The Zyne Project (5 page)

Jennifer couldn’t believe what was happening. Was Rick making all of that noise?  And where was everyone else?  She remained frozen in place and prayed that whoever was destroying the Illusions building was not going to find her.

***

Upstairs, Dan and Teresa were insulated from the sounds below, and continued to search the sleeping rooms. After covering up Tim and putting him in one of the rooms for temporary storage, they found a few members of the cleaning staff. The housekeeping personnel had been hired by Zyne and appeared to be ok, despite the commotion.  They agreed to help carry Tim’s body downstairs once a full search could be completed and at Dan’s insistence, nervously gathered together in one of the rooms, locking the door behind them.

Teresa was not feeling well. Her vision continued to go out of focus and her infusion injection site was burning painfully.  She followed Dan around as he searched, but finally asked him to stop.

“What’s wrong?”

“Dr. Johns, I don’t feel well.  My eyes feel like they’re constantly going out of focus and I’ve got a really bad headache.  Can we rest for a minute?”

“Yes.  Why don’t you lie down, while I keep looking around? I’ll keep searching and will come back to pick you up in about twenty minutes.” He left her and went outside.  Looking around to make sure he was alone, Dan pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and quickly dialed his contact at Zyne.

The phone was answered on the first ring.

“Johns, what the hell is going on in there? Since your phone call, we’ve locked down the facility, but now the CDC is on the way and they’re telling us we need to tent the entrances and take other serious measures to quarantine all of you.”

Dan tried to keep his voice calm.  “Look, the situation is definitely not good.  We’ve got one man down and another missing.  All of the subjects are sick.  Not sure what’s going on here.  Seems like it may be some sort of cellular reaction.  Either the virus we injected to deliver the therapy is causing the subjects severe distress, or there’s a problem with the therapy itself.  I’m not sure…”

He was cut off by a harsh response, “You’re not sure?  You’re not fucking sure?!  We’ve got people dying in there Johns.  And, I can’t let you guys out. Not now. You’re gonna have to come up within some sort of explanation as to why that guy died.  And it can’t be because of his infusion.  Do you understand me?”

Dan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 

“Sir, we can’t keep these people in here if they’re really sick. We’ve got to get them medical attention and ensure we taper them off the therapy…”

“Johns, you listen to me.  Get all those folks rounded up.  Figure out what you’re dealing with and then call me back.  Until then, I can’t help you.  Your career and the company are counting on you to do the right thing here.  Don’t panic. Figure out what the fuck is happening.  Then, call me.”

Click.

That bastard just hung up on me,
he thought.

Rubbing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he returned to check on Teresa.  She was lying on the bed asleep.  But she looked bad. Her scalp was red and blotchy, the rest of her skin pale.

Sitting on the side of the bed, Dan thought about Trichotillomania, the compulsion to pull hair out of the scalp or face.  His mother had suffered from the same thing and it had frightened him all of his life.  She’d been a beautiful woman in her 20’s and 30’s but her marriage to his father, a well-known local surgeon, had been stressful. Dinner parties, social gatherings…it was too much for her.  She was frail, nervous, and constantly questioning her self-worth.  Oftentimes, Dan would observe her sitting at the dinner table, absentmindly pulling out long strands of black hair, tossing them to the floor. Once, she’d even put one of the strands in her mouth and chewed it, while looking out into the distance.

This continued throughout his childhood and as the stress increased in his parent’s marriage, his mother’s tendency got worse.  She began regularly pulling out clumps of her hair and started wearing wigs to cover up the self-inflicted baldness.

As the marriage completely disintegrated, she withdrew from society and spent hours in her bedroom, staring at the mirror, pulling out her hair.  She also began to pull out her eyebrows and eyelashes. The compulsion became severe and his father finally left, unable to handle her worsening condition.

After the divorce was finalized, Dan went to live with his father, but returned several weeks later to visit his mother in her new home.

He had used the spare key she’d given him to unlock the front door. When he stepped inside, he had to squint to find his way through the entranceway. The house was dark and stuffy as if the air conditioning had been off for several days.  The kitchen looked bare, the cupboard devoid of food, the refrigerator containing a carton of milk, ancillary rotting vegetables, and a loaf of moldy bread. Dishes sat in the sink, unwashed, and houseflies buzzed throughout. 

“Mom?” he’d called out.   When she didn’t answer, he walked to her bedroom and knocked on the door. 

A tiny, weak voice shouted out, “Come in.” 

Dan remembered how frightened he’d been to enter her bedroom.  By that point, his mother had become reclusive and strange; her compulsion transforming what was once beautiful into a freakish visage of pain and addiction.

Slowly pushing the door open, he’d found her sitting at the familiar vanity mirror. Even from this vantage point, he could see patches of bald spots dotting the back of her head like polka dots. She wasn’t wearing a wig and was applying eyebrow pencil to her face.

“Oh, hi my darling…” When she turned to face him, he’d almost screamed, but managed to hold it together through sheer willpower.

She looked like a demented circus clown.  No eyebrows remained and were replaced with jagged, misshapen, thick lines. Her hair was thin and missing in many spots, her face gaunt, and eyes sunken into deep, black crevices.  Her skin was thin and stretched, and to make matters worse…she’d applied bright red lipstick, uneven and smudged. 

She rose to give him a hug and he couldn’t stand it a moment longer.  Backing out of the room, he ran out of the house, hearing her voice call to him as he’d rushed out…

“Dannnyy…Dannnyyy…come backkk…come backkk….”

That was the last time he saw his mother because a few days later, she committed suicide by swallowing an entire vial of Valium.  Her appearance was so damaged that the funeral parlor was unable make her presentable. The family decided against a showing and instead, kept her wasted and destroyed frame inside a beautifully adorned coffin, so that the only memories of her would be beautiful and regal.

But Dan’s memories would forever be shattered by the last image of his crazed mother and he often revisited their last meeting during nightmares that occurred again and again over the course of his adult life.

Now, sitting on the bed and watching Teresa sleep, he wondered if maybe he’d taken this assignment because of the psychological damage done by his mother. Had he pushed ahead with the trial even though he hadn’t been 100% sure that it was safe because he was trying to undo the wrongs of his past?  To save people who suffered like her?  People like Teresa? 

Shaking his head, he pushed the questioning thoughts out of his head.  These people counted on him to figure out what was going on.  He made a silent pact with himself that no matter what, he was going to make things right and help them get better. 

Standing up, he decided to let Teresa rest and left her lying on the bed.

***

Rosa and Bryan were stunned to see the damage done to the common area.  Sofas were overturned, the TV was smashed, and glass littered the floor in every direction. Both were careful to not step on any sharp shards and maneuvered over to the dining area without getting hurt. 

Bryan wasn’t feeling good.  His head was positively pounding and at times it was difficult to put together his thoughts.  Sneaking a peek over at Rosa, he wondered if she was feeling bad too.  The unspoken question hung in the air between them.

Would they both turn into…something psychotic…something like Rick?

They’d both taken the same infusion as Rick and those genes were running through their vein.  How long would it take before they were both…sick?

The idea was terrifying and too painful to focus on so they both concentrated on getting Rosa’s phone.  But crossing over into the reception area wasn’t as easy as it seemed.  Both were acutely aware that Rick was on the loose and they couldn’t simply casually saunter in and grab her cell.

“Look,” Rosa said, “I know we need to get in there.  I’m not even sure where they put our phones, so we’re going to have to search around. We need to move carefully. Let’s go get something that we can use as a weapon, because we really don’t know what we’ll find.”

The dining room staff had been on break prior to the official lockdown so the pantry and cooking areas were vacant, giving them free reign to seize the sharpest, longest knives they could find before heading out.  The two grabbed several and gripped their weapons tightly, quietly creeping toward the entranceway.

From their hidden vantage point, they could see that the front glass doors were now covered with a yellow tent-like material.  Rosa gasped. The CDC or some other high-ranking governmental agency had sealed off the perimeter.  She wouldn’t be surprised if they found all the other exits sealed and the windows guarded by the military.  From her experience, she knew that these types of measures were taken when there was an extreme danger to the public and she wondered if the therapy they’d received not only changed their hair color but also fundamentally altered their cellular structure, making them harmful or contagious. 

Together, she and Bryan crept along the wall and finally found themselves standing at the reception area.  A sound under the table alerted them that they were not alone.

“Who’s there?” shouted Bryan. “Come out, or we’ll have to shoot!”

Neither of them had a gun obviously, but he wasn’t taking any chances…

Slowly, Jennifer rose from her hiding place and recognizing them, ran over and hugged Bryan tightly.  Tears streamed down her cheeks and she sobbed into his neck.

When she finally calmed down, the three stood close together as she recounted recent events, describing the tornado that had erupted when Rick flew through the common area, destroying everything in sight.  She hadn’t seen him, but the sounds he’d made were terrifying enough.  She’d sat still under the counter for several minutes waiting to see if he would come in and find her, but thankfully, he’d lumbered away in a different direction and disappeared.

“What’s wrong with him?” she asked fearfully. “Is the same thing going to happen to us? Oh my God!”

Rosa tried to calm her down.  “We don’t know what’s wrong, but we definitely need to stick together and see if we can call for help.  It looks like the building is sealed off, but let’s see if the doors will open up.”

The group tried to open the glass doors but they were locked.  Bryan unsuccessfully hurled a chair at the glass, which didn’t even leave a mark.  They quickly realized that they would need to seek another escape route.

“Let’s see if we can find those phones,” Bryan suggested, “At least before Rick comes back.”

They discovered a door along the wall behind the reception area.  It was unlocked and led to an office with a phone, fax machine, computer, and several mail slots lining the walls. The three searched the room but could not find their belongings.  Rosa picked up the phone on the desk, hoping to connect through a landline, but it was dead.  Frustrated she sighed and sat down in the chair.

While the other two continued searching, she began to feel a bit of panic rising in her chest.  When phone lines were down that could only mean one thing. The entire building was under quarantine.  She’s worked at the CDC long enough to know when a situation was serious enough to shut off all communication to the outside world.  And that knowledge made her very, very, nervous. She wasn’t feeling well, nor were the others. And there was only one person who could help them.

Dr. Dan Johns. 

She wondered where he was.  He’d gone upstairs with Tim and Teresa a while ago and since then, they hadn’t heard from him.  She concluded that he was the only person 100% clear on what venomous solution was running through their veins and how to fix it. 

A sharp pang of pain raced through her skull and for a moment she thought she was going to pass out.  Dropping her head between her knees, she moaned, waiting for the sensation to pass.