Elixr Plague (Episode 3): Pandemic Page 6

  “You hear that?” asked Seneca in a voice barely above a thought.

  “No, man…I got nothing,” replied Ward.

  “Yeah…that’s what I mean. It’s too quiet.”

  “Good night,” Ward muttered. “Don’t be pulling that Obi Wan gut-check shit on me again. This ain’t the sandbox, man. I promise you, there ain’t no haji waiting on the corner to cap our asses.”

  Seneca agreed, but he still couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched. He looked back the way they’d come. The moonlight filtering through the early autumn canopy overhead illuminated little, but what he could see looked benign. No movement, no targets, no threats.

  And yet…

  “Two blocks from Main Street,” Ward observed.

  “Okay, let’s go.” Seneca took two steps, then stopped, unable to ignore the signals his subconscious mind was handing him. “Wait one,” he whispered, and unhooked a small LED flashlight. He peered into the darkness behind them and clicked it on.

  Dozens of eyes, glowing like a cat’s at night, lit up. They were scattered all over the yards and the street behind them. As he shined the light around, more and more appeared, some behind windows in houses, others seeming to float as their bodies moved around.

  “Holy fuck balls,” Ward muttered.

  “Go, go, go!” Seneca said, shutting off the light and running toward Main Street.

  “Where the hell did they all come from?” said Ward, right on his heels.

  Seneca didn’t answer. His boots pounded on the pavement in ground-eating strides his body couldn’t maintain for long, but sheer terror liquified his bowls and propelled him forward. There was no stopping—stopping meant death.

  As they ran toward Main Street, more and more lights appeared through the trees and behind houses. Seneca risked a glance behind them. Darkness followed, along with even darker, writhing shapes in the inky black. Zekes. A lot of them.

  A high powered light opened up on a rooftop near the river—Seneca thought it was a parking garage—and swept over them, temporarily blinding the two ex-Delta operatives. Seneca stumbled but didn’t fall. The light moved on, and a second later, a gunshot rang out.

  “Take cover!” Ward gasped around a ragged breath.

  “They’re not shooting at us,” Seneca replied, hearing a meaty thwack after the next shot.

  “Run!” a voice called out from the rooftop. Someone was waving a light, or a cell phone, back and forth to signal them. Another gunshot, this one from across the street, thinned the herd behind them by one more.

  Seneca’s first thought was to seek shelter in the building, but as they pounded closer, he saw that would be impossible. Cars and trucks had been parked and abandoned to block windows and doors, and debris and even construction lumber had been piled up to prevent the undead from gaining entrance to this bastion of humanity.

  “Keep moving,” Seneca ordered.

  A zeke lurched around the corner in front of them, arms out, hands grasping at air. Ward drew down on it and stitched a line of holes across its chest with his rifle. The thing staggered back, bleeding out of every hole, then continued toward them unfazed.

  “Uh, we got a problem, boss!”

  “The head—you gotta take ‘em in the head!” the voice from the rooftop shouted.

  Seneca paused mid-stride to fire off a snap shot and took the zeke square in the face. It dropped with a wet splat to the pavement and didn’t so much as twitch. “Let’s move!”

  “Just caught me by surprise, that’s all,” Ward complained as Seneca shoved him forward.

  Disposing of any care to keep silent, they bolted down the street, not pausing more than necessary to scan corners when they crossed Main Street and it’s a graveyard of silent cars, many of which had headlights on, lighting up the ghastly scene. Half-eaten bodies littered the street and blood splashed sidewalks, car windows, and shops all the same.

  “Christ,” grunted Ward, pausing momentarily to catch his breath, his back against an abandoned SUV. “What the fuck happened here?”

  “A slaughter,” Seneca said, trying to calm his racing heart. He’d seen all the people stuck and arguing in their cars and on the streets. He’d seen the first wave of monsters crest the hill and chase down the civilians fleeing east across the river. And now it looked like there had been a horde of the things descending upon the people in the abandoned cars.

  “Don’t stop, keep moving! You got a shit ton of ‘em coming right at you!” the voice on the rooftop warned.

  “Keep it down!” someone across the street yelled. “They’re attracted to noise!”

  More gunshots from the direction of the parking garage silenced further debate. Flashlights from rooftops lit up dozens—hundreds—of shambling zombies, all moving like an unstoppable flow toward the buildings clustered around the western end of the Main Street bridge. They were heading right for Seneca and Ward.

  “We should get across the bridge here,” Ward said, pointing toward the car-packed road. “Messy, but fast.”

  Seneca shined his light on the bridge. More glowing eyes looked his way. Dozens by the looks of it. Infected were standing around poking at cars when his light hit home, and they turned and started toward him. He shook his head.

  “That’s a hard nope. North it is,” Seneca said around gulps for air, chopping the air with his hand, pointing toward the foot bridge he’d crossed hours earlier. “I can see the bridge—we’re almost there.”

  “Good, ‘cause this sucks,” grumbled Ward.

  They took off at a steady, if slightly slower pace, moving north, away from the shouting and shooting taking place near the Main Street bridge. They encountered a handful more zekes, all wandering aimlessly, but were able to outrun or body-check them aside, preserving both their ammo and their location. The last thing Seneca wanted to do was draw another large group of the infected on them just as they reached their bridge with their energy flagging.

  9

  Target Acquired

  Underground Lab #2

  Martin Manor

  Beacon Point, Michigan

  Dr. Gerald Mapp looked up from his desk when Desmond Martin entered the inner sanctum of the Beacon Point research facility. His pale skin stood in stark contrast to the brilliant blue eyes that blinked owlishly at Martin behind round wire-frame glasses. "Oh. Hello," he said, flatly in the Queen’s English.

  Desmond strolled into the center like he owned the place, because he did. He looked around, taking in the banks of computers and flat-screen monitors adorning every wall and vertical surface. Bundles of cables hung from the ceiling and snaked behind monitors and workstations. Several other technicians and scientists moved about Mapp in the main laboratory, and behind glass-paneled walls, working on equipment Martin couldn't hope to recognize.

  "Tell me you got some good news, Jerry."

  "Well, I-I-I won't say that it's the best…it is…news of course," the English scientist stammered out.

  Desmond watched him, waiting patiently.

  "Oh, the…viral studies. Yes. Well, we're making good progress on that front, I'm pleased to say—quite good." He added, removing his glasses and a handkerchief from his back pocket.

  "And?" Desmond said, drawing out the word. “This is what I needed to hear in person?"

  Mapp polished his glasses. "Oh. Well, no, not precisely. It has to do with…another matter.” He perched his glasses on his hawk-like nose and blinked again.

  Martin crossed his arms. "Jerry, what the hell are you talking about?" He could see now that he'd made a wise decision all those years ago in making Norman Yang the head scientist. Jerry Mapp might be a genius, but the man struggled with simple communication skills. Desmond entertained the thought of Mapp presenting Elixr at the big reveal last year instead of Yang and shuddered. The press would’ve eaten him alive.

  "Yes. It’s…rather delicate, I suppose. I-I…oh, here—just have a look."

  Mapp stood and stepped aside, indicating Martin should take a s
eat at his desk.

  Desmond nodded, edge past the gangly scientist, and sat. "Okay, what am I looking at?"

  "It's the mobile, you see. Dr. Yang's, to be specific. We've extracted all the data we can. Quite fascinating material actually, if you—"

  “What did you find?" Desmond asked, cutting off the tangent and leaning forward to inspect the computer monitor. "What's this? I saw these pictures on his cell phone when I was able to access it after the crash. Looked like some kind of horror movie or something. I didn't know Norman was a fan of the genre."

  "He's not," Mapp said with surprising finality. "Oh, well…tha-that is, I don't know precisely if he is or not—was—oh, bloody…” He stopped and pinched his nose. “That's not a picture from a horror movie. It’s his daughter. Kelly."

  Desmond narrowed his eyes at the ghastly image of a teenaged girl with long stringy black hair, incredibly pale skin, and make up depicting dark veins all over her face and neck. The next picture showed her face in better detail, and Martin recoiled as if physically slapped. He recognized that face, those eyes completely filled with blood, dark stains from the corners of those eyes, nose, mouth, and ears…it was the same face that peered back on every newscast involving the Elixr Syndrome. It was the face of a zombie.

  "My God…what happened to her?"

  "It's really quite fascinating," Mapp began in an upbeat tone. "It seems our Kelly Yang was…patient zero."

  "Patient zero? You mean…she was the first…zombie?” Desmond asked, incredulous, but unable to take his eyes from the screen.

  "Indeed," Mapp said. "This poor young girl was evidently kidnapped…it's all quite plain when you piece together the text messages Dr. Yang sent to this unlisted number,” he said, tapping the phone number on the screen next to the pictures.

  "I saw these when I looked at his phone briefly…” Desmond replied, scanning the list of text messages. “I didn't think they meant anything, I can’t understand what he was talking about."

  "Nor could I, a-at first. It took some…concentration to piece things together. But from what I gather, whoever was behind the Elixr modification kidnapped Kelly Yang. Possibly from her school. They held her hostage to ensure Norman’s compliance."

  "Compliance?” Desmond asked. This was getting stranger and stranger. “Compliance for what?”

  Mapp sighed and put his hands in his lab coat pocket, stretching the white fabric over his bony shoulders. “I-I’m afraid I have some rather bad news. It seems Dr. Yang made modifications to Elixr as well.” Mapp gestured at another screen, showing the swarthy face of a fully bearded man of Middle Eastern heritage. "This is Dr. Kushir Omar, perhaps the top geneticist in Libya. The man by now is most assuredly dead. He was kidnapped by whom I believe to be the same people responsible for Kelly Yang's disappearance. Some time ago, he was forced to work with a group of terrorists—we’re still attempting to track down exactly who they are, but this is rather outside my purview, you see."

  "If you’ve got a name, I've got people who can do the rest. Keep going," Desmond encouraged.

  "Indeed," Mapp said, looking down at his feet. He glanced up after collecting his thoughts. "From what I gather, Mr. Omar was induced to modify the Elixr formula. While he is certainly one of the world’s top-tier geneticists, he is by no means—or was—one of Dr. Yang's peers. It seems the terrorists decided to use Dr.’s Omar and Yang to modify Elixr to target specific genomes."

  "They wanted to turn Elixr into a weapon," Desmond muttered.

  "Quite," Mapp said. "However it appears they did not have the intent to attack every single person on the planet, only those with Semitic heritage."

  Desmond glanced at the scientist and arched an eyebrow. "They wanted to turn Elixr into a weapon to attack Jewish people?”

  Mapp nodded. "So it appears. They might have succeeded, were it not for Dr. Yang interfering." When Desmond didn't say anything, Mapp continued. "It seems, a-according to the tests and examinations—well, w-we've run an extended battery of tests…on the modified Elixr samples collected from residue at the release sites. It a-appears that the original modifications were countermanded."

  "Countermanded? Wait a minute," Desmond said, throwing his hands up. "You're saying that the terrorists wanted to modify Elixr to target a specific group of people. They told Norman to do this—then kidnapped his daughter to make sure it happened." Mapp nodded eagerly. "So where does is this Omar guy come in?" Desmond asked.

  "Well, it's q-quite fascinating, actually. Y-you see,” Mapp said, removing his glasses again. “It appears that Dr. Omar was to be the authenticator. The terrorists did not quite trust Dr. Yang—despite holding his daughter ransom—and so they employed Dr. Omar to double check his work and make sure…well, that the virus was modified correctly." He shrugged. "Presumably, once Dr. Yang's work was complete, Kelly was to be released. However, it a-appears from the text messages that he received, they must’ve uncovered his duplicity. As a result, well…" Mapp said, gesturing helplessly at the screen depicting the pictures of Kelly as a zombie.

  "The sons of bitches used the modified formula on her as a test subject." Desmond leaned back in his in the chair and closed his eyes, rubbing his face. "And she turned into a monster. And they told Norman…oh, my God…"

  "Indeed," Mapp said quietly. "You can see b-b-by the last two text messages that Dr. Yang had figured as much out on his own. One of the last messages he sent proclaimed his intent to contact you and divulge all the information he had as punishment for harming his daughter. He promised them that you would…send certain p-people to, ah, hunt them down, as it were.”

  Desmond looked up, murder in his eyes. "He wasn't wrong. When we find out who these fuckers are, I'm turning Centurion loose on them.”

  Martin didn't think it was possible, but Mapp’s face actually grew another shade paler. Everyone as high as Mapp in the organization knew what Centurion meant, and the violence of which that group of men were capable. He swallowed. “A-and good riddance, I say. This scum deserves whatever befalls them. Or rather, I believe they already have been befallen.” He pushed the glasses up his nose again. “In rather ironic twist, based on the evidence that I've been able to find from the text messages and those simply horrendous videos sent to Dr. Yang, I b-believe Kelly escaped her confinement after she…” He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Turned, I suppose. In the last few pictures, you c-can see she's quite bloodied, and there are two people who appear to have joined her."

  Martin shook his head, re-examining the pictures on the computer screen. "My God…you’re right—they turned her into a monster, and she destroyed them from the inside. They never saw it coming…”

  "No, I daresay not,” Mapp said. “In fact, we’ve ah, fully mapped the new genetic code from the modified Elixr, and I have to say, I'm quite unable to make heads or tails of it. If Dr. Yang were still with us he might…that is…"

  "What are you telling me, Jerry?"

  Mapp sighed, putting his hands back in his pockets. "We just don't bloody know. We don't know the details. At this point, we have no idea how to reverse the effects of the modified virus. All we can do is stop it—prevent it from spreading the way we intended it to spread, by application of the original serum. B-but I'm quite certain that anyone already infected with the virus who-who somehow manages to bite or inject their own blood into someone else…well,” he said, spreading his hands, “they will in effect turn that person into a monster as well."

  "It's like a real-life zombie movie," Martin muttered.

  Mapp snorted. "Quite! You know, that thought never crossed my mind." He chuckled to himself.

  "I hardly think this is a laughing matter,” Desmond snapped.

  Mapp cleared his throat. "Yes…of course. N-no. Not at all."

  Desmond sighed. Now what the hell was he supposed to do? "Do you have any idea who these terrorists are, or where they were located?"

  Mapp shook his head. "I'm afraid we’re not sure—the details we've been able
to glean from the viral samples only pinpoint what they've done, not where they did it. And as for the text messages, well, we’re ferreting out the IP addresses to figure out where they originated but it will take some time—c-communications with our forensic teams are…ah, rather shoddy at the moment.”

  Desmond stood and turned to the scientist. "Keep working on it Jerry, you've done well here. Give me something I can turn over to Centurion—they'll do the rest. We’re not letting these sons of bitches get away with this," he said, jabbing his finger at the monitor with Kelly's picture. "Norman was right. If he'd come to me with all this information, I would've paid any amount of money to make sure these bastard's suffer.”

  “Alas…and now poor Dr. Yang is gone—”

  Desmond waved off the sentiment. “Just because he's gone, doesn't mean that I'm not going to fulfill that promise. We’re going to hunt these animals to the ends of the earth. And it all starts here." He clapped Mapp on the shoulder. "Excellent job, Jerry. Keep it up."

  "Oh, to be sure," Mapp said, pushing his glasses up his nose. "And…f-or the record, our progress would be greatly accelerated if we were to have another sample—if we were to have a sample of the original, pure Elixr.”

  Desmond frowned. "I'm working on it. The government has confiscated just about everything—I made the mistake of telling my friends in the Department of Defense when everything first started going south that we would be willing to share the doses we have—and they went and took all of them. Well," Desmond said, unable to hide a crooked smile, “not quite all of them."

  "Have you a sample then?" Mapp asked eagerly, leaning forward, his intense gaze boring into Desmond.

  "Yes—well…sort of. I have someone who is in possession of what I believe to be one of the few remaining samples. But she’s…out of communication range at the moment."

  Mapp’s face crumbled. "I see…well," he sighed, "we'll do what we can, of course, stiff upper lip and all that. But without a pure sample…" He shrugged. "I'm afraid it's going to be rather slow going."