The Beginning of the End (3 page)

“Sir, that’s not
all. I’ve been in contact with Dr. Miranda Frost, and she’s
activated the Disaster Assistance Response Team (DART) at the Center
for Disease Control in Atlanta. She’s tested Patient Zero, and he
shows positive for the Ebola Virus. And… it’s gone airborne!”

The General picked up
his pipe, set it in the ashtray and brushed some spilled ashes off
the desk with his hand, “How did this happen?” he asked while
rubbing his temples with his fingertips.

“General, viruses
like Ebola are notoriously sloppy when replicating between hosts.
That means at some point, the virus left its host, and entered
Patient Zero as a mutated strain.”

“What does that mean
for us?” General Strong asked as he leaned forward in his chair now
dumping his pipe in the ashtray.

Bob took in a deep
breath in, cowering, as though he was about to be scolded by his
father. “Sir, it means Ebola will spread to every part of the globe
as quickly as H1N1 virus did in 2009.”

“My god, Bob!” The
General’s face sagged, knowing somehow that all hope was lost. He
pursed his lips and leaned back in his chair thinking, touching a
finger to his chin.

“Zaire 1976!” the
General blurted out.

“Zaire?”

A smile broke from the
general’s lips, “ZMapp!”

The General reached for
his pipe again, “ZMapp! In 1976, our leading scientists teamed up
with a Canadian research team. The Canadian team had discovered three
disease fighting proteins that targeted specific genes of invading
pathogens. By injecting patients with our ZMapp proteins before
exposure, the body could mount an immediate immune response. The
ZMapp cocktail provides an artificial immune response against
proteins on the outside of the Ebola virus preventing them from
joining with receptors on the host cells.”

Bob leaned forward, now
listening intently, “Did it work?”

“It didn’t work in
Zaire because the outbreak was over before completing the ZMapp
serum.”

“Then how do you know
it works?” Bob asked.

General Strong leaned
forward in his chair again looking Colonel Aiken dead in the eyes,
“Because we tested it on Plum Island. It had a 95% survival rate.”
General Strong leaned back in his chair again with an almost
victorious look on his face.

“You tested it on
whom?”

“I’m sorry Bob, but
you know that’s classified.”

“Bob, I want you on
the next plane to Montréal. At McGill University find Dr. Claude
Marcil. He’ll be expecting you, and he’ll have all the answers
you’ll need.”

October 3rd 1:00pm

Five hours later, Bob
was landing in Longue-Pointe, Canadian Forces Base in Montréal. His
head was beginning to pound from the combination of traveling and
stress of the situation. As Bob departed the plane, he was met by a
tall, thin, French looking fellow with a gold crown on each shoulder,
“Colonel Aiken, I am Major Jean-Luc Besson of the 2nd Canadian
Division Support Group. I will be your liaison during your stay, Sir.
Would you like to see your quarters?”

Bob snapped off a
salute, “Major Besson, I need to get to McGill University
immediately!”

“I understand, Sir.
Follow me, I have a vehicle over here.” Jean-Luc said pointing to a
gray airplane hangar. Bob followed Major Besson to the side of Hangar
12 where they were picked up in a black Suburban. The vehicle was
decked out with light armor and bulletproof windows.

“Colonel, it will
take us thirty minutes to get there. My staff has called ahead, and
Dr. Marcil is expecting us.”

“Thank you Major.”
Bob said, as he watched the small farm houses turn into the high
buildings of downtown Montréal.

Twenty-nine minutes
later, the Suburban pulled into the Otto Maass Chemistry Building
parking lot, just off from Sherbrook Street in downtown Montréal.
The old stone building was draped with a banner bigger than their
vehicle that pictured a white triangle faced alien with large black
ovals for eyes. Underneath the alien’s face were the words “ARE
WE ALONE?” in a squiggly green font. Bob thought to himself, “If
not, let’s hope they have a cure.”

Bob was still staring
at the alien when Jean-Luc swung the Suburban door open, “This way
Colonel!” Bob stepped out of the vehicle and right through a set of
glass doors. He was reminded of his high school with cork boards on
both sides of the breezeway. Covered in everything from students
looking for rides home, to professors offering tutoring services for
extra money. Bob followed Jean-Luc down a long hall that smelled of
mold, masked with bleach. “I believe Dr. Marcil’s office is up
here on the right.” Jean-Luc reached out with his finger and
touched the name plate on the door, “It looks like this is it.”
Besson knocked on the hundred-year-old door. After a slight pause, a
muffled, “Entrez!” echoed from inside the office. From beyond an
antique desk as old as the door, a frail, thin, balding man sat
there. He was wearing a white lab coat that looked as though it had
been purchased off the rack sometime around the time Bob was born.

“Je m’appelle le
docteur Marcil.”

“Bonjour, Doctor
Marcil. I’m Major Besson from Longue-Pointe, and this is Colonel
Robert Aiken from Washington D.C.”

The Doctor stood up
extending a friendly hand across the desk to Bob, “Ah, Colonel
Aiken, I’ve been expecting you. I spoke to General Strong this
morning, he said you were on your way. It seems we may have something
you may be in need of. So how is that old ornery son of a gun?” Dr.
Marcil chuckled. Bob let go of Dr. Marcil’s hand, “He’s worried
Dr. Marcil, but he sends his regards. We have quite a problem we’re
dealing with.” Dr. Marcil stepped out from behind the desk, heading
toward the office door, “Yes. Yes. Come with me. We’ll see if we
can’t get you fixed up eh?”

They were met in the
hallway by a stunning blonde woman wearing a gray flannel skirt and a
burgundy button-down shirt that was open on top, exposing her ample
cleavage. She removed a small pair of black rimmed glasses exposing
her ice-blue eyes as she entered the room, “Ah. Sophie, I’m glad
you’re here. Sophie, this is Colonel Aiken from the States and
Major Besson from Longue-Pointe. Gentlemen, this is my assistant Dr.
Sophie Simone. Sophie has been with me for the last fifteen years.
Sophie obtained her doctorate here at McGill and after specialty
training in infectious diseases at Yale, I offered her a job
assisting me with ZMapp, and we’ve been perfecting it ever since.
Gentlemen, Sophie is the best infectious disease specialist in
Canada.”

“Oh! Dr. Marcil
stop.” Sophie blushed.

Bob envied Dr. Marcil
for being able to work with Sophie every day.

“Sophie, if you could
please join us. We’re heading to the lab.” he said, without
looking back.

October 11th 1:00pm

“What is it? Spit it
out Chevy! What? What was Chevy trying to say?

“Hey, Ty! Did you get
me a soda?”

Chevy sat on his bed
looking at me with his head tilted, “What the hell is up with you,
Ty?”

I was trying to catch
my breath while my brain processed everything. I plopped into the
beanbag chair in the corner of Chevy’s room, “Dude! There is some
serious shit going on out there.” Without leaving his bed, Chevy
leaned a few inches to the right, as though he was looking somewhere,
“Out where?” he asked.

“Outside!” I
shrieked. I told Chevy about the store being closed, and the stale
fetid air. I went on to tell him about the scream I heard, and how
all the streets were empty. Chevy was still sitting in bed with his
hair sticking up and a crust of sleep in the corner of his left eye.
Chevy continued to stare at me as he lifted his arm to wipe the sleep
away. He tried to make heads or tails of the situation. He scratched
his head and thought for a moment, “So you didn’t get me a soda?”

I jumped up from the
beanbag screaming, “What’s wrong with you?” Chevy shook his
head at me, as he rolled over and laid back down, “I’m going back
to sleep.”

“Are you kidding me?”
I ranted. “With everything I just told you, and you’re going to
go back to sleep?”

“Shut the door on the
way out, please.”

I picked up the beanbag
and threw it at Chevy on the way out. “You’re such a dick!”

I went out to the
living room, grabbed the remote and turned on the news. My head was
still pounding from the beer last night. I didn’t drink that much.
I shouldn’t be feeling this bad. I hope I’m not getting sick.

I flipped on the news
station, but it was on a commercial. I got up and went over to the
window and pulled on the blinds. I bent a few down and peeked out the
window. Empty! The street was still vacant. No people, no cars,
nothing. It was like I woke up and Chevy and I were the only people
left in the world. What the hell is going on out there? And what is
that smell?

I snapped away from the
window when I heard the President of the United States speaking on
the TV. “My fellow Americans, we have this situation under control
and there is no reason to fear. Scientists have been working around
the clock, and we have taken extraordinary measures to protect the
best interests of you, the people. In the meantime, stay home! Don’t
go out! Keep your TV on to help keep you informed. I will address the
nation again in 24 hours.”

What was he talking
about? He didn’t say anything about what’s going on. Don’t go
out! Is that why the streets were empty? It had to be. Whatever this
thing was, maybe it would all be over soon.

I picked up the phone
to call my dad. He’s a cop in town, and he knows everything that’s
going on. The first three times I tried I got a busy signal, like
they had before call waiting. Finally, I connected.

“Shit! Voice mail!”

“Dad, it's Ty. Can
you call me back when you get this?” I was about to hit End Call
when I remembered those key words that would ensure a call back, “Oh!
And I don’t need any money!”

Dad was probably still
sleeping. He worked the night shift, and had his entire career. He
usually got done around 7am and woke up around two in the afternoon.
I guess I’ll surf the channels until he calls me back and try to
pick up some news.

Every channel had the
same story on about some guy who had gone to Africa and brought back
the Ebola Virus. I spent the next hour watching specialists and
doctors, talking about how the virus spreads, and how it mutated into
an airborne strain. My head began to throb again, and I started
sweating. Thanks Buddy! You probably gave me Ebola too. Well, since
I’m gonna die soon, I might as well hit the Xbox and bust a cap in
a few zombie asses before I croak from Ebola.

Chevy walked into the
living room, naked except for a pair of tighty whities. He stopped to
scratch his balls in front of me, “Really?” I snapped. He sat on
the couch next to me and grabbed the second controller, “What’s
up man?”

“I’m smokin’ some
zombies. Oh! And I’m dying from Ebola too!”

“Cool! Move over! I’m
playing.”

October 3rd 3:00pm

“They’re all going
to die!” screamed Doctor Miranda Frost as she turned and looked out
of the hospital window, feeling tears well up behind her eyes. She
slowly dropped her chin to her chest. Trying not to think of the
inevitable catastrophe that was about to unfold on her watch. Miranda
sniffed and sensed a tear roll down her cheek. Oh great! Miranda
thought to herself. Now my mascara is going to run, and I can’t
wipe my face in this goddamn biohazard suit. Everyone’s going to
know I’m crying. I don’t cry! I’m Dr. Miranda Frost, Chief
Infectious Specialist of DART, and this is my site, “Damn it!”

Miranda lifted her head
as the sun was approaching the western Palo Alto skyline. The now
abandoned buildings beyond the San Francisquito Creek were just
beginning to transmute an orange glow. How beautiful this place use
to be, but now had been enveloped by the most devastating plague
known to modern man.

Miranda’s attention
was distracted by a low-flying Army helicopter, hovering off the
hospital grounds, approaching the creek bed. Miranda saw the soldier
flying the helicopter was wearing the military camo version of her
suit. She could also see the helicopter had been retrofitted with a
very large gun on the nose of the aircraft. The gun was tracking the
pilot’s head movements and following in sync. The pilot was
tracking a couple of people who looked like they were in their
mid-twenties. They were running from the helicopter, trying to make
it to the creek. The pilot came over the loud speaker, ordering the
couple to stop running. When they didn’t stop, the pilot’s orders
became pleas, “Please stop! Go home! I have orders to shoot!”

The pilot took drastic
action, swinging the helicopter around bringing the nose of the
aircraft within inches of the ground, blocking the couple’s path.
Attempting any means to prevent the situation from ending in
violence. The couple stopped, following his commands and dropping to
their knees. Within seconds, two Army Humvees pulled up. Soldiers
wearing green camouflage biohazard suits jumped out with their rifles
raised. The soldiers surrounded the couple, still pointing their
rifles and barking out commands. In perfect synchronicity, the couple
dropped down to a prone position with their hands locked behind their
heads. Two soldiers approached from behind and placed them in hand
cuffs. The couple were dragged to the backseat of the Humvee and
driven out of sight.

This is insane! Miranda
thought to herself, not believing what she had just seen. Miranda’s
chin fell back to her chest. She had just closed her eyes when she
was startled by a voice behind her, “Miranda, are you okay?”

Miranda felt a pair of
hands caressing her shoulders, “I can’t take it anymore Ted!”