Tainted Reality (The Rememdium Series Book 2) (20 page)

“Son-of-a-bitch!” Everett muttered.

Refusing to look anymore, he stood and left the lab. He needed to hear all the details from Warton on what exactly Porterfield was doing before he turned. Everett had to make sure he was right before explaining his findings to the remaining five.

He only made it a few steps down the hall before changing directions and running to the bathroom. He threw up, overwhelmed by the heavy weight of the discovery. After puking and washing his face, Everett almost laughed. He’d kept it together when Warton brought in Porterfield’s dead body, holding back the vomit while helping to extract blood samples. He’d been proud then, unwilling to show any signs of weakness in front of the others.

His pride disappeared the minute he viewed the results. Now, Everett was overcome with shame, guilt, and remorse.

Stepping back out into the hallway, he trudged forward until he reached the common area where Dirk and the others took up residence. Pausing at the door, Everett let out a long sigh.

How in the world can I tell them the truth? Maybe I’ll get lucky and they’ll all be asleep. I could just run away. Snag a set of keys and sneak topside. Better yet! Find one of their guns and blow my head off first before one of them gets the chance to beat me to it.

Opening the door, Everett stepped inside, heart racing. He spotted Dirk first, who was quietly talking to Kevin Warton on the far side of the room. Warton was still dressed in the filthy clothes he had on before, his face devoid of emotion.

Everett crossed the room and sat across from the two men. The remaining soldiers followed and sat around the table. Everett wondered if they sensed or smelled his fear. “Tell me every detail of what happened.”

Warton raised his head, a set of bloodshot eyes stared back, full of pain and anger. “What’s there to tell? We went up, Thomas got sick, tried to attack me, and I shot him. End of story.”

“Did he exhibit any signs of being ill before he turned? Say anything at all about how he felt? Give any indication something was wrong? Was he sweating or in pain?”

“Why does it matter now? You wanted a sample, I brought you one. Plain and simple.”

“Warton, breathe. I know it’s hard, but even the smallest detail might help the Doc,” Dirk urged.

Kevin stood and paced back and forth in front of the table. Everett grimaced at the dried tissue and blood embedded in the back of his jacket.

“Details? You want the gory details? Well, here they are. We went up, scoured the wreckage, found nothing except a small, metal box. Porterfield opened it, we each snatched a cigar, and he hit some blow from inside. A present from some low-life flyboy fan from across the border. I tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t listen. He took three hits of the stuff and then we started down the mountainside. Within ten minutes, he was puking his guts out. He fell over after his heart gave out and then popped back up and tried to eat me. There. How’s that for fucking details? Care to know if I threw up, too? Or cried like a baby after shooting my friend right between his black, fucked up eyes?”

Everett’s stomach rolled again. He closed his eyes and fought the urge to throw up. What he wanted—needed—to hear, was missing from Warton’s description. He’d been praying in silence the entire time, hoping Kevin wouldn’t mention drugs. Hearing the words crushed what little sanity remaining inside Everett’s mind.

“Doc? What’s wrong? What did you discover in there?” Dirk asked.

Afraid what the reaction would be from the others when he answered, Everett forced himself to stand. He didn’t want his life to end while sitting in a plastic chair. “Several things. None of them are good.”

“We didn’t expect them to be, so please continue,” Dirk replied.

“I don’t know if I can. It’s just…too surreal.”

“Porterfield is dead because you needed a fucking sample! And since I’m the one who ended his life, I think I've earned the right to hear why he turned!” Kevin yelled.

To bring his point home, Kevin smashed his fist on the table. All of the metal cups and utensils used to eat with earlier rattled. Everett bit his lip to keep from jumping in fright.

Taking a deep breath, Everett replied, “You’re right, Kevin. So, here’s what I know. The sample of blood and tissue revealed traces of transgenic bacteria and the Rhabdovirus encased inside fungus. There were also high amounts of benzoylmethlecgonine.”

“Fucking English, Doc! What does any of that mean?”

Dirk interrupted Kevin’s outburst. “Rhabdovirus? Is that any way related to rabies? That certainly would explain a lot.”

“Yes. And benzoylmethlecgonine is the clinical term for cocaine. I needed to know how much time transpired between Thomas ingesting some and turning.”

Kevin’s mouth gaped open. “Are you trying to tell us the cocaine turned Porterfield into a zombie? That’s even more ridiculous than saying the word zombie! What the fuck’s wrong with you, Doc?”

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with me?” Everett yelled. The weight of the situation burst out of him. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong. The reason Porterfield’s skin looks like the root system of a tree took up residence underneath it is because that’s exactly what it is: a root system. A fungal network coursed through his body and took control of everything. Just like in a plant system, chemical signals pass through the network. That’s what reanimated Porterfield—and others. A fucking fungal infection took over and simply used the body as a means of transport in search of food.”

“You’re insane,” Kevin snapped as he collapsed onto the chair next to him. “Certifiable. That’s impossible.”

“Three days ago, I would’ve agreed one-hundred percent. But after opening him up and seeing those fungal filaments actually functioning as vascular and neural networks, I changed my mind.”

“Okay, let’s all calm down here. Doc, if you believe some sort of funky, fungal infection is the cause of the problem, did you determine if it’s contagious? Is it airborne? How is it transmitted? Are we all at risk?”

Though he wanted to answer Dirk’s question with a lie, the scientist inside Everett wouldn’t let him. “At first, I thought so too, but after discovering cocaine was in Porterfield’s system, and verifying the facts he ingested some from Kevin’s recollections, we’re fine. Transmission occurs from ingestion of a substance with the infection, or through the exchange of bodily fluids.”

“Gee, that’s good to know,” Kevin muttered. “As long as none of us get high or sustain a bite, we’re fine. Yay.”

“Seems to me your concern level isn’t too high, Kevin. You’re still wearing contaminated clothing.”

“Fuck you, old man!” Kevin muttered.

Everett turned to Dirk. “Recall the night you rescued me in Laredo and stopped me from grabbing the bag Daryl had with him?”

“Yes, but how does that come into play?” Dirk answered.

“Riverside had five vials of the serum, along with a flash drive containing the chemical formula of the cure I discovered. Those same exact chemical markers were in Porterfield’s blood.”

“Jesus H. Christ! Are you trying to say…?”

“Yes, Dirk. What I’m trying to say the person or group Riverside worked for got their hands on the formula. Or, maybe someone else did. I don’t know. My educated guess would be whoever found it, they tweaked and added things, such as the virus, maybe hoping they could reverse the formula. Make it more potent. Since they used the rabies virus, I figure they wanted to create something to make drugs more addictive. How the fungus fits it I’m not quite sure, and won’t be until more research is conducted. Could be simple contamination from a dirty lab.”

Kevin’s face turned red as he burst from the seat. He lunged for Everett, hands outstretched, spittle flying from his mouth. “It’s all your fault, you stupid, stupid old man!”

Everett didn’t move or try to outmaneuver Kevin’s onslaught. He simply remained still, closed his eyes, and waited for the impact.

I deserve to die for what I’ve done. What I created. I ended the world
.

Kevin’s cold fingers found Everett’s throat and squeezed. They fell backward, toppling over the table. Everett heard the sounds of chairs falling over and men yelling, Dirk the loudest, to release him.

Everett never raised a hand to fight back. He embraced the stars dancing in front of him, grateful his wretched life was almost over.

The pressure around his neck ended and Everett sucked in a lungful of air.

“Walk it off, Warton. Now,” Dirk yelled.

Everett heard the scuffle of boots on the floor all around him and tried to stand. The leg he’d taken a bullet in last year was bent at an odd angle and throbbed with burning, white-hot pain.

A warm hand reached down and grabbed his arm. “Come on, Doc. Get up. He’s gone,” Dirk muttered.

Everett opened his eyes and looked at the remaining men staring at him. The looks on their faces, especially Dirk’s, made him wish they would have just let Warton finish him off.

Teresa Alvarado woke up with a start. Heavy footsteps above her made goosebumps appear on her arms.

“Roberto?”

No response.

Teresa stood and ran to the window, peering out. She clamped her fingers over her mouth to keep from screaming when she saw several men dressed in uniforms in the yard.

“Roberto? Where are you?” she whispered again.

Teresa didn’t have time to search for her missing fiancé. The footsteps were closer, right outside the door. Heart pounding and tears running down her face, Teresa looked for a place to hide. The only thing she could fit in was the old trunk she’d had shipped from home, full of all her favorite trinkets from her childhood bedroom.

Crouching next to it, she opened the lid. There was just enough room for her to slide inside. Her hands shook and refused to obey her mind to close the top. Fighting off the claustrophobia, spurred on by the shouts of men from above, Teresa forced herself to close the lid.

She shoved her fist into her mouth and bit down hard enough to draw blood so she wouldn’t scream.

The door burst open and Teresa bit down harder. Silent tears rolled, soaking her hair and dripping into her ears.

“Check everywhere. We can’t leave anyone alive. This is the last house. Hopefully, the bastard who escaped earlier was the final straggler.”

“Yeah, well he didn’t last long. Wasn’t much left of him by the time you shot him, Garcia.”

Tremors of sadness and fear thrummed in Teresa’s chest.
Roberto, you left me all alone?! How could you? You said you loved me! Pendejo bastard. You deserved to die.

Teresa’s bladder gave way to the fear when she realized one of the soldiers stood right next to the trunk.
Please, God. Don’t let him open the lid! Please! I don’t want to die. Not here. Not alone. I just want to find my sister and go home.

“Clear down here. Let’s head out.”

The footsteps retreated back up the stairs. Unable to stop her muscles, the shakes set in. One of the men from the first floor yelled, “Got two infected up here. Look like our escapee bagged them a while ago. Wonder why he stayed inside so long before leaving?”

Another man responded, but Teresa couldn’t hear the words. Straining her ears, she waited inside the dark prison until the last set of feet made noise upstairs. She remained in the trunk for an extra five minutes in case they were hiding, waiting for her to appear before she pushed the lid open.

Teresa ran to the window again. The men were gone, along with the big trucks they drove up in. Collapsing, she fell to her knees and sobbed.

What do I do now? If Roberto left and didn’t make it, how will I?

Teresa wrapped her arms around her legs and curled into a ball in the corner, madness and terror controlling every thought.

Hours later, sunlight no longer filling the basement with light, Teresa uncurled her stiff limbs and stood. Hunger and thirst drove her to pick up her feet and walk up the stairs. She shuffled into the kitchen after stumbling and falling several times in the dark. Opening the fridge door, she stifled a gasp at the stench of rotting food. She felt around until her fingers touched the familiar shape of a bottle of water.

Twisting off the cap, Teresa downed the entire bottle. The liquid helped her regain a sense of balance, so she made her way to the den, where she knew her traitorous, chicken-shit fiancé kept guns and ammunition.