Чак Хоган - The Blood Artists

You infected an entire U.S. city and the BDC itself so that she could walk about unrestrained, and not know that she is sick.

>The city was shut down to stop Zero.

I am happy for you, Peter. The thought of her suffering plagues you.

>Stephen. Let me in.

It is too late. I am committed now. Go away from here, Peter. Take her with you. While you still can.

>What can you hope to do?

We built this place, Peter. You and I.

>Yes, we did.

Then it is ours to bring down.

He made further attempts at communication, which I ignored. The end was near and it was inevitable. Zero was coming. I had to prepare.

They made their way back through the empty maze of the BDC to Maryk’s office. Maryk went straight to his desk. He was consumed with the dilemmas of Stephen, Melanie, and Zero.

Melanie saw the cartons stacked in the corner and recognized her belongings there. Maryk had ordered her room packed up by BioCon before the city was put to sleep. Her handbag lay on top of one of the boxes and she picked it up and tried it on her shoulder.

He watched her. He remembered her standing before him at the fountain in the city without eyes. He remembered his failure to carry out her sentence.

She was feeling the slick top flap of the handbag. She made a face. She had noticed that the handbag smelled faintly of bleach.

Maryk’s tablet sounded. He opened it at his desk. Freeley was standing suited on deserted Interstate 285 with the skyline behind her.

“You took out the entire city,” she marveled.

Maryk used his earphone. He was concerned about what Melanie might overhear.

“Nothing on Zero?” he said.

“We’re up on the roofs watching every road out. We’ll see him if he tries to leave the city.”

“Good,” Maryk said.

“What about the girl?”

Maryk looked at her across the room. Melanie was poking through an open carton of painting supplies and could not hear Freeley. “Yes?” he said.

“Do you need me to finish her?”

Maryk looked back at his tablet screen. He could see the sunny interstate reflected on Freeley’s faceplate. “I’ll handle it,” he said.

He had an incoming page and clicked over to it.

It was the third-party eavesdrop from the Tank line tap. Zero had posted Stephen again for an on-line chat. Maryk pulled the earphone from his ear and read along.

Both dialogue leaders were again listed as S. Pearse.

>What has he done, Doctor?

>He has taken Atlanta from you. His people surround the city. He has left you nothing.

>The girl.

>She is strong. Stronger than you know. He has feelings for her now. We are all who are left here. I am sealed inside a cell.

>We are both his prisoners now.

>Yes. You are breaking down.

>I feel as though I am bursting, yet my mission is almost complete. Innocent plants and sinless animals will be spared. Only the criminal man. The planet will rejoice as I rid its crust of his plague.

>But you are devolving. You will no longer be able to reproduce In human cells. You are going extinct. You must act.

>You are with me now, Doctor. We are the Messenger. We are the Message.

>And Maryk?

>It is Maryk for whom the Message is . The Message must get through.

>Yes. The Message must get through.

>To that end, we may rely on our great heritage, Doctor. A sort of homecoming, do you agree?

>Yes. Our heritage. I understand.

>You do, Doctor. You do. The Message must get through.

It ended abruptly. Maryk read back through the transcript. There was another page incoming on his tablet but he remained a moment longer with the current text. His gray eyes lingered over cryptic words like heritage and homecoming . It was as though they had been communicating in code. Maryk’s tablet toned a second time and he finally answered it.

It was a page routed through Cyberviruses Section. Zero had dialed into the Genetech using Stephen’s tablet code. The Hailing trace was successful and Maryk brought up a grid map of greater Atlanta. He waited anxiously as the coordinates cross-haired over the source. They settled there and pulsed faintly.

The location was listed as Clifton Road. Maryk stood suddenly.

“Zero’s here,” he said.

Melanie turned with her handbag still on her shoulder.

Maryk had people all over the city but no one else there at the BDC. The bureau was a maze of catwalks and corridors. Maryk sat back down at his tablet. A security search run through the Genetech computer detected unauthorized movement in Building Two.

Building Two was the Library and Reports building where the Genetech 11 mainframe was located.

“What is it?” Melanie said.

Maryk collapsed his tablet. He reached for the first aid kit containing the syringe he had prepared for Melanie and rushed to the door.

“What about me?” she said.

“Stay here,” he said behind him. He was going to end this once and for all.

My own Genetech security search returned a total of four sources of movement inside the BDC. The one leaving Building Fifteen would have been Peter. The one still inside Peter’s office was certainly Melanie. The third, unknown source, was all the way across the complex, in Engineering, Building Four.

The fourth source, already inside Building Two, I knew.

I dialed back into the Genetech, this time logging on as director, and bypassing the message that I was already on-line. I instructed the mainframe to unsecure its chamber doors within Building Two.

>Chamber open, Dr. Pearse.

I instructed the Genetech to divulge its core processor, the heart of the heart of the BDC.

>Genetech core divulged, Dr. Pearse. Please select MaIntenance or Inspection .

I selected Inspection, and then activated the Genetech’s overhead camera.

He was there already.

There he was.

It was time. I rolled to the rear counter, and Peter’s bag. I reached for it, slowly, unfeelingly, pulling the bag awkwardly onto my lap. In doing so, I knocked my medication switch off my chair to the floor, but it was no matter. I needed it no more.

The bag was already unbuckled, the leather finish flesh-smooth like Peter’s own skin, the result of innumerable disinfections. There were loaded hypodermic syringes clipped to the top of the bag, plungers drawn halfway back and stopped with cardboard chokers. I plucked out each one and dropped them to the floor.

I was not interested in the poison. My hand pawed through rolls of tape and gauze and packets of sterile gloves to the foam-cushioned glass ampules at the bottom.

Liquid amphetamine. Enough for multiple injections.

With the stiff hands of a puppet, I unwrapped a fresh syringe. I punctured the foil cap of the small glass bottle and drew the contents in under the plunger as quickly as I was able.

I did not feet the injection. The needle pushed through the pus-stained fabric of my scrub shirt and entered the twitching mass of my left biceps. Plainville does not go for the muscles. It goes for the organs, it goes for the blood. It goes for the bones.

The second injection, into my right arm, took longer. Then one each into the muscles of my thighs, with enough left for just one more, and I jabbed the sag of my right breast, through the brittle cage, directly into my heart. A sensation of warm water washed over my body, and my muscles trembled with life.

The light coming in through the Tank window had begun to flicker. My vital signs display on the rear console was flipping and sputtering like an old analog television set on the blink. I rotated my chair toward the wall screen, and saw that the image of the Genetech computer had begun to warp. The room was empty. Zero was already gone.