This brings me to today’s strange event, an event which I’m still not quite sure what to make of. I was summoned to visit Colonel Baines in his office. Only to my surprise we were also joined by a tall suited man who remained unidentified throughout the duration of the meeting. He remained silent and served no evidential purpose. He did however seem to perk up and pay extra attention whenever I spoke and he never once averted his gaze from my form, after thirty minutes of which, I’m sure one can imagine became uncomfortable, especially considering he possessed the eyes of a demon with a beard shaped likewise. Baines acted throughout like this individual was not even present, so much so that for a moment I wondered if I was dreaming his presence. For the purpose of this journal, I will call him Spook, however I do hope I will never again need to refer to Spook in these writings. In my line of work, it never harms to be cautious, which is why I’ve always carried a loaded revolver in my desk drawer.
Baines informed me that the choice for Bartlett’s replacement was out of my hands and that they would be choosing the new guy based on their own criteria. I am still stunned by this. What criteria are needed? We are working toward a vaccine for the new plague. The only criteria I’m interested in is whether the new guy is a qualified epidemiologist and partakes, during his spare time, in the odd glass of brandy. As far as I’m concerned, that is all that will ever matter. Perhaps if he also didn’t regularly engage in flatulence like his predecessor, that would be an added bonus given the small confines of our work space. The tiny laboratory in which I’m forced to work provides fertile ground for potential conflict with disagreeing scientists.
After giving me the news, I sat there incredulous while Baines sipped from his Hacienda La Esmeralda. Seriously, you can’t get beer any more but Baines can still get his hands on the world’s best coffee from Panama. It beggars belief! How is it possible to get that stuff when I can’t even get my hands on a glass of milk?
The new guy starts next week and I keep running over possible scenarios in my head. Perhaps they suspect I had something to do with Bartlett’s death and they feel the need to watch over me. I’d like to state now in writing that I had nothing to do with it, unless one could blame my daily demeaning and bullying of the man for his decision to take the coward’s way out. And sure, I may have accidentally forgotten to lock my desk drawer on the day he chose to shoot himself, but it wasn’t like I pulled the trigger myself, I merely prompted him to do so, is all. What’s more, I’ve never been the type for mischief, perhaps with the exception of where my work is involved, but only when under threat by those scientists less brilliant than myself.
They must be stark staring mad if they feel the need to use precious resources monitoring me, all while the world is dealing with a zombie infestation. He may rank highly as a Colonel (I suspect bribery was involved somewhere) but all he really is is a bureaucrat. I’ve always hated bureaucrats. All they ever do is sit there, drinking their Hacienda La Esmeralda, shuffling papers about their desks while imposing ever more restrictions and guidelines on the real men and women who actually do the work that matters.
Perhaps they’re simply intending to keep me on my toes? The world desperately needs a cure and we’re far from achieving a miracle at this point. I must think about this some more.
Journal Entry - June 12
Having had a little more time to think about recent events, it makes sense to me that they would want to claim credit for finding the cure themselves. I get a terrible feeling coursing through me that this new guy, whoever he is will be some kind of double agent working for vested private interests and not for the good of humanity. It all sounds so implausible, but this is the best theory I’ve been able to conceive. However, I made a promise to myself to log all my thoughts, no matter how obscure. I’m now wondering who Baines really is and just where his true loyalties lie.
On another note, rations were cut by a further twenty percent today. This is in addition to a similar cut only last month. I can only assume this disturbing new trend will continue whilst more and more refugees flood into our safe haven. I personally feel no sympathy toward these parasites, who no doubt heard from other roaming survivors about our existence. Where were they while we were chopping down trees, building our defences, digging wells, ploughing land, sowing seeds, constructing new buildings, fighting zombies, starving, freezing and dying? Now we’re fully functional and reasonably safe they flock to us and demand access. They take our food and give us nothing in return. They are unskilled and compromise our security with every new arrival, often bringing a fresh hoard of the undead following right after them. I expect further reductions in rations during the coming weeks as long as those in charge continue to act in such stupidly altruistic ways. Why is it that even following a zombie outbreak, few things really change?
I don’t fear for myself, at least not at this stage. I am New London’s most brilliant scientist after all. But there are certain epidemiologists in lab 7 I do fear for. Professor Maynard will not be happy. Which makes me happy, at least coming from a spiteful perspective. The fat Professor could well do with a calorie restricted diet, I fear he would not fare so well if the hordes of undead rapping at our doors made it through the perimeter and began entering the lab block. Sometimes I watch him while he eats and I wonder if he’s any closer to finding the cure himself. His cold aged eyes reveal no clues.
It would make more sense if the two of us combined our minds in order to find this cure. But I think we both work better alone. He is a large man and our working areas are pitifully small. Besides, I am far too easily annoyed by those around me, I’m fully aware of my very human flaw. Nonetheless I remain curious as to what goes through the man’s great mind. Of course I wish Professor Maynard well and I hope he’s soon able to develop a vaccine that works, I really do mean that. Even if it means all of my own efforts will have been wasted should he beat me to it. After all, the future of the human race must come before my own personal ambitions. It would be a great shame for me though, for people have received Nobel prizes for far less. Whoever creates the vaccine first will likely go down in history as one of the finest ever scientific minds. I can just see myself up there now, along with Edward Jenner who devised the cure for small pox and Louis Pasteur who cured rabies and anthrax.
An idea has just entered my mind. I must go.
Post Script:
New guy here tomorrow.
Journal Entry - June 13
I’m inspired today because I think I have a breakthrough. Well that might be getting slightly ahead of myself, but I’m inspired nonetheless. I recalled how Edward Jenner discovered his cure for the small pox when he found that those who worked with cows contracted the less serious cowpox and then became immune to small pox. Jenner then found that an individual would become immune to small pox by being injected with the cowpox virus. This resulted in minor blistering and itching, perhaps discomfort for a few days, but the patient wouldn’t then die from small pox due to the increased immunity.
I think we need to build up our immunity to the H3N17 virus in a similar way. All I need do is find out how. We are all immune to small pox, so that has to be worth some serious consideration. I can give a good healthy dose of small pox to anyone in this building and nothing will happen - At least I don’t think so.
The new guy was escorted to the lab and introduced to me by Colonel Baines. He seems like a good natured chap; perhaps my initial fears were unfounded. But then again, I have been in an unusually good mood today on account of the brandy stores being replenished. But I didn’t catch his name because I was engrossed in thoughts of small pox at the time. As long as he’s less noisy than Farter Bartlett I’ll give him a chance. We are after all here for the same reasons. Oh, and he brought beer. How did he manage that?
Post Script:
I write this in the department mess. Beer never losess its appeal, even after ttwo years. While I quench miy thirst withh a rare avarice I ponder mmy new theory some some more. We can never aspire too
kure those zzombies whoo walk around in a state of advanced dekay; having lost thee ability too breeve or even to function at a basic fysiologikal level, however they’re must be some way of granting immunity to those, to those, to those living so that they won’t turn post infection or post mortemm into those freakish ghouls who’ve changed our world.
Journal Entry - June 14
Been at the lab two hours. Still no sign of Beer Boy. Until I know his actual name, he shall be referred to as that. Maybe he made the mistake of venturing outside the perimeter? Now that would have been foolish.
Well I can’t start until he graces us with his presence. I shall write him a note and go for a walk around New London.
Post Script:
New London is extremely calm and peaceful. It really makes you wonder if what is happening on the outside is real. The calm breeze on the face feels wonderful after being cooped up in the lab for weeks on end. I walked by the hydroponic facility that provides for much of our nutritional needs. They have built another block onto the existing structure, seemingly to feed the extra mouths within New London. The water distillery has also been upgraded. We have become a fully functional, fully independent and self-sufficient society within an incredibly short period of time. It’s incredible what only a few well skilled and motivated men and women can accomplish, even against such overwhelming adversary. I’m extremely happy to be a part of our people’s renaissance. I must play my part and develop this vaccine with haste. There are so many lives depending on my success. This realisation is reinforced by my passing the quarantine block where dozens of our people lay in beds awaiting death. I pity those lesser skilled members of our new civilisation whose job is to put a bullet in the heads of the recently departed. My vaccine will render this ungodly practice thankfully obsolete. All these thoughts would fill my head as I walked, until the thundering of a passing tank brought reality back.
Post Script 2:
Still no sign of Beer Boy! I will have to give him a severe dressing down when he shows. Until then, I will press on myself.
Journal Entry - June 15
I had another strange start to the day this morning and another which I’m not quite sure what to make of. At least not at this moment. When I entered my lab I was greeted by the presence of Beer Boy (real name Doctor Toombs - How fitting for these times). He was speaking to Spook, who on my arrival turned round and walked out the lab, doing so without so much as acknowledging my presence. Now, dear reader, tell me I’m paranoid. This is most peculiar behaviour and one that I shall be complaining about, mark my words. I don’t think they were expecting my arrival quite so early. Well, when your assistant fails to show, you will inevitably be behind on your schedule and so there is much catching up to be done.
I gave Doctor Toombs a severe reprimanding for yesterdays no show, proving that if he ever thought I could be bought off with a few bottles of beer, he was severely wrong. To my complete annoyance he informed me he answers only to Colonel Baines and not myself. This was news to me and something else I shall have to raise with the department.
I don’t trust this man and I have doubts as to his expertise in the field of epidemiology. He appears to have only a bare grasp of basic concepts at best and even had to enquire upon me as to the nature of the aggression of H3N17. His initial pleasant demeanour has been replaced by an apparent unfriendly nature and sourness. He leaves the lab at regular intervals pleading bad bowels (perhaps another Farter Bartlett in the making?) and he ails from heavy breathing on account of a deviated septum, which I find severely distracting. I usually like to listen to Giuseppe Tartini and his masterful violin stokes while I work, but Toombs claims it gives him a headache, so now the only sound in the lab is his sinuses. He wouldn’t know a beautifully played double-stop trill if it bit him. I feel I have no choice other than to keep him in the loop as little as possible as to my latest theory, at least until he earns my trust.
As to my theory; I plan on testing the merger of small pox, Hansen’s disease (leprosy) and bubonic plague into a single vaccination. All these diseases result in the victim developing sores, rotting flesh and delirium; not dissimilar to H3N17. I shall call this vaccination Jasper 1 (after my old pet dog). All I need now is a willing volunteer to come forward who will allow me to inject Jasper 1 into his or her bloodstream. The volunteer will already be immune to the small pox so I envisage no negative effects from that. Human beings are 95% immune to leprosy, so unless the volunteer is extremely unlucky they will not likely suffer any side-effects as a result of having leprosy injected into them. As for the bubonic plague, well, it’s certainly the lesser of two evils when compared to a zombie bite. Should the volunteer develop side-effects resulting from the bubonic plague then I shall inform the man personally, as he lies in agony in his bed, that he will die for the greater good.
Journal Entry - June 16
I sent Doctor Toombs on a mission more befitting his capabilities. Right now, he’s placing up posters advertising the need for volunteers. Such is his person I don’t expect him back until mid-afternoon at the earliest. It is my hope that a quantity of the latest refugee intake will come forward but I’m not holding my breath. As I look out my window, I see them gathering by the lumber yard, sitting around, doing nothing.
I need to have a serious think about Jasper 1. I’m going for a walk.
Post Script:
Walked past Professor Maynard in the corridor between the incubators and the security room. We acknowledged each other with a curt nod.
Post Script 2:
Siren! All science personnel are required in the security lock with haste.
Post Script 3:
It’s late and I’m tired. A wave of zombies made it through the perimeter. We have been locked away for six hours. I’ll continue this tomorrow when I’ve rested and know more about the situation.
Journal Entry - June 17
There was a battle yesterday after a large number of zombies found a way through the minefields and over the perimeter. For falling asleep on post, the guard on the watchtower will be executed later today. What a waste that is - I could have used him as a test subject for Jasper 1, but they refuse to see reason, no matter how hard I beg. An example has to be made of him. This one neglectful guard allowed a small army of zombies into New London resulting in the deaths of ten people torn apart and another five who were bitten and had to be put down by our own people. I feel partially responsible for the deaths of those latter five. If I’d successfully created a vaccination those brave souls would still be alive. I envisage the department will come down hard on me personally for this. Professor Maynard must also share responsibility. I wish I knew how he was progressing with his work.
I have Jasper 1 ready. The trio of diseases have been incubated and nurtured and I have them. All I require is this volunteer who continues to evade my syringe.
In less relevant new, I’ve not seen Doctor Toombs since he ventured out postering. I shall have to find him myself and I really don’t have time for this. I can only hope he was amongst the dead from the yesterday’s battle.
Post Script:
I’ve spent the last hour walking around New London and have been unable to locate Doctor Toombs. Things were so much simpler in the days of the internet and telecommunication. I loathe having to resort to primitive methods for something as important as this. I’d give Doctor Toombs another dressing down, if only I thought it would do any good.
Journal Entry - June 18
I write this as I sit and watch Professor Maynard eating his breakfast. We’ve caught each other’s eye on more than one occasion. I wonder what’s going through his mind right now. He looks like I feel. Like the weight of the world rests upon his shoulders. He looks gaunter than usual and I wonder if the calorie restrictions are now beginning to take effect. Or perhaps it’s the increased workload we’re both finding ourselves placed under.
Post Script:
I returned to the lab to find Doctor Toombs rummaging through my de
sk. I caught him off guard and he became aggressive when I enquired upon his motivations. He left for a toilet break soon after and I took the opportunity to discover if anything had been taken. To the best of my knowledge nothing has been removed. Doctor Toombs returned from his toilet break 45 minutes later, pleading irritable bowels. I shall have to remain even more vigilant in the future.
Important Note: I must keep this journal on my person at all times.
Post Script 2:
I find myself disappointed with the human race. It’s only right that individuals should sacrifice themselves for the greater good of mankind as a whole; especially in times such as these, where we find ourselves on the brink of extinction. Without the struggle and overcoming of such struggling we can never hope to progress as a people. Throughout our history, mankind has only ever evolved due to overcoming the extreme conditions nature and our fellow humans have placed us under. There has been no greater struggle for our people than right now at this very moment in history. Yet I find not one single person is willing to risk his life so that a cure may be discovered. If nobody’s willing to come forward, then I shall have to look to different means of obtaining test subjects.
Zombie Revolution Page 6