produced a packet of cigarettes, he removed one and lit it, inhaling smoke deep into his lungs. He offered Mercy a cigarette, “I forget my manners. Would you like to smoke Ms Dawes?”
Mercy remained still and stared at her hands on the table.
Cross returned the cigarettes to his pocket. “You are correct, this is all Cobalt Biotech, this has been years, decades in the planning. We expected a variable result in the cull, the virus was more successful than we imagined and we found ourselves with a 70% cull, but you know what? The human race can take it. There are still enough people left to prosper, technology and Artificial Intelligence has replaced the need for so many people. The future is bright, we just need to get closer to the virus, we need to infiltrate, we need to understand what’s happening with the tropes. They are surprising us, they’ve gone from mindless savages to something more; there are signs of social cohesion, pack mentality, a hierarchy. We need to be able to destroy them in numbers, you are going to help us do that. Storax Sedan was an underground nuclear test in Nevada in 1962, it created the largest man-made crater in the US. You are the key Mercy Dawes, you will do as we say because we have your friends and we can also remove that parasite from you once all this is over, we can return you to normal.” Cross blew a cloud of cigarette smoke at the ceiling, his eyes flicked to Dr Lambert.
Mercy looked at Cross. In that moment she knew she had to kill him. He had confirmed her friends were currency in Cobalt Biotech’s game. She had to play the game, the NSA had leverage over her. “I don’t believe you. How do I know you’re telling the truth? For all I know my friends are dead. I want to see them, I want proof of life.”
Dr Lambert sat back in her chair. “Yes we know Mercy, and you will see them… on Sable Island. Colonel Randel is very careful who he lets into the Safe Zone, and until proven otherwise you and your friends are regarded as unsafe. You are to be quarantined on Sable Island, we will need to run further tests.”
Mercy looked up. “Have you put parasites in them too
?”
Dr Lambert broke eye contact. “We ran some trials yes, but your body was the only one that did not reject the parasite, so your friends are controls. I need to do some blood work on you Mercy, the parasite in your body should be triggering your immune system. I need to know how strong your immunity is. If your body produces antibodies to the parasite we can harvest and replicate them allowing us to inoculate our troops giving them temporary protection to trope bites. We’ve looked at the helicopter footage from the hangar roof, the tropes were after Roberts not you.”
Mercy looked sceptical. “I don’t know about that. It didn’t feel that way—”
“That’s why we need to do further live trials Mercy. We need to know you’re safe before we release you into the field.”
“How long’s that going to take?” Mercy asked.
“A few weeks, who knows, your body is young, adaptable,” Dr Lambert said. “Now, are you going to let us do this the easy way or do we have to do it the hard way? I need blood samples from you now. Are you going to cooperate?”
Mercy frowned. “Just show me something concrete, prove to me that you have my friends, prove to me they were even here.”
Dr Lambert glanced at Cross who nodded. She turned to the back wall and pressed a switch. The lights dimmed and a wall panel opened revealing a large screen. She punched a code into a keyboard and CCTV footage lit up the screen. Mercy’s pulse raced, she saw Flynn, Stevie, Rites and Dakota strapped on gurneys, drips running into their arms. A series of numbers and biometric data ran along the side of the screen.
The camera focused on each subject in turn, they were heavily sedated but alive. Dr Lambert stopped the recording and entered more instructions into the keyboard. New footage appeared, this time Rose, Vince and Tawny strapped in chairs, their heads held by forehead restraints, again they looked sedated. Dr Roberts let Mercy watch for a couple of minutes before stopping the footage. She pressed the wall switch, the lights came on and the screen disappeared behind the panel.
“So what’s it to be Mercy?” Dr Lambert asked.
“Go ahead take your blood sample, knock yourself out,” Mercy said pulling her sleeve up.
Dr Lambert smiled. “Good choice Mercy. I can see we’ll be able to work together.”
After the bloods tests Cross escorted Mercy back to her quarters. Mercy’s head was swimming with the debrief information. She turned to Cross as he opened her door with his card, “How’s the helicopter repair going? When can we leave for Sable Island?”
Cross blinked. “It’s still being fixed, more damage than we’d expected. You should be out of here by this time tomorrow. If I were you I’d get some rest and relax.” He took Mercy by the elbow and pushed her into the room. “Be a good girl, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, remember—” he pointed at the room’s CCTV camera.
Mercy glared at him as he closed the door. The electronic lock clicked behind him. He stared at her through the door’s round window for a second then he was gone. She felt exhausted and helpless, she could not see a way out, but at least Flynn and the others were alive.
She sat on the bed and stared at the room. Fresh food lay on the table, she looked at the floor and tried to empty her mind. It was impossible, she raised her shirt and looked at the abdominal scar, placing her hand over it. She closed her eyes.
Christ, they’ve put a parasite inside me. It’s feeding off me, my liver, a parasite, made from trope DNA. I’m a monster— Mercy closed her eyes, a well of despair opened up inside her.
Keep it together Mercy girl. She imagined Flynn with her in the room, she felt his energy in her heart. She would stay strong, she would find a way. Maybe she could turn the tables on Cobalt Biotech. They had invested a lot of time and resources into developing the biotech and finding her. She was a valuable asset.
Now you’re thinking, you’ve got to think like them, be ruthless, survive— find Flynn and the others. They are your family now, they’re all you’ve got, fight for them.
Mercy lay on the bed, closed her eyes and fell into a deep sleep.
A sharp metallic click. Blinking eyes, dry mouth, headache. Mercy stared at the ceiling. Yellow light flashed through the door window from the corridor. A high pitched siren drilled through the walls and into her skull.
What’s going on?
Mercy sat up, her eyes fixed on the door.
Something’s wrong.
She went to the table and took a drink of water. The headache bored into her, she drained the bottle of water.
Think, think, think—
Mercy went to the door and peered through the window. The corridor was empty, the guards gone. The overhead lights were off, emergency strip lighting lit up the floor.
OK, so the main power’s down, the rig’s on emergency power. Mercy looked up at the CCTV camera, its red LED light was still on.
Think, think— her hand drifted to the door handle. She turned it, the door opened. She frowned, then understood. Of course, the lock disengaged when the power went down.
Think, think—
Mercy went to her parka and retrieved the table knife. She put the coat on and shoved a bottle of water into a side pocket. She listened at the door then peered up and down the corridor. She turned left and began walking, the knife in her hand. The alarm was loud and unrelenting, the flashing yellow lights danced across the walls and floor. Mercy found herself at the stairs to the restricted area. She hesitated not wanting to go down, but instinct and curiosity won. She descended the stairs and reached the bottom.
The hairs on her neck stood up. Three bodies lay sprawled on the floor ahead, all wore lab coats, the doors on either side of the corridor were open. Mercy approached the bodies and looked into the first room. It was lit by the same emergency lighting as the corridor. Cages lined the walls. Inside the cages rats and monkeys were screaming, trying to escape, the emergency lights reflecting in their eyes.
Mercy stepped over the bodies, she looked at the faces expecting to see Dr Lambert, but she was not there. Mercy felt one of the bodies for a pulse, it was still warm, bite marks were visible on the neck and face but there was no pulse.
Bite marks? Shit, the virus is here, of course it is, the idiots have been experimenting, these ones will turn. Get out of here. Where’s Cross?
Mercy looked left, she saw a laboratory stretching away in the semi-darkness; desks, tables and a row of gurneys. She stepped into the room and walked over to the gurneys, she reached out touching one. It made it real, her friends had been there, Flynn had been there. Her eyes explored the room, she saw a door at the back.
She approached the polished steel door. A sign read: REFRIGERATION UNIT. She pulled on the handle and the door opened with a soft hiss, cold air washed out misting her breath. The space behind was large, holding rows of shelves. Mercy froze; three black body bags lay on the shelves. She hesitated and stepped forwards to the nearest one. Goose bumps rose on her arms and she shivered. She took hold of the zip and pulled.
The zip opened and she saw hair, she steeled herself and pulled the zip further, a frozen face appeared. She gasped, it was Vince, his eyebrows were tinged with ice and his lips were blue. She reached out to touch him, he looked asleep. His skin was like marble. He was not coming back. Vince was dead.
Mercy, stared at his boyish face; he had saved her life in the subway, she remembered his voice, his touch, his presence. What had they done to him? Her eyes drifted to the two other body bags, her heart hammered in her chest.
What if—
She had to know. She stepped up to the second bag and opened it. A woman this time, eyes closed, a peaceful look on her face, Mercy let her breath out and closed the zip. She looked at the third bag on the shelf. She reached out, her hand shaking. She tugged the zip but it was stuck, she pulled harder, it refused to move. Something snapped inside and she cursed.
“Come on you bastard, open—”
Mercy used two hands to unfasten the zip. Despite the low temperature a rotten smell bu
rst from the bag. She covered her nose and mouth fighting the urge to vomit and parted the top of the body bag revealing a face. It was not Flynn. She stepped out of the freezer room, closed the door and sank to the ground, her breathing rapid.
Vince, I’m so sorry. You didn’t make it—
Three gunshots pierced the air. She crawled to the lab door and looked down the corridor. A commotion came from the room at the end; breaking glass, the sound of a fight. Dr Lambert’s voice tore through the air.
“Get away from me, no, no, noooooo—”
Mercy pulled back and closed the lab door leaning against it. She waited, listening. A few minutes later she heard footsteps, she moved to one side and looked through the door window. Roberts staggered past, his face a rictus of rage, his mouth smeared with blood, his eyes wild. Mercy understood.
Roberts was responsible for the outbreak on the rig. He must have been infected. Probably on the hangar roof back in Montauk. The incubation period was variable. She was trapped, she had to find a way off the platform.
Mercy waited a few minutes until she was sure Roberts had gone, she gripped the table knife and opened the lab door. The emergency lights flashed in the corridor. A loud boom came from deep within the rig followed by machine gun fire.
There must be survivors—
Mercy moved down the corridor and reached the end room. Emergency lights bathed the space in an eerie glow. A dark stain covered the back wall. Mercy stepped over a broken chair and saw Dr Lambert’s body behind an overturned table. A large pool pf blood lay beneath her head, her throat had been ripped out, her eyes were open, a surprised look on her face.
Mercy crouched beside the body and picked up a Firestar M43 pistol. It would not stop a charging trope but a lucky headshot might work at close range, it was better than nothing, she checked the magazine; six rounds left. She took Dr Lambert’s key card from the lanyard around her neck.
The Survival Chronicles (Book 2): Angel of Mercy Page 8