The Virus (6 page)

The soft hiss of hydraulic
motors became more distinct as the unseen platform continued its
descent. Soon, the platform was at a forty-five degree angle. They
were on the same grass-lined concrete path, but it now led to a new
and previously hidden entrance. Geoffrey saw the yawning opening to
a well-lit corridor some feet below the door that he had originally
assumed he was to enter. Lieutenant Dan wheeled him into the
corridor and the other men followed closely behind. Once everyone
was inside, the hydraulic motors lurched to life again as the
platform rose back to ground level. In his mind’s eye, Geoffrey
imagined himself outside watching the earth realign itself like
magic. He knew the seamless platform would raise the walkway and a
foot or so of surrounding grass on each side back to its original
position in such a way that the most observant eye would never know
the difference. He also realized that he was being shown all this
meant that he was involved in something much deeper than an assault
case. What it could possibly be that he had gotten himself into
occupied his every thought as he was wheeled down the long and
excessively-bright corridor to God only knew where.

Fortunately for him, though
(at least depending on how he looked at it), he wouldn’t have to
worry about being in suspense much longer, because before long, he
was wheeled into a large room that was more comfortably lit than
the blinding hallway, and placed in front of a large, one way
mirror. On the other side of the mirror lay Mr. Reynolds; or
rather, what had become of Mr. Reynolds. Geoffrey could see him,
but the scientist could not see his intern. Just as before, the
only thing that showed between Mr. Reynolds’s open eyelids was the
glossy white of missing irises. What’s more, the scientist had
obviously lost weight: A lot of it. The human frame that lay on the
other side of the mirror from Geoffrey was little more than a
lightly-padded skeleton. Obviously, something horrible had happened
to Mr. Reynolds in the short time since the now-terrified intern
had seen him last and the only thing Geoffrey kept thinking now
was,
Damn, if I had only just gone to
medical school like my father told me!

Chapter 7

At that moment, Delilah
was still locked in her room, safe behind her walls from the chaos
that was enveloping the world outside. But that safety, like all
safeties, was not to last forever. In fact, a virtual squadron of
uniformed men and black government SUVs were darkening the grass of
her sprawling front yard, and a few of them were in the process of
marching to her front door even now.

Lenard was in his living
room sipping a piping-hot cup of coffee heavily laden with whiskey,
when a firm knock sounded at his front door. He had been deep in
thought, trying to force into some kind of discernible order the
vast amount of alarming information he had earlier received from
his professional contacts. He was so deep in thought, in fact, that
he didn’t hear the increasingly loud knocking coming from the front
door. He also failed to notice the shadows of men passing by his
living room windows, as unannounced government guests took up key
positions all around his house and the surrounding property. He did
notice things, however, when the knocks stopped…and the front door
opened. Had he not been already facing the door, he likely would
have missed that as well, but since he was, he immediately jumped
to his feet, intending to give the hired help a grand earful for
entering the house without his permission, especially since the
door was locked and they had been ordered to return to their
apartments. The mug in his hand was the third cup of spiked
caffeine, and the disorientation that nearly snatched his
equilibrium away.

He very slowly set the cup
down on the small table beside the chair from which he had just
risen, and shielded his eyes with his hands until he felt
sufficiently steady. Even before he was ready move his hand, he
began his verbal assault.

“What
the
hell
do you think you’re…” he began, but as he took his hand his
away, he was welcomed with an even more unexpected surprise.
“…doing?” he finished, all the anger in his voice instantly and
completely drained. Before him stood not his maids and his head
butler, but about five or ten suited men, all of them wearing latex
gloves, and large caliber pistols in holsters at their sides. More
were trickling through the front door every moment.

“We are federal agents, Mr.
Hanson, and we need to know where your daughter is.” informed the
suited man nearest to Lenard. Even as he spoke, other men were
searching the house. Two or three climbed up the flight of stairs
that led to Delilah’s room. Lenard turned toward those men as they
rapidly ascended the steps.

“Hey, this is private
property!” Lenard yelled “You get the hell out of here right…” An
excessively painful hold upon the soft of Lenard’s shoulder halted
his heated demand before he could finish. He winced in pain as the
grip forced him to return to the chair. The agent who had spoken
with him loomed over him with his hand still on his shoulder,
though he had let up on the pressure.

“Mr.
Hanson, we are federal agents. We need to speak with your
daughter,
immediately
…it is a matter of
national security.” The agent drew his face close to Lenard’s as he
spoke (as if that were necessary, considering Lenard’s shoulder
felt as if it had been all but broken). Lenard, still grimacing
from the smarting in his shoulder, opened his mouth, but only he
and God knew if he was going to cooperate or if still had enough
fire in him to merit another painful hold, because before he could
get any words out, his daughter’s ear-shattering scream filled the
room. Obviously, the men had found their target. The agent holding
Lenard’s shoulder stood upright just in time to watch two
specially-trained men restraining a very animated Delilah with a
good measure of difficulty.

They brought her down the
stairs with perhaps more difficulty (and certainly more expletives)
than would’ve been rendered by a hardened terrorist. She was taken
outside to one of the black trucks waiting there. The agent placed
his hand again upon Lenard’s shoulder (the very same spot as
before, no less) and kindly advised him to remain calm.

“Your daughter will not be
harmed,” was the only consolation he offered Lenard as they both
listened to her panicked screams die out behind the thick armoring
of specially-plated SUV doors. She yelled for her daddy to help
her, but to no avail. All Lenard could do was look on and
impudently demand answers that he may never be given from men he
had never seen before. Meanwhile, the truck into which Delilah had
been loaded, drove off of the Hanson property, accompanied by five
or six identical black trucks. Delilah, now in the back seat of the
truck, behind a thick iron grating that separated her from the
cockpit, was still kicking and screaming—quite literally—for
immediate release.

One of the agents was
sitting in the back with her, so naturally, he found himself the
recipient of most of her verbal and physical duress. She spat, she
clawed, she yelled, she thrashed, and basically did anything that
would make this whole fiasco as uncomfortable for the strange
suited men around her as it was for her. After sustaining more than
one or two bloody scratches from his fiery patron, the agent in the
back gave Delilah a single warning that she should calm down or
else. Of course, she didn’t calm down, so the ‘or else’ came in the
form of device that looked like a very miniature flashlight. The
first opening the agent got in between Delilah’s hazardously
hysterical thrashing, he pressed the device hard against her neck.
Five tiny syringe heads pierced her skin, and almost
instantaneously, her limbs went slack. She slumped down with little
more than a weak whimper onto the truck door nearest her. Her head
bumped helplessly against the window with the truck’s movement for
a few moments, until the agent sat her limp body up straight where
her head could lay back on the seat, and so, with her head back and
mouth agape, she gave no further problem.

When she returned to
consciousness, she was lying on a bed in a dimly-lit white room.
Immediately, she tried to return to her screaming and thrashing
fit, but somehow, her body wouldn’t cooperate. She calmed down
enough to lift her head and see that she was restrained. A thick
leather strap bound each of her ankles, another, her midsection,
another, her chest and shoulders, and yet two more, both her
wrists. The wrist straps secured her arms to what looked and felt
like thick, plush armrests one would expect to find on an expensive
recliner. Once Delilah got over the initial shock of finding out
she had been harnessed like a maniac—which she
had
been acting like, ironically—she
noticed that someone had changed her clothes. When the agents had
initially abducted her from her room, she was in a nightgown
(designer, of course) as she didn’t want to take any chances that
the mysterious infection was clinging to the clothes she’d been
wearing, and, more importantly, her.

Now, however, she was in a
white linen dress. The stark realization that someone had disrobed
her while she was unconscious, and had seen her without her clothes
without her permission, brought with it a fresh fury. She kicked
and beat, though ineffectively, against the leather restraints
until the bed beneath her sang as if it would soon fall apart. And
she sang with it…sort of. The ear shattering screams of frustration
that she released would’ve likely caused any glass objects near
her, had there been any, to instantly and violently explode into a
glistening mushroom cloud. The set of lungs on this young lady was
simply amazing. Her angry screech was deafening. It was much louder
and of a much higher pitch than any she had ever produced before
(she had never had cause to protest like this), and it strained her
vocal chords to their very limit. It also gave her a splitting pain
just behind her temples in the process. But none of this mattered
to her at the moment. The only thing that mattered was that not
only did someone have the audacity to come into her home and abduct
her, but they also drugged her and stripped her bare.

Her single-toned,
mountain-moving screech continued until a door opened and a man, a
doctor of some sort by the looks of him, in a completely white
uniform with matching white, bootie-covered medical shoes, entered
the room. He had two thick earplugs stuffed snugly into his ears.
Delilah was so busy squealing that she didn’t notice his presence
for some time. Meanwhile, he took up his position near the head of
her bed and waited…and waited. As a medical professional, he could
properly appreciate the awesome stamina it must take to sustain
such a strenuous note. Every vein in Delilah’s face and neck bulged
against her skin. By the looks of things, she could’ve easily given
herself an aneurism, but that didn’t seem to matter to
her.

Soon, the doctor became
genuinely alarmed that Delilah would do serious damage to herself
if she didn’t stop. He was just about to call for more sedative
when exhaustion beat him to the punch. Delilah’s bawling dropped
one to two decibels at first, then nearly all at once, she was
reduced to a very hoarse cough. As everything continued to catch up
with her, she found herself so tired that she could hardly move.
Finally, she let her head collapse back onto the pillow, and showed
no other signs of life beside an exaggerated rising and falling of
her chest, her mouth open to inhale as much precious breath as
possible. The doctor gazed at her and stroked her forehead gently.
She didn’t protest. She had no more energy left for
that.

“Well,
while you are a
captive
audience,
” the doctor
began. He thought the pun distasteful even before he said it, but
simply couldn’t resist, “let me take this opportunity to try and
help you understand what’s happening…” The doctor told Delilah that
his name was Ian Crangler, and that he was the nation’s top rated
specialist in his field of medicine (he was surprisingly mum as to
exactly
what
field of medicine he was talking about). Dr. Crangler told
Delilah that she was an extremely important person now, but again,
he was mum as to exactly why. In fact, the most specific
information that he gave her was that mankind had been infected by
an alien virus that made childbirth from this point on, fatal for
both child and mother. She was the only female on the entire planet
who had not been infected with this horrible virus and in her
bloodstream was the only source of a viable vaccine. The fate of
all mankind rested literally in her hands.

Chapter 8

Geoffrey was still
watching Mr. Reynolds from the other side of the large pane of one
way glass. He was just about sure that he couldn’t stomach any more
of the gruesome sight, when the door to Mr. Reynolds’s room opened
and a man in a white overcoat with matching white pants and
bootie-covered medical shoes, entered. With his pale white skin,
beneath a spotless outfit, in a completely white room, the man
looked like an apparition as he strolled almost casually beneath
bright white lights, to where Mr. Reynolds lay. Geoffrey had seen
his father in medical garb plenty of times, but never like this. If
it was possible to add to the strangeness of Mr. Reynolds’s current
condition, the man in the lab coat did, and only added to
Geoffrey’s struggle to adjust to all this.