“Don’t touch it! It’s infected blood!”
He pulled his hand back and let the lid fall shut. “Why the hell were you covered in infected blood?”
“I told you I’m working on a cure and I need samples to do that and--”
“Did you spill the samples? Because that’s a hell of a lot of samples to waste in there.”
Harold blanched. “I...uh…”
Quinton stalked over to the second door and Harold tried to rush over to block him but he pushed the older man out of his way.
“Don’t! You’re not supposed to know! You won’t understand!”
Quinton looked through the window and was appalled by what he saw.
It was a small room with concrete walls like the rest of the place. A small cot was against the back wall and a man was strapped down to it, restraints on his head, chest, arms and legs. An IV pole stood next to the cot, a bag of fluids hanging from it, the clear tube leading to his hand. He was bare chested, a blanket pulled up to his hips and a bandage was wrapped around his arm. A tray of blood sample vials lay on the floor next to the cot, blood spray covering them and part of the floor.
“I think he is getting used to the sedatives. He wasn’t due for another dose for an hour. I tried to take a sample but he woke up and started thrashing and the needle tore him up. I dosed him and bandaged him up.”
Quinton spotted the white foam around the man’s mouth and realized where Harold was getting his samples of infected blood.
“You are keeping a freak here on the island?” Quinton asked, incredulous. “Why?”
“I needed fresh samples to do my work.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Quinton cried out, pushing away from the door to glare at the man. “Harold, your work is bullshit! You think if the best minds at the CDC couldn’t figure this out, you can, in this tiny shit lab?”
“I can do it!” Harold yelled back, fire lighting his eyes and his pallid skin grew pink. “I can fix this! I’m so close!”
“You’re delusional!” Quinton stalked away from Harold, afraid he was going to hit the man.
“No I’m not,” Harold said and darted over to one of the counters and grabbed a stack of papers. “Look, I’ve got a vaccine. I think it will work, I just need to do some trials and then--”
“Who else knows it’s here?” Quinton demanded. “Does Angela know?”
Harold nodded. “Everyone in my group knows. They helped me bring him here and work out a way to keep him here.”
“This is complete insanity!” Quinton yelled.
“He’s restrained and sedated, he couldn’t get out even if he wasn’t. He’s not a danger to anyone.”
“Stop saying he,” Quinton barked at him. “It isn’t a person anymore. It’s a thing.”
Harold surprised Quinton when he stepped up to him, a look of challenge behind his glasses. “No, he’s not. His name is Glen Roberts and he is my friend. He got bit trying to save me. When I figure out a vaccine I can figure out a way to cure him.”
The volatile rage in Quinton died out as quickly as it had come to life and he felt a pang of pity for the man. He had been there and he knew the need to repay that kind of debt but that wasn’t a reason for this kind of insanity.
“Look, Harold, I get it. I get what it’s like to owe someone your life but you aren’t going cure this. You can’t.”
Harold grew still, his eyes narrowing and his jaw creaked as he clenched it. “I created the damn thing, of course I can.”
Quinton grew cold as he processed what Harold had just said. It was clear by the way his eyes bugged out behind his glasses that he hadn’t meant to say it.
“What are you talking about?” Harold pinched his lips together so tight, they turned into a thin white line. “Harold, you tell me what the fuck you are talking about or I will get in there and put your friend down!”
Harold looked at the door and then back at Quinton running a frantic hand over his thinning hair and the sweat on his forehead.
“I worked in Research and Development at the Agency. One of the projects involved developing a way to enhance the human body. Engineering super soldiers, in science fiction terms. The joke about the project was that we were creating rabid dogs. That got us thinking about the rabies virus and X1-A43 was born. It caused changes to the amygdala which brought on heightened aggression and diminished fear. It worked in animals, they were stronger and dulled to pain but they were still clear minded enough to obey their training. They passed all the tests and we moved to human trials.”
Harold slipped into silence, removing his glasses to clean them and Quinton could see the haunted look in his eyes.
“What happened?” he prompted.
“It was a disaster. They were aggressive but there was no control. They were mindless monsters. The project got the axe and all evidence was buried. Until X1-A43 showed up a few months ago in the general population.”
Harold shook his head. “I have no idea how it happened. The only known samples of the virus were in a vault in the CIA.”
“So the CIA put this thing out there.”
Sonofabitch! His dad had been right. It was the government behind it after all.
“The CIA doesn’t do such sloppy work, at least not since the Bay of Pigs.” Quinton didn’t smile at the joke. “If the CIA had intentions of using it as some sort of biological weapon, it would have been targeted. Someone took it from the CIA. Not that it really matters who did it. Everyone involved is probably dead now anyway.”
A flash of rage sizzled through his veins as he thought of all the lives that had been lost because of what this man had created. He had the sudden desire to hurt Harold but when he looked up at the man, he saw the anguish clear on his face.
No, Harold was hurting more than any physical pain Quinton could rain down on him.
“I know that I’m to blame for what has happened but if there is anyone on this planet who can figure out a cure, it’s me.” Harold put his glasses back on and gave them a determined push up the bridge of her nose. “And I need to do it. If it wasn’t for me, none of this would be happening.”
“You can fix it?” Quinton asked.
Harold’s eyes closed in relief and he nodded. “I can. I know I can.”
Damn it, he actually believed him.
“We have to tell the others,” Quinton said.
“We can’t. They won’t understand.”
“They will. We can explain it to them like you did to me. They won’t blame you for creating it.”
“It’s not that. I can take whatever blame they dish out for what I’ve done.” Harold looked over to the door. “I’ve heard them talk about the infected. They’re terrified of them. They’ll want to kill Glen.”
He had a point. Hell, there was a part of Quinton that still wanted to get rid of it, cure be damned. But the part of him that was a doctor, that loved discovering damage to the human body and fixing it, wanted Harold to succeed.
“If you have that thing in there, you can find a cure?” Harold nodded. Quinton had to admit that Harold did have a point. If the others knew that there was a freak on the island, they would want it dead. He could maybe sway one or two to his side but not all of them. He wasn’t even sure he could convince his sisters to see the good that could come from this. “Fine, I won’t tell the others. Not yet anyway but as soon as you have a viable vaccine, we tell them everything.”
“Agreed,” Harold said.
“How have you kept it...him alive all this time? Are you feeding him?” he asked.
“The IV,” Harold said. “It has kept him alive, though he’s lost almost twenty pounds since he succumbed to the virus.”
“Have you thought about feeding him actual food?”
“We tried but we can’t figure out a way to feed him without getting bitten.”
Quinton nodded and went over to the papers that Harold had showed him earlier. He picked them up and scanned the read outs. “You mind if I get a
copy to look over?”
Harold nodded and went over to the computer. “I’ll print you out a copy of all of it.”
“Can you also reprint Matthew’s blood panel results? That’s the reason I came down here. The one you brought me was messed up.”
Harold nodded and began clicking away and the printer booted up and started spitting out papers. “I’m curious, how did you get through the door upstairs?”
“You weren’t that good at hiding the code,” Quinton admitted.
“I’ll have to watch that,” Harold said as he handed over the papers but he held onto them when Quinton tried to take them. “Thank you for keeping this secret. I appreciate it.”
“You cure this thing and we’ll be even.”
“I will.”
And to his surprise, Quinton believed him.
PART 4
Subject File # 742
Administrator: Are you scared about going back?
Subject: I wouldn’t say scared. Apprehensive would be a better word. We fought tooth and nail to get away from there. I feel like we’re heading straight back into the belly of the beast.
When Malcolm walked into the lodge he was assaulted with a scent so divine, he thought he had died and gone to Heaven. He had endured some horrific smells since the world ended. The scent of rotting and burning flesh had been seared into his nose for so long he thought he would never smell anything good again. Now that was all forgotten as his nose filled with the pleasant aroma of fresh baked bread.
A line had formed in front of the serving window and Malcolm hustled over to join it, coming up behind Lorraine.
“Do I smell what I think I smell?” he asked her.
She turned around and gave him a dazzling smile. “It is. Janet has been baking since this morning. She said she knew a recipe that didn’t need milk or eggs so she decided to give it a try today.”
“That’s Grandma Evans recipe!” He clapped his hands together and licked his lips. “Y’all are gonna die when you taste it. Sweet and fluffy with a crisp crust.”
He had to swallow back the saliva that had suddenly filled his mouth at the thought. They’d been here on the island for almost two weeks and the kitchen crew had been getting more inventive with their cooking.
“They made spaghetti and meatballs too,” Lorraine told him as the line moved forward.
The twins ran by with their plates and he eyed the slices of bread on top of their pasta. Trey followed behind them, his plate piled even higher.
“Hey, wanna give me a taste?” Malcolm asked, reaching out for his plate but Trey dodged away.
“Get your own,” Trey said and headed over to sit down.
Malcolm counted down the people in line, bouncing on his feet in excitement, impatient to get his share. Only three people stood between him and manna.
Quinton had already shoved the bread in his mouth when he passed by them.
“It’s still warm,” he groaned around his mouthful and Malcolm nearly steamed with jealousy.
“My turn!” Lorraine called out and she stepped up to the window to receive her plate from Janet. He finally noticed that Hannah was also back there with her, perched on a stool and handing out slices of bread from a basket.
Malcolm smiled at his sister when it was his turn to get his plate. “How many loaves did you make?”
“A dozen,” Janet said, piling spaghetti on a plate. “Hannah here was a great help. I showed her how to knead using Grandma Evans’ trick and she picked it up like a natural.”
Hannah handed him a slice of bread. “Miss Janet said we can make bread every other morning.”
“You hold her to that promise, Miss Hannah, because I am counting on fresh bread, okay?”
Hannah giggled and then added another piece of bread to his plate. He winked at the girl and then grabbed up some silverware and headed over to join Trey at his table.
The kid was already halfway through his plate of spaghetti but he still eyed the extra bread on Malcolm’s plate as he sat down.
“You gonna eat all that?” he asked with a nod at his bread.
Malcolm wrapped an arm around his plate and pulled it close to him. “Yes. Every last bite.”
Trey smirked and they slipped into silence as they ate, only the occasional moan of bliss coming from them. The others that filled the dining room were doing the same, though the children were a bit more animated as they slurped up their noodles.
Tonight was pure enjoyment for all of them. For a moment it was like the place had gone back in time to its original purpose. They could all just be people here on vacation, sitting down to dinner after a day of swimming and fishing. There wasn’t a nervous tension in the air like there had been their first few nights here.
No, tonight everyone was laidback, relaxed and happy. Maybe they were finally laying the memories of the road to rest.
Craig sat down across from him, putting his plate on the table and leaning over it to take a deep breath.
“Ahhh,” he sighed, sitting back and smiling at Malcolm and Trey. “Not only homemade meatballs but fresh bread...can it get any better?”
Craig forked some spaghetti onto a slice of bread and bit into it, his eyes rolling back in his head as he moaned with satisfaction. “Mis ed mealy oode.”
“What’s that?” Malcolm asked and he waited for Craig to chew and swallow.
“This is really good,” he repeated. “Now all we need is some butter to go with the bread and we’re set.”
“You find the cow and I’ll find a butter churn,” Malcolm quipped.
“We should put them on the list,” Craig said as he speared a meatball on his fork and then popped it in his mouth.
“List for what?” Malcolm asked and Craig chewed and swallowed.
“List of supplies we need to pick up when we go on the run. Though not sure how we’re going to get a cow on a boat.”
Malcolm chewed on the last bit of bread and swallowed. “Well, we’ve got a while to work that out.”
Craig sucked in a breath. “Well, I wouldn’t be so sure about that. We need to get over there sooner rather than later.”
That surprised Malcolm. As far as he knew they had no immediate concerns when it came to necessary supplies.
“What do we need that we don’t already have here?”
“Building supplies,” Craig replied as he wrapped noodles around his fork. “We used up the last of our lumber and screws getting the platforms up on the west side. There isn’t enough left over to build on the east point.”
It was true. Craig had intended for the west side platform to be like the one on the north point, but the large evergreens had been farther apart than on the north point. They had been forced to build a centre support and secure it in the ground with cement. It had taken longer and used up more of their supplies than they had anticipated.
“Are you still going to build a tower on the cliffs?” Trey asked him.
Craig nodded and swallowed. “I want to. We get something high enough out there, we’ll have a full 360 view of the lake. We don’t have the lumber for that and even if we did, the cliffs are shit for exposure. High winds rip through there during a storm and it’ll bring down the tower. We’ve got to give it a solid foundation and reinforce the structure. There are some breaks in the rock but the soil is sandy. We are going to have to dig in and put down a proper foundation. We don’t have enough supplies here to do all that.”
“Which means we have to go to the mainland.” Malcolm leaned back in his chair. “Dammit.”
He had hoped they would be able to put off going back to the mainland for a lot longer. It felt like they had only just got here.
“I don’t like it any better than you but we don’t have a choice. It’s the watchtower or the mainland. Your call.”
Craig dug into his food as Malcolm ran a hand over his head, thinking about the logistics of a run. They had more than enough gas for the boats and if the SUVs were still at marina, they’d be able to haul everyt
hing they needed back.
The key would be knowing exactly where to go to find what they needed. They couldn’t waste time running around blind, searching for lumber yards and hardware stores. What they needed was to find one of those big home improvement stores. It would have everything they would need. One place, one haul.
“Elaine,” he called out to the woman sitting with Jenny and Lorraine. “Can you come here for a minute?”
Elaine crossed the room and joined them at the table.
“You’ve been mapping out places of interest on the mainland. Do you know if there are any home improvement stores close to the marina we sailed from?”
She nodded. “Fifteen miles north, a town called Port Meyer. There’s a mall there. It has twenty eight stores. Sixteen clothing stores, eight electronics stores, six shoe stores, four sporting goods and ten miscellaneous. There are three detached buildings, the Builder’s Yard, a big box store and a department store.”
Craig whistled, clearly impressed by her. “How’d you remember all that?”
“There’s a reason she’s the best analyst,” Malcolm said, exchanging a proud look with Elaine.
“With all those stores, it might not be a bad thing to think about expanding your list outside just construction supplies,” Elaine said. “It’s going to get really cold here when winter comes. We’re going to need winter clothing, boots, hats, gloves. There’s also the chance of snowstorms well into the spring here so it wouldn’t hurt to grab any non-perishable food we can find.”
“I thought the inventory count showed that we had at least six months of food and that’s not including what we get from the garden.”
“We do but winters can last long up here,” she told him. “Snowstorms in May aren’t unheard of and a late frost could kill off our spring plant which means we’d have to keep relying on the stores into summer. More food is always better.”
Malcolm was glad to have Elaine here to steer him in the right direction. She had always been gifted at seeing every possible angle and knowing the best way to execute a flawless plan.
“There’s also a pharmacy in the mall and probably one in the big box store,” she told him. “You should probably hit those as well. The clinic is stocked but like the food, more is always better.”
Sanctuary Page 48