“Jake?” Greg spoke close to the microphone. “We watched and watched. We didn’t see them get him. Did any of you?”
“No.” Jake shook his head. “We were engrossed in a conversation. We heard the noise and next thing you know, Judge is on the ground, dead. I’m guessing they get in through the skin surface.” Jake held up his hand. “One of them tried with me. If I could get a hold of one, I would be able to know more. I know they can’t get through glass or metal. I’ll assume because they are an organism they can’t get through anything that is not viable.” He shrugged. “Again, I’m guessing.”
“Have you seen any more since last night?” Greg asked.
“They went into the woods, and I haven’t spotted or heard one since.”
“You’ll keep us posted, right?”
Jake nodded.
“Thank you. And Jake, if you get any, feel free to use what we have at the facility.”
“Oh, you know it.”
“Thanks again.” Receiving one more nod from Jake, and after watching Jake take off the headset, Greg disconnected the call, and the monitor switched to a shot of outside the bungalows. Greg ran his hand over his face before turning to face the investors. A slight glaze of perspiration graced his brow. He could see their mouths moving, and the words they spoke seemed to be mumbled, meshed together, and slow. They all stared at him, and Greg knew they were asking questions, but between trying to let his mind think and sift through the guess work Jake gave, all Greg could do was mumble, ‘excuse me’ and slowly walk by them and out of the room.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
Caldwell Research Center - Los Angeles, CA
July 25th - 2:22 p.m.
“And it’s been four whole days and nothing.” Greg rubbed his eyes, sitting at the meeting table with Dr. Jefferson and the five investors. “I’m sure you gentlemen have more pressing things to do than hang about here.”
Douglass shook his head. “I have my lap top and my office knows where to reach me.”
“One of the perks to being rich,” Aldo stated. “You are your own boss. I’m gonna give it another day or two.”
“Me too,” Daniela added then chuckled. “I think my people are glad I’m not there. I really haven’t a clue what I’m talking about when it comes to my business.”
Dr. Jefferson chuckled also, which bred a deep cough from him. He covered his mouth as he stood up slowly, still looking as if he was suffering from the effects of the flu. “Excuse me.” He coughed again. “Maybe whatever the problem was has died out or moved on.”
“Moved on?” Aldo shuddered. “Now that’s a scary thought. Can you imagine . . .”
“Yes.” Greg interrupted Aldo. “Maybe you’re correct, Dr. Jefferson.”
Aldo shifted his eyes to Greg, wanting to blast him for rudely interrupting the great comment he was going to make. He watched Dr. Jefferson weakly leave, and then just as Aldo opened his mouth to do so, Lyle called out loudly and in a panic from below.
“Dr. Haynes! Dr. Haynes, hurry!”
Greg spun quickly in his chair jolting up and racing to the railing. “What is it?”
“We have movement,” Lyle stated, his hand moving fast working on something.
“Movement?” Greg raced around the railing doing his customary leaping down the last two steps running straight to Lyle. Aldo and the others followed behind. “Movement? What do you mean movement?”
“Look. Check out the satellite photo we just picked up. Aerial view.” Lyle pointed up as he pulled the photo to the big screen. The entire island could be seen, clouds and all that lingered over it. “Northeast section. It’s moving steady at an angle of seventeen degrees south.”
Greg saw it, a small black spot that sometimes meshed with the trees, and sometimes came in clearly. But it clearly moved. “A small cloud. Volcanic ash?”
“No.” Lyle looked up at him. “I think that’s our things.”
“Christ, there’s enough of them to be seen now?” Greg hit the table with his fist and moved to his right with haste. “Lyle, keep track of their speed and coordinates. Save this footage. I have to get a hold of Stan, tell them to hold tight. Something, who knows what, is headed their way.” Greg picked up the phone.
“Haynes,” Aldo called to him. “What about the participants?”
Greg raised his eyes up to the satellite screen as he held the phone to his ear. “God be with them.”
Caldwell Research Center - Los Angeles, CA
July 25th - 2:30 p.m.
The cessation of the birds chirping, singing, and squawking was not just a silence to Jake, but a warning call. He carried another box of food to his bungalow. Reed carried water, and Lou carried medical supplies. They were stocking up and preparing for a one building stay-in for when those things returned.
Cal, Rickie, and Billy worked with a glue Jake created, sealing around windows and any crevices that something slimy and slippery could glide right in through.
“How’s it going?” Jake asked Cal as he stepped on the porch. He saw Reed stop. “Just take that inside.”
Reed walked in and so did Lou.
Cal looked at Jake. “Good, we’re almost done. Billy’s on the roof now.”
“Rickie?”
“Around the back.”
“Jake.” Lou came to the door, “You want me to go get more paper supplies from the storage? I think we’re good, and we may be running out of room.”
“Let me see. I’ll be back, Cal.” Jake, carrying his box, walked inside. He looked at the supplies stacked in the corner, but he didn’t see Billy’s two metal fireboxes. Jake twitched his head and grunted when his foot kicked right into them. “I told him to put his shit in the corner.” Jake set his box down. “You know what? We are running out of room. We’ll be too cramped if we bring any more in. Let’s just stick with what we got for now. Even if we find ourselves stuck in here for the rest of the experiment, with rationing we should be . . .” Jake’s eyes looked up.
“Shit.” Lou heard it too.
The hissing, whistling, and fluttering sound.
Jake bolted to the door. “Cal!” He immediately reached out and snatched her in. He raced outside yelling up. “Billy! Get inside now! Rickie! In! Hurry!” Jake’s jaws clenched tight and his head turned in terror when he heard the rustling of leaves. And then Jake saw them. It looked like a river of tar headed their way, growing louder and louder from the trees. “Oh fuck.” His eye grew wide, and he stepped off the porch. “Rickie!” He looked up to see if he saw Billy. He didn’t.
“Sarge.” Rickie flew around from the back of the bungalow. “I think they’re . . .” Rickie froze.
“In!” Jake ordered reaching for one of the buckets of ocean water sitting on the porch. Stepping aside for Rickie to go first, Jake barely had time to place a leading hand on Rickie’s back when a long line of them, joined together, rose up two feet from the ground and nearly forming an arrow, shot at Rickie.
Rickie screamed out. They had covered him instantaneously. Jake flung the contents of the bucket on Rickie, and with a sizzling sound they began to disintegrate. Jake then grabbed the other bucket, tossed its contents out onto the oncoming creatures, lifted Rickie up over his shoulder, flew into the bungalow, and shut the door.
“Lou, light a fire!” Jake ordered stepping over Billy on the floor. He took Rickie to the bathroom. “Cal, Reed, help me out with him.” Jake lowered the seat to the toilet and sat a moaning Rickie down.
Cal raced in. “How is he?”
“They bit him but they didn’t get him. Reed, start the tub. And why is Billy on the floor in there?”
“He fell off the roof,” Cal answered.
“Figures. We’ll start calling him Reed two.” Jake lifted Rickie’s tee shirt. There were so many tiny bites on his exposed skin it looked as if he had been sunburned around his shirt. Rickie’s head flopped forward. Jake lifted it up. “You’ll be okay.”
“Sarge.” Rickie spoke his name softly.
Jake began to take off his shoes. “Reed, I need you to get him undressed and into the tub. The salt water didn’t help his wounds. Cal . . .” Jake took off Rickie’s other shoe. “Prepare a blanket on the floor in the corner for him.”
“Jake.” Cal sounded so upset. “That’s terrible. Give him our bed.”
“No way.” Jake stood up. “Reed, take over.” He walked to Cal. “If he starts getting worse, if there’s anything that’s hurt him badly, he’s . . .” Jake looked at Rickie. “He’s going to cocoon.”
Cal hurriedly looked at Rickie also. “I’ll prepare the floor.” She raced out. “Jake.”
Jake hurried and followed. “What’s . . . shit.” The pattering, tapping, continuously and loud, echoed in the room as the black things pelted themselves against the window. Multitudes of them like rain. And they kept on coming as if someone were just tossing them.
Cal spun around in the center of the room standing next to Billy, confused, a little frightened. The hissing was so loud. Shrill. The slimy creatures were literally screaming at them. They were obviously so surrounded it was mind shattering.
Jake raced to the little fridge and pulled out beers. He tossed one to Cal, then to Billy. “Arm yourselves. Remember how you used to shake soda bottles and spray them?” Jake untwisted his cap. “That’s what you may need to do. If not. . .” He took a single drink. “Drink it.” He held the extra bottle down to Lou. “How’s the fire?”
“Small but building.” Lou poked it and started to stand from his squat. “But I don’t understand why we’re roasting ourselves out.”
At the end of Lou’s question came the answer. Dripping down, fast and furiously into the fire, were the organisms.
“That’s why.” Jake readied his beer bottle.
They sounded like they screamed in pain when they dropped into the fire, burning and shriveling as they did. They rained through the chimney, some missing the fire and spilling onto the floor, only to be stopped by a prepared Cal, Jake, and Lou who got them with their beers.
Jake flew to the dresser. “Toss anything into that fire, Lou! Get it roaring to stop them!” Jake grabbed a coffee mug. “And I’m finding out what the hell these things are.” He opened the dresser drawer, pulled out his glove, put it on, and held the mug. He moved to the fire. “Get ready to spray me if they get me.”
“Got it.” Lou got prepared. “Cal, grab me your hair spray.”
Cal didn’t question Lou, she just retrieved it.
Lou waited, and he watched Jake submerge the cup into the stream of things that dropped into the fireplace, catching some in the cup and on his hand as he did. He dropped the cup, covered it with his boot, held his hand for Lou to douse with beer, shook off the pain, and stepped from Lou’s way.
Lou held Cal’s hair spray and his lighter. He bent down to the fireplace holding the small flame and making a torch by spraying it with the hair spray. He kept it steady, shooting in intervals until the fire began to pick up enough to stop them from dropping in.
Though the pelting and attacking stopped, the hissing didn’t. It was steady. And even though it was the middle of the day, darkness engulfed them. Not a speck of sunlight could be seen through the window.
Billy limped over to Jake who had brought the mug over and set it on top of the small fridge. Jake covered the top of the mug with a book. “Jake, you got some?”
“About four,” Jake answered.
Cal joined them. “Did it or did it not feel like we were in a remake of the movie The Birds?”
Billy let out a breath and nodded his head. “Especially when they shot down the fireplace.”
“What’s going on?” Lou waked over as they encircled the cup.
“Oh,” Cal said nonchalantly. “We were just talking about ‘The Birds’.”
Jake peered up from his view of the mug. “Or rather . . .” He lifted the book slightly then placed it back down. “The Amoebas.”
Caldwell Research Institute - Los Angeles, CA
July 25th - 3:15 p.m.
Just inside the open double doors to the control room, Greg stood with a shorter older gentleman. He reviewed a chart and handed it back to the man. “Dr. Davis, Are you positive that Dr. Jefferson shouldn’t be in a hospital?”
“Positive. Besides, he really wants to be around this,” he answered. “So he needs bed rest and try not to disturb him for a couple days. That’s all. His blood pressure is up, and with all the fluids he is retaining, I’m worried about congestive heart failure. So a few days on the antibiotics and rest, he’ll be good to go.”
“Then we’ll follow that advice.” Greg smiled at Dr. Davis, then turned and walked back into the control room.
Aldo who was fetching a cup of coffee approached Greg. “How’s Jefferson?”
“Relapsed. But the doctor says in a few days he’ll be fine.”
“I heard you say something about being in the hospital.”
“That was my thought. But then again, you know Dr. Jefferson. He’s been a part of this for so long, that he doesn’t want to miss it. We just won’t bother him, that’s all.” Greg walked down the steps with Aldo and peered up to the wall of monitors. “Unbelievable.” His eyes locked into the shot of the unity circle. The things were everywhere, moving about on the ground and bungalows. “Lyle, play me back that recording of Stan again.”
“Yes sir.” Lyle began to get it ready. “Here it is.”
The tape of Stan’s voice began to play. He didn’t sound shocked, Stan sounded more enthused. “I can remember many times in the east, driving five miles per hour in a long line of traffic on a highway. A highway that was under construction. If it was summer, I’d get worse because the smell would just kill me. Tar. But it is so vivid in my mind those workers and the way they would just use that equipment to roll that black asphalt on the road, smoothing it out. And that is the best way I can describe what I saw. Some machine just rolling out the asphalt right on by us.” The tape stopped.
Aldo snickered. “Stan is awfully dramatic.”
“You know it. It wouldn’t be our Stan without drama. Aldo, look how amazing.” Greg indicated to the screen for Aldo’s benefit. “Look at the control building. Not a single one near or by there, yet they’re congregating in that one area.”
“Does that surprise you?” Aldo asked. “Look at the control building. It’s huge, Made out of concrete, and there’s only three people in there. But look at our compound. Right now you have five and a half people in one little wooden structure. And you know what Haynes, they probably smell dinner.”
Greg glanced at the screen. “You’re probably right.”
I-S.E. Thirteen - The Island
July 25th - 7:40 p.m.
“Thick . . . black . . . lugies,” Lou stated, arms folded staring out the window that now could be seen through. He peered into the dimly lit unity circle.
Jake chuckled. “What was that?”
“Look at them. It looks like someone coughed up a good one. Watch them drip from everything.”
“And watch them fall,” Jake told him.
Lou did. “They lose all shape. They become a drop.”
“Then they regain it, yes. Amoebas adapt and change. I’ll know better when I view them under a microscope, and I can’t do that until I can get out there.”
“Jake, somehow I thought amoebas were, well, small?”
“Unable to be seen by the naked eye.”
“Then why are we seeing these?”
“What was the first kill?” Jake quizzed Lou.
“Oh.” Lou nodded. “So, like, first mutant birds, then mutant pigs, mutant dingo, and now . . . mutant Amoebas. You have got to give it to nature.”
“Or science.” Jake cringed when he heard a whimper come from Reed.
Lou pointed back with his thumb. “How long do you think we’ll have to deal with that? We’re stuck in here. I’ll kill him.”
“Probably until he gets used to it or the process is over.”
“How long
is that?” Lou asked.
“Three to seven days.”
Lou peered over his shoulder at Reed. “Christ.”
Jake shook his head with a slight smile, then with nothing else to do, he stared out the window with Lou watching the amoebas, chalking it up to observing behavior patterns for scientific purposes.
The color was clear with a hint of pink. It was thick, gel like, and see through. There was a glaze, and it still appeared wet, yet it wasn’t. the shell that covered Rickie was dry and hard as a rock. Rickie could be seen, although it was blurry as if you were viewing him through ice. He lay on his side, eyes closed, looking peaceful and as if he were sleeping. His arms were brought tightly to his chest, his legs curled up in a fetal position. Never moving, never twitching, Rickie regenerated.
Reed let out a tiny sob. “Eye end. Eye or end.”
“He’ll be fine,” Cal told him. “Trust me.”
“An E ear E?” Reed asked.
“He’ll say he did. But you can talk to him. Here.” She handed him the blanket. “He doesn’t need it though, Reed.”
“Eye Oh.” Reed spoke sadly, flapping out the blanket over Rickie. “E us ooks ol. Oh ol.” Reed slowly brought the blanket up to over Rickie’s shoulder, tucking it in.
“He’s not cold,” Cal tried to explain. “But this is nice of you.”
“Ank ew.”
“You’re welcome.”
“An eye us ay ear?”
“Sure. You can sit there all night.” Cal tapped Reed on the shoulder. “What a good friend you are.” Rolling her eyes, Cal walked over to where Billy sat on the floor in a corner with his lap top. “He’s over the fuckin edge,” Cal grunted as she lowered herself to the floor.
“Who? Reed?” Billy asked.
“Yes.”
“He’s worried about Rickie. I mean, Rickie took care of him all this time. Be nice.”
“Sure.” Cal reached for the papers on the floor. “Are these mine?”
“Hey.” Billy lightly smacked her hand away. “Patience.” He gathered the papers together.
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