The NEXT Apocalypse (Book 2): AFTER Life: Purgatory Page 5

  “It’s here,” Shelly said.

  “If I get bit, am I going to turn into one of them?”

  Probably, I thought. I think that’s how this works. Haven’t you people ever seen a movie in your damn lives?

  Short of breath, Don clutched his chest. “Jesus, I think I’ll have a heart attack first. They’re crazy down there! Call for backup!”

  “No use calling for backup,” Shelly said. “Not when everybody needs backup at the same time. But I’ve got an idea.”

  Priyat left Don’s side for a moment and disappeared into the corridor. A moment later, a fire alarm sounded. It was a flat, low beep.

  When she returned, Don looked at her, his face ashen and shiny with sweat. “Think it will help to call in the bucketheads and basement savers?”

  “Calling the Fire Department isn’t the point. Shutting down the elevators to buy time is the goal.”

  Don shook his head. “The elevators will still work.”

  “Only for authorized personnel with a card or a key.” Shelly held up an elevator key from her key ring. “In the movies, zombies don’t use elevators.”

  She was right. However, rampaging zombies could use stairs. My brand of monster is fast and not so stupid that an unlocked door could stop us. Our ranks would soon arrive on our floor.

  Most people confined to hospital beds are either elderly or weakened. As a mob of cannibal killers tore into their prey, many patients discovered they still had enough energy to scream in terror and agony. Below us, perhaps one floor away, maybe two, I could hear the death cries of the vulnerable.

  Upside: You can only be eaten alive for a short while before you’re dead. If I were selling swag for the zombie apocalypse, I’d put that line on the t-shirts.

  Chapter 10

  CHLOE

  The flight time from Aruba to Toronto Pearson International was five and a half hours. Thomas and I were the only passengers on the Challenger jet. I gave my boss the silent treatment the whole way. It pissed me off that he didn’t seem to mind that I was fuming.

  Thomas spent most of the flight on his phone. When he spoke to government officials, he was polite and obsequious. When he started slinging orders at employees, he was an impatient bully. I’d never seen this side of him. Now that I had, I was sure that if I got through the ordeal ahead I’d leave Prometheus Rembrandt. I had no idea Thomas Dill was such a shit.

  We arrived at Pearson just after four in the morning. I’d never seen so many planes on the ground. Some aircraft were parked out on the runways. I hoped there weren’t still passengers stuck out there, sweating and claustrophobic.

  Thomas talked to our pilot as if he were a bad dog. “Stay with the plane in case we need you to evacuate. No matter what they tell you, stay with the plane.”

  RCMP officers waited for us at a private gate. The arrivals area was deserted, not even Customs officers manned the booths in the security area.

  “Looks like the Rapture,” I said.

  The female RCMP officer ignored me but the male gave me a serious look that made me think he wasn’t comfortable with my end of the world observation. “The Rapture would be a clean, bloodless end. I wish we were only dealing with piles of clothes and people left behind. I saw the CCTV feed from Dundas Street. It’s a lot scarier than the Rapture.”

  The cops escorted us through Security to a VIP lounge. I’d left my bags at the Ritz-Carlton in Aruba so I was still in my party dress when we met the official from the Public Health Agency.

  When we walked up to him, he said, “Ken Rigg,” as if his name should mean something to us. He wore a surgical mask, blue nitrile gloves and goggles that looked very out of place considering the rest of his attire was a double breasted suit. He didn’t ask for introductions and he did not shake our hands. “I’m in charge of the scene downtown. We’re coordinating with CDC. They’ve volunteered to send up a couple of experts in pork tapeworm.”

  “Excuse me, I’m Dr. Chloe Robinson.”

  “I know.”

  So much for pleasantries. “How would pork tapeworm be relevant, Mr. Rigg?”

  “Dr. Rigg,” he said stiffly. “Your expertise is cybernetics.” He said cybernetics as if the word tasted bad, as if it wasn’t the inevitable future of humankind.

  “Nanotech, yes.”

  “Pork tapeworm is the most common source of parasitic infection of the brain. Taenia solium infects 50,000,000 worldwide and is the most common cause of brain seizures. I like pork but I tend to overcook it, just to be safe.”

  “Fifty million?”

  “It’s not one of the sexy diseases that gets a lot of attention and research funding but it’s pretty special, yes.”

  Rigg addressed Thomas. “The Prime Minister declared Toronto a disaster area a couple of hours ago. He’ll address the nation on CBC tonight.”

  Thomas paled. “So it’s not bottled up, at all? No improvement?”

  “It’s spreading as fast as a person can run and it’s not just the infected that are the problem. We’ve got riots around the edges of the GTA, people try to get out and away even though they are nowhere near the Red Zone. We expect significant loss of life from the secondary effects of the outbreak.”

  “What do you consider secondary effects?” I asked.

  “Panic. Given the huge area involved, people will get out. It’s highly unlikely that Torontonians outside of downtown are infected but the panic is spreading. Panic can kill as many people as a disease.”

  “How is the panic spreading faster than the core problem?” Thomas asked.

  “Social media. Twitter crashed but Facebook is spreading the news. Instagram is a horror show. It’s cannibal porn. Panic yields car accidents, hit and runs, heart attacks, looting. Panic is another infection, spreading faster than any disease can.”

  Thomas put some bass in his voice, trying to reassert control. “Can’t you shut that shit down?”

  “No,” Rigg replied firmly. “Monitoring reports from the ground via social media is the most reliable data we have.”

  Thomas was sweating heavily again. “What data points are worth the panic?”

  “We can observe symptoms from video and we know that to the east, it’s spread to the Eaton Centre. The outbreak has spread eight blocks down Queen Street West, last I checked. Communication lines are down and, since everyone is on their phones, cell phones aren’t working reliably. The city perimeter is too big to keep everybody in so we really need to get a handle on rates of infection.”

  “What’s your preliminary data suggest?” I asked.

  “The affected area doubles roughly every two hours. It moves faster in some areas. We don’t understand why. That’s why you’re here instead of safe in Aruba.”

  “The person I spoke to from the Toronto Police said there was a blue mist,” Thomas said. “That’s the aerosolized version of the … ” — he paused to choose his words carefully — “the agent.”

  Rigg smirked, eschewing the euphemism. “After the weapon was released, people in the area reported flu-like symptoms. The transition period seems very short. They become violent, psychotic and mute.”

  “We tagged the aerosol droplets blue to measure potential spread by weather patterns in battlefield conditions. If not for the blue tag, the police wouldn’t have seen the release of Picasso at all.”

  “Did you put it through a wind tunnel?” I asked.

  “Of course, we did,” Thomas said. “Marketing said we had to have dispersal data. It’s supposed to spread via the air but become inert quickly. Below a thousand parts per million, Picasso doesn’t spread anymore. That way, it’s not carried on air currents to stay lethal forever. The targeted area shouldn’t be larger than a square mile, depending on meteorological factors like heat and humidity.”

  “If it’s supposed to go away that easily, how has it gotten so bad?” I asked.

  “It was supposed to be used on a village, not a city,” Thomas said. “If the spread was confined to the airborne vector, we wou
ldn’t have the problem we do.”

  “It’s spreading through person to person contact now,” Rigg said.

  Thomas bobbed his head. “The nanites were programmed correctly for that one test. The aim was to sell the agent so it could be used as leverage, maybe a last resort. We never really thought it would actually be used in a combat situation, not beyond that damned test.”

  “Your aim, huh? You aim was way off,” I said. “Has there ever been a weapon that wasn’t used at some point?” The use of the words person to person contact sounded like a dangerous euphemism. I asked Rigg what he meant.

  “We have observed that, after an infected person bites another, the time it takes for them to become psychotic and violent varies. We don’t know the time range from contact to actively contagious.”

  “You mean you don’t know how long it takes any individual to go zombie.”

  “I wouldn’t put it that way.”

  “I prefer plain speaking,” I said. “It titrates the bullshit to a lesser dose.”

  “We’re all on the same side here,” Thomas said. “We’re going to get through this. Has there been any message from Ottawa about funding the cleanup for this mishap?”

  “This is a little more than an oil spill in a remote area, Dr. Dill. It’s a disaster on the way to a full balls up, wouldn’t you say?” Rigg sighed. “God knows how many escaped by boat from Queen’s Quay before the police marine services started shutting down the lake. It’s an impossible task — ”

  “Prometheus Rembrandt Biosystems took every precaution in our technology development— ” Thomas said.

  “Weapons development,” Rigg corrected him. “Save it for the press release. This situation has a chance at being resolved faster if you are completely honest with me. When you’re talking to me, you’re talking to the Prime Minister. Furthermore, since Dr. Robinson doesn’t know thing one about Taenia solium, it’s safe to assume she’s blameless in this disaster. You and your company, however — ”

  “Spare me the moralizing,” Thomas said. “We’re contractors for multiple governments — ”

  “Production of WMDs isn’t supposed to happen on Canadian soil.”

  “We weren’t producing it. We were researching it for possible production elsewhere. Production would be in our lab in New Mexico. In the research phase — ”

  “Thomas,” I said. “This isn’t the time to be splitting semantic hairs.”

  “I disagree. What we say now will be used against us later.”

  “Let’s focus on making sure there is a later,” I replied.

  “Fine. For the record, I brought Dr. Robinson back from a research conference because Chloe’s nanotech was used in the Picasso experiments.” Thomas was a weasel trying to shift the blame. He’d seemed like a much nicer person when he thought he had a chance of getting me into bed.

  “My work was used at that lab without my knowledge,” I added. “I only found out they misused AFTER,” — I checked my watch — “six hours ago.”

  EPISODE 2

  Change and Unintended Consequences are the only known laws we have identified as universal and consistent.

  ~ Notes from NEXT

  Chapter 11

  CHLOE

  “Follow me,” Rigg said. “We have military in the Arrivals section so we should breeze through. Thousands of travelers got trapped when we locked Pearson down. The civilians are on edge.”

  The female RCMP officer cleared her throat and spoke for the first time. “Not just the civilians. We should go around, sir — ”

  “No time,” Rigg said.

  “It’s four in the morning,” Thomas said. “Won’t most of them be asleep?”

  “Could you sleep?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer.

  “When the doors to the corridor open,” Rigg said, “don’t make eye contact. Just stay on my heels and don’t engage anyone. We have helicopter transport waiting to take us to St. Mike’s. We have someone who was in the Echidna lab.”

  “A witness? A survivor?” I asked.

  Rigg quickly extinguished my tiny flame of hope. “An infected subject, captured alive.”

  With the two RCMP officers leading the way, we hurried out into a corridor. The airport was packed with passengers who had been waiting for flights. Anyone who arrived at Pearson wasn’t permitted to leave. Canadian Armed Forces personnel formed a corridor with their bodies so we had a clear path to the exit. People leaned against the walls or lounged on the floor. Some used their luggage or balled up clothes for pillows. When someone spotted Rigg in his surgical mask and nitrile gloves, stirs and murmurs sifted through the crowd. People rose to their feet.

  “Hey! Hey, bud!” a man called. “You in the mask! Can you tell us what’s going on?”

  Rigg didn’t stop walking but he did turn to address the man who called out to him. “We have the situation under control. I’m very sorry for the inconvenience but everyone has to stay here until the problem is resolved.”

  “Is it ebola? Or rabies?” a woman asked.

  “Be assured, authorities are addressing the issues as quickly as we can. I spoke to the Prime Minister himself minutes ago and he wants me to convey to you that we are devoting every resource for a satisfactory resolution.”

  “But what’s the problem?” the same man persisted. “There’s riots downtown. There’s no riots here. Why do we have to stay? Nobody’s telling us anything!”

  “We are devoting every resource for a satisfactory resolution,” Rigg repeated. He kept walking to the far door. I couldn’t see his face but I got the feeling he was enjoying himself a bit too much. We could all hear it in his tone and see it in his stiff posture. He was peacocking.

  My stomach soured. My boss was a weapons dealer. Rigg seemed most interested in public relations and marketing an image. Maybe he had political aspirations and saw Toronto’s disaster as an opportunity to further his career. I guessed disease outbreaks were how administrators at the Public Health Agency got noticed. Everyone knew what the CDC was but how many people had ever heard of Canada’s equivalent? Looking from my boss to the public health agent, I decided I was suffering what one of my biomedical physics professors dubbed, “ARMs, also known as anorectal malformation, AKA, ‘too many assholes.’” A pox on both your houses, I thought.

  The crowd wasn’t happy with Rigg. They climbed to their feet and called after him.

  A woman from the crowd shouted, “Where you going? I got two babies here! When can we get home to North Bay?”

  “And I’ve got to go to Gander!” someone else yelled.

  Rigg merely waved them away, as if they didn’t matter.

  The crowd was stirring itself into a mob, incredulous at what little they were being told. “They’re leaving!” someone shouted.

  “Hey, bud!” The first man who’d spoken pointed at Thomas and me. “How come they get to leave?”

  Rigg got to the exit with Thomas scampering after him. The RCMP officers hung back, waving me through, urging me to catch up and get out of the terminal before a riot started. Instead, I stopped to address the man. “There’s been an industrial accident at a medical lab downtown. The outbreak is communicable so we have to be extra careful. You are safe here.”

  I looked around and raised my voice to make sure everyone could hear me. “You’re far away from downtown and we’re working hard to get this under control. We don’t know enough about it yet and, though it’s just a precaution, we’re making sure what happened downtown stays there and doesn’t spread. You’ll be fine but we have to make sure.”

  “Then how can you say we’ll be fine?” the first man who had spoken asked. “Shouldn’t we just get the hell away from here?”

  “That’s actually a good question. Think of this as a flight delay because of a mechanical problem,” I suggested. “It doesn’t mean you won’t fly or that you’re in danger. It means we’re making sure you will be able to fly and you won’t be in danger. Do you get what I mean? We’re gathering m
ore information to make sure you guys aren’t carrying this into a confined space, like on a plane.”

  The man nodded, seemingly satisfied.

  “Does anyone here feel sick?”

  No one raised a hand. “Good. If you do, let us know. Otherwise, please hang tight. We really do thank you for your patience. We are trying very hard to make sure no one else gets sick.”

  Some people began to sit down. The tension in the air eased.

  I turned to an Armed Forces officer. I had no idea what his rank was but he had more stripes on his sleeve than anyone else nearby. “Are we getting food, water, blankets and more porta potties for these people?”

  The man looked startled that I was dragging him into it. “Food and blankets, yes, ma’am. I don’t know about the porta potties. There’s the airport bathrooms — ”

  “There’s so many people here, bathroom hygiene is going to be an issue to keep ahead of, don’t you think? And we’re going to want to make sure everyone is washing their hands.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Will you look into getting these folks more comfortable?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Rigg came back and took me by the elbow. “We’ve really got to go.”

  “How about you guys get some toys and set up a play area for the kids, too? I’m sure that will help everyone settle in to wait while we work the problem.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the Canadian Forces officer replied. “Good suggestions.”

  I got the feeling the man might be humoring me. I held my ground and turned to Rigg. “Make it an order.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “Make it an order.”

  “This is not my — ”

  “You have the ear of the Prime Minister. You’re the PM’s rep here, right?”

  Rigg glared at me through his goggles and nodded to the officer I’d spoken to. “Like she said. Speak to your superiors. Make it happen, lieutenant.”