by Amber Wyatt
“Storm drain. It’s huge. You could drive a car down it,” Finkelstein explained.
“Cutter here is a friend of mine,” Dwayne’s memory kicked into gear and he eyed Finkelstein warily, “Um, hey bro, I don’t have that ramen that I owe you on me right now, but I’ll catch you later okay?”
“Are you fucking nuts?” Finkelstein laughed. “You just saved my life. We’ll call it quits.”
“Oh, right, cool,” Dwayne relaxed and he pointed out the other two to Gina. “That’s Mr. Lamoureux, one of the guard supervisors, and this is Mr. Milea, the prison warden.” Another thought struck Dwayne and the smile was wiped from his face as if it had never been there. He raised his gun and pointed it directly at Milea, who raised his hands fearfully, not understanding what had changed the big man’s mood. His face paled as Dwayne’s eyes narrowed angrily and his finger tightened on the trigger.
“Please, don’t shoot me,” Milea begged. “I was just doing my job. I was a fair warden, I ran a fair prison.” He looked desperately around at the others, who were also looking at Dwayne in bewilderment. “Please, tell him not to kill me.”
“I have just one question for you,” Dwayne’s voice was hard. “And depending on how you answer, the next words to come out of your mouth decide whether you live or die, right here, right now.”
Lamoureux raised his hands as well, and tried to look as harmless as possible. Finkelstein, realizing that he was being ignored, took the opportunity to cagily slip to the side, out of Dwayne’s line of fire. Meanwhile Dwayne’s companions looked at him in consternation.
“Dwayne, please…” Gina was dismayed. She had actually started to like this guy. But suddenly she was starkly reminded that he was an escaped convict who had been facing a potential life sentence. She looked at the unforgiving set of his shoulders, gun raised ready to kill, and the harsh, merciless line of his jaw that could have been carved from granite. She realized that she knew nothing about him at all.
“Quiet, Gina.” Dwayne turned back to Milea, who shivered at the icy glint in Dwayne’s eyes. “So, tell me, warden. A few dozen prisoners got transferred out of the joint over the last couple of months. Lifers mostly. Where did they get transferred to?”
There was a ripple of movement around him as his companions relaxed slightly. Gina and the others understood what Dwayne was talking about now, and they too fixed the hapless warden with murderous glares, waiting for his response.
“The transfers?” Milea was totally baffled, looking around frantically at the grim faces in front of him. “They went to another prison. A quarantined one outside the zone. It was to reduce the budget needed to feed and house them here in the zone.”
Dwayne looked at Milea closely. The other man’s confusion seemed to be genuine, and Dwayne’s eyes softened slightly. But his gun remained firmly aimed between Milea’s eyes.
“We just came from the IDRC,” Dwayne said, with a calmness that he did not feel. “We just saw the transferred prisoners there. Turned into infected. They have been using them for live experimentation there, this whole time. They’re all dead.”
“What?” Milea yelped. “I didn’t know. That can’t be true? I didn’t… I mean, what? Are you sure?” The look of horror on Milea’s face as all the blood drained out of it, was enough to convince Dwayne. The warden looked as if he was about to faint, or vomit, or both.
“I believe you,” Dwayne lowered his gun with a sigh. Milea lowered his hands, but his face was still white, and there was a haunted look in his eyes.
“Oh my God,” he mumbled to himself. “ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod.”
“Warden,” Finkelstein grabbed Milea by the shoulder. “Hey, warden. Snap out of it. I got an idea. How about you cut Dwayne here the same deal you did for me?”
“Yes, yes, of course.” Milea gathered himself together and pulled his tablet out of his pocket. “It was Williams wasn’t it? ‘Dwayne’, is that your first name?”
“That’s right,” Dwayne said suspiciously. “What deal is Cutter talking about?”
“The prison is gone, destroyed,” Milea looked up at Dwayne. “All our paper records, everything is gone, and we four are probably the only survivors, with the exception of course of staff members who were not scheduled to work today. It will be weeks if not months before they sort this mess out.” He held up his tablet. “But my virtual office and my email are still active. So, what I am going to do for you and Finkelstein here, is to retrospectively approve your parole hearings, which we will pretend took place last week, and email the confirmations to the Federal Bureau of Prisons central processing office. The entire process is automated. Within twenty-four hours, every federal database will show that you have completed your sentence and been approved for early release. You are officially a free man, Mr. Williams.”
“That’s… that’s very generous of you, warden. Thank you, Sir.” Dwayne was lost for words. The possibility of clearing his name had not even occurred to him.
“Well, as Mr. Finkelstein so aptly put it. You did just save our lives. I believe I owe you a favor.” Milea smiled, and typed quickly at his tablet for a minute. “There, it’s all done and sent.”
“Actually, sir. There is one more favor you can do for me. Do you have my file there on that tablet?” Dwayne craned his neck sideways to look down at the screen.
“Yes,” Milea looked up curiously. “Do you want to see it?”
“If you could just bring it up, please. And then tell this young lady here, what crime I was imprisoned for.” Dwayne looked down at Gina with an unfathomable look in his eyes.
“Here we go,” Milea grunted as Dwayne’s record entry popped up in front of him. “Florida Statutes, Chapter 775, the three strikes rule. Hmmm, seems to have been harshly applied in your case, Mr. Williams. Probably incorrectly too. You should have appealed.”
“And the last crime, sir?” Dwayne rolled his eyes. Of course, I would have appealed, if I’d had the money to afford a decent attorney.
Milea had the grace to look embarrassed, as he looked up at Dwayne and then over at Gina. “He stole a video-tape.”
Gina flushed, a number of emotions bubbling up, and she pouted, trying to cover up her embarrassment. He was telling the truth. How about that? And he’s not a murderer.
“Well, that’s not sexy at all. I was hoping for something more badass, like a bank robber,” she complained. She looked him up and down, and realized that she had a huge smile on her face.
“Come on,” he said, smiling back at her. “Let’s go home.” He took Thomas’s wristwatch off his wrist and handed it over to her. “Here, you can do the honors. Send the signal.”
Gina pulled out the button that Thomas had shown her, then pressed it three times. There was an audible beep and the screen changed on the front of the display. It read ‘Signal Sent’. Then almost immediately, it beeped again and the display read ‘Pickup 90 Minutes’, and a timer started to countdown.
It was time for them to bid farewell to Hugh. Of the group that had travelled into the zone together, only Gina, Rob and Wilkins had survived. So much had happened that she could hardly believe that it had only been a few short days since their crazy plane ride and subsequent crash-landing on the highway. That early morning, getting into her parachute harness and preparing to board the plane seemed to be a lifetime ago. There were tearful hugs, and heartfelt promises to stay in touch, and then all too soon Hugh and Arlene, together with the trio of survivors from the prison, mounted up in the SUV and drove off.
Then they carried Wilkins gently to the jetty and laid him down next to the chest. Gina sat next to Dwayne and leaned against him companionably.
“So, Hawaii huh? I wouldn’t mind visiting Hawaii,” she mused out loud.
“You’re gonna love it,” he grinned down at her.
Back in the burning hallways of the IDRC, a squad of black-uniformed soldiers walked through the last, untouched corridors towards the boardroom. Indika strode confidently at their head. Far behind him
, National Guard troops continued their methodical torching of every room. They had cleared nearly three quarters of the building, and were closing in on him, but Indika was not concerned. He did not intend to go back that way.
Indika opened the door to the boardroom and his jaw tightened with barely controlled anger as he saw General White. The air force general was early, pacing impatiently on the other side of the blast-proof glass. Upon seeing his nemesis only a few feet away, Indika felt a volcanic fury surge upwards from his chest into his throat. He could feel an actual physical sensation of rage, such as he had never experienced before. He willed his face to maintain a calm expression, but his fists were clenched until the knuckles turned white.
“Do you have the book?” White asked urgently, looking at the duffle bag that the scientist was carrying. “I did everything I could to call off the National Guard but they have a strict protocol to follow if they believe an outbreak is in progress. I have no influence at all in their chain of command.”
“Of course not,” Indika was surprised at how calm his voice was, bearing in mind his inner turmoil. “You have very little influence anywhere, outside of this dirty little, private project of yours. And to be honest I am at a loss to understand how you even managed to obtain access to the funds and resources you have expended upon this research center.”
“What are you talking about?” White’s voice was wary, aware that the conversation was steering into unknown waters, but he was distracted, his gaze still riveted on the bag which Indika had placed on the boardroom table. Is the book in there?
“I know, General,” Indika hissed.
“You know? You know what, exactly?”
“I know that Project Lazarus is totally illegal! It is some secret, dirty, black ops project that only you know about. I must have been crazy to believe that you had the authority to say we could use live human subjects for research!” Indika yelled at him, not bothering to try and hide his rage any more. He reached under the boardroom table and keyed in a quick combination on the keypad concealed there.
White reeled backwards in fear, as without warning the blast proof glass separating the two halves of the boardroom slid down and vanished into the floor.
“Oh my God, the Lyssavirus! The quarantine!” He looked back desperately at the door behind him.
“Oh shut up, General. You and I are both well aware that there is no ‘virus’. I also know that you are personally and directly responsible for bringing this damned book into the United States.”
“The book. You have it?” White’s eyes had an ugly glitter to them as he looked at the bag that Indika had placed on the floor.
“Yes, I have the book,” Indika sneered. “And yes, I have read enough to understand perfectly well, how it works and how to use it,” he continued sadly.
“You told me that you had the chest and the book, that you had something important to discuss with me about it, something you needed to give to me personally. I rushed over here as fast as I could,” White said, his eyes never leaving the bag. Finally, after all this time. I have it in my grasp. Now nothing can stop me. There will be no limits on what I can achieve. Already his imagination was running wild with the possibilities that were open to him now. “Give it to me.” He held out his hands towards Indika. His heart was pounding with excitement. “Give it to me!”
“No, I’m afraid I don’t actually have the book here with me,” Indika said calmly.
White stared at him, a red flush of fury slowly rising and wiping away the expression of surprise on his face. “So why did you ask me to come over?” he asked angrily.
“I didn’t need you to be here,” Indika smiled. “I just needed your train.”
“Goddamn it. Give me that book!” White looked at the Lazarus troops standing behind Indika. “Seize him and cuff him!” He fixed Indika with a murderous glare. “Forget about water-boarding. I will cut you up, you dirty, little fuck. I will fucking skin you! You will be begging to tell me where that book is.”
He realized that none of the Lazarus soldiers had moved, and looked up at them perplexed.
“They work for me, now,” Indika smiled sweetly, “Come on, men. We have a train to catch.” He walked through into the other side of the boardroom and beckoned the squad of soldiers to follow him. That was when White noticed that they were all carrying boxes of files and computers. None of the Lazarus troops so much as glanced towards the general who had personally recruited them.
“What the fuck is going on?” White drew a pistol and aimed it at Indika. “Stop right there and give me my goddamn book.”
Indika just smiled, and White shot him twice in the chest. Then he gaped in horror as Indika simply looked down at his chest curiously, before looking back up him, and smiling even wider as he saw terrified understanding dawn in the general’s eyes.
Indika had the veil tied loosely around his neck, under his shirt. Now that he was the Primus, he did not need to be in direct contact with it, but he wore it next to his skin more for safekeeping than anything else. He saw White’s finger tighten on the trigger again, but before he could fire Indika leapt across the room in a flash, knocking the other man down and pinning him to the floor.
White’s eyes widened in horror and he struggled helplessly as Indika seized his arm in a steely grip and pulled his uniform sleeve back. Then with an evil smile, Indika lifted the arm and sank his teeth deep into the meat of the general’s forearm. Immediately White felt the change taking him over. As a Secundus, bitten directly by Indika, his mind remained fully aware and lucid as his body transformed. He could feel an uncomfortable new sensation though, almost like a limit on his ability to think for himself. He recognized it as his bond to the Primus. No, not a bond. A leash.
“Yes, you feel it,” Indika smiled. “I know every thought that passes through your mind now. Oh, and another thing,” he added, as if he had just thought of it himself. “I control you now, totally and utterly.” Indika reached into the bag, pulled out an electric, hand-held, surgical saw and handed it to White, who saw his own hand reach out and take it. “So, if you would be so kind, please cut your own head off.”
Unable to speak, unable to move any other muscle other than what Indika allowed him to move, White could only look on, as his own hand switched on the saw and brought it up towards his throat. There was, at least, very little pain. He supposed that it was a side-effect of the transformation. Then his head was falling and he was bouncing and rolling on the floor. There was a thump as his body slid to the floor beside him, but he could not see it. I cannot move! White suddenly realized.
“Of course you can’t move,” Indika picked him up and looked him in the eye, still smiling. “You’re just a head.” Then Indika opened the duffle bag and dropped White’s head inside.
White’s eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness inside the bag, and to his horror he saw that there was another head in there already. He recognized it as Behnke. The billionaire’s eyes bulged, and his mouth worked furiously as he looked directly at White, but no sound came out. With no lungs there could be no voice, White realized. Outside the bag, he could hear Indika’s voice talking to his soldiers, slightly muffled through the thick fabric.
“Cut his hands off and put them in the bag too. Write a ‘W’ on the back of each one, I don’t want to get them mixed up.”
White swiveled his eyes around as far as he could, exploring the inside of the bag. Next to Behnke’s head was one hand with a ‘B’ written on the back with a permanent marker. Iris and fingerprints, White realized. He has access to all of our networks and resources now. Outside, the noise of the electric saw stopped, and his own hands plopped into the bag next to him. Darkness closed in completely as the soldier in charge of the bag zipped it closed. Then the man picked up the bag and slung it over one shoulder, and White tumbled through the darkness to end up with his face mashed against that of Behnke’s. Immediately Behnke bit on to White’s lower lip and started chewing. He’s gone crazy, the idiot’s attacki
ng me, thought White and bit him back in return. With no body to provide torque or leverage, neither of them could really inflict that much damage to each other, their mouths could only chomp up and down on what was directly in front of them. They carried on biting each other in the dark, as the bag bounced along on the soldier’s hip.
With his soldiers following closely behind him, Indika strode confidently towards the train which would take him out of the zone. General White’s memories told him all he needed to know about how to activate its return function, and soon they were hurtling smoothly down the well-lit tunnel beneath the quarantine border defenses, towards the research complex outside the zone. Behind him, in a secure containment room in the lowest level of the IDRC, the bodies of Brad and Jenney burned fiercely. Indika had said tearless and unemotional goodbyes before igniting the flames. He realized that without noticing it himself, at some point in the past he had already accepted that he would never be able to bring them back.
Indika stood by the door and watched the approaching lights at the end of the tunnel, ready to disembark as the train slowed to a stop. He lifted his chin a little higher, as he cleared his mind and focused his thoughts on the future. He had failed to find a cure and save his family. But now he was the Primus.
Now he had a new purpose.
Epilogue
SIMON MICHAELS and ARLENE VASQUEZ returned to the IDRC twenty-four hours after its destruction, and spent the next four days collecting corpses. With the IDRC no longer operational, Michaels’s uncle set up a new company which was awarded the federal contract to collect and dispose of all bodies related to infected incidents. Arlene was correct, her bonuses for the week totaled just over $241,000.
Four months after he left Fort Lauderdale ROB SERJEANT, formerly the head cameraman for the hit show Tristan’s Travels, released a gritty, behind-the-scenes documentary of the expedition into the quarantine zone. It was primarily an exposé of Behnke’s cowardice, edited to show how he had planned to fake his own bravery and how he had ruthlessly exploited the other members of the team. Selected clips circulated for months on social media and share prices in Behnke’s group of companies plummeted. Rob donated all the profits from the documentary into the Tristan Kühneisen Scholarship Fund for underprivileged students to study film studies at his alma mater, Loyola Marymount University in Southern California.