Zombie Fever: Origins (4 page)

The two of them consulted for a moment and then Bertrand taped his ear piece and said, “There’s no point dragging this out. Bring him in.”

Two men with solemn expressions entered the conference room, one ceremonially carrying a large crystal cylindrical container similar in design to the chandelier in the hallway, the other a stack of files. The man with the container came up next to Tomas, whispered, “My condolences,” set the container on the table and left quietly. The other man sat next to Dr. Greer and quietly began sifting through the paperwork.

“The crystal vase is an urn that holds the remains of your father,” Mr. Bertrand said in a matter of fact tone. “Once we were able to enter the main laboratory where your father passed, we immediately took his remains to the onsite crematorium and disposed of them in accordance with bio-hazard protocols. We had to take every precaution to avoid an outbreak. I assure you that we took great care to respect and dignify the process. But please understand that the potential for contamination weighed far greater on the scales than the need for a proper funeral and burial. Though, he did have one request for the disposition of his remains: that his ashes be scattered at Sunset Cliffs off Point Loma. The request was for Vitura to carry out the directive. But I think, considering that he now has family present, that it should be done by you.”

Tomas stared at the crystal urn. He could make out through the translucent material a dark spot in the center that must have been his father’s ashes.

Mr. Bertrand stood, straightened his jacket, squeezed Dr. Greer’s shoulder and said, “While I am sensitive to your situation, you must understand that I’m a busy man. You will have to excuse me. Mr. Louis has some formalities for your attention having to do with the no-fault settlement and the assets in your father’s retirement account and his company life insurance policy.”

Without a handshake or farewell, Mr. Bertrand marched out the door.

Dr. Greer looked as though she wanted to say something but clamped her mouth shut and followed.

Mr. Louis took his cue, “I trust that you know you are Andy Overstreet’s sole beneficiary. Part of my job as in-house counsel is to advise and assist Vitura employees with estate planning issues.” He picked up a postcard-sized paper and slid it across the table towards Tomas, “This is Mr. Overstreet’s death certificate. As you can see, the cause of death is stated as a heart attack which is technically true as his heart seized the moment he injected the dose of hibernating serum. It was signed off by the county coroner and everything is in order with the state.”

The attorney paused to let Tomas take it in, then continued, “If you look on the bright side, Vitura’s no nonsense approach to decedent’s affairs saves families the bother of planning a funeral or deal with time consuming probate courts, allowing them time to grieve. Now, before you start to think about filing a wrongful death suit, please examine Mr. Overstreet’s employment contract,” he pushed across a document of at least thirty pages, “which specifically accounts for just such company accidents. Make no mistake: if you decide to sue, we will come after you, your family and all your assets. We are relentless and we will ruin you.”

At this point Tomas had withdrawn far into himself.

The Vitura attorney kept talking and passing paper after paper across the desk, which Tomas picked up and pretended to read. But all he could see was the lump of ash inside the urn at the periphery of his vision.

“And here,” he slid another document across the table, “is your generous settlement agreement. You will see in clause 14b, that upon signing this agreement you are bound to keep everything you know and have heard about Vitura Pharmaceuticals confidential, including your conversation with Mr. Bertrand, all aspects of said settlement, your father’s employment and cause of death and the amount of compensation you will be walking away with today, including but not excluding your father’s retirement accounts and life insurance.”

Finally, Mr. Louis was finished. He summoned an impartial notary and two unnamed employees into the conference room to act as witnesses and Tomas put his gnarled signature on somewhere in the ball park of forty documents.

Once everything was signed and stamped, copied and scanned into an unseen database with Mr. Louis’ scanning wand, Tomas was handed a sealed envelope with one check inside to ‘make things easier,’

Mr. Louis advised in his lawyerly voice, “Don’t lose that. You’ll be hard pressed to get this company to issue another.”

Tomas took the envelope and shoved in his pants pocket, “Can I go now?” he asked.

“Certainly,” Mr. Louis replied and fished out Andy’s oversized key ring from his trousers, “I’ve taken the liberty of having my clerks load your father’s personal items into his car, which you will find towards the rear of the lot. May I offer a bit of advice, Mr. Overstreet?” he asked, using Tomas’ surname in an official manner. “Take some time to grieve then find a competent estate attorney to handle your affairs. There are plenty of sharks ready to take advantage of a beneficiary of a windfall.”

And with that, the receptionist came strolling in and led Tomas, crystal urn in hand, back out through the front doors, closing them behind him with a big plastic smile.

Chapter 3: Filial Burden

The Roadmaster had a thin coating of dust across its windows from sitting idle out in the open for two days. Tomas set the urn in the passenger’s seat and pulled the seatbelt across it, strapping his father’s remains securely next to him. As he did this, he again had to wipe away tears, thinking about how his father hated wearing seatbelts.

Once he got out of the industrial park, he made a quick decision. “No time like the present,” Tomas muttered to his father, navigating the Roadmaster onto I-5 north towards Ocean Beach.

The drive was uneventful and Sunset Cliffs were beautiful.

Looking out across the cliffs and the waters of the Pacific, it was easy to see why Andy had designated this spot as his final resting place. Tomas took the urn as near to the edge of the cliffs as possible, twisted off the top and set the cap down next to his feet.

“Well, Dad,” he said, holding the open urn close against his chest, his voice breaking, “this isn’t what I thought spending the summer with you would mean. I’m … I’m sorry for not being around more. It wasn’t that … well … I love you and I hope you know that.”

There was a pleasant breeze moving away from the cliffs towards the sea.

Tomas turned the urn on its side and let the ashes spill out into the void. With the container upside down, he shook it hard to make sure all of Andy’s remains had been sent on their way. Something clinked out of the bottom and clinked off the urn’s cap beside his foot.
Oh, no,
Tomas thought.
Was that a tooth or bit of bone?
He leaned over and picked up the small object. But it wasn’t a part of Andy: it was a mini SD card used for extra storage in smart phones with a whopping 512GB on its side in tiny print below the initials
V.P., Inc
.

Tomas stood there with the empty urn under one arm, perplexed as to why there would be a memory card buried in his father’s ashes.

He went back to the Roadmaster, climbed inside, shut the door and looked around suspiciously. Then he took out his mobile phone, inserted the card and watched as thousands of file names scrolled across his screen. When it had finished, he scrolled to the top and saw that the first file was named “Read me-Tomas.”

He clicked on it ; and instead of a document, a video began to play.

It was Dr. Greer. She was leaning into the camera so only her face could be seen. She whispered, “Tomas, you need to listen to me. This is important. You are in grave danger. Vitura is not what it seems. Your father said you could be trusted with the files. Meet me at the lobby lounge in the Hotel Del Coronado tonight at ten. Make sure you aren’t followed. And Tomas,
your father is still alive.
I need your help to save him. Be alert and watch your back.”

Tomas played the message half a dozen times. His confusion over the message contents and the elation he felt about the news that his father was alive were nearly overwhelming. He tried to access more of the files, but they were a jumbled mass of encryption.

The digital clock on the dash read three o’clock.

He had seven hours to kill.

He drove the Roadmaster back to his father’s apartment in Mira Mesa, finished his pizza, took a long shower, popped a couple blues, changed into a newer but slightly wrinkled dress shirt over his cargo pants and flipped channels while he watched the clock.

******

When Tomas arrived at the hotel lounge at a quarter past ten, he was back in control of his emotions. He didn’t know what was going on, but he believed he had to stay strong because Andy was counting on him.

He spotted Dr. Greer right away. It wasn’t easy to forget her raven hair streaked with white. She was dressed in a spectacular purple evening gown, as though she’d just been to opera or some other event of a high-brow nature.
She’s fairly attractive for an older woman
, Tomas thought, feeling a twinge at the sight of her tastefully presented cleavage.
If she were ten years younger, I might have hit on her
.

She saw him enter the lounge, nodded slightly and sipped a glass of wine. Then she held up her hand indicating two more of the same to the cocktail waitress.

“Where’s my father?” Tomas demanded as he sat down.

“Tomas! My dear, it’s so good to see you!” Dr. Greer stood and kissed him on both cheeks.  She sat back down, all smiles and slid a cocktail napkin across the table where she had written,
‘Shut up and do as I say. There are ears everywhere.’
When she saw he had read it, she crinkled the napkin in her hand and pushed it into her wine glass where the last drops of wine soaked through, obliterating the message. “So how is school? Your father told me you’re quite the scientific genius.” Then she whispered, “We’ll finish our drinks and you are to wait ten minutes then make your way up to room 213. I’ll tell you everything there.”

One thing about Tomas, he was good at improvisation. He’d dabbled in acting during his freshman and sophomore year at UVC. He’d even considered minoring in the theatrical arts until one night when Jan teasingly said it was effeminate. Seeing the look of urgency and fear in Dr. Greer’s eyes when she whispered to him, and watching it turn back into glazed happiness as she waited for his answer to her obnoxiously loud question about school, made him think twice about calling her out. He followed her lead, “I graduated uni last month and came down to San Diego to hang with my dad for the summer. Got all A’s in my biology classes and ended up summa cum laude.”

“Wonderful! Wonderful! You’re handsome and intelligent to boot! I bet you have to beat off the young ladies with a stick!” she replied, eyes darting around the room looking for anyone who may be showing interest in them.

“Yep, beat off is what I do,” Tomas joked.

They continued the inane conversation, drank their wine, and then Dr. Greer excused herself, saying she was meeting friends.

Tomas waited eight minutes, got antsy and went to the restroom.

He then proceeded to room 213. Its door was slightly ajar and Tomas eased it open to a darkened room, the only light coming from the moon and the harbor lights filtering through the sheer curtains.

Dr. Greer was sitting in a dim haze inside at a small marble table by the window. She was smoking and there was a much different look on her face. “Sit down,” she commanded.

Tomas sat opposite and noted that the two butts in the ashtray were the same ladies slims he’d spotted in the Roadmaster on the drive from the airport.

“Your father and I were lovers,” she began abruptly. “Yes, I said it,
lovers
. We met eight years ago at a company picnic. Your father has a great analytical mind and the two of us were drawn to each other immediately. But our relationship as lovers had to remain under wraps due to the sensitive nature of my work at Vitura. I’m telling you this because you need to know that I am on your side. Andy is more important to me than Vitura, world domination, even my own life. Mr. Bertrand told you half truths. Andy is alive and held in the research lab. The video you saw was accurate, but the hybernox solution your father injected into his system didn’t kill him.”

Did she say ‘world domination’? They’re all insane.
“So, if he’s still at Vitura, why would you and your boss tell me he was dead? What’s going on? Why did you say we need to save him in your video message?”

Dr. Greer leaned across the table and set her hand on top of his, just as his mother did two days earlier, “Tomas, your father is alive, but he’s … changed. When he purged the chamber of the laboratory, aerosol containing the virus escaped. The injection worked as it was intended but he was exposed to the virus before administering the hybernox solution. He’s been infected and there is no cure. Yes, he’s still alive and if we don’t save him, they’re going to experiment on him until his body can no longer take the abuse. Afterwards, they’re going to vivisect him as is the protocol for disposing carriers of IHS.”

“Then why did you say we need to save him? If he can’t be cured, how are we going to
save
him?” Tomas asked, feeling he wasn’t getting the answers he wanted, distraught at the thought of scientists turning his father into a guinea pig.

“Honey, in order to save him, we need to kill him.”

Tomas stood up, shaking his head, intent on racing for the door and getting away from this woman, “This is crazy. You’re all crazy.”

“Tomas, there’s more. Please sit down. This is bigger than you, your father and me.”

Tomas hesitated, still reacting to the fight or flight adrenaline pulsing through his veins. He sat on the edge of his seat.

“Mr. Bertrand was surprisingly forthcoming about IHS. I think he believed that the confidentiality agreement you signed for your settlement and the ensuing greed from your new wealth would shut you up for good. It is true that IHS is a virus that has military applications. But Vitura isn’t working on a contract for an ‘unnamed military organization’ as Bertrand put it. Vitura is working for Vitura.