The Virus (12 page)

The woman’s belly was so impossibly
tight and stretched that it was amazing that whatever was in her
hadn’t burst out long ago. As Geoffrey looked on, horrified, and
mouth agape, he noticed that every now and then, he could see
hands, feet, knees—a very large baby—pushing out against its fleshy
confines. It was disgustingly similar to alien movies Geoffrey had
seen. Three doctors stood over the woman. One of them produced a
scalpel while the others struggled to hold the woman still. The
woman’s belly was so taut that no sooner had the scalpel touched
it, it burst into a jagged series of lines roughly toward her
genital area. Geoffrey felt he was about to throw up or pass
out—perhaps both—except that all his attention was completely
enthralled in the bloody drama before him.

From the large, ragged wound that
extended from where the doctor’s knife had grazed the woman’s
flesh, just beneath her breast bone, all the way to her vagina, a
child much too large to still be in its mother’s womb, was moving
in the gory opening. The doctor reached into the bloody wound and
pulled the child out. The woman had stopped moving and Geoffrey
found that he hadn’t even noticed when her thrashing had stopped.
Obviously, the trauma was enough to finally send her over the edge
into eternity. Meanwhile, the much larger than normal child moved
and writhed, but didn’t scream as Geoffrey knew normal newborns
did. The doctor called for a nasal aspirator and sucked thick
mucous through the newborn’s nostrils. Immediately, it coughed
violently, but as it tried desperately to breathe afterward, it
began to choke just as violently. Geoffrey could not hear any
sounds from the monitor but it was still heart wrenching, watching
the child as it opened its mouth wide to cry, only to gag and jerk
when it could draw no air.

The doctor holding the child reached
out and one of the other doctors passed him a small face mask. He
covered the child’s face with it, but it didn’t take an expert to
see that it was having no effect. Watching the child jerk and
convulse so pitifully made Geoffrey desperately want to turn his
head, but he simply could not. He was frozen in place. Eventually,
the child’s jerking lost strength until there was no movement at
all. Geoffrey hadn’t noticed, but he had been balling his fist so
tightly while watching that his fingernails had drawn blood from
his palm. Back on the monitor, the doctor took off the mask
covering the lower half of his face and spoke into the camera. It
was Doctor Crangler. He almost didn’t see the doctor unhinge the
mask at all because just then, the bland whiteness of the walls,
the spectators’ suits, even the edges of the monitor, were
swallowed up into abysmal blackness, as Geoffrey at last fainted
and his body dropped heavily to the white floor.

Chapter 11

“All right, Delilah, you made it
through months of ridiculous training for that space flight and
you’ve been dealing with obstinate and mostly ignorant help most of
your life. You can do this. Besides, you were trained by the best.”
With her fingers, Delilah made an invisible cross just above her
chest as she whispered, “God bless the dead,” for her late mother.
She was trying to encourage herself but it wasn’t as convincing as
she would’ve liked. Still, she had to start somewhere. She sat up
in her bed now, peering down at the white leather restraints that
no longer bound her hands and feet. One of Dr. Crangler’s
subordinates had released her from them earlier while the doctor
was away. In fact, now that she was less hysterical she realized
that most anyone in this facility—besides Dr. Crangler, that
was—seemed frightened of her, as if she was a delicate piece of
china.

The harrowing explanation of things
that Dr. Crangler had given her earlier was quite sobering, but it
was not something that her mind could fully grasp just yet, perhaps
not ever. After all, it’s not every day that a girl is told in
gruesome detail how women and children all over the world were
dying slow, agonizing deaths and that she was possibly the only
hope for their survival. So now that she was awake, had a brief
reprieve from the endless testing, and was unbound for the first
time in what felt like an eternity, Delilah tried to regather her
wits. To do that, she did the only thing she knew how to do. She
put the things that were not pleasant as far back in her mind as
she could and resolved to not deal with them until she was left no
other choice. She then tried her best to make order out of whatever
was left. Unfortunately for her, though, most everything now fell
under the category of not pleasant to think about. In addition, she
was in a place where it was obvious that her father’s money and
influence didn’t matter, which was something she had never
experienced before.

The more she pondered on it, the more
she was reminded that she was out of her element and that things
were out of her control. The same old frustration welled up in her
breast and was amplified by the fact that she knew her tantrums
wouldn’t restore her to the world she knew and was comfortable
with. She felt her temperature rising in stride with her angst,
when her mother’s firm voice resounded in her head. “The world is
meant to be ruled by women, My Darling.” From what Dr. Crangler had
told Delilah, she wielded considerable power (though it definitely
didn’t feel that way) now, by virtue of her being the only woman
left not infected with The Virus.

“The strongest man who ever lived,”
continued the voice of her mother, “was conquered by a woman, and I
named you Delilah because I want you to remember that there is no
man so strong that you cannot conquer.”

Delilah was not interested
in conquering a man just now. She was only interested to returning
to something that vaguely resembled normalcy. “Is that so?” her
mother’s voice asked inside her head “Well, who here seems to be
the person most likely to be able to make that happen? As far as
you can see, who here seems to really wield the most power?”
Delilah’s mind instantly answered for her;
Dr. Crangler
. He was obviously the
one in charge around here. In addition, it seemed like he just
might be warming up to her. She felt disgusted that the only course
of action left for her was to humble herself to trying to win the
affections (or at any the rate, the influences) of a
man
, but it was better
than the alternative. She also found some consolation in something
else her mother had taught her.

“If money can’t get it for you (and
God knows you probably don’t need it if you can’t buy it) then use
your feminine charms, My Darling.” her mother would say, “They
ain’t just for looks. Besides, the only thing worse than not having
it, is not using it.”

“That’s right,” Delilah
admonished herself, “the only thing worse than not having it is not
using it to your advantage.” Much to her relief, she found that she
felt a little better. Had she forgotten that God (but more
importantly, her mother) had blessed her with to-die-for hips and
breasts, flawless skin, and a face that could bend the strongest of
male wills? Well, if she had, it was high time to remind herself…as
well as a certain white-suited doctor. It had been so long since
Delilah had used her beauty for anything other than to evoke envy
(until now, money usually did the trick) that she felt quite lost
as to the specifics of going about things. Everything had always
come so easily to her, and if she did desire the attention of a
certain male, it took little more than a briefly-flashed smile or a
careful flourish of her shapely hips to secure that attention. She
knew that that just wouldn’t do for Dr. Crangler. What’s more, he
was old: Dinosaur ancient actually, possibly even in his
late
forties
, and
it was probable that it would take a considerable campaign to get
the job done, especially with his expressly advanced
age.

It shouldn’t be that much
of problem though
, Delilah mused. He was
still a man, after all, and what red blooded male—Big Bang old
though he may be—could resist a gorgeous woman, especially when
that woman was Delilah Hanson? And so, though she had never had to
use her considerable…
assets
in such a manner before, she figured she’d just
have to learn along the way. She had flown into outer space after
all. She could do this.

“Thanks, Mom,” she whispered, and ran
her tongue across her full lips so that they’d be nice and moist
should Dr. Crangler show up any time soon. A few seconds later, as
if the preparation alone had summoned him, the good doctor walked
through the door.

“Hello, Miss Hanson.” The doctor
greeted. “Please Excuse the delay…oh, I see that one of my helpful
assistants undid your…well, I see that you are up and about.” He
didn’t seem happy that Delilah’s restraints had been removed, most
likely because it was not at his command. “I had to help another
patient to the sterilization shower, and it would seem that he,
like you, had some pressing questions that he needed answering…so,
how are we feeling?” Delilah had been to the doctor’s before and it
always struck her as highly unusual that they would ask how ‘we’
are doing, as if they, too, were a patient.

I’m sure you’re doing just
fine, but I on the other hand…
Delilah
wanted to tell the doctor. Instead, she flashed the brightest smile
she could muster and asked, pleasantly, “What’s a sterilization
shower?”

Dr. Crangler heaved a barely audible
huff. “How about we commence with the questions a little later,
what do you say?”

“Of course, of course,
whatever you want.” Delilah answered, still maintaining her most
winning smile. Dr. Crangler looked puzzled, but other than that,
showed no sign that he was in the slightest affected by Delilah’s
considerable charms. It was here that the thought crossed Delilah’s
mind of how she must look. She hadn’t bathed or seen a hairdresser
in God knows how long, and she was sure her plan would work better
if she could benefit from a good, long shower and some necessary
feminine additives. “But, may I ask, Dr. Crangler,” the smile
increased in intensity a few watts, “when will
I
be able to get a
shower?”

“Actually, very soon, Miss Hanson.
That’s precisely why I came, to prepare you.”

“Oh, Dr. Crangler,” Delilah
said, pursing her lips and flourishing her hand (she felt quite
silly engaging in all this flirtatious nonsense, but one glance at
her surroundings reminded her that silly was better than
imprisonment) “I’m a big girl. I don’t need to be
prepared
for a shower. I
know how to bathe myself,” then, with a flutter of her eyelids, “I
promise.”

The puzzled expression
returned to the doctor’s face, and remained a little longer this
time before he replied, “That may be the case, Miss Hanson, but I
assure you, you will need preparation for
this
shower.”

“What kind of shower is this?” asked
Delilah, the coyness in her voice beginning to break. Dr. Crangler
explained the process of the sterilization shower and by the time
he finished, Delilah had lost all of her unusually demure
mannerisms.

“What?” she asked, quite
alarmed. To be abducted—even for the survival of all mankind—was
one thing, to be drugged, another, but to subject her delicate skin
to the torture that the doctor just described, and then to be
monitored in the process by an unseen audience, well, that was over
the line.
Entirely
over the line. Absolutely not! To hell with her plan (at
least for now), Delilah would not and could not, go through with
this.

The doctor’s lips were pulled tight.
“Calm down, young lady!”

“You
calm down!” she advised back. “I need a shower, and not that
nonsense you’re trying to sell me! There’s no way in hell I’m doing
that!” It was obvious that she was deadly serious.

“Miss Hanson, if you don’t calm down,
then I will have to sedate you…again,” said the doctor. For a split
second Delilah’s agitation waned as she took this into
consideration, but it quickly returned. Certainly, she didn’t like
the idea of being drugged against her will…again, but even that was
more acceptable to her mind than what Dr. Crangler had described of
the sterilization shower.

“Then that’s what you’re
gonna have to do,
Dr.
Crangler
, cause I’m damn sure not going to
cooperate! I need a shower—a normal shower—as well as more than a
few other things. Body wash, facial cleansers, just to begin with…”
Delilah was irate by this time, and though the doctor would’ve
gladly put her back in her place, he found it impossible to get a
word in edgewise over her high-pitched squeal. He just stood
silently, glaring hatefully at his suddenly untoward patient, as
she made her ardent demands.

He was still standing there when a
voice reverberated from somewhere in the walls. “Dr. Crangler,
report to Operations immediately, please.” It sounded as if it was
being broadcast in high definition and the abruptness and closeness
of it halted Delilah midsentence, somewhere between demanding a
hair stylist and reminding Dr. Crangler that he was a damn fool if
he thought she was getting into the sterilization shower.
Meanwhile, he rewarded his patient with one last hateful glare,
heaved his shoulders in dismay, and exited the room to obey the
edict given him.

Once he closed the door behind him,
Delilah took the opportunity to catch her breath. With all the
energy she just expended, it took her more than a few minutes to
accomplish the feat, but she eventually did. Once her chest had
stopped its violent heaving, she chided herself for letting her
plan be obliterated so easily. The more she thought about it, the
more she was convinced that she had had no other choice. The
sterilization shower sounded like a torture chamber: A torture
chamber from which her flawless skin would never recover. She was
just about to cry over the fact that she had most likely destroyed
any hope she may’ve had of getting what she wanted, when her door
opened again and a painfully resolute Dr. Crangler reentered. In
his hand was a large, white notepad and matching white
pencil.