Cryonic (16 page)

“Who me? Us?” Alex laughed nervously and his cheeks turned beet red. “No, we're just old friends.”

“She's quite a catch, Al. You want me to put in a good word for ya?”

“Like that will help.”

“Touché, my forlorn friend, touché. Say, how does she know my last name?”

“I told her. She asked me, and I told her. She talks about you a lot.”

Now I was the one blushing.

“Guys, can you come over here for a minute?” Dr. Trowbridge called out from across the room.

Dr. Trowbridge sat in front of what from a distance looked like a large computer screen. Once I got close, I realized the image was projected in front of him into thin air. He controlled the device with his hands, waving them to drag new images onto the screen.

“Do you have Internet on this thing?” I asked.

“Internet.” He chuckled and winked at Alex. “I haven't heard that term in a long time. Unfortunately, there's no outside access. This is a closed system, similar to what you would call an Intranet. You can imagine the Chinese don't want us accessing outside information.”

Celeste walked up behind me. “What's going on?” she asked.

“Dr. Trowbridge was just about to show us something,” Alex replied.

“Look at this,” he said. Two case files with profile shots of Chinese men in uniform were side by side on the screen. “These are the histories of the two soldiers I thought had responded to the antivirus,
but
after coming across Royce here, I'm beginning to think differently.”

“How so?” Alex asked.

“Well, for starters, Royce wasn't exposed to the antivirus yet he didn't contract the disease. The low hit rate for the antivirus already suggested either it wasn't working at all or it lacked the efficacy to serve as a viable solution. So
with the antivirus out, just one course of inquiry remained—commonalities among the individuals who failed to contract the disease.”

“Got all this, Al?” I asked. Alex nodded. “Good because I might need to copy your notes after class.”

Dr. Trowbridge smiled. “It'll all make sense in a moment, Royce. Both these men fought in the oil wars in Africa, which means they had an extensive round of immunizations that most soldiers aren't exposed to. See this here? Polio, typhoid, smallpox, hepatitis, meningitis, HIV . . . the list goes on and on.”

Dr. Trowbridge paused, and they all looked at me.

“Oh, I get it. You all are funny. You're waiting for me to react to the HIV vaccine. Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not going to jump up and down like a chimp just because you cured AIDS. In case you haven't noticed, you have a machine that can seal up a freaking gash in my arm the size of a bratwurst in seconds. Of course, you've cured AIDS.”

“Well then, my background doesn't help us much. Due to my work with infectious diseases, I've been vaccinated against everything under the sun. Which brings me to you, Royce. I'm willing to bet that you were born sometime in the nineteen sixties, correct?”

“Yessir, nineteen sixty-three.”

“And those poor souls in New York, the ones who started this whole thing. In what years were they born?”

Alex spoke up. “Let's see . . . Barry was born in 1973, Elliott in 1981, and Janet was 1993.”

“I knew it!” Trowbridge yelped, thrusting both arms into the air. Then he started speaking to himself in a subdued voice, “Andrew, you clever son of a bitch, you did it.”

“Hey, doc, before you break your arm patting yourself on the back you mind telling us what the hell you're talking about?” I asked.

“Of course, I'm sorry. It's the smallpox. They stopped vaccinating for it in 1972, which means you were vaccinated for it, and the other cryonics were not. Soldiers serving in Africa received it because there had been an outbreak there before the war, and I was vaccinated because I handle it here in the lab. It's the only thing that separates the four of us from the rest of the population.”

“But why would a smallpox vaccine stop the virus?” Alex asked. “Back in New York, we determined the origin virus was JCV.”

“Good question. Apparently, the mutated virus is similar enough to smallpox that the vaccine prepares the body to defend against it. We didn't think it was similar enough for this to happen, but by God, it works! Think of it this way. The smallpox vaccine doesn't actually contain the smallpox virus. It uses a vaccinia virus that is similar enough to smallpox that its presence equips the body's defenses for the real thing. That vaccine also prepares the body for this virus.”

“So it's a cure then,” I said.

“It isn't a cure. It's only a vaccine, but it may be able to lessen the infection if given soon enough after exposure.”

“How soon?”

“That I don't know. The sooner the better.”

“What about the ones wandering around outside? Can we give it to them?”

“No, there's no curing them. They're already dead.”

“Well, how do you explain them wandering around, attacking people, and stuff when the virus has already killed them?”

“That . . . defies explanation. It may very well be the hand of God clearing the Earth of man's transgressions.”

“This will greatly increase your chances of survival,” Dr. Trowbridge said as he pricked Alex repeatedly with the smallpox vaccine.

“If it works,” Alex pointed out.

“Indeed.
If
it works.”

Celeste had received the vaccine first, and was now sitting on a chair holding her shoulder. As I watched them get vaccinated, I was overcome by the incredible power of the opportunity that we'd been given. We were very likely the only people in the world who knew how to beat the disease. I thought of my wife and son back in San Diego. They needed to know about this, and I needed to see them. I needed to go home.

“You're awful quiet over there,” Celeste coaxed.

“Just thinking, that's all.”

“Thinking about what?”

“About what we do now.”

“What we do now? We stay here until the food runs out,” Alex chimed in. “This is a safe place. We could even build a barricade upstairs and spread out a little.”

“What about the people back home?” I wondered.

“Back home?” Celeste asked.

“You know . . . out West. The people who are free. Are we going to just let them die of this?”

“You're making a lot of assumptions there. The entire US military is set up along the front. Nothing is going to make it past that,” Alex said.

“You said the same thing when we were in the city. The Chinese military was going to come and clear the streets any minute. Remember that?”

Alex grew quiet.

“How are they doing against the freaks so far, Alex?”

“What if I'm incorrect?” Dr. Trowbridge asked. “What if the vaccine doesn't work?”

“Then at least we'll know we tried. That's a lot better than sitting here holed up like a bunch of cowards.”

“I'll do it,” Celeste broke in solemnly.

“Do what?” Alex asked.

“I'll be the guinea pig. Inject me with the virus, and we'll see if the vaccine works.”

“No, Celeste! Please?” Alex begged.

“Do you know how many people we could save? Our whole country. We could save our whole country if this works.”

“And if it doesn't?” I asked.

“Then that's my choice. I don't want to live like this—trapped in a basement, fearing for my life every time I step outside. This isn't living. This is captivity. I've been in captivity long enough. I want to be free.”

Silence filled the room.

Never one to bite my tongue, I spoke first. “Can you do it, doc?”

“Of course, I can inject her with tainted blood, but I'm uncertain if I want this on my conscience.”

“You haven't been outside yet, doc. You're going to have far worse things on your conscience just trying to stay alive.”

Early that evening, Dr. Trowbridge caved under the pressure. Since the smallpox virus starts working immediately, he went ahead and injected Celeste with a small vial of tainted blood. I couldn't believe how calm she was about the whole thing. I'd never seen such courage.

She chatted with us late into the evening and then lay down to sleep. Alex, Dr. Trowbridge, and I stayed up through the night, fidgeting nervously like expectant fathers stuck in the waiting room. Celeste was an early riser, so when she didn't wake up by nine a.m. we knew something was wrong. By ten, she was running a fever, and Dr. Trowbridge woke her up to give her fluids and draw blood.

“How you doing, kid?” I asked.

She looked me in the eye and drew me close with her index finger. “I want you to be the one to do it,” she said. “Don't let Alex see it. He's been through enough already.”

“I'll do nothing of the sort.” I smiled. “You just hang in there. You're gonna beat this.”

“You gotta do something for her, doc,” I pleaded.

Dr. Trowbridge was off at his workbench running tests on Celeste's blood. It was nearly one p.m., and her fever was growing worse by the hour. She was in a deep sleep, lying on a bed we'd brought out into the middle of the lab. Alex sat alongside her and held her hand.

“There's nothing I can do,” he explained. “I can inject her so full of drugs that her blood will curdle, but that won't do a thing. It's up to her body now. Her immune system has to beat this thing.”

At six p.m. Celeste was still sleeping, and Alex had retreated to the doctor's quarters to rest. I sat next to her wondering if my selfishness had once again reared its ugly head. I wanted to save my family, sure, but the future of our country was riding on this cure as well. At least that's what I told myself while I listened to Alex crying himself to sleep.

“I'm going to get some rest as well,” Dr. Trowbridge said. “I think it's time we restrain her.”

“Okay, Andy. You go. I'll take care of it.”

Dr. Trowbridge patted my neck, then turned and headed back into his sleeping quarters. Celeste looked beautiful lying there, even though her skin was pale and clammy. Her ravenesque hair and full lips were reminiscent of Snow White's peaceful slumber. I noticed she was no longer sweating profusely, and I wondered if she'd soon be writhing in pain and moaning like the others had before they turned.

“Why did you have to be so God damned brave?” I whispered in her ear. I was angry with her, but only because I was angry with myself. “We could have made it out there—all of us. We could have gone out West and been free.”

I stood and leaned forward with my hands on the edge of the bed. I was overcome by sadness and shame. My head drooped low, and my eyes welled with tears. I felt deeply responsible for her death. I was selfish for bringing her to the hospital in the first place, and selfish for trying to persuade them to head West.

“I am
so
sorry,” I said, closing my eyes to fight back the tears.

That's when I felt her hands clutch my throat. My eyes sprang open. Celeste's teeth were clenched, and her eyes were wide and maniacal. I looked to my left and right, searching desperately for something to smash her with, but found nothing. And that's when it hit me. Her eyes—they weren't glazed and bloodshot like the others. They looked normal, even human. Before I had a chance to react to this realization, her hands went limp on my collarbone, and she burst out laughing.

“Did you miss me, you big baby?” she teased.

“You are pure evil,” I said, pushing her hands off me. “I really thought you were done.”

“Awww, Mr. Funny Man doesn't like it when the shoe's on the other foot, does he?”

“I guess not.”

“You deserve it, and you know it.”

“I guess so. What the hell is going on with you? Are you all right?”

“How long have I been sleeping?”

“Since this morning when we last spoke.”

“Honestly, I feel pretty good now. I think I might have kicked it.”

And kicked it she had.

Alex was overjoyed to have Celeste back. Dr. Trowbridge, too, though I think he was more excited about being the first person to cure the disease. Celeste regained her strength quickly, and in a couple of days, the four of us were packed and ready to go. We planned to head west and find a way to sneak across the front. If we wanted to deliver the cure and give our soldiers the upper hand, we needed to get to the US side before the plague did.

We checked out the abandoned homes in Weston. I felt like an intruder. If you ignored the dust and decay, it looked like the families might return at any moment. Breakfasts were spread out neatly on kitchen tables, and newspapers all bore the same tragic date, Thursday, March 13, 2036. Pictures hung on the wall of those who had lost their freedom. Some beds were neatly made while others looked as if the sleeping occupants had been dragged out of them.