Cruel World (35 page)

She nodded against his shoulder. “Everyone I’ve ever cared about has left me,” she whispered. “Everyone but Ty, and I know someday he’ll leave too.”

“I’m coming back,” he said.

“You’ll try.”

“I will.”

There was the sound of movement in the other room, someone stirring in their blankets. They rose from the cot and dressed quietly, Quinn staring at her as she donned her clothes, a sense of disbelief still clinging to the memory of their lovemaking, like some glorious fever-dream. She caught him looking at her and gave him a mock disapproving look. He smiled, and they crept to the plastic barrier and peered through.

Doctor Holtz was sitting on the edge of his cot holding his wallet. He looked up at them and blinked. The sound of his dry tongue rasping across his lips was audible.

“A chimeric virus. That’s how they did it,” he said, slowly nodding.

Chapter 27

The Storm

They gathered around Holtz as if they were half-frozen adventurers stumbling upon a fire.

Collincz woke at the sound of the doctor’s voice and leapt to her feet, straightening her uniform that she’d slept in. Holtz gazed around at them, his movements hesitant and slow.

“How long?” he asked Collincz after she’d handed him a bottle of water. His voice was still rough, but held a sonorous quality tinted with a slight British accent that Quinn was sure would resound powerfully in a lecture hall.

“About thirty-six hours or so.”

The old man nodded and ran his fingers over his wallet again. He began to open it but stopped.

“How many are left?” he said.

“Thomas, Murray, Wexler, and these three that came in from outside yesterday.”

Holtz looked around at them, his eyes hovering on Quinn’s face the longest.

“You’re the one with the paper, aren’t you,” Holtz said after a time. Quinn nodded, coming forward.

“Yes, but how did you know that? You were…”

“I thought it was a dream when I woke up. But now that I see you, I know that it wasn’t. Someone showed me a paper, held it before me?”

“I did,” Collincz said.

“Do you still have it?”

Quinn dug in his pocket and drew out the page that was beginning to roughen from being handled so much. Holtz took it from him and read, holding the paper only inches from his nose. When he was finished, he looked up at Quinn but didn’t hand the page back.

“Where did you get this?”

“From a man named Harold Roman. He was from this camp. We found him right before he died in Fort Dodge. It was in his pack. My father was James Kelly,” Quinn added.

“I see.”

“Do you know what it means?”

“Oh yes. In fact, it’s so familiar it’s almost like finding something that you hadn’t known you’d lost.”

“What do you mean?” Quinn said, grabbing a nearby chair and pulling it closer to sit in. The others did the same, seating themselves in a semicircle around the doctor’s bed.

“It means the answer I’ve been looking for was right before my eyes the whole time.” He cleared his throat. “When this all began, and my wife and I came here, we had all the samples and test subjects we needed. There was always a sick person turning up or being quarantined in different areas of the camp. Now, from the start, I suspected we were dealing with a virus, a very special virus, but a virus just the same. The problem was when we began to study the samples, we found only a simple strain of flu.”

“Flu?” Alice asked. “Like stomach flu or what?”

“No, not stomach flu but a strain of influenza. It appeared to be exactly like the type that makes its rounds every winter all over the world. But instead of only a handful of people dying, we had hundreds of millions.” He paused again and turned his wallet end over end. He opened it and shut it. “It baffled us to say the least. But the most interesting aspect was hidden within the strain of flu. There were two latent protein impressions within infected humans, but only one remained within the mutated population. Now, one of the proteins in the humans we understood because of the extreme immune reaction that occurred within nearly all infected. This produced the high fever. But it also was a type of concealment for what the protein was doing.”

“And what was that, doctor?” Collincz asked.

“It was creating an enzyme that dissolved healthy bone structure.” Holtz shifted his eyes to each of them. Quinn rubbed his hands on his pants, recalling the softness of his father’s forehead beneath his fingers. “This increased the fever beyond known medical records, which in essence liquefied the body from the inside out over a period of time. Bones, organs, musculature, everything broke down and continued to dissolve even after death. The end result, as I’m sure you’re all aware, is a viscous, foul smelling liquid.”

Holtz took another drink of water as the pattering of rain increased on the roof. Denver whined, and Ty, who had been listening raptly, stroked the dog’s ear.

“But what does this have to do with the paper Roman was carrying?” Quinn asked.

“Everything,” Holtz said. “One of the first terms you’ll come upon on that page is adenovirus. Do you know what that is?” Everyone shook their heads. “An adenovirus is basically a gutted virus. Its proteins have been extracted or modified for genetic purposes. Genetic research has made huge leaps and bounds in the past decades, and many scientists are only beginning to grasp the full potential of the power gene therapy encompasses. The adenovirus in question was disguised as a flu virus carrying the two types of proteins I mentioned before as well as a heavy dose of human growth hormone. You see the genes from the flu virus were present and easily recognizable. This was why it baffled my colleagues and I so much. These other proteins were integrated among the flu’s typical contents that enabled it to reproduce and metabolize within a host. Chimeric is the correct term for what we found though we didn’t realize it at the time. It was basically an adenovirus shell containing the flu genes as well as the proteins I mentioned. As I said, we know that the first protein destroyed healthy bone structure, but the second was designed to rebuild it.”

Silence hung in the air for a beat before Quinn rubbed the side of his face and leaned forward.

“So you’re saying this virus was engineered?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, dear boy.”

“But why?” Alice asked.

Holtz’s eyes darkened, and in the gray light, he seemed not just old but ancient.

“I can only tell you what I believe,” he said. “From my studies, and with this new revelation, I can only conclude that the anomalies were the end result of a genetic undertaking such as the world has never seen before. It appears to me that they were designed to evolve from any healthy human being through the virus to be used for God knows what purpose by their creators.”

“You mean as weapons,” Collincz said.

“I would assume so, yes,” Holtz said. “What those poor people have become are strong, fast, seemingly remorseless killing machines. The genes encoded by the virus produced proteins that went far beyond reforming normal bone structure, as well as affecting the subject’s humanity, among other things. They would be an expendable and valuable resource in any ground conflict because of their inherent ability to instill fear among an enemy.”

“Holy shit,” Collincz said as she dropped her face into her palm.

“Can you create some kind of anti-virus now that you know what you’re dealing with?” Alice said. “Something that could bring these people back from what they’ve become?”

“Actually, my dear, the term is anti-viral, and unfortunately that would take several months under a full-scale effort by many skilled scientists in a well-equipped lab. And of course we have none of those, not even the time.” Holtz sighed. “In any case, an anti-viral would most likely kill the host.”

“So that’s it. We’re totally fucked,” Alice said looking around. “Because the damn government wanted a new biological weapon to play with, now we have herds of monsters roaming the country.”

Quinn pulled his gaze from the filmed window and focused on the doctor again.

“They’re moving in the same direction; I’m not sure if you knew that or not,” he said, gauging the doctor’s reaction.

Holtz frowned. “I didn’t.”

“Do you know why that would be?”

“No. They could be forming a new hierarchy and migration pattern to fit their needs. From my tests here, they are susceptible to climate change. They’ll burn. They’ll freeze. So I would guess they will move south when the weather turns cold this fall.”

“Every group we’ve seen in the last five days has been moving northwest,” Quinn said.

“That’s peculiar to say the least,” Holtz replied. “But I don’t have the foggiest what it could mean. The only other factor that’s interesting is the name opposite your father’s,” he said, tapping it once with a fingernail. “Doctor Alex Gregory. He’s a brilliant geneticist, fairly young for his field. I’ve read several of his studies. He was at the forefront of the genetic community. The last I heard, Gregory was working for a private company called Genset.” Holtz looked at him, eyes unwavering. “Genset’s lab headquarters is located in southern Minnesota.”

Quinn let his gaze slide to the floor. The name, there was something about the name. It echoed of memory that was barely out of reach. He strained for it, but it slipped away each time, sliding through the fingers of his mind like smoke. For some reason, the taste of seafood rose with the doctor’s name—Graham’s excellent lobster and shrimp drenched with butter and lemon. The smell of home.

All at once, the memory came rushing back.

He’d been trying to tell his father he was leaving. Teresa’s encouraging looks. The phone ringing. Mallory returning to the dining room.
It’s an Alex Gregory for you, sir.

“Oh my God,” Quinn whispered, looking around at all of them. “Oh my God.” He began to tremble, and Alice rose from her spot to kneel beside him, her touch barely registering.

“What is it?”

“He called my dad,” Quinn said, voice thin and reedy. He swallowed. “Alex Gregory called my dad the night he got sick.”

Chapter 28

The Highway Calls

Quinn stared out at the dismal morning, fog rising from the earth like vengeful spirits.

A hand slid into his, and he intertwined his fingers with Alice’s. She stood beside him, but he couldn’t find the courage to look at her.

“You’ll try, right?” She said finally.

“I will. Nothing could keep me from coming back.”

“You won’t run off with the next hot survivalist chick you run into?”

He smiled and turned to her. “No.”

“Better not. Or I’ll hunt you down.”

He leaned in and kissed her, the act so foreign he half expected her to shove him away. She didn’t. She kissed him back, fiercely. When they parted, she looked into his eyes and tugged once on his shirt.

“Go say goodbye to that boy in the other room. He’s going to miss you.”

Ty was playing with Denver on the floor near Holtz’s cot. He was putting a finger on one of the big dog’s front paws and holding it there until Denver playfully snapped at him. Ty laughed and then switched to the other paw. Quinn watched him for a few minutes. He could stay. He could walk back and tell Alice that he didn’t have to go. The past was what it was, unchangeable and now alien. They could carve out a life here, and he could try to forget. He could try.

He knelt beside Ty and gently touched his shoulder.

“Hey, buddy.”

“Hey.”

“Having fun?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you upset?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re leaving, aren’t you?” Ty turned his face up, and his blue eyes were unfocused, looking past him. But there was so much in them that it overwhelmed him.

“I’m sorry, I have to.”

“You don’t. You could stay. Mom likes you; I know she does. She came back for you, remember?”

“Yes, she did, and so did you.” Quinn put his hand on the back of Ty’s neck and drew him to his chest squeezing him tight. The boy stretched an arm around his back. “Thank you for being so brave all this time.” They sat that way for a long span, the wetness of Ty’s tears soaking through the front of his shirt.

“Will you come back?” Ty asked, his voice muffled.

“Yes. I promise.”

“Don’t get lost.”

“I won’t.”

Quinn released him and wiped the tears from his small face before ruffling Denver’s ears. “Keep them safe,” he said to the dog. He stood and walked out of the room.

Alice wasn’t in the front area, and he hadn’t expected her to be. Collincz and Holtz waited by the door.

“You’re sure Wexler will give me a vehicle?” he asked as he donned a poncho.

“He’d better. We have more Humvees than people now,” Collincz said. She put out a hand and he shook it, doing the same with the doctor.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for,” Holtz said, giving his hand a final squeeze.

“Me too,” Quinn said, and stepped out the door into the gentle rain.

He walked quickly with his head down, focusing on the muddy ground and the sluicing water that ran the opposite way toward the pit. He watched the streams flow past, taking sediment away to be deposited somewhere new.

When he made it to the front of the enclosure, he saw that Thomas stood on his perch. He was looking through a set of powerful binoculars at something beyond the barriers. The soldier didn’t turn toward him as he headed for the tent Wexler had brought them to initially. He glanced around for Murray, but the other man was nowhere in sight. When he ducked beneath the tent’s enclosure, he saw that Wexler was sitting at the table with his head tipped to one side, his back to him, fast asleep. Quinn hesitated but continued on, he couldn’t wait any longer.

“Lieutenant? Sorry to wake you. I was wondering if I could ask a favor. I need to borrow—”

Quinn’s words died in his throat as he came even with the other man.

The left side of Wexler’s face was missing.

Shattered bone and shredded tissue hung from a ragged exit wound beside his nose. He’d been shot point blank.

“Fuck,” Quinn said, stumbling back. His hand grasping the back of a chair and sliding off. Vomit geysered to the back of his throat, but he swallowed the nausea down, the world tipping beneath his boots. It was Murray, it had to be.

Quinn ran out of the tent, head swiveling, searching for some sign of the murderer. The fog was empty save for the infinite rows of tents stretching into oblivion and the steady tap of rain.

“Hey. Hey, Thomas,” Quinn hissed as he neared the narrow staircase that led to the sniper’s perch. Thomas turned toward him, eyebrows drawn together in a scowl. “It’s Wexler, he’s dead,” Quinn said as he reached the top of the stairs.

“I know. I killed him,” Thomas said, and kicked Quinn in the chest.

Gravity ceased.

There was a blessed moment of weightlessness and then the savage bite of steel stairs in his back. He rolled once, feeling his scalp tear above his ear then his feet hit the ground, legs buckling as he collapsed to his side.

His vision roiled as if stirred from within his skull. A tattoo of pain throbbed in his back. When he managed to raise himself onto an elbow, the wet ground tilted beneath him.

Thomas’s footsteps clanged down the stairs as another sound built in the air. It was a deep revving layered by other throaty grumbles. The noise climbed and climbed until it overshadowed Thomas’s approach. The soldier stopped a foot away and looked down at him.

“Man, you are fuckin’ ugly. Think I improved your looks by booting your ass down those stairs.”

The sound outside the walls slowly died, one by one, and he realized it was engines, many engines all growling together. Footsteps came from behind him, and he had enough strength to turn his head and see Murray moving toward the steel door set in the concrete.

“Remember what he said. He’s interested in him, so don’t kill him,” Murray called as he unbolted the door and swung it wide. He stepped outside and yelled something Quinn didn’t understand. The fog was slowly lifting from the ground, but it was growing in his head. Hot wetness drenched the side of his face and pooled near his collar. He sat up and tried to climb to his hands and knees, but Thomas pushed him over with a boot.

“Stay the fuck down or I’ll put a round through that fucked up face of yours.”

Murray returned from outside the wall, and Quinn wiped at the blood that was beginning to run in his eye. There was someone with Murray, many someones. People streamed through the door, their clothing dirty and torn, faces grimy, hair greased. Most were men, but a few women mingled with them, their eyes cold and narrowed as they spotted him lying on the ground. He counted twenty of them before they split into two groups, making room for a solitary figure that strode through the doorway, stopping several paces from where Quinn lay.

The man was bald, with a healing gouge along the top of his scalp. He wore a blond goatee, and it rippled around his mouth as he smiled revealing the empty space where his upper teeth should’ve been. He sauntered closer and knelt beside Quinn, bringing his face close to his.

“You sure have one of those unforgettable faces,” the man said. His voice was like gravel sliding on concrete. A wave of chuckling rolled through the mass of people behind him, but he didn’t stop looking at Quinn. “You believe in serendipity, my friend? Because finding you here is nothing less than a miracle.” The man stroked his goatee with his left hand, and Quinn saw the clotted stumps sewn shut where his ring and pinkie fingers were missing. “Left me to die in that ditch and stole my bitch.” Laughter again from the group. He stood and drew out an automatic pistol, turning to where Thomas watched.

“You Thomas?” the man said. Thomas nodded, stepping forward to hold out a hand.

“And you’re Bracken.” They shook.

“So this is Murray?” Bracken said, pointing at the other soldier.

“That’s me,” Murray said.

Bracken raised the pistol and shot Murray through the forehead. Brain matter flew in streamers out the back of the man’s skull, and his eyes crossed before falling to his knees then his face. Bracken turned the pistol on Thomas whose mouth hung wide, his hands open at his sides.

“Don’t shoot me! Don’t, please!” Thomas yelled, holding his palms out.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t,” Bracken said, tilting his head to one side.

“Because I got you in. I guided you here. We have a deal. Please. I can fight. I know my way around the camp better than anyone.”

“We’ll see about that,” Bracken said after studying the soldier for a time. “Vince, relieve this jarhead of his weapons.”

Quinn searched the area for a way out, but feet were filling up his vision, encircling him as he turned. He wiped at his eye again, clearing it of blood, and gazed up at Bracken who stood over him. The man looked a thousand feet tall, taller than any stilt.

“What’d you do with my property, friend? You keep her for yourself? Kill her when you were through?”

“She turned,” Quinn said, spitting coppery saliva onto the ground. “She’d never been exposed to the virus.”

Bracken seemed to consider this. “That makes sense. Her and her husband and boy were holed up in a cabin way off in the boondocks. It’s a shame. She was sumptuous.”

“What do you want?” Quinn asked, shooting a look toward the far end of the compound. The rain fell in light curtains, and the wind tugged at the tents. There was no help coming.

“To carve out a life in this new and exciting world, that’s all.” Bracken cocked his head. “And you, you tried to take that from me. Do you know how much pain I endured recently?”

“Not enough,” Quinn said.

Bracken kicked him in the shoulder sending him back to the ground. Spangles of light spun at the edges of his vision, and he gasped with the agony that flooded the place where the man’s boot had landed.

“Plenty,” Bracken said. “But I’m not a cruel man. I won’t leave you to die in some ditch drowning in your own blood. I’m not like that. This world needs a new God since the old one is dead.” He lifted the pistol and centered it on Quinn’s head. “And I plan to be merciful.”

Quinn spun on the ground and threw a kick at Bracken’s leg. It connected, sending the man off balance. The gun fired, mud kicking up beside Quinn’s elbow. He made to launch himself to his feet when several fists pummeled his head and back. He curled in on himself as a kick caught him in the thigh dropping him to the wet ground.

“That’s enough. Just hold the fucker,” Bracken said. Rough hands grasped Quinn’s arms and hair locking him in place. The gun barrel pressed against his forehead, and through the red-tinted glaze that covered his eyes, Bracken leaned closer. “You’re a fighter; I’ll give you that. But the good fight is done.”

The barrel pressed harder.

Quinn closed his eyes, picturing Alice and Ty, his father, Mallory, Graham, Foster, Teresa.

A base thrumming filled the air.

The barrel’s pressure diminished.

The croak came again followed by others.

Quinn opened his eyes and looked past the throng of people to where Thomas ran toward his perch. The soldier’s boots clanged up the metal steps to the top of the barricade. He froze. And even across the distance through the falling rain, Thomas’s words were clear.

“Oh my God.” The soldier twisted toward the group. “You led them right to us!”

A giant hand snaked over the top of the concrete barrier and encircled Thomas’s head. It flexed, and there was a sound like an egg cracking on a tabletop. The arm yanked the soldier’s limp body up and over the wall in a flail of lifeless legs and arms.

Cries erupted from the marauders, and the hands that held Quinn released him as they grabbed for weapons. Bracken had turned partially to the side, his pistol still inches from Quinn’s face.

Quinn whipped his hand up and grabbed the gun by the barrel, snapping it one way and tipping his head the other.

The gun went off. His hand jerked with the recoil, heat flaring in his palm. He tightened his grip and twisted, yanking the pistol from Bracken’s fingers.

He rolled to the side as Bracken launched a kick at his chest. The gritty mud dug into his skin, but he kept moving, his momentum bringing him to his feet. Bracken had something in his hand. It flashed silver as he leapt forward, driving the long-bladed knife toward Quinn’s heart. Quinn sidestepped and swung the pistol around, connecting the handle with the side of Bracken’s head. The man stumbled as Quinn tossed the gun up, spinning the grip into his palm.

Bracken turned, slicing the air with his blade.

Quinn fired.

The knife blade carved a path an inch from Quinn’s stomach before falling to the ground. Bracken brought both hands up to his chest where a perfectly round hole pumped dark blood onto his shirt. His eyes found Quinn’s, surprise and disbelief filling them to their brims.

Bracken stumbled backwards and tipped off his feet, thudding to the ground in a splash of bloody water and moved no more.