Tim Curran - Biohazard

“What the hell is this?” Mickey said to me.

But I didn’t have a fucking clue.

Of course, I did. In a way I did.

This is exactly what bathrobe guy had been talking about that day in Gary: They came in silver buses. I saw ‘em. They had orange suits on. They took Reverend Bob and threw him in the bus. I remembered how intrigued Price had been when we related the story to him after the silver bus hit us in Des Moines. He knew what it meant. Even then he knew exactly what it had meant.

Janie, Mickey, and I were taken in a sliver, windowless bus out to an Army base beyond Bitter Creek. This was The Creek. It sat behind a high chainlink fence, actually a series of them with dog runs between, a collection of low white fabricated buildings attached to a larger brick complex. Numerous outbuildings were scattered about. The signs were everywhere: U.S. GOVERNMENT PROPERTY ABSOLUTELY NO ADMITTANCE. And my favorite: DEADLY FORCE AUTHORIZED.

We were taken into one of the buildings at gunpoint. Inside, it was clean with electric lights. I even saw operating computers. It was like going back in time a couple years. For in this complex, the old world was still operating, smoothly, efficiently. We saw other forms in orange space suits mulling about. Many of them stopped what they were doing when they saw us. Several backed away like they were afraid of us.

“I demand to know what this is about,” Janie said. “We haven’t done a damn thing. What do you want with us?”

Her question went unanswered. This was a military operation, it seemed. We’d get answers if and when they decided to give them to us. We were ushered through a series of hissing airlocks that had to be opened with plastic ID cards. There were guards with guns behind every one. We went through two more airlocks, the signs announced BIOSAFETY LEVEL ZERO and then BIOSAFETY LEVEL 2. Each time the door slid open, I could feel the difference in air pressure. It was like you were being sucked into the room. It was what Price had been talking about: negative air pressure. At Level 2 we were bathed in blue ultraviolet light. Next, we climbed into an elevator and went down quite a ways. When we climbed out a sign said BIOSAFETY LEVEL 3: STAGING AREA. There were signs around that read: DECON. Which I think referred to the chemical showers you had to go through before going in and particularly when you came out.

We passed through Level 3 and then we reached the big, bad one that price had told me about. There was a stainless steel door before us and just the sight of it made my guts crawl up into my chest:

We went through another airlock and into an anteroom with more Decon showers, ultraviolet light sterilizers, and hoses that sprayed chemicals-judging from the signs-on you with the touch of a button.

Janie, Mickey, and I pretty much stuck together. We felt like monkeys going into a test chamber and that’s exactly what we were. We were terrified. More figures in orange suits waited for us. Several had blue suits on with airlines hooked to overhead pumps that moved as they did, sliding on tracks. All we could hear was the hissing sounds of respirators.

They echoed and echoed until it sounded like you were living in an iron lung.

The walls were gray, hoses hanging from the ceiling. Every corner and crack and crevice were caulked thickly with some kind of goo, probably to keep anything from slipping out. There was a series of rooms leading off the first as we were led deeper into the maze. I saw labs and animal containment areas lined with cages. We were brought into a small room with three plastic contour chairs against the wall, each separated by about five feet so you could not hold the hand of or touch the person next to you.

We were told to sit and we did.

We didn’t even dare move.

Two figures with submachine guns watched over us. Then the third one who’d led us in motioned to them and all three left. A clear plexiglass door slid shut and locked into place.

“What the hell is going on here?” Mickey said, rising to her feet.

Right away there was a beeping alarm. A voice over an intercom said: “Please stay seated.”

Mickey sank back down.

Janie and I exchanged looks of absolute dread. We smiled thinly at each other, but there wasn’t much hope. We knew we were screwed.

The door slid open and a man in an orange suit came in. He carried a small black metal box with him. The guards had returned.

“All this,” I said, “is unnecessary. We are not infected with anything. You don’t have to keep us down here. We’re not sick.”

“Aren’t you?” the voice said.

“No we’re not!” Janie said. “Please, get us out of here!”

“That’s our intention,” he said. “Unfortunately, only two can leave. One will join us.”

“Fuck this!” Mickey said, jumping up, the alarm going off again. “I’m not a fucking guinea pig.”

The man turned to her. “Take the female. She’s the one.”

“Stop it,” I said. “This is insane!”

He was unmoved by anything I said. “You are the one that made the selections.”

My face dropped.

“We know about it. We know about your sacrifices to your pagan god. Very well. Make your selection…which of the females goes with you and which stays here?”

I jumped up and a gun was pointed in my face. Janie and I were held at gunpoint.

“Please…don’t do this to us,” I begged him.

“Make your choice,” he said.

“If you’ll only listen-”

“Your choice.”

It was pointless to argue. I suggested taking me, but that wouldn’t do either, I was informed. Only two of us would see the Medusa, the third would stay behind.

“Very well,” the man said. He pointed at Janie. “This one-”

“No! No! Get the fuck away from her!” I shouted. “Not her…not Janie…”

“Then this one?” he said.

I swallowed, nodded.

“Nash!” Mickey cried, “Jesus Christ, what are you doing? Are you out of your fucking mind, you sonofabitch? I belong with you! You know I do-”

Two more guards came in, they took hold of Mickey and held her down. She fought. She screamed. She clawed. But in the end, the man took a syringe with a long needle from the black box and jabbed it into her throat, depressing the plunger. Shocked and shaking, Mickey was put back in her seat. Her face was wet with tears.

“This is fucking crazy!” I shouted. “We’ve done nothing! We’re no threat to you! We’re not fucking infected! Take us somewhere! Anywhere! Put us in quarantine together! Just get us out of this fucking lab!”

The man was unmoved by anything I said. It meant nothing to him. He stood there like some kind of fucked-up automaton from a B-movie, just staring at me through his visor. Now and then, through the darkened bubble, I could catch a glimpse of a face in there. But I couldn’t see it. I couldn’t see his eyes and they were what I most wanted to make contact with.

“The effects should begin shortly,” he said.

Mickey was curled up in her chair, shaking, her eyes glazed with horror. She looked like she was in shock.

“But she’s not infected!” Janie said.

The man and his guards stepped to the door. It slid open behind them. “On the contrary,” he said. “Your friend has just been injected with a mutated, lethally hot strain of the Ebola-X virus. As we speak, her system is being flooded with millions of viral particles.”

The door slid closed.

This was my hell, my pay-off. All that selecting and sacrificing had led here, down a very dark path to this awful moment of betrayal. I felt dead inside, used-up, hopeless. It took some time before I could even look at Mickey, at the broken deceived thing she now was. Her gaze was enough to make me want to put a gun in my mouth.