Francesco Mazzotta - Cellular Activity

The man crouches to collect a metal fragment, with which he presses on the surface of the trunk, on the shape of a bluish face with no eye sockets, frozen forever in a sinister grin. “See? It’s not as hard as wood, it has the consistency of leather, or rubber as well. These parts are somehow fused together. Look, point the torch here. Do you see it? These are shreds of clothing…”

“Do you think it was the heat that melted the bodies?”

“No idea, Matt. You know, I once read a report about the effects of nuclear explosions at Hiroshima and Nagasaki. At a certain distance from ground zero the bodies of human beings vaporized, all that remained were shadows of them, printed on those walls that had not collapsed on the ground. At a greater distance they found charred bodies covered with radioactive ash. In one case, the skin of the arms of two girls, who sat next to each other, had melted and cooled in an instant, pasting them as conjoined twins. To separate them they needed surgery. However, we are talking about something superficial, due to an atomic flash. But here I have the clear feeling that the merge isn’t limited to the epidermis but it also involves the structure of the underlying tissue, and possibly of bones too. The heat caused by the explosion of the plane’s fuel would have burned the bodies, making coal of them, as with most of the passengers. In this case… well, it’s as if they were dissolved and then reshaped as if they were clay.”

They keep cautiously circling the strange object.

“I don’t deny being deeply shocked, this… hell, I don’t even know how to describe it, but whatever it is, it gives me the creeps. Good Jesus, I don’t know what to think… that stuff, do you think it could be related to what happened to the plane?”

For some long moments the silence takes over, while one of the soldiers takes several pictures, framing the weird object from different angles.

“We can’t rule it out, but in my heart I hope not, Matt.”

“I hope so as well: if there’s anything in the world capable of doing this to a human being, the last thing I want is to have to deal with it.”

The medical officer’s visor hides the look of disappointment when hearing those words. “How’s the gathering of the corpses and material going?”

“There was not much to collect, most got burned to ashes with the explosion. Men are loading what is left on the CH-47.”

“Perfect.” Then, pointing to the deformed trunk: “Tell them to pack this one too, we are taking it to the base. Perhaps further deep tests will tell us what the hell it is.”

“Shouldn’t we report to Bishop first?”

“Hell, Matt, fuck Bishop! This…”, points at the deformity in front of them, “…is something that we have never seen, and I think that it has to do with the expert sent by the Kremlin. It could be a new biological weapon, and I don’t want to miss this opportunity. Tell me, Matt, do you want to spend the rest of your career in this fucking desert, forgotten by God?”

The other swallows before answering uncertainly. “No, of course not, it’s just that…”

“No excuses then, do as I told you Matt. We’ll leave ASAP. Don’t make me say it again.”

“I guess your flight has been stressful, would you like some coffee? I swear it’s not the usual crap.”

Macready’s voice is affable, he fills a cup from a steaming thermos.

“Thank you Major, but I’d rather not. It makes me nervous. Maybe later.”

Moore feels jittery. The last events, the climate of uncertainty with the situation that she must manage, the feeling of being in an underground structure… and all within a few hours.

Macready drinks his coffee quickly, like water.

“I understand you. Don’t worry, somehow we’ll handle the situation. Anyway, it’s a pity, believe me”, while pouring himself a second cup. “Our chef, Ugo, is an Italian guy. He uses just one particular brand of coffee. If he doesn’t have that, well it means no coffee, and we have to drink the crap out of the vending machines. Ugo is this way: just Italian coffee and the best Cuban cigars, Hobson’s choice. He does have a weird behavior, but he’s really good at his job, so I pretend to turn a blind eye on his supplies. Anyway… Still sure you won’t give it a try?”, Macready concludes with a wink.

Moore hints a smile.

“Well, your introduction has intrigued me somewhat, and I don’t want to wrong your talented chef. I’ll have just some, thank you.”

“Very wise decision, Dr. Moore, you’ll tell me how you like it.”

Macready hands her a cup, then he turns his attention to a couple of soldiers, talking in a low voice.

After a few silent minutes, the door of the room of the meeting with Ivanov opens again. The face of Ironside shows up, calling for the scientist and the Major to rejoin.

Once inside, it’s Ironside speaking: “We have clarified some aspects with Dr. Ivanov. We will assure him of some momentary immunity. Privilege that might evolve into a more fruitful collaboration, if he can prove that he can actually be of any help to us.”

Macready’s lips contract in a face of disapproval. After a few moments of silence, Ironside keeps talking. “Before I switch to Dr. Ivanov, I just want everyone to see something.”

That said, with rapid movements Ironside flips the screen of his laptop. The notebook, previously put on standby, restores the screen after a few moments. The man flips it, to allow the other three to see the photo taken on the Boeing just before the crash. Moore adjusts her glasses, leaning forward for a better look. As she watches the screen, she instinctively brings a hand to her mouth, in a face of silent awe. A row of lines is drawn on Macready’s forehead. Ivanov is the only one to stay impassive, with his sharp eyes focused on the screen, as if to pierce it through.

“Now”, proceeds Ironside, “Dr. Ivanov, I ask you again what we are dealing with, for this stuff doesn’t seem a virus to me, not even a modified one.”

Ivanov turns to look at everyone, choosing the next words that he is going to pronounce. “The one in the photo is obviously an infected human being. Order your men on the site to rapidly come back. You have to get them away from that zone. The entire team that you have sent there must be kept under high level lock down!”

“Calm down, Ivanov”, shouts Macready. “My men wear bio hazard suits, they are impenetrable to any virus.”

“No, no, no, niet! You don’t understand”, Ivanov insists. “We’re not dealing with a damn virus! If we let just a single cell of that thing flee the area, it would be the end. I’m not speaking about your squad, neither about this base, nor about mankind. It will take over all life forms as we know them!”

Moments of tense silence follow the last words of the Russian scientist.

It’s Moore talking first. “You said that a single cell can wipe out an entire species?”

“No”, he replies dryly. “I’m saying that it can wipe out all animal species. You have seen what it did to the people on that plane…”

Ivanov takes a moment before going on. His gaze seems to sink, while evoking memories from a distant past. “I trust you, Mr. Ironside, may God enlighten us all.”

Ivanov takes a deep breath, then he starts to tell his story. “It all began in the spring of 1983. At that time I was involved in research and development of biological weapons. I was the director of a secret lab in Antarctica, a structure buried in the ice, disguised as a common meteorological research station. One of our helicopters, during a reconnaissance flight, located a vehicle. It was half-buried in snow. We found a woman inside. She was American and had died by freezing during the previous winter. On her womb she was clinging a small booklet. A Norwegian maintenance booklet of the vehicle she was moving in. She had probably found it right there in the vehicle. She had written something in the free space in the borders of the pages. Her story was so implausible that we initially attributed all to the hallucinations due to her freezing to death.”