Threnody (Book 1) (6 page)

Chapter 9

October 2, 2015

The wind buffeted past the hulking plane as it cruised at 700 km per hour – 20,000 feet above the Atlantic Ocean. Lin stared at her laptop as the feeling of terror grew steadily inside her. She was gazing into the soul of a great evil, and she knew it would irreparably alter her world. 
Indeed, it was certain to alter everybody’s world
.  Being a scientist, however, she couldn’t help but marvel at what these two researchers had accomplished in such a short amount of time, regardless of their solipsistic motives and the catastrophic implications they carried.  The fact that she felt even the slightest sense of awe left her feeling even more ill. The increasingly turbulent atmosphere made the KC-390 shudder violently between dramatic periods of loss of lift that caused the plane to drop as much as five hundred feet in altitude in little more than a second.  The combined sensory stimulation easily overwhelmed her attempts to avoid regurgitation as she reached for a sick bag and heaved more than she thought possible for one person.  In spite of her debilitating nausea, she read on, as powerless to stop as a gawker at the scene of a horrible car accident.

From the Journal of Marcus Johnson, PhD

October 1, 2013

We finished our preliminary testing on inter-subject viral transmission.  So far it looks as if this vector is going to give us the specificity we need.  We haven’t seen any transmission between the target subject and other animals despite prolonged exposure times.  As the infected subject will not survive for long once infected, the primary mode of transmission we are concerned with is airborne.  So far, so good.

For now, Marcus out…

January 13, 2014

Mr. Handler is such a pain in the ass!  What kind of asshole takes some lame-ass name like ‘Mr. Handler’ anyway?  Our experiments are going great but we can’t seem to kill these monkeys fast enough for that sick bastard!  We have been working damn near around the clock; there isn’t much else to do out here.  Wherever the hell ‘out here’ is.  What a jacked up situation!  Can’t talk to anyone except Sanji and the geeky-ass lab techs that barely even speak English!  Don’t get me wrong Sanji is great but I’m beginning to wonder if he hasn’t been in with Mr. Handler from the beginning.  He’s just way too comfortable with all this Cloak and Dagger bullshit.  Sometimes I get the feeling he’s watching me; you know, keeping an eye on me for Mr. Handler.  I’m going to have to be more cautious around him.

For now, Marcus Out…

April 11, 2014

It’s been a while since I wrote about our progress.  After looking at several molecular targets we had the most promising results with voltage-gated sodium channels.  We evaluated various toxins and their mechanisms of action but most were too slow, too obvious, or too detectable.  Finally we came upon tetrodotoxin.  That is some seriously bad shit!  100 times more toxic than cyanide and hard to detect unless you use advanced analytic techniques like mass spectrometry.  Basically we have been able to hijack neural transmission in the subject leading to the fairly rapid onset of weakness, paralysis, respiratory failure, and arrhythmia.  We’ve seen subject demise in as little as two hours and none have survived past six hours.  Remind me not to cross Mr. Handler!  I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if that reptilian bastard tried to turn our own creation on us after this is all over.

The lyssa-niuhi virus (LNV), as I’ve taken to calling it, has two primary means of host toxicity.  The first is the synthesis of tetrodatoxin-related protein (TTXrP) at levels sufficient to stop the heart as well as paralyze all voluntary skeletal muscles including the diaphragm.  This begins immediately after infection and is limited to production by only those cells directly infected by the inoculated LNV.  TTXrP’s LD
50
is so low that adequate toxin levels are attained even with the relatively low number of cells producing the toxin. TTXrP reaches lethal levels in our model about two to four hours post-infection.  LNV infection also results in the synthesis of an antigenic protein that triggers the host immune system to produce bispecific anti-transferrin anti-Nav antibodies.  This second, somewhat redundant mechanism essentially amplifies the immediate effects of TTXrP that alone are generally sufficient for target neutralization.  The transferrin specificity was incorporated to provide a means for the autoantibodies to cross the blood-brain barrier and was taken from work done by a colleague of mine who has been investigating ways to target CNS proteins directly.

Mr. Handler came to the facility with another ICT guy last week.  We were told he was a top-notch forensic pathologist and he definitely fit the bill.  That guy was way creepy!  Since it looks like we found the right target the ICT guys wanted to see if the forensics guy could figure out the cause of death of the subjects.  Mr. Handler told us that he was given no information about the nature of our pathogen and that he was the best in his field.  They are confident that if he can’t figure it out then no one else will have much of a chance.

Even if anyone did figure out what the hell was happening to a target, there is no antidote for TTX.  That reminds me, I have an idea for a counter-vaccine of sorts that I need to work on in case Mr. Handler does get a little wild with the needle.  I don’t trust that guy.

For now, Marcus out…

May 9, 2014

Dammit!  Mr. Handler is going to be pissed!  I really thought we finally had it all worked out.  Animal #4 in the latest group of test subjects (group E4) survived infection with LNV.  I use the word ‘survived’ loosely as he seems pretty messed up.  Things were proceeding normally after LNV administration.  #4’s vital parameters were showing the expected decline caused by TTXrP and about two hours after infection, the tech pronounced #4 dead.  The disposal team was delayed and thus the E4 subjects remained in the lab for several hours after the completion of the experiment.  I was at my workstation sifting through the latest data set while Sanji was on break.  I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and looked up to see #4 weakly moving his arms!  He was about seven hours after infection at that point, and about five hours out from being pronounced dead.  He was either back from the dead or had been pushed so close to the edge of death that our monitoring failed to detect the vital signs necessary for life.  At first I thought I might be hallucinating.  After all, I’ve seen my niece here three times in the last week—twice standing among the jungle foliage just staring at me and once in my living quarters.  I haven’t mentioned that to Sanji for obvious reasons.  The isolation in this place is really starting to get to me.  This whole project is starting to get to me.  The more I see and do the more I wonder if it is truly worth it – too late now I suppose.  Anyway, I’ve decided to call #4 Lazarus.  We are currently looking into why and how he managed to survive the LNV infection.

For now, Marcus out…

Chapter 10

October 2, 2015

Huntington Field

Marengo County, AL

The mechanic ran full tilt back toward the tower from which he had come.  He was surprisingly fast for a man his size.  After a moment of confused indecision, John ran after him despite being unsure of what exactly he was running from.  As he neared the building, the mechanic motioned wildly for him to hurry. The second John cleared the doorframe, the mechanic leaned out, peering from side to side as though he was expecting someone else to join them.  Satisfied, the mechanic quietly closed the heavy metal security door.  The mechanical click of the lock engaging sounded like a gunshot in the confined space.  The mechanic then proceeded to maneuver a long section of metal pipe through the door handle and past both sides of the doorframe to further bolster the already formidable barricade.  No one was getting through that door without the assistance of a bulldozer or a block of C4, John thought.  Still, the man continued to fortify the entrance, moving several large tool cabinets in front of the door as though he was concerned someone might actually show up with a bulldozer or high power explosives.  Despite the substantial weight of the toolboxes, the man did not even strain as he guided them into position.  As soon as he was satisfied with the barrier he turned to John, and with an unreadable expression that simultaneously projected genuine concern, unchecked fear, and unadulterated rage, he said, “Did he get you?”

John stared back blankly as if the mechanic had spoken to him in a rarely used dialect of Swahili.

“Did he get you, man
?
Hasker, did he get you?” asked the mechanic with rising volume that mirrored the intense emotions now visibly etched upon his face.  The concern seemed to be losing ground to the fear and rage as his voice took on a noticeably dark tone.  John could not help but notice the length of steel pipe he brandished in a tightening grip, leaving little to the imagination about the intentions behind the menacing weapon.

John started to speak but was cut off as the large man suddenly bounded forward.

The man bellowed, “Did…he…bite…
yo
u?
”  The pipe that had been hanging uncertainly at the man’s side was now poised with its teeth bared begging for permission to unleash the raw fury contained within it.

Thoroughly befuddled and more than a little frightened, John stammered, “Bite me?  No, why would he…?”  The mechanic began to ease back almost immediately at his words.  Sensing the change, John said, “What the hell is going on?”

“Name’s Reams Wilkins. I know I’ve seen you around here before, but I don’t believe we’ve met.  I’m really sorry about your arm, shit was just crazy out there and, well, you know.  I’m sure as hell glad he didn’t get you though.  You are the first normal person I’ve seen in two days.  Man, I’m no killer but the shit I’ve seen and done in the last few days…I’m just glad to find someone else alive and not…well, whatever the hell
they
are.  As for what is going on?  Your guess is as good as mine.  Well, maybe not, judging by how you damn near served yourself to old man Hasker on a platter like a stuffed turkey on Thanksgiving.”

Still thoroughly addled, John managed only a blank stare.

Sensing that John had nothing to add to the conversation at this point, Reams continued,  “Look, I’m no scientist, and I have no idea what or why in the hell any of this is happening, but these people – at least everyone I’ve seen in the last few days aside from you – they are all sick or dead now.  It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen or even imagined.  They are like rabid dogs or feral animals or something.  People I’ve known for years, coming at me trying to kill me.  They don’t seem to have any recognition or awareness of what they are doing at all.  You can’t reason with them.  You can’t do anything but take them down, and that’s not as easy as you might think.  They are persistent bastards.  One of them set his sights on a young lady and chased her until she managed to get into a fuel truck.  That guy clawed and bit at the window for hours, without stopping or even slowing down.  I came up with a plan to try to get her out when the fool thing decided to make a run for it.  She didn’t make it five feet before he was on her.  She was the one that got Hasker after that—the one that walked right through his prop.”  The mechanic swirled his finger around rapidly, violently slicing through the air.  Watching the slight stutter at the end of each revolution, John could almost feel the impact of the propeller as he listened intently with unbelieving ears.

After a brief pause, Reams continued, “Anyway, I don’t know how you get the sickness, but I believe it’s from a bite or a scratch.  Hell, I’m not sure.  I’m not sure about much these days.  But I’ve seen it happen that way after someone was attacked by one of them.  I don’t think you can get the sickness by breathing it, ’cause, as many of them as I’ve been around in the last couple days, I believe I would have joined them if it was in the air.  You ain’t seen any of this?  Where the hell did you come from anyway?”

John stood motionless, still staring at Reams, with an unfaltering expression of disbelief and utter incomprehension plastered across his face.

“Look man, I know this is a lot to come home to, but you better lose that thousand yard stare and get your head back in the game, or you’re gonna end up just like Hasker and all the rest,” said Reams.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” said John. “I’m just a little shell-shocked from what just happened.  Thanks for helping me out there.  Just give me a second to catch my breath and think things through.”

Reams, who at 6’5” stood six inches taller than John, must have weighed at least 275 pounds.  He stared intently at John for a moment as if sizing him up before turning his full attention back to the barricade.  Reams was a young black guy in his mid-thirties, and John knew he worked in the maintenance shop at the airport.  He had seen him many times before but had never spoken with him.  With his impressive physical stature, Reams was not a guy that could be easily overlooked.  John had often wondered why he wasn’t playing football given his athletic physique and hulking muscles.  Despite his intimidating bulk, John never sensed any malice or aggression from the man previously, certainly nothing that betrayed the capacity for the ferocity demonstrated moments ago.

As he watched Reams shoring up the barricade, a deluge of thoughts and emotions flooded his mind. 
Where in the hell are my wife and daughter?  Are they okay?
  The thought caused John to whip out his cell phone with surprising speed.  Desperately, he dialed his wife’s cell phone number.  Nothing.  He then tried his home number.  Nothing.  Every attempt ended with the same dead air one hears if they fail to dial the last digit of the phone number – an impatient silence interlaced with the subtle crackle of electricity longing to tear off down the line and connect with the intended target.  There was a dial tone initially, but the phone never rang.  Not even the obligatory and insincerely apologetic error message from the phone company indicating there were problems with the line.  Nothing. 

He tried both numbers at least five times before moving on to nearly every other number in his contact list.  The result was the same every time. John stared at the useless object in his hand with a level of despondency not experienced up to this point in his life.

Though it had been only three days since he spoke with his wife, their last conversation had not been a pleasant one.  The strain of his absence always caused a rift in their relationship, and this time was no different.  Their last conversation promptly broke down over a minor grievance fueled as much by frustration and miscommunication as anything else.  Neither he nor his wife Rebecca was willing to back down, and the call ended on a bitter, petty note.  The worst of it, he now realized, was that in his aggravation he barely said more than a terse ‘goodnight’ to his beautiful eleven-year old daughter, Ava.  What he wouldn’t give to go back and talk to both of them for the whole night, John thought as the first tear slipped past the edge of his lower eyelid, rolled down his cheek, and onto his neck as if trying to quell the burning sense of agony rising within his throat.

John shifted his gaze toward Reams and thought that whatever was happening must be serious to have such a big guy so spooked.  It also occurred to him that if what Reams had said was true, then his own inability to keep a level head nearly cost him his life.  John prided himself on his ability to ‘stay in the game’ no matter what kind of hell or chaos reigned around him.  It was a trait his father had burned into him from an early age.

During a particularly memorable exchange after an 8 year-old John climbed a tree only to get stuck for over an hour until his father helped him down, Ben Wild said, “Son, if you find yourself in an impossible situation without the means to get yourself out, and everyone around is losing their shit,
you
must keep a sharp, focused mind. You understand, son?”  Though at the time he did not, he now understood with the unmistakable clarity that comes only from experience. 

His father went on to say, “If it truly is an impossible situation, then it doesn’t matter either way, and it’s a damn sight better to go out on your feet like a man than groveling on your knees.  More likely, however, you will see the situation with a clarity that will show you a way out.  The key to this is to be willing to accept the situation for what it is at that instant and nothing else. Stick to the facts, and keep your emotions out of the picture – they will only complicate things.  If you are fueled by the fear of what may come next then you have already closed your eyes to what is happening now. Every course of action you come up with will lead straight to what you fear most, and you will find yourself paralyzed in a state of inaction.  Doing nothing can be every bit as dangerous as doing something stupid.  Remember this—it is a lesson many men are only given one chance to learn.”

Realizing he owed Reams his life, John stood and walked toward the big man with his hand extended in a sign of goodwill.  Sensing movement behind him and more than a little jumpy from the events of the last few days, Reams swung the large pipe around with the strength of a major league slugger in a home-run derby.  His reflexes kicking in, John ducked as he rolled to the side before coming up to a combat base – his hands outstretched to indicate he was not a threat.  With startling speed, Reams redirected to aim a second blow at his would-be attacker before recognition swept over his countenance.

“Take it easy,” said John nervously.

Exasperated, Reams replied through short, gasping respirations, “Damn it, man! Don’t sneak up on me like that!  I nearly knocked your damn fool head off!  Glad to see you’re not always so slow, John.  Keep moving like that and we might just make it through this.”

With the threat of being crushed by the massive man abated, John thanked him for saving his life, and asked him for his help yet again.  “Reams, I can’t thank you enough for risking your neck out there to save me.  I keep kicking myself for letting my mind drag me so close to death.  I guess it was all just too shocking to accept.  I let my emotions overwhelm me and couldn’t comprehend the horrible reality of the situation.  Listen, I hate to ask for anything else, and I know you don’t owe me anything, but I was wondering if you’d help me out again?”

Continuing, he said, “You see, I’ve been trying to contact my wife and daughter since I got here but I can’t get through to anyone.  The last time I talked to them was three days ago, and it wasn’t the most positive exchange.  On my flight in I was kind of hoping they might be waiting for me here but deep down I knew that wasn’t likely.  The thought of me flying makes my wife Rebecca pretty nervous.  She said they might just come to the airport to greet me, though I think she was being sarcastic.  At least I pray that was the case now; I truly hope they stayed far away from here.  Funny how quickly the mind shifts, huh?  You haven’t seen them here have you?  A blonde woman, small frame, athletic build, about five feet tall, striking green eyes, and an eleven year-old girl with curly blonde hair and a smile that melts anyone that sees it?  You’d know if you saw them,” John finished expectantly with a fragile smile adorning his face for several seconds before the pain flooded back in to drown out any semblance of happiness the smile might have held.

John did not think it possible for a person to wear a more forlorn look than that he saw on Reams’ face earlier, but the expression Reams now displayed in response to this question proved that sentiment wrong.  “John…” was the only word Reams could utter as his throat began to tighten as if trapped in the ever-encroaching jaws of a vise grip.  He did not need to say another word, because his expression clearly said every word his mouth could not.

Upon grasping the entire meaning of Reams’ reaction, which had been a sincere one full of sorrow and empathy as if he alone knew the horrible truth, John’s small, tentative, and hopeful demeanor instantly dissolved, leaving only a rising anger as he leapt forward.  “No way, Reams, that’s bullshit! They are fine! I just need to check the parking lot to make sure her car isn’t here, and then I need to get home to help them,” said John with the frantic edge of a man about to crack.

As John reached for the first tool chest, he said, “Reams, give me a hand with this.  We can go to your place as well!  We can get your family, too!  We have to hurry!”

Reams did not move as he watched John struggle to dislodge the huge chest.

“Help me, dammit!” John exploded as he continued his futile attempts to dismantle the barricade.  Finding his voice again, Reams said quietly, “John, stop.”  When John showed no intention of ceasing his effort, Reams continued with escalating volume.  “John… John…John!”