Grabbing her coat, Emma was heading out the door when she caught a glance of herself – this time in a full length mirror. She had dried blood and – ooze – caked in her hair and over yesterday’s clothes which she was still wearing.
“But first a shower,” she said out loud.
“A quick one,” she added, under her breath.
* * * * *
“Rob!” Emma said, for once actually excited to see another human being. Rob was another of the power students, he was often in the labs weekends and late, and consistently was top three in all his classes.
His successes in grades were duly paid for in other ways though, he was overly harsh in his manner of speaking and always very guarded in his speech. The effect of these mannerisms had already taken their toll on his face, keeping his lips mostly pursed. In Emma’s opinion he looked more rat than human.
He must have picked up on the uncommon bout of friendliness, his guard was up full force as he answered.
“Yeeeeesssss?”
“Could I get you to take a sample of my spinal fluid? I am doing a study for extra credit,” Emma asked, handing Rob a syringe.
“Oh right – well uh I would but I have never uh done so before,” he replied hesitantly.
Emma paused, taking spinal fluid was not like taking blood. To do so a practitioner had to insert a short syringe – she had two in her hand, ready – and insert it into the spinal column, normally at just below where the cord ends. The process was painful and - if done poorly – dangerous.
Emma weighed the risk – she seemed to heal incredibly fast but did that healing extend to everything? How badly could Rob screw it up? She asked herself.
“I am sure you will do fine Rob,” Emma answered smoothly, evidencing a smile that she did not feel.
“Right, sure.” Rob answered, fumbling one of the needles from Emma’s outstretched hand.
Emma’s lack of preparation soon became evident as she scanned around the empty corridor for some kind of gurney to lay flat on – there was absolutely nothing.
Giving up, Emma finally settled for leaning forward with as much spinal curve as possible in an effort to separate the discs. Rob tentatively lined up with Emma’s back slowly as she hiked up her shirt enough to reveal the area to puncture.
“Down two disks,” Emma advised with outward calm. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuccccck! She noted, inside her head.
Rob adjusted the needle and pressed it to her spine, tentatively waiting for any further advice. When there was none he went ahead and pushed the needle in, to a slight accompanying crack. Emma felt the needle pushing through with an almost unbearable pressure that radiated up her spine.
“Nnnn,” Emma noted.
“Sorry,” said Rob - finally handing her a tiny vial of fluid.
“That’s fine,” replied Emma, straightening back up and forcing a smile. “Could I get a CSF sample from you – for comparison?”
“Oh umm sure.” Rob lifted his shirt to let Emma slip a needle into his back. Maybe she had learned something from having the procedure performed on her own back but the process seemed to go far more smoothly when she performed it.
“All done,” said Emma with a smile.
“That was okay,” he commented almost begrudgingly, rubbing his back and straightening up. “Barely felt a pinch.”
“I thought you were squeamish?” he added turning back, looking almost suspicious “I remember you nearly vomiting at a dissection?”
Actually, Emma had vomited – though she saw no reason to correct him.
Emma thought for a second. “I have been doing a lot of practical work recently.” Very practical. “Really pushing my boundaries.”
“Well, it is obviously working,” said Rob, forcing a smile as he started to make his way once more down the hallway. “Let me know if you need any help with your special project. I could always use more credit.”
“I don’t think you want part of This project, Rob,” Emma answered when Rob was out of earshot.
One thing about becoming a Zombie, Emma mused and found herself still uncomfortable using the word biting into someone’s brain gives a very unique perspective on the foolishness of being squeamish.
Remembering the texture of greasy brain and slick bone in her mouth, she felt bile rise. Within reason she added, to herself.
Looking down at the tube of her own spinal fluid she was disgusted, thick blood swirling around in the mixture. Though it could possibly be a sign of Rob’s poor syringe work, she somehow doubted it.
Blood in her spinal fluid meant Emma’s blood brain barrier – the thing keeping larger red blood cells (and viruses, and bacteria) out of her CSF was probably impaired.
The next infection I get could kill me she pondered with a gulp a simple cold and my brain could swell, giving me brain damage.
Holding up the other bumper size tube filled with Rob’s clear fluid and allowed herself a small smile. She had a crazy theory that the compulsion she had felt last night really revolved around this - the spinal fluid - rather than the brains of her victims.
Pocketing her ill-gotten gains, Emma headed for the lab and, hopefully, some answers.
Chapter 6
Channel 4 WBZ CBS Morning News
Four dead in an unprovoked attack. Part of the attack was captured on a local store camera and show a lone man physically assaulting two tourists and two local residents at approximately the same time.
Following is a five second clip showing the attacker. The footage is of a graphic nature – some viewers might find this disturbing.
The man is as of yet unidentified.
Any members of the public with information are encouraged to contact the bureau investigating the attack at the following number.
Sitting at a computer which does not have a ceiling camera viewing the screen is paranoia thought Emma and I am above that. No matter how much the picture was enhanced, she doubted anyone would be able to read it unless the resolution was impressive. With a sigh she chose the computer with the back to the neck-freezing air vent but no overlooking camera. A cloud of shame settled around her as she booted the software tied in to a microscope.
As luck would have it, no one else was in the lab she chose this morning so it was a simple thing to take a sample from the vial of her spinal fluid and analyze it.
Stem Cells, Stem Cells everywhere she thought. The concentration of cells was amazing, she had never seen anything like it. Looking for any other tell-tale signs, everything else though looked… normal.
Changing slides, Emma queued up a blood sample. Cracking open a book to a section on antibodies, Emma started identifying anything in her blood stream - looking for anything unusual.
She was not disappointed. Checking the head of the most prevalent antibody in her system she could not find it in any of her books.
Taking a larger sample of her blood, Emma loaded up the SMAC (Sequential Multiple Analyzer Computer) and settled in for a long wait.
Deciding to use the time wisely she daintily loaded up a slide with some spit and looked for the same unidentified antibody. She found it.
So my host range is blood AND saliva she thought just perfect. I can’t even kiss without giving someone a raving case of Zombie-itis she thought. No public health risk there at least the pragmatist in her added, detestable bitch that she was.
Getting back up and walking over to the SMAC screen, Emma found her results were ready and her worst fears confirmed. Her blood contained the three enzymes essential for retroviruses – viruses that insert genetic code into the host. Whatever this virus was, it was changing her at a fundamental level.
Sitting down at her own monitor again, Emma spent some time staring into space. Presumably it was right now replicating into her organs, bone and brain. Would she even be herself when this thing is finished?
Emma was not a huge believer in the concept of a soul. When someone suffered brain injury and their whole
personality changed that, to her, did not say great things about the possibility of being controlled by some higher force. Would that be her? Look like Emma but inside hollowed out by a monster?
Deleting the tests and scrubbing the equipment, Emma was in a dream world. As little as 72 hours ago she had been on track with her life, such as it was. Now she seemed destined to live as a hermit or a monster, sneaking fluid samples from classmates or going crazy and bludgeoning strangers in the park.
Checking the news from the lab computer before she left (her laptop still being ensconced in the remains of Big Willie’s Pawn Shop, downtown) Emma was searching for any further mention of the park incident. What she found was even more disturbing, a local news clip of the thing she had created - the would-be attacker from the park - had attacked yet again. Even though he had half of his face covered by a scarf like a less fashionable Dick Turpin she recognized him instantly. Emma doubted she would ever forget the way he walked when he sidled into place to block her path last night.
This time he had killed four people. Fortunately for Emma no-one had yet connected this to the earlier murder by the gas station but she assumed that would be only a matter of time. Meanwhile the blood on her hands felt like it would never come off.
What had they called him before? Steve Kerchak her memory supplied – Russian descent? So generous of me to give him superpowers Emma thought sardonically.
Why would he be feeding again so soon? Emma wondered. Maybe his body is tearing through the fluid he is consuming?
Try as she might though, Emma couldn’t guess at why.
Either way, I am sure he is not as torn up about being infected as I am she pondered.
Emma was not as a rule given to the habit of making snap decisions – she was cautious, someone who weighed her choices carefully. Maybe it was the virus talking and her brain was already altered – or maybe it was the terrible waves of guilt as the monster she created went on to destroy the lives of any number of others but she made her choice in an instant. She would find the Zombie, Kerchak, and she would kill him.
The thought alone made her queasy. KILL someone? In cold blood… if she thought back a couple of weeks, even the idea of setting a trap for a mouse made her uneasy. How could I possibly manage to voluntarily extinguish a life. What gives me the right? She added.
The analytical part of her mind supplied the answer readily – if this Steve was not stopped he would murder more innocents. When weighing his life against any number of other Bostonians there was no contest.
Also, there was the small matter of self-preservation. She could – maybe – manage to keep her own infection under control. Getting to first base or beyond was out for the rest of her existence and she would spend a life trying to sneak infusions of spinal fluid but she was going to become a doctor, after all, so maybe this condition was manageable.
Steve on the other hand seemed to have no wish to manage it and as a collection of bad cells (albeit a big one) he had to be excised, in order to keep the host (in this case, Boston) healthy.
Healthy-ish Emma amended. Let’s not go crazy here.
Mind made up, she shut off the PC. She didn’t even notice turning off the light and starting the walk home, she was so wrapped up in her thoughts. Emma also completely failed to notice the lack of fear at walking the 10 minutes to her apartment alone by herself, cutting down alleys she would have once avoided. Her entire life she had been riddled with fear and self-doubt yet now when given an unfamiliar sense of self-confidence she completely failed to notice it.
All in all, she made excellent time.
* * * * *
There was a serious letter to be written to the people who make Law and Order and Emma was going to be the one to do it. When the police do a stakeout on a TV show it was Emma’s experience they got a cup of coffee and sat in the car for about two minutes before the perp. shows up.
Real life, as usual, sucks she decided. Sitting behind a bush for two damned hours had quickly dissuaded her of her Law and Order pretentions. The show went downhill after that original cop whats-his-face died she decided.
‘Stakeouts’ (if that is what you could call her amateur version) were cold, damp at best and - despite it being October - there were still insects who were not too timid to take her blood. I hope it kills them she thought sourly, coughing into her hand. Turning it over slowly, she looked for blood flecks and was relieved to find none. She had yet to figure out what part the coughing played in her losing control but at the least, it seemed to be a sign that it was fast approaching. Nonetheless, she now wished that she had not left the canister of her classmate’s spinal fluid at home. She started to feel a phantom of tightness at the back of her jaw, though she was unsure if her mind was making the whole thing up.
Looking back to the path, Emma sighed. She knew from her psych classes that people were creatures of habit but was this one of the monster she herself created, this Steve Kerchak? Maybe he had been in this park by chance when she bit him and now he would never return - he could be anywhere right now killing and infecting others.
A squirrel chattered in the tree above her and Emma had a thought. Vampires can drink the blood of animals to survive, right? Couldn’t the same thing work for me?
She spent the next 5 minutes chasing squirrels into trees. When they had all taken refuge she even tried climbing one but she soon found out the branches were thin and she had a surprising weight concentrated into a small area. The branches snapped like twigs, depositing her firmly on her ass.
Looking up at a potential snack angrily chattering down at her from a branch twenty feet above, Emma concluded several things.
1) Squirrels are fast little bastards
2) Vampires are fictitious
For good measure Emma swore back at the bushy tailed little rodent – even this was something of a departure from the demure creature her parents had raised.
The verbal/non-verbal match of wits continued for a full moment before the squirrel hopped off to a different tree either satisfied its point had been made or convinced that there was no cure for crazy.
Putting her back to the tree, Emma wondered what the hell she was doing out here in a park, waiting for the man she had bitten. He was a full on thug, what would she do even if he did show up? She doubted the result would be tea and a chat.
Mind made up, she headed out of the park and back to her place, temporarily defeated.
Getting back to her apartment, Emma was about to slide the key into the lock when she noted something amiss – a groove in the door just to the side of the lock. Trying the handle without even attempting to unlock the door, she watched as the door slid silently open.
Emma fought a quick urge to run away and call the police. You’re a big bad Zombie now she admonished herself You can handle whatever two bit burglar lay within.
Who knows she added to herself I might even get a free lunch out of this.
Sliding quietly down the wall of her hallway, Emma headed slowly towards a rustling she heard in her bedroom. Picking up a candlestick that had belonged to her grandmother – a solid brass affair that felt more like a mace than anything to do with light – she prepared to take the step that would lead her round the doorframe to confront whoever was in there.
“Hey Boss,” a voice called out from within and Emma flattened her back against the wall once more.
An answering grunt from across the way in her kitchen snapped Emma’s head around. There are two of them! She thought frantically.
“Check this out,” bedroom voice blurted and a figure flounced around the corner.
The man was white, about six feet tall and fairly heavyset. His face however was currently obscured by a pair of her sensible undergarments, which he was wearing over his head like a ski mask – the crotch region pinched together between his eyes so he could see.
“I’m Queen Granny Pant-“ he stopped mid-sentence, seeing her flat ag
ainst the wall. At that moment, the proclaimed boss and a third figure appeared from around the other corner and followed the underlings gaze. It was none other than her monster, Steve, who was looking much better thanks for asking.
And look! He even bought playmates. HOW NICE she grumbled to herself, entering into a run towards the only direction that made sense, right for the idiot who was currently wearing her underwear on his face.
Steve for his part made a dive for her but was too late, her trajectory taking her out of his reach and directly shoulder first into Queen Granny Panty’s stomach. She felt the impact but kept running – her destination being the giant window about three feet behind his back.
He realized too late her intended destination and had only just grabbed her shoulder as his back made contact with the glass. A quarter of a second later they were both through it and flying screaming out of the fourth story window.
When she was a child – after Michelle died - Emma had dreamt constantly of falling. The woman couldn’t help but wonder if it was some kind of premonition. The glass sparkled around her even in what light made it into the alley, looking like fairy dust from Peter Pan.
The images of Never-Never land dissipated as they smashed into the wall opposite and slowly ascribed an arc as both her and her royal visitor fell towards the cold, hard pavement below. Wasting no time, Emma buried her shoulder deeper into the Queen’s gut as they dropped, in an awkward attempt to ensure that when they landed she wouldn’t bounce into him – effectively using the meat of his intestines as an airbag.
Miracle of miracles, she landed with him squarely below her and her plan worked - sort of. The impact was still harder than anything Emma had ever imagined though; it jarred every inch of her and dislocated the leading shoulder instantly.
Emma rolled off of the airbag and kept rolling. Everything hurt, from her jaw to her legs. Her shoulder was sending awful shooting pains down her arm and across her back.
The pain was too much. She couldn’t think, she couldn’t properly even breathe. All she could think about was the waves of agony.