Even The Dead Will Bleed

by Steven Ramirez

  After lunch Karen led us into her expansive home office. Two large computer monitors stood side-by-side on the large antique mahogany desk. Piles of newspapers, bound reports and yellow legal pads filled with notes lay scattered across the desk and on the floor. A white board filled with notes ran the length of one wall. Behind the desk stood leaded glass French doors that opened onto a beautiful garden, which featured roses, camellias and other familiar plants I couldn’t name.

  Holding our coffee cups we took seats on chairs and a leather sofa as Karen got comfortable behind her desk.

  “That’s some desk,” I said, trying to recover from my earlier gaffe.

  “The network gave it to me when I retired.” She put on her reading glasses and went through her notes. “Now, then. We have a lot of work to do.”

  “Excuse me.” She looked up at me, a little irritated. “What do you mean, ‘a lot of work’?”

  “Oh, honey, Maritza told me how you wanted to get yourself killed going after this . . .” She referred to her notes. “This Walt Freeman person. And at your age. I didn’t think it proper that you commit suicide, so—”

  “It’s not suicide if the other guy gets it first,” I said. Though I liked Karen she was being pushy and that was getting me steamed.

  She smiled at Maritza. “He’s being noble.”

  “I know!”

  Karen continued her lecture. “Gary Cooper was noble. So was John Wayne.”

  “Don’t forget Clint Eastwood,” Vlad said, getting in on the fun.

  “If you mean Dirty Harry, then yes. But the man with no name was—”

  “What about Josey Wales?” the Russian said.

  Karen smiled politely. “He turned out all right, I suppose. In the end he lived. And stop interrupting me, young man. I never cared for you boorish Russians—you seem to lack basic manners.”

  She and Vlad locked eyes. I thought he was going to smack her. Eventually he chuckled and turned to his sister, who made a sympathetic face and patted his hand.

  “She is right, brat.”

  “Where was I?” Karen said. “Oh, yes. David, I really don’t think you’ll want to kill Walt Freeman and here’s why. It won’t change a thing.”

  “I kind of figured, but—”

  “But nothing. This man is more powerful than you know. He has the ear of Congress, the Pentagon, and maybe even the President. I wouldn’t do anything to antagonize him.”

  “I already have. I, uh, I hit his assistant Becky.”

  “Why did you do that?”

  “Because she’s an evil bitch. She was the one who arranged for Sasha to be kidnapped.”

  “Nevertheless.” Karen glanced at Maritza and stood. “I’ve already done some research and here is what I know.”

  Crossing to the white board Karen walked us through some of the history, most of which I already knew. Robbin-Sear Industries was a privately held bioscience technology company founded in 1990 by two former government scientists, Doctors John Robbin and William Sear. It was headquartered in Virginia.

  Upon incorporation the founders were awarded a Department of Defense contract to provide vaccines to soldiers during the Gulf War. At first they focused on diseases like Hepatitis A and B, typhoid and malaria. Later they began manufacturing new vaccines to protect against chemical and biological agents.

  “Eventually they began looking for a way to inoculate soldiers,” she said, “serving in war-torn countries to prevent the effects of PTSD from occurring.”

  I got to my feet. “Excuse me. I remember a conversation I had with a couple of researchers back in Tres Marias. They told me that most of their work had centered on combinations of drugs that could be used to suppress the fear response in the amygdala.”

  “Yes, that seems to agree with my research.”

  “They had a breakthrough when they discovered that they could achieve the same result using a virus that targeted the brain.”

  “Rabies.”

  “Exactly. They called it RS-6160.”

  Sasha leaned forward, excited. “This is why they find rabies in my blood?”

  “Yes,” I said. “But what they didn’t count on was the virus mutating so quickly. At first the people in Tres Marias who were infected became the undead.”

  “Impossible,” Vlad said.

  “No, it’s not. I fought them for six months.” Then to Karen, “Today they look like you and me—except for the eyes. And the fact that they flay people alive.”

  Karen squinted at an area in the center of the board. “Tell me, David, isn’t it true that another incident occurred outside the country?”

  “That’s right. Previously they had tried something similar in Guatemala.”

  “And Walt Freeman testified to Congress that they were on a humanitarian mission, responding to an outbreak of—”

  “Bubonic plague. They burned everything to cover their tracks.”

  Karen referred to her notes. “The research facility you discovered in Tres Marias. That was owned by Robbin-Sear, correct?”

  “Yes. And also the one in Mt. Shasta.”

  “But when you decided to go after Walt here in LA you went to a different company.”

  “Baseborn Identity Research.”

  Karen smiled. “Ahh . . . This makes sense. During Walt Freeman’s testimony the only company he ever mentioned was Robbin-Sear, yes?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, they are irrelevant. In fact, I would say that everything that went wrong in the outbreak will rest with Robbin-Sear.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  “It’s finished.”

  “How do you know?”

  “For one thing, both John Robbin and William Sear are dead.”

  “What? How?”

  “Cancer. They passed within months of each other.”

  Karen returned to her desk and dug through a stack of Wall Street Journal newspapers. “Ah, here it is!” She handed me the front section. “Take a look at this.”

  I read the headline. Baseborn Identity Research Set to IPO. “I don’t get it.”

  “They’re going public. Goldman Sachs is handling it. And they’ve already got a drug in the pipeline. I believe it’s RS-6160.”

  “But it doesn’t work!” I said.

  “It doesn’t have to. They simply need to convince their investors that they have a viable program so they can start drug trials.”

  “So this whole thing—it’s about money?”

  “My dear,” Karen said, peering at me over her reading glasses and smiling. “It’s never been about anything else.”

  “How was she able to find all this stuff?” I said to Maritza as we strolled through the garden. It was getting dark. I caught the first shimmering outline of the moon through the tall trees.

  “I told you, she’s a kick-ass researcher.”

  “But isn’t she worried her computer will be traced?”

  “She told me once she uses a virtual private network to surf the web. Something to do with encryption.”

  “Good.”

  She took my hand and we stopped near an immature apple tree. “David, I don’t want you to die,” she said.

  “What?”

  “You were ready to take on Walt and Trower and anyone else who got in your way. But this is crazy. You heard Karen. It’s too big. There’s a lot of money behind this. You won’t win—they’ll kill you.”

  “I have to—”

  “Avenge your wife’s death? I get it. But there might be another way.”

  “What way?”

  “I’ve been thinking. What if we were to expose Walt Freeman and Baseborn Identity Research for what they are? Make it so they can never do this to anyone ever again.”

  I pulled away from her and wandered over to a bed of roses. I hadn’t meant to become emotional. Somehow I felt I could be myself with Maritza. Though the words that poured out shook me to my core I wasn’t embarrassed. She needed to understand that I was being drawn to
wards death and that it was inevitable.

  “When they murdered Holly,” I said, “they took everything from me. My wife . . . my baby. My whole future. I knew what we were up against. There were so many times over these last weeks and months when we could’ve died, trying to save ourselves from the evil that they unleashed. But I had hope. I thought God would protect Holly. I thought . . .”

  I knelt down and stroked a rose petal, its moisture wetting my finger. “I thought because I had repented for my sins that I deserved to be happy again once the horror was over. But I’d underestimated what bad people were capable of. And I paid the price—Holly paid the price. So did our child. Our child, Maritza. An innocent soul who was never supposed to be a part of this.”

  As I stood she fell into my arms and held me as hard as she could, as if trying to keep me from destroying myself. “You can still be happy, David.”

  “How?”

  “With me.” She looked into my eyes and touched my face. “Please. Just give us a chance.”

  “You don’t even know me.”

  “I know you enough.”

  She clung to me like a tree in a hurricane. As I looked past her I saw Karen approaching us from the house. Her face drained of color she said, “You’d better come in. It’s the Russian girl.”

  I was prepared for the worst.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Blood Fever

  Sasha lay on her back tied to the bed, her hands and arms slick with fresh blood. A red stain covered her abdomen. Thin white polyester rope secured her to the bedposts. We had gathered in the guest bedroom, and as Maritza and I inched closer towards the Russian girl I noticed the familiar glowing purple irises. Her brother stood by her, holding her hand.

  “What happened?” I said.

  Vlad turned to me, his face pale. “She was fine. We were watching television and talking. Then she begin shaking. She . . . she made noise—horrible. Like D’javol.”

  “The devil,” Karen said.

  Straining to lift her head Sasha looked at me imploringly. “Dave!” She let go a mewling noise that assaulted my eardrums.

  “You need to tighten those ropes,” I said to Vlad. “Her strength has probably increased.”

  “Da,” he said, doing as I asked.

  I turned to Karen. “This is your house. What do you want to do?”

  “Let’s talk outside.”

  Vlad opened a first aid kit and began treating Sasha’s wound. “I’m staying here.”

  Maritza and I followed Karen into the living room and sat. Karen crossed over to a drinks trolley and, using her good hand, set down a crystal whiskey glass. But as she lifted the top of the ice bucket she dropped it.

  “Let me,” Maritza said and went over to help her friend.

  “Maker’s Mark. Two ice cubes.”

  “I remember. David, want anything?”

  “I’m good.”

  As we sat facing each other Karen drained her glass. The drink seemed to calm her. “After her convulsion, she ran into the kitchen and found a knife. By the time we got to her she’d already cut herself.”

  “What about the baby?” I said.

  “The cut was superficial—thank God—but there was a lot of blood. This is the virus, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. They were treating her while she was a prisoner. I wish I knew what kind of drugs she was getting.”

  “So this could get worse? Is she contagious?”

  “Dammit!” I got to my feet, swiping at the air furiously. “Look, if you want us to leave . . .”

  “I didn’t say that.” Karen tilted her glass towards Maritza, who took it and made her friend a fresh drink.

  Closing my eyes, I turned away from the two women. Based on what I knew, Sasha would only get worse. I recalled the Latina we had discovered in an abandoned grocery store in Tres Marias. We had named her Ariel. Though she was infected she hadn’t turned—not like the others. But she did exhibit the same signs—the glowing irises and the periodic animal-like behavior.

  “There was this girl,” I said. “We tried to help her. She was under a doctor’s care.”

  Karen chewed her lip and took a sip of her drink. “Did they treat her with anything special?”

  I shut my eyes and forced myself to recall a conversation from the past. We were at the isolation facility in Tres Marias. My friend, Dr. Isaac Fallows, was explaining why Ariel had gotten better. We’ve been giving her fluids, including antibiotics. Her recovery so far is nothing short of miraculous. That was what he had said.

  “Fluids and antibiotics—that was it.”

  “I’m no doctor, but it might be possible that the treatment stabilized her.”

  “So what do we do,” Maritza said, “take her to a hospital?”

  Karen shook her head. “No. They’ll want to know what’s wrong, and then they’ll perform tests. Once they enter her information into their online systems, Walt Freeman will know right where she is.”

  I pulled the cell phone from my pocket. “We need a doctor who will keep Sasha off the grid.”

  As I started to dial Maritza said, “David? What happened to that other girl?”

  I looked away ashamedly. “We killed her.”

  Calling Isaac Fallow presented a huge risk—not for us. Though I trusted this man with my life, getting him mixed up with Sasha could put his life in danger. He hadn’t answered when I called, which I expected. I left him a brief voicemail message saying, It’s Dave. Please call me. Isaac got back to me back in minutes.

  After I explained the situation he insisted on driving down. I wanted to ask about Tres Marias—about Warnick, Griffin and Fabian. There wasn’t time. He told me that he could be here in eight hours. He would arrange to bring the necessary medical supplies. In the meantime we would need to do our best to keep Sasha stable, making sure that she drank fluids and ate well. I advised my friend to leave his cell phone behind and purchase a burner. Then as I disconnected I said a silent prayer.

  I felt deeply tired. As I lay back on the sofa, holding an untouched bottled water, Vlad walked in and filled a glass with Skyy vodka.

  “How is she?” Karen said.

  “Sleeping.” He drained his glass, poured another and took a seat next to me. “How much worse will this get?”

  “I’m bringing in a doctor,” I said.

  “He won’t ask questions?”

  “No. He’s a friend and he’s agreed to treat Sasha. We need to look after her till he gets here.”

  “Is it safe to . . .”

  “I told him to be careful. Vlad, he was in Tres Marias when the outbreak happened. Believe me, he wants to help.”

  Vlad looked away and, lowering his head, wept softly. I thought of the person who was prepared to kill me when we’d first met and I understood completely. No decent human being was immune to the torment of what was happening—especially when it involved a family member.

  Karen got to her feet and turned to Maritza. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s see what’s on the dinner menu.”

  As Maritza left the room she squeezed Vlad’s shoulder and brushed my hand. I decided to check on Sasha.

  The four of us had agreed to take two-hour shifts watching Sasha till Isaac arrived. I took the first shift, sitting in an overstuffed chair that faced the bed. Sasha slept fitfully, occasionally turning her head from side to side and moaning. Vlad had done a good job of cleaning her up and had changed her bloody clothes.

  I hated seeing the Russian girl like this and wanted to untie the ropes. But the fits would return, and we couldn’t risk her attacking us. Her steady breathing lulled me to sleep. I didn’t open my eyes again till someone touched my shoulder. When I looked up I saw Maritza smiling down on me, holding a book.

  “Are you hungry?” she said.

  “I guess.”

  “I’ll take over. Karen and Vlad are in the kitchen.”

  I stood and stretched and touched her hand. Grasping mine she leaned in and kissed me deeply.

  “W
hat was that for?” I said.

  “Just because.”

  She settled into the chair, opened her book and playfully shooed me away.

  “What are you reading?” I said.

  “Death in Venice.”

  “Perfect.”

  As I left the room, I wondered if this girl thought we had a future. Looking ahead, all I could see was darkness and dread. But rather than push her away I decided that I would enjoy what little time I had with her. Was I falling for her? No, no way. I was being human. And sometimes to be human you have to push Death away and let the light in.

  Karen and Vlad were sitting in the dining room, drinking brandy with their coffee. Outside the rain had started again.

  “Oh, David, good,” Karen said. “I’ll ask Olga to fix you a plate.” She disappeared into the kitchen.

  “Thanks.” I took a seat and looked at Vlad. “Your sister is resting. She looks better.”

  Karen returned with a salad, Olga following behind with a plate of fish with pasta.

  “Y para tomar?” Olga said.

  “Coffee is fine, Olga. Thank you.”

  Karen poured more brandy into her coffee cup and handed the bottle to Vlad, who did the same. I wanted to join them in the worst way—to ceremonially drown my sorrows. But my sadness went much deeper and I knew that if I started, I would never be able to climb out. Instead I drank more coffee.

  “So how do you see this playing out?” Karen said to me.

  I put down my fork. “Right now the priority is to get Sasha stable.”

  “Da,” Vlad said.

  “There is no cure for this—I’m sorry, Vlad. We might be able to control the disease.”

  “You tried that with the other girl and it didn’t work,” Karen said.

  “Back then we didn’t know what we were dealing with. We’d never seen the virus take this form. When Ariel turned violent, we got scared. My friend Warnick did what he felt he had to do.”

  “So there was a chance she might’ve come out of it?”

  “No one can answer that, Karen. There were a number of patients in that isolation ward. When they got to a certain stage Dr. Fallow ordered them to be put down.”