Jonathan Maberry - Patient Zero

“Yeah, I know, Rude, but it’s not like we’re talking the Mark of Cain here.”

He gave me such a long withering look that I wanted to squirm. “No? Look, I’m not pointing a finger at any country, any faith, any political party. This is a failing in the whole species. We, the human race, have committed a terrible and unforgivable sin; and before you embarrass us both by asking—no, I’m not having a Catholic moment. This is far more fundamental than church or state. This is ours to own because we know better. As a species, we know better. We really do understand right and wrong, same as we really do grasp all the subtle shades of gray. We have had thousands of years of religious leaders, philosophers, free thinkers, and political scientists explaining the cause and effect of destructive behavior. You’d think by now, at the point where we are this technologically advanced and where communication between all races is not only possible but globally instantaneous, that we’d have learned something, that we’d have benefited from all those previous mistakes. You’d think we’d have become more forward-thinking and farsighted. But we’re not. With computer modeling we can virtually look into the future and see how things will go if we follow these courses, and yet we don’t do a thing to change direction. Maybe the true human flaw is our inability to act as if the next generation matters. We never have. Individually maybe, but not as a nation, not as a species.”

Rudy rubbed his eyes.

“Today,” he said slowly, “I watched video proof of the criminal indifference of the human race. People who are certainly intelligent enough to know better have created a weapon so destructive that it could destroy the entire human race, and why? To further a religious or political view. If this was the act of a single person I’d say that we’re dealing with psychosis, a fractured mind… but this is a deliberate and careful plan. The people involved have had sufficient time to think it through, to grasp the implications. And yet they continue with the program. Today you saw them experimenting with children. Children. ” He sighed. “They know better and they still don’t care. If there’s a better description of the Mark of Cain I haven’t heard it.”

“That’s them, Rudy. Not us.”

“No, no,” he conceded tiredly. “I know that. It’s just that I don’t trust that our government is any wiser. Or any government. We did, after all, invent the bomb; and we’ve experimented with bioweapons and germ warfare. No, cowboy, we all bear some trace of Cain’s mark. All of us, whether we’re directly involved at the policy level or not.”

“Some of us are trying to do something about this shit, Rudy. Let’s not paint everyone with the same brush.”

He sighed. “I’m tired, Joe… and I’m not attacking you. I’m feeling my way through this.” He looked at me for a long time. “But, you’re marked, too. Not with guilt, but with the awareness of the beast that lives in all of us, in every human heart. The awareness is in your eyes. I’ve played poker with you; I know that you can hide it better than me, better than most. Better than Grace Courtland. Not as well as Church. Point is that you carry the same mark as everyone else here. As I do.” He made a grimace that was his best attempt at a smile. “It’s a bonding experience. We’ll always be linked by this shared knowledge. All of us linked by the human race’s most recent demonstration of its absolute bloody-minded determination to commit suicide.”

“Like I said, not everyone’s part of the problem, Rude. Some of us are trying our damnedest to be part of the solution.”

He gave me a bleak and weary smile. “I hope that’s not bravado, cowboy. I sincerely hope you believe that.”

“I do. I have to.”

He closed his eyes and sat there for a long minute saying nothing, but every few seconds he let out another long sigh. “I haven’t had near enough time to process this yet. If I’m going to be of any use I’m going to have to get my own ducks in a row. I mean… I’ve been kidnapped, had a gun to my head, found out that terrorists have an actual doomsday weapon… you’d be surprised how much of that we don’t cover in medical school.”

“Not even in shrink school?”

“Not even in shrink school.”

We sat with that for a bit. “Church told me that you’ve signed on to the DMS. Why’d you go and do that ?”

Rudy gave me a wan smile. “Because Church asked me to. Because of what happened at St. Michael’s. Because of you. And because I know . Not only the secrets, Joe… I know the truth of all of this. I’m marked. That makes me a part of this from now on. If I don’t do something to contribute to the solution I think I’d go mad.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I hear you. But how do you feel about being on the ‘team’?”

“That’s too complex a question for a simple answer. On the surface I guess I appreciate the opportunity to do some good for the people who are in turn trying to save the world.”

“And below the surface?”

“I know where your morals are, Joe. You’re too reasonable to have a red state/blue state agenda. You’re much more of a right and wrong personality, and that works for me. I think Church may be built along some of the same lines. So, I guess that one of the strongest rays of hope I see in this whole thing is the fact that what we have standing between us and a destroyed future are three people—Church, you, and Grace Courtland—who actually see the way the trend is going and are in the position to do something about it.”

“That’s a lot to put on our shoulders, brother.”

“Yes,” he said, “it is.” He rubbed his eyes. “We all have so much to do. You have to be a hero. I have to get my act together so I can help everybody else keep their acts together. And Church and Courtland have to do whatever it is that they do.” Rudy got up and patted me on the shoulder. He looked a little bit more like his old self, but I knew that there was a lot of road still to travel. “I’m going to try and get at least an hour’s sleep. You should, too.”

I said that I would but knew that I wouldn’t. There was too much to do and the clock was ticking. I stood in my doorway and watched him shamble off to bed. I felt impossibly tired and was just turning to go back inside when a door banged open at the end of the hall and a white-faced Dr. Hu yelled two words that sent a chill of terror through me: “Room Twelve!”

Behind him I could hear the sudden staccato of automatic weapons fire.

The DMS Warehouse, Baltimore / Tuesday, June 30; 10:21 P.M.

I TORE DOWN the hallway toward the open door. Gus Dietrich was coming out of his room dressed in boxer shorts and a beater. He saw me running and opened his mouth to say something but then I grabbed Hu and shoved him out of my way. Hu hit Dietrich and they fell together through Dietrich’s open doorway. I ran into the hall and cut left. My quarters were pretty close to the loading bay and I got to the bay door before any of the armed guards. There was a knot of confused techs and staff milling around at the bay doorway and I bellowed at them to clear a path.

“Got your back,” I heard Bunny say as he skidded into the bay right behind me. Top Sims was right behind him.

I turned to the crowd. “Everyone out— now ! Close the door and kill that fucking alarm!”

They backed out of the room as the three of us hurried past rows of trailers. When we reached Room 12 what we saw stopped us in our tracks. The machine gun emplacement was deserted, the big gun still smoking, the floor littered with shell casings. I could only see one of the four guards—or, what was left of him. His body was bent backward over the low wall of sandbags surrounding the gun, his throat completely torn away. There were small pools of blood everywhere and spatters from what looked like arterial sprays. Whatever had happened here had happened fast and mean.