Чак Хоган - The Blood Artists

Maryk saw a shadow standing out on the dark tracks. The shadow was small and crooked and it moved a step closer and caught some of the sulfurous light from the wall.

It was Zero. His mask was still hanging from his scrawny neck and Maryk saw his mouth chewed open to his throat. Zero had wondered why he was not being followed. He had come back for Maryk. He stood there staring. In the yellow light his red eyes blazed.

Maryk tried to make his right hand move toward his bag. But the weight of his bones anchored him to the tunnel floor. He felt as though he was underwater. He felt as though the entire world was underwater.

Zero stepped up near Maryk’s feet. He lingered there. He was wary of a trap.

Get up. You can fight. There — your foot moved.

Zero had kicked it. Maryk’s chest heaved as the cascade paralyzed him and he stared up at Zero.

Zero came another step closer. He moved tentatively like an animal suspicious of a human’s offer of food.

Maryk had never known such utter exhaustion. He felt dead.

Stop him. Now or never. He will infect the human race. He will infect you.

Zero stiffened suddenly. He sucked in a trembling breath and gripped the base of his neck as a bolt of pain evidently seized him. His red eyes blazed until it passed.

Maryk managed to force out two words. “You’re... sick,” he said.

Zero came forward. He crouched at Maryk’s side. He was close enough for Maryk to reach out and touch him if only he could move his arm. Fetid breath groaned through Zero’s disfigured mouth.

“You created us,” he said.

He bent closer. He was obviously in great pain. His blood-red eyes were gleaming and he was going to infect Maryk. His open mouth formed a gaping smile. He was dangerously close to Maryk’s mouth and eyes.

They were face to face. Zero was reaching into the pocket of his windbreaker. He was pulling out something for Maryk to see.

Stay awake. Stay awake.

Maryk struck the back of his head against the tunnel wall to keep his eyelids from dropping shut. Zero was holding something small in his dirty gloved hand.

What is it? What is it?

He pulled out an inhaler. At first Maryk did not understand. Then he recognized the prescription sticker taped over the barrel.

Melanie’s inhaler.

He uncapped it. “It is time,” Zero slurred. “She is mine now.”

He brought it trembling to his decrepit mouth. His eyes remained fixed on Maryk as he tasted the mouthpiece with his ruby red tongue.

The ground was rolling over and Maryk hung off it. He was blacking out.

Melanie.

Zero sucked liplessly on the open end of the inhaler as the echoes of voices and footsteps came from deep within the tunnel. Zero’s moistened eyes narrowed. He removed the inhaler from his mouth and strings of drool clung to his chin. Maryk’s bag was open next to him. Zero dropped the inhaler inside. Then he stood and was gone.

Maryk stirred and felt a hand release his own. He jerked as though to fight and then opened his eyes on the bright grayness of a ceiling. He was on top of a table inside a small room. His neck was weak. His limbs resisted movement as though he were buried in sand.

“Hi.”

Melanie was looking down at him. Her face was gauzy. He tried to raise his head but she put out a small hand to keep him down. “Zero,” Maryk croaked.

“They all thought you were dead.”

He got over onto one side. “Zero.”

Melanie left him and went to the door. She called someone from there as he dropped his legs over the table edge and sat up. The pain was loud and expanding in his head.

Freeley came into the room and looked him over. “Zero’s gone,” she said.

Maryk gripped the table. His head was still too heavy for his neck. “How?”

“He went out through the airfields and must have come back around. There’s a yellow cab missing. We’ve got the police out all over the state pulling over taxis.”

Maryk squeezed the sides of his head but could not feel any pressure against his skull.

“What happened in there?” Freeley said.

Maryk was trying to remember. A feeling of helplessness lingered. “How long have I been out?”

Freeley looked at Melanie who was standing against the wall. Melanie said, “About four hours.”

Freeley turned back. “The airport is in full quarantine, and we have Milkmaid serum going around. Primary exposures are already starting to show symptoms. But no planes got off. We blitzed the MARTA station as well, and it looks like we got everyone there too.”

Maryk said, “Inside the terminal atrium — there were trees.”

“Silk,” Freeley said. “But there was ivy, real ivy. All still healthy. The plants show no sign of the disease.”

So Zero’s virus had succeeded. Stephen had been right. Zero was infective only to humans now.

“Then it’s starting,” Maryk said.

Freeley looked at a clock on the wall. “Three hours until dawn. This massive quarantine is draining off a lot of manpower.” She stepped up to Maryk. “What happened in there?”

Maryk could say nothing. He hung his head and blood rushed to his temples.

Freeley went out again. Melanie came forward. “They carried you out on a stretcher,” she told him. “They thought you were dead. They thought maybe he had done something to you.”

He looked at his hands and saw that he was wearing fresh gloves. The skin on his face felt washed. “They cleaned you up,” she said.

She was in front of him now and he could see her hand moving nervously at her side. He saw her spinning her inhaler around and around. Something stabbed at him.

“Your inhaler,” he said.

She looked at it. “You must have found it on the concourse. They pulled it out of your bag. I could barely breathe.”

At once Maryk dropped to his feet. He saw his bag on the floor and fought his dizziness as he picked it up and straightened and unbuckled it on the table. He lifted out his tablet and a sterile syringe.

“Give me your arm,” he said. He took the inhaler from her hand.

“Hey, I need that.”

He brought out a testing dish. He grabbed her wrist and shoved her shirtsleeve back over her elbow. He was clumsy but moving faster and faster.

“Okay,” she complained. “All right.”

Maryk tied the tourniquet. Immediately he inserted the needle.

“I’m fine, you know— Ow!”

He drew out as much as he needed and began to prep the mixture.

“What’s wrong with you?” she said. “I’m fine. I was careful.” There was pride in her voice. “I kept him away from my glands.”

Maryk stared at the solution as it mixed. His arms and legs felt light.

“You were mumbling my name,” she said. “In your sleep, over and over. Your medical people, when they put a stethoscope to your chest and felt nothing, they thought you had gone into cardiac arrest. I had to direct them to the other side.”

Maryk held the table and implored the mixture with his stare. He connected the Plainville PCR test kit to his tablet and opened his tablet screen away from Melanie.

“You’re wasting time,” she said. “It’s New Year’s Eve. He’s still out there.”

Maryk punched in the command and got it wrong and entered it again. He was gripping the table.

She was standing near him and just waiting. “What are you going to do now?”

The gauge opened on screen and numbers appeared and the red bar began its crawl from zero. It grew strong to 18 percent before slowing. The bar stopped altogether at 24 percent. The screen was still a moment and then the red bar disappeared and a message began to flash.

INFECTED INFECTED INFECTED