Riding The Apocalypse (22 page)
I watch the man nonchalantly enter the room. He is whistling, carrying some sort of automatic weapon in one hand and a lit cigar in the other. Sensing someone has been here, most likely tipped off by the smell of macaroni and cheese, he flips on the lights and calls out Riley’s name.
“I am not Riley, and drop that gun, or gravity will do it for you after I put a bullet in your head,” I say sternly as I stand upright, the rifle pointing at his head
Even in the dimly lit room I can see exactly who it is. None other than Dr. Howard Evans, head of the CDC.
From this distance, there is no way I can hit him, but he doesn’t know this, and he turns out to be just as trusting as Riley was in the loft. He lets the gun drop, and it hits the tile floor with a loud clap that echoes through the room. I flinch slightly, half-expecting the gun to go off like in the movies. I didn’t really expect him to let it drop like that.
Scared the shit out of me.
I hit the lights on my right side, further illuminating the room.
“Who are you?” he asks as he raises his hands.
“I will ask the questions, Dr. Evans. Kick that rifle to your right and take a seat in that chair to your left,” I tell him as I approach, never lowering the rifle.
I can’t believe my good fortune, catching both fish in the same small pond. I study his nervous affectations; he does not look behind him so he doesn’t seem to expect backup, but why chance it.
“How do you lock that door from the inside?” I ask him, pointing the gun at his crotch from ten feet away.
“There…uh…is a chain, right there, and these pins,” he stutters, pointing to a chain hanging on the side of the cabinets.
“Wrap the chain on the wheel and lock the bolt. Don’t think about making a move, ’cause I have killed a lot of assholes this week, and one more won’t matter,” I boast incorrectly.
Obedient as a trained monkey, Evans works quickly to secure the door. Despite his languid appearance, he does a competent job binding the steel wheel.
“Where does that door lead?” I demand, pointing the rifle at him.
“To the sewers, down there it’s clear, it’s okay, and sometimes I like a bit of exercise,” he says, gathering himself as he speaks.
There is a pile of burlap bags filled with rice and beans in the corner to the right of the freezers. I decide having a fifty pound sack of rice on his lap will slow his progress if he gets any funny ideas. You can never be too careful.
“Grab a bag off the top of that pile, and bring it with you to that chair, then put it on your lap after you sit the fuck down!” I yell, pointing to the office chair to his immediate left.
I poke him hard in the ass with the tip of my rifle to move him along. He struggles with the rice bag, and I am not exactly surprised, he doesn’t look to be the pinnacle of fitness.
“You and I are going to have a little talk. I am going to ask questions, and you are going to answer them. At this point, I don’t see any reason for dishonesty from your vantage point. I already know much of the story, I only want you to fill in the details. If you say anything I know is bullshit, I will shoot you in the crotch. If you say anything I think is bullshit, according to my reliable sources and experience thus far, I will shoot you through the fucking head. You can die like those fucking monsters you created. Actually, I might just use you as bait for my escape,” I add rubbing my overgrown but patchy facial hair.
Never could grow a good beard.
“Look, um, I am sorry, what is your name?” the doctor asks calmly.
“I said no questions, fuckstick. However, for the purpose of this discussion, Remy.”
I wasn’t ready for that—my interrogation technique needs work. But hell, he did need to have something to call me. I reach over to my bag, pull the pistol out, and slip the rifle strap over my shoulder. With a fifty pound bag of rice on his lap, I doubt he’s going to make any sudden moves, but I want more than one shot if he gets stupid, so I opt for the pistol.
“Look, Remy, you don’t need to threaten me, I will tell you what you want to hear. I have nothing to hide from you or anyone. I did what I did, with no regret. Ask away, young man, I have time,” Dr. Evans says with a wry smile.
“Is anybody else coming? ’Cause if anyone gets through that door, you are dead.”
“Possibly Senator Riley, he is the only one who knows exactly where this place is. Don’t worry, Remy, you are safe here. Riley is no one to worry about and I have much to offer you.”
I know I no longer need to fear Riley, but Dr. Evans doesn’t need to know this yet.
“Why would I believe nobody else knows about this place?” I ask. “There is obviously a lot of hardware and equipment here.”
“Three people can keep a secret if two are dead,” Evans replies. “There are just some things my accomplices did not need to know.”
“Accomplices?”
“You don’t think those infected humans could shut down the electrical grid, phones, and internet in a matter of hours do you? I have allies all over the world doing my bidding for this cause,” he boasts. “This is much larger than just myself, this is years in the making. This was a flawlessly choreographed and masterfully executed plan if I do say so myse—”
“Till now,” I interrupt.
“Touché,”
he says, nodding his head.
"There was no logical reason for any of those patients turned monsters, like the one who killed the now infamous Morty to be anywhere but inside a secure and locked Class 5 containment facility," Evans added in a smug tone. "Yet there isn't such a facility Stanford now is there?"
"I get your point Doc, and I realize you tainted the flu vaccine, maybe even had some of your lackeys leave some doors opened that were supposed to be secure. That being as it may be; how did you make it spread so damn quickly? Only so many people could have received the shot in the early stages of The Outbreak, yet the virus was everywhere, all at once.”
“Are you familiar with micro-encapsulation?” Dr. Evans asks glibly.
“Somewhat. You mean like in motor oil additives?”
“Yes, precisely. My formulation was planted in the flu vaccinations in microscopic capsules, with varying thicknesses of the walls of the capsules. The thicker the walls, the longer to release the virus. All the capsules were synchronized to release at a predetermined time, or thereabouts. Try to imagine a microscopic version of those fancy Tylenol capsules with the clear window and the colorful tiny balls inside. I just did the same, but on a nanoscopic level. I estimate we successfully planted the virus into sixty-five million people in the United States alone, plus countless millions worldwide, before that dreadful woman notified the media, old battle-ax. Regardless, having sixty-five million to spread the disease—”
“Shut the fuck up, I get it now,” I snap at him, even though I secretly agree with his assessment of Em’s mom.
“Of course, it doesn’t hurt to have friends in the W.H.O. monitoring the process. I made many loyal contacts after discovering the West Nile Virus antibody. They trusted me unconditionally. All it took was a well-orchestrated scare tactic, which I conjured up in South America, and then I had free rein to up the doses. Those insouciant idiots. You would be shocked at the level of incompetence found at such high-responsibility positions all over the world.”
No, I wouldn’t.
“But why the ruse in South America, why not just here?”
“Nature wanted it back home too, Remy. Two birds with one stone. It was not difficult to organize.” Evans chuckled. “Do you know how many half-assed malingerers work in these positions? All it took was well placed associates to run the logistics for me.”
The cryptic speech and his smug look really get my blood boiling. I want him dead, preferably after suffering like so many others have, but that has to wait. Right now, I want more information.
“How the hell did you get away with it? Well, till now.” I smile and try not to gag.
“I like you, Remy, you are no fool. Maybe—”
“Answer the question, Evans, Jesus, are all scientists as annoying as you? Wait, don’t answer that.”
That one pisses him off. He doesn’t appreciate that comment, and I can see it in his face. He took being called “fuckstick” much better.
“Fortunately, Riley notified me soon after the plan was exposed, and I was able to slip out before my name was mentioned specifically. Frankly, I was surprised he warned me. We had a bit of a falling out after he learned the extent of my plans,” Howard explains. “I assume he panicked, and wanted help.”
He did call Evans. I knew this from Emily. So far his story matches Emily’s account; Evans is telling the truth. Like he said earlier, why lie?
“So you planned on the capsules dissolving at the same time—”
“Within reason, of course,” the doctor corrects. “How long the virus takes to transfer from bites depends on the host, victim, and my dosage. I controlled it all. Some can take many hours while some take less than an hour to die, then resurrect. You must also realize that it depends on where they are bitten. A person bitten closer to the heart or a major artery will succumb to the virus faster than if they are bitten in the toe.”
I think of Emily’s small bite, far from arteries. This asshole is on the level with this crap. Hell, he is proud of it.
“What about the doctors and staff who went to help?” I ask, still trying to get my head around the extent of the plot.
“I inoculated them all before they boarded the planes; they were sick before they even left. That is why nobody died until they were back. It was all timed out chemically to avoid the inconvenience of them dying abroad and being quarantined there. I just gave them a little more time—”
“What the hell did you put in the vaccine to create these zombie things?” I cut off his little speech but I have to admit I am fascinated.
“This is science, my friend, not science fiction,” he says coyly. “They are not zombies, or even inherently evil, they are just hungry.”
“I got that part.”
This is not a monster movie, Remy. When you hear hoofs behind you, think horses, not zebras, if you take my meaning.”
“Yeah, uh…”
“This is not magic, voodoo, nuclear radiation, outer space, or any other contrived zombie nonsense. This is pure science and nature. It’s a long sto—”
“I got time.”
“Yes, you do.”
“You don’t.”
He smiles at me like we’re friends.
“Be that as it may,” Evans continues with his cheery grin firmly in place. “About fifteen years ago, I stumbled across this bacteria while searching for organic plant based solutions for the West Nile Virus. You must have hear—”
“Yeah, I know about it. Easy on the boasting there, doc. My father used to have a saying…”
“I can’t wait to hear it.”
“He used to say
‘self-praise stinks.’
Cut the self-aggrandizing bullshit, get to the point.”
He adjusts the burlap anchor on his lap and then proceeds. “As I was saying, while in the remote jungle of the northern Yucatan Peninsula, my group came across a flat stone no larger than a manhole cover in the foliage. The horizontal stone was lying flush to the ground amid dense vegetation. That whole morning, a group of botanists, guides, and myself had been clearing large deposits of Yucatan Spinyrods, while looking for Heterodox—”
“What?”
“Oh, Heterodox, you know…um…
morning glory
flowers. The middle of the flower has a small pod which holds a plant resin that interested me—”
“You’re killing me, Doc,” I say, lowering my gun to his crotch.
“You asked,” Dr. Evans says, still smiling. “Anyway, we found the stone slab, or entryway as it turned out. This passage, which appeared unmolested, had been buried under the dense Spinyrod, unnoticed for hundreds of years. We set up camp and spent the next three weeks digging out the entrance which was pretty well sealed shut. A few well placed blasting sticks did not hurt—”
“The Mexican government allowed this?” I break in, almost immediately regretting the stupid question.
“Look, Remy, the two guides we hired were practical. They both decided that more money than they had ever seen placed directly in their palms was worth the risk of silence.”
“Got it.”
“After we managed to open the door—hey, would you mind getting me one of those Millers? I did buy them after all. How can you be so cruel and drink like that in front of me? We are getting on so well, no?”
“Yes, easy, and no. If you give me the info I want, I will let you have all the beer you can drink,” I answer, picturing him tied to a pallet and locked in the fridge with the rest of the beer.
“Very well, I will get to it then,” he says, showing increased vigor. “So, after gaining entrance to the tunnel, we were in awe of the size of the tomb. Hundreds of spiral steps led down at least ten stories into what turned out to be a Mayan shrine. The walls were all granite, intricately carved and displaying many of the symbols we have grown accustomed seeing—”
“Not all of us are accustomed, Doc.”
