My Unlife: Rebirth Page 7

  Picking up another vial with what Emma assumed must have been the most artificial calm expression ever, Emma pretended to be carefully collecting a sample of the victim’s CSF for comparative study. Reaching out with her ring and little finger, she managed to lightly tug the card free, palming it as she removed her hand from the conspicuously consumed head.

  And mother thought I would make a lousy magician! Emma thought to herself with supreme satisfaction.

  Chapter 9

  About an hour later, Emma and Dan were both awkwardly removing the bio suit in the same glorified locker room they had used earlier. A faint surrounding body odor did nothing to dissuade the lecher in her from taking a good hard look at Dan’s boxer clad ass when he was turned wiggling out of the full body covering. She was not disappointed.

  “Now comes the boring part,” commented Dan, turning back around to find Emma nonchalantly checking her hair in a mirror.

  “Hmmm?” responded Emma, the master of disguise.

  “Comparison of the various fluids we took in there. We took blood and spinal fluid from the three corpses,” he added ticking off a finger “then there was saliva and blood belonging to the two attackers taken from the bodies,” he said, brandishing a second finger.

  “Firstly to confirm our view of events,” Emma knew her professor was being kind, describing the analysis as a combined effort. Dan had masterfully managed all the heavy lifting.

  “And then to compare the virus elements. We will be looking for infection vectors such as airborne versus contact and communicability.”

  Blank look from Emma.

  “How infectious they are,” Dan added.

  “Oh that’s not the boring stuff to me,” replied Emma. She wanted to know exactly what the CDC got from the bodies and the only way she could figure to do so would be to ingratiate herself into this process. That the samples could inform her later incarceration and/or medical disposal helped inject an element of excitement into the proceedings so she wasn’t even technically lying.

  “Oh, I forgot you were hoping to become a geneticist!” Dan remembered “How good are you?” he asked, eyes mock-narrowing.

  “I am still pretty green,” she answered truthfully “but I would really like to take a look at a virus that could potentially effect subject disposition or even healing rate.”

  Again she added mentally, thinking to her recent lab work.

  “I have some lassitude on my choice of colleagues for the analysis,” replied Dan thoughtfully “It wouldn’t hurt to have you there – who knows, you might come up with something.”

  Or in this case, down with something Emma thought Down with a virus that could make me into the worst curse on humanity since the Black Plague.

  “I would love to!” she replied out loud.

  “In that case, to the lab!” Dan reiterated pointing dramatically, with just a hint of his Scottish brogue.

  * * * * *

  Dan had all the samples lined up by person. Victim 1, Victim 2, Victim 3, Attacker 1, Attacker 2. It was funny to see her entire identity boiled down to the words “Attacker 1”. But not haha funny.

  Knowing what to look for on her turn with the Victim 1 - the first man Emma had ever killed – she spotted none of her telltale antibodies in his saliva. No surprise there, given she had brutally murdered him less than a minute after the first bite.

  Emma tried to summon up some form of contrition at the act of murder but try as she might, failed completely. His unwashed odor splashed back over her in her mind and she shuddered involuntarily. People should give me an award for taking out that rapist-in-training trash she thought unkindly.

  Taking the blood sample, Emma booted up the SMAC just as she had on her own blood previously. She pretended not to notice Dan watching her.

  Waiting patiently for the answers, she leaned forward as she noticed the screen change. Just as she expected, traces of the three enzymes indicating a retrovirus.

  In less than a minute, the virus had replicated enough for its enzyme production to be detectable by the SMAC, Emma thought gloomily so I guess I am well and truly boned by now.

  “Dr. Wilson,” she called - forcing herself to sound cheery, though a cold ball of fear had taken up residence in her stomach.

  “Yes?” he replied, instantly appearing at her elbow. He must have been watching from across the room.

  “I am seeing PR, RT and IN enzymes in this blood sample – I suspect victim 1 to have contracted a virus – specifically a retrovirus. I ran these tests in response to seeing an antibody I was unable to identify so it might also be previously unidentified.”

  Emma hoped this gamble would pay off, she was distilling hours of research on her own blood into this analysis. Hopefully it would make her look good enough to keep around.

  “I didn’t find the antibodies in his saliva so either he had just contracted this unknown pathogen and it had not spread yet or the host target is blood only,” she continued smoothly.

  “Not that I doubt you but I need to verify your findings” Dan replied, stepping over to her lab computer. Bringing up an App on his iPhone, he started comparing the sample on the screen with various virus traits.

  Finally sitting back, Dan looked stunned.

  “I think you are right,” he said finally, looking over at her at last. “You might have just been the first to diagnose a brand new virus, I doubt any other undergrad could say that.”

  Emma stood to the side - pride filling her chest, her own contagion forgotten.

  “This is huge,” Dan added, getting up and starting to pace.

  “We need to examine these other fluids quickly” he said suddenly, turning to Emma then moving to get a slide ready from victim 2.

  As Emma expected, everything came up negative. She had butchered the man, ripping his skull apart before she had fallen into his grey matter.

  “Maybe the first virus was unrelated?” asked Emma, playing along like she was 14 again and roleplaying with her friends.

  “No, if anything this just confirms the virus isn’t airborne in nature,” replied Dan, sounding frustrated. “If my prediction of events was anywhere close to accurate he wasn’t bitten until after death.”

  “Sod this foreplay,” he added, his accent the strongest since she had met him and rolled his chair over to the vial containing the swab of her saliva, labelled attacker 1 saliva. Carefully, he scraped it against the slide. After splitting the sample with the team at the FBI there wasn’t enough to afford waste.

  Almost immediately, the slide was covered and under the scope. Dan was peering through the tiny window but the results were broadcast onto a 22 inch screen right in front of Emma.

  She watched in mute silence as her antibodies slowly wiggled across the screen. Dan focused in and soon the distinctive head was clearly visible.

  “So the host target is Saliva AND Blood,” he muttered to himself. “Which means the first victim was newly infected.”

  He spent another minute slowly following an individual cell before looking up. Seeing the screen he blinked in momentary confusion – obviously his mind was elsewhere.

  “I would give anything to know what DNA changes it does,” he commented at last, his brain at last focusing on the present.

  So would I thought Emma darkly. The virus RNA could literally do anything to her genetic structure, make her superhuman or turn her into a thing.

  If I am not one already she added mentally, before dismissing the thought. I have to believe I am still a candidate for salvation, else I might as well throw myself through the window right now.

  The plan was not without faults - the lab was back at the college and only on the third floor. Emma suspected she would live through such a descent.

  “This is interesting,” said Dan, pulling Emma from her reverie – she had apparently been looking at the window.

  Spoilers! She thought.

  Turning back, Emma found he had queued up a slide
of what seemed to be blood. Steve’s, she soon found out.

  “This is blood taken from the first scene,” Dan explained “We see signs of infection in the blood and thiiiiiiiss..” he drew out the this while he slid in a second blood slide “Is blood from the second crime scene. Look at the increase in infection. According to the times the FBI provided this was less than an hour later – this thing replicates incredibly fast.”

  As he spoke, Dan had moved over to the computer and was quickly creating snapshots of portions of the video. Scrabbling around in a drawer he pulled out a checklist and compared numbers on the screen with bullets on the list, ticking one off occasionally.

  Sitting back after a couple of minutes, Dr. Wilson looked back at her, his neck making a slight click (accompanied by a wince) as he looked over his shoulder.

  “The rate of infection combined with the risk of contagion makes this officially a class 1 emergency. I have to call Atlanta,” he added, looking around for his cell phone while patting his pockets.

  “Is there… nothing we can do?” asked Emma stupidly, for the moment more concerned about the fact that teams of experts would now be looking for patient zero – her – than the risk to others.

  “Only be famous,” Dan answered “we just discovered an entirely new virus with a close to unprecedented infection rate. This is going to be big.”

  With my luck they will probably name it after me thought Emma glumly.

  * * * * *

  The Emma Virus (or EV as it was commonly called) did indeed bring people running from Atlanta. Within twenty four hours they had set up camp inside the biology department right there in her university. Emma was involved in the whole thing, making calls and consulting with her CDC experts using her meager knowledge whenever Dan was unavailable. By the time she walked out of there the next day – with a promise she would be back early the next morning - she was so tired that she couldn’t tell if her swimming head was the first sign of exhaustion or if she was having another attack.

  Returning to her crappy motel for some much needed sleep, Emma laid down flat on her back in bed and took a deep exhale. She lay there for a few minutes and turned to the side. After a few more minutes her eyes popped open. All she could see in her mind’s eye was the tiny card she fished out of a man’s brain, where it must have slipped during Steve’s frenzied attack.

  Within minutes, she was sitting at the edge of the bed flipping the card over slowly, the information memorized.

  Nonetheless, the words flashed in the crappy motel lighting with each rotation though her distant look had long since ceased to notice them.

  David Hoon

  Proprietor of the Pelham Arms

  32 Hampshire St, Cambridge, MA 02139

  Emma sighed, so tired she couldn’t think. Regardless, she headed into the shower to try to wake herself up for her journey out to the Pelham Arms.

  You could say I have a thirst for knowledge thought Emma, entering the shower and then groaning at her pun. Never do that again she admonished.

  * * * * *

  It took Emma 30 minutes to make her way across town, taking the T train to a stop a few blocks away she emerged from the underground into the light of the early evening.

  Emma sincerely doubted she would catch a glimpse of Steve but just in case she had decided to change her makeup and wear her hair up in a tight bun. It was a feeble disguise, she had to admit to herself, but without the supplies of her apartment at hand it was about the best she could manage.

  Walking up to the quaint little bar, made out in the style of an old English pub - or should that be ‘Olde’ Emma wondered idly.

  She had difficulty imagining someone like Steve coming to the place and realized she knew little about him, apart from his obvious attempts on her life.

  The black oaken doors stood before Emma and looked like something that should belong on a keep rather than some fake pub but nonetheless they breezed open with a whisper to some boozehound staggering out into the chilly Boston air.

  Stealing her courage to be at this place that might be enemy territory with no-one for company, Emma slipped inside and took a seat off the side of the bar. Smiling and accepting an offer to order from a passing server she selected a half pint of a local pale ale, which she settled back to nurse like it was purchased with her last two farthings.

  Unlike her highly successful stake out in the park (verily, many squirrels were vanquished with the power of strong language that day) Emma’s quarry was soon identified for Mr. Hoon took great pleasure in proclaiming his name whenever he answered the phone. David Hoon was a short balding man sporting a waistcoat who lorded over the bar like court was in session with him playing the King. The miniature proprietor took great pleasure in managing every aspect of the bar and – Emma noted with some disgust – also managed to put his hand on not one but two of the waitresses asses in the short time while Emma was watching.

  Taking her beer over to the bar, Emma caught the eye of the serial ass-grabber and smiled. This was a role she was ill fitted for, the chubby lab rat felt like she would have to give up her nerd card in shame. She was not in the habit of smiling at random men and even less so for those with Mr. Hoon’s … qualities.

  “Can I help you lass?” he asked, moving over to the opposite side of the bar from her nonetheless. Emma was not a good judge of such things but if she were, she would call his English/Irish accent 100% fake.

  “Oh I am just holed up here looking for a friend – I haven’t seen him around recently,” she replied, smiling again.

  “Who is your mate?” replied Hoon, wiping an imagined stain off of the bar with a cloth. Tens of not imagined stains took offense.

  “Steve Kerchak,” she replied, trying to appear nonchalant “he said he is in here all the time.”

  “The name doesn’t ring any bells,” replied the owner, looking down at her from the raised platform behind the bar as he wiped the counter “Are you sure this is the place?” he asked easily. Emma couldn’t help but feel she was trapped in a game.

  Unable to play the part of lady admirer any longer, Emma decided to lay her cards on the table and drop the act.

  “You really don’t know him? Because he dropped this card when he was butchering a man outside a gas station,” Emma answered, trying to put on her hardest voice. She tossed the card out onto the bar, where it slid into the bar cloth right by the plump man.

  “Landed right on the victim’s brain,” she added, hoping the gory detail would jog loose some details from him.

  “So? I give these things out a dime a dozen,” the barman protested, pointing to a stack of cards just a foot off to the side and then presenting them with an exasperated palm. Clearly from the sweat present the palm was not used to all this work.

  “And you expect me to believe he has never been in here?” asked Emma, raising her voice. She was attracting attention from the rest of the bar now, judging from the sphere of silence surrounding her.

  “He probably has!” replied the owner, his accent completely gone as he raised his own voice in turn “But I don’t recognize the name. Probably just came in one day and took a card!”

  Emma turned around, frustrated. She found herself staring directly into the eyes of Steve Kerchak, who was standing in the big black-framed doorway just a few meters distant - a friend on either side of him and a look of utter surprise on his face.

  “Oh fuck,” said Emma, and for the second time in as many days she dashed past Steve Kerchak, scattering him and his drinking friends as she made off into the night.

  Chapter 10

  Emma had studied for as long as she could remember. She was the kid in school with her nose always in a book, the student at college who knew the answers because she had pre-read all the chapters and discussed them online. How then was it every day recently she discovered a host of really useful abilities that she had previously not realized were even skills, never mind paid any attention to improving her perfo
rmance at them?

  The latest failure was asking questions in such a way as to not make a scene or arouse suspicion. She was reflecting on her basic lack of any aptitude for tact while hiding on the flat roof of a building.

  A ragged cough sounded from the alley below, she could just about hear steps but they were faint enough that she couldn’t tell if they were getting closer. Another wet rasping cough, close to the ladder if she was any judge. Definitely closer.

  She risked a peak and ducked again when one of the figures below turned around.

  “Oi! What you playing at, following us now are you?” called the thug from below, to no-one in particular.

  Ahh international color, she thought, just what was missing from the underbelly of Boston.

  Emma had taken a few turns down smaller streets while sprinting from the Pelham Arms. Skidding around a corner she instantly noticed a fire escape ahead but it was way too high, easily three feet out of reach.

  Out of nowhere, Emma was struck by a sudden vision of the man who attacked her leaping impossibly far and through the pawn shop window. Not stopping to think for fear she would lose her nerve, Emma piled on the speed and made the leap for the ladder.

  She easily made the bottom rung, grabbing the bar with both hands. Momentum was as always an unkind master however and a split second later she hit the wall face first.

  Dangling stupidly from the fire escape while blood dripped from her cut forehead and bleeding nose, all down one of the few shirts remaining in her possession, Emma almost didn’t gather her wits in time to be useful.

  When she heard shouts from somewhere outside the alley, she immediately came back to her senses though and swarmed up the rattling metal of the fire escape as quick as a monkey.

  Vaulting over the low roof wall, she heard voices from the end of the narrow passage almost immediately. She lay there, struggling to quietly catch her breath while the disembodied voices talked in soft tones below.

  Risking a second look, Emma noted that one of the two men below (neither of which was Steve) was moving to the base of the fire escape. Patting her shirt, Emma wondered if there was blood on the ground at the base and if it would be enough of a clue for one or both of the men to choose to investigate it.

  Emma was looking around for an alternate exit – maybe there was another ladder at the other side of the roof – but saw nothing.