Generation of vipers fir.., p.15
Generation of Vipers (First Contact), page 15
Reluctantly, Kath concedes her dignity is gone. Once these photos circulate on the internet, her reputation will be left in tatters. Reputation? Who is she kidding? What a joke. Given all she’s struggled with over the past few years, it’s heartbreaking to think the public’s going to fixate on Hangover Kath rather than Science Kath. No one’s taking any photos, but she can’t help herself. Her mind is unraveling at the thought of being caught in the corridor, unable to escape. She’s horrified to think this as-yet-untaken photo will define her legacy. It’ll be the image people call to mind whenever her name comes up.
What’s worse is she’s not wearing her gloves or the exoskeleton on her hands. Her missing fingers and scarred hands are no longer hidden from sight. It shouldn’t matter but it does. Everyone she’s ever met since the life-support failure on the Orion has told her it doesn’t matter—and yet they still stare at the disfigured stubs she has for fingers. Oh, it’s not always obvious. Sometimes it’s a sneak peek but it always leaves her feeling like a leper. Appearances shouldn’t matter says a society obsessed with Instagram posts and the supposed beauty of youth.
Why does she care? She wants to tell herself she doesn’t, but that’s a lie. It’s the humiliation. It’s the lack of any semblance of control. She’s vulnerable. Helpless. Exposed.
Her shoulders sag.
Kath’s room isn’t on the main concourse so she doesn’t get the luxury of a view over the atrium. She’s a short walk from the central core of the hotel, but that means she’s staying in a dead-end. Perhaps that’s why it’s so quiet. Maybe most of the conference attendees have already checked out. They probably left their baggage with the concierge before heading to the closing session.
What time is it? From the way the light comes in through the overhead windows in the atrium at the end of the hall, it’s got to be at least ten in the morning—if not later. Kath’s late, but she’s not going anywhere. Everyone will be in the main conference hall listening to the summation and closing arguments. Monroe will be gloating about having retrieved organic material from another seedpod. Kath’s supposed to be backstage. Perhaps it’s best she isn’t there. Either way, Monroe was always going to have fun at her expense—yet again.
Kath pounds on the door next to hers.
“Hello? Is there anyone there?”
No answer. She rushes to the next door, wrapping her knuckles on the steel.
“Hello? I need to call reception. Can I use your phone?”
No one replies.
She’s manic, slapping her bare hand on yet another door.
“I’ve been locked out of my room. Please. I just need to call down to the lobby.”
It’s then she notices the red flashing light over the fire exit at the end of the hall. It’s pulsating with the same rhythm as the smoke alarm in her room.
Ahead of her, there’s a T-shaped intersection. Two of the three converging hallways look out over the atrium. She creeps toward the main hall, keeping to one side, trying to hide from view.
The walkway is empty.
A quick glance across the open area within the atrium allows her to see the walkways on several other floors above and below hers. There’s no movement anywhere.
Kath peers over the edge of the railing. The cafes and walkways below are empty. Dark stains mark a few of the paths. As much as she wants to think someone dragged a sack of flour through spilled paint she suspects that’s blood. The color, though, is dark, almost crimson, but that could be due to the shadows.
Tree branches shake. They move in sequence, tracing the path of something big that’s hidden from sight. Whatever it is, it’s meandering through the fake forest, keeping to the shadows.
“What the hell?” she whispers, stepping back from the edge.
Kath’s a mess. Her mind is like a construction zone at the height of summer. Jackhammers attack the concrete as big trucks roll by. People yell to be heard over the noise. Horns sound. And all of this is occurring in the absolute silence of her mind. She rubs her temples, wanting to shake her headache.
“Damn it. I can’t think straight.”
There’s a dead rat lying on the floor by the ice machine. Its back leg twitches. Okay, not dead. Dying. Blood drips from its mouth onto the carpet. A red fuzz covers its eyes and nose, hiding them from view.
Goosebumps break out on Kath’s skin, but not from the cold. Her body is responding to the realization something’s horribly wrong. All her worries melt away. She’s no longer concerned about her lack of clothing. Even her headache seems to fade into insignificance. Her bare feet tread lightly on the carpet. She has no intention of banging on any more goddamn doors. Making noise and attracting attention seems like a bad idea—a very bad idea.
Although it’s tempting to be alarmed by the Jurassic Park scene playing out beneath her in the atrium, it’s the fuzz on the rat that worries her.
“Not good,” she whispers. “So very definitely, absolutely not good. Monroe, what have you done?”
Against her better judgment, Kath takes off her singlet, pulling it up over her head. She bundles it together and wraps it around her face, covering her nose and mouth and using it as a mask. Those 3D printed extensions for her hands would come in damn useful right about now. As it is, she struggles to tie a knot with the stubs of her fingers. The dexterity she once took for granted is but a dream.
Rather than leaving the material hanging like a bandana, allowing airflow from beneath, Kath bunches it up like a gag and ties it tight behind her head. It’s difficult to breathe through the layers, but that’s the point. If there’s an airborne pathogen, she wants no part of that in her lungs. In the absence of an N95 mask, this is going to have to do.
At that moment, Kath becomes acutely aware of someone watching her from further along the corridor looking out over the atrium. Before she turns, she senses a pair of eyes staring at her. Someone’s standing there, blocking the walkway. Their shadow falls on the carpet.
Kath turns slowly.
A boy of maybe six or seven is standing beside a partially open door. He’s in shock, that much is obvious from his dilated pupils. If he was freaked out before, he’s got to be on the verge of hysteria now, seeing a strange woman standing before him topless in a pair of lace panties with a shirt wrapped around her face. All he can see is the panic in her eyes.
“I know this doesn’t look good,” Kath says in a muffled voice. She has her hands out in front of her, appealing for calm. As much as she wants to withdraw her arms and cover her breasts, she’s worried the boy’s going to scream. If anything, he seems more shocked by the scars lining her palms and the stubs where once there were fingers. Even though the accident happened years ago, the tender skin on her palms and the scars on her hands have a ruddy, pink tinge. It’s as though she’s still recovering from surgery. He’s probably never seen anyone with this level of disfigurement and yet here she is—reaching for him. To him, she must be a monster.
“Please,” she says, stepping slowly toward him. The boy’s eyes drop. He stares at his shoes for a few seconds. Kath edges closer.
Without saying anything, he reaches up over his head and pulls off his t-shirt. He copies her, covering his mouth with the shirt and pulling the ends behind his head. He can’t quite manage to tie a knot.
“Here, let me help you,” she says, kneeling before him. He turns around, allowing her to tie off the shirt. Kath can’t quite get it into a knot, but she gets enough folds to hold it in place.
“There,” she says, gently turning him back toward her. “Biosafety first, right?”
He nods as though he knows what she means. That he’s copying her tells her something important. He’s lost. He’s seeking help. He craves an adult to lead him through this nightmare, which begs the question, where are his parents?
“Do you know what happened?” she asks.
He doesn’t blink.
“Do you know where everyone is?”
Tears well up in the boy’s eyes.
“No. Of course, you don’t. You’re a child. You’re scared. Hey, it’s okay.”
Kath kneels before him. Gently, she wraps her hands around his chest and holds him tight.
“It’s all right,” she says. “Everything’s going to be all right.”
That’s a lie, but it’s all she’s got. She’s lying both to him and herself. Somehow, lies make her feel better.
“What’s your name?” she asks, leaning back and looking deep into his dark brown eyes. Tears roll down his cheeks.
“I’m Kath,” she says, smiling, not that he can see her lips. “Crazy nude lady, huh? You must think I’m mad. I’m not. I’m a doctor—a scientist.”
She gets up, taking his hand.
“Is this your room?” she asks, walking forward. A boot holds the door ajar, but it hasn’t been placed there to stop the door from closing. It’s fallen there. Someone’s collapsed facedown inside the room.
The boy stops, pulling his hand away from hers, refusing to go any closer.
“You wait here,” she says, letting go of his fingers. “I’ll be back. I promise.”
Hotel rooms are a dead end, right? So that’s not a lie. She’s telling him the truth. If she goes in there, she has to come out again, right? Kath shudders. If not her, then something is coming out of the darkness.
Kath pushes the door open. It creaks on its hinges. A middle-aged man lies on his stomach in the hallway with his head twisted to one side. His arms have sprawled awkwardly on the carpet. It’s clear he made no effort to catch himself when he fell. There’s a carry-on bag sitting beside the door. It’s a child’s backpack colored pink with flowers. Kath uses it to prop open the door, allowing natural light from the atrium to spill inside.
Kath steps around the dead man, taking care to avoid touching him. It’s irrational. He’s not going to attack her. And yet she cannot bear to brush up against his jeans.
The kid is traumatized. He came from this room. This has to be his father. Crawling past his dead dad to reach her in the hallway when he heard her must have broken his heart. He had to have heard Kath slamming on the doors further down the corridor. That must have been what drew him out of the room. He’s been hiding in here but where? And from what?
The man has a phone in his back pocket. The indent in his jeans is unmistakable. Kath grabs a trashcan from beside the minibar fridge. The thin plastic bag contains a crushed Coke can and a candy wrapper, but it’s what lies beneath them that interests her. She pulls out the bag, scrunches it up, and leaves it lying to one side.
“Come on, housekeeping,” she mutters. “Don’t let me down.”
At the bottom of the now-empty trashcan, there’s a small roll of transparent plastic bags—spare bags stored for a maid in a hurry, allowing her to change out one bag with another in seconds.
“Yes!”
Kath pulls them out and unrolls a couple of garbage liners, slipping them over her hands and using the bags as impromptu gloves.
“Hygiene first,” she mumbles to herself from behind her makeshift mask. “We follow best-practice in this lab.”
She puts the garbage can back, saying, “You’ve got to love housekeepers.”
Kath pulls the man’s smartphone from his back pocket without touching him or the phone directly.
She’s down on one knee beside the dead body. As soon as she turns the phone over in her hand, the internal motion detector causes the screen to spring into life. The lock screen is a photo of a couple at the beach with two children, one of whom is standing behind her in the hallway. Sorry, kid. Kath consoles herself with the realization that, as heartbreaking as it is, the young boy already knows what’s happened. All she’s done is confirm her suspicions. At the very least, she should be able to identify him and reunite him with his Mom—assuming she escaped The Fossil.
Looking at the battery symbol, the phone has about 75% charge. There’s no signal though, not that she was expecting one given what she’s seen so far. Kath hits the flashlight button on the lock screen. A brilliant white light illuminates the room. It’s focused immediately in front of her. Slowly, Kath pans around, taking everything in. This room is exactly the same as hers, right down to the placement of the twin queen-size beds. Light ripples over toothbrushes and shaving cream in the bathroom, an empty shower cubicle and then back out into the room. To her relief, there’s nothing hidden in the darkness.
Kath inches forward. She’s in no hurry to stand up. Staying low gives her a better perspective. She shines the light beneath the beds. She’s not sure what she’s looking for—hopefully, nothing, but her heart races nonetheless.
The beds are made. That’s an important detail to note. It tells her that whatever took place last night happened early in the evening. At a guess, she crashed around 6 pm. Someone as young as this kid is going to be put to bed around seven or eight. The phone is showing 10:52 am so it’s been almost fifteen hours since all this went down. Whatever’s happening here at The Fossil, Kath is way behind the play.
Several suitcases have been set standing next to each other in the narrow gap between the beds. Okay, so Mom took the daughter on the lock screen and headed down to whatever evacuation was taking place. Dad and the boy stayed behind. The damn fool didn’t want to leave his luggage. What was so goddamn important? Nothing. Nothing is ever as important as people think.
Kath’s mind casts back to a review she read on air travel safety. In an emergency, flight attendants estimate 90% of passengers take some kind of baggage with them off the plane. It’s stupid, but it’s human. It’s tragically predictable. It’s not selfish so much as narrow-minded. No one would intentionally kill themselves or any of their fellow passengers by taking a stupid bag with them, but selfishness leads to unintended fuck-ups. Kath can’t fault the man. She would have grabbed her laptop—like the damn thing isn’t already backed up to the cloud and insured for its replacement value. Hell, it’s not even hers. It belongs to NASA. Humans are dumb—and she means that in the nicest possible way—and she includes herself in that assessment.
Kath continues scanning the room. The curtains are drawn, but they’re ruffled on the far side. There’s a towel on the carpet by the curtains. It’s not difficult to see this is where the kid hid from whatever went down. Those curtains probably saved him—not just from sight, but from anything in the air. The poor little guy would have spent the night in utter terror. It’s no wonder he’s not talking. But what was he hiding from? Whatever it was, it’s gone—she hopes.
There’s a backpack on the desk. The zip is open. Kath is about to get to her feet, satisfied there’s nothing threatening within the room when a shadow crosses the door behind her. She freezes. With a deft touch, she turns off the flashlight. There’s rustling. Something’s creeping up on her, moving closer to her, looming over her. Kath’s heart is beating so hard it’s about to burst through her ribs.
She turns.
The kid is standing behind her. He’s got his hands up in front of him. His fingers wiggle within small, transparent garbage bags.
Kath breathes. She wants to tell him not to do that again, but she can’t fault the poor kid. He’s standing with one foot on either side of the leg of his dead father.
“So you’re a scientist too, huh?” she says from behind her scrunched-up singlet. If he’s smiling, she can’t tell, but there aren’t any more tears. She’s alive. That seems to give him hope. It appears he wants to be part of the team. Kath turns the flashlight back on.
Like the rat, the dead father has what looks like fungus growing over his face. Kath takes a towel from the bathroom and drapes it over his head. It’s as much to hide his death as it is to avoid stirring spores into the air. She’s slow, trying to show both him and his son a modicum of respect. Death is the cruelest aspect of life. Dignity is a poor substitute for life, but it at least gives the kid some closure.
Kath steps past the fallen man, being careful not to bump his body. She shines the light on the name tags attached to each of the three suitcases.
Phil Watson
Jenny Watson
Jimmy and Lily Watson
“James,” she says softly, although she’s not sure why she used the formal version of his name. The result, though, is instant. Jimmy looks at her as though he’s seen a ghost. “I mean, Jimmy. We’re going to get out of here, Jimmy. I’m going to get you back to your Mom, okay?”
Jimmy nods.
It’s a lie, but he doesn’t know that. Kath’s already figured it out. If they’re near the epicenter of some kind of interstellar biological contamination that’s escaped the lab, they are well and truly fucked. It seems the samples NASA brought back from the An̆duru-class object that skimmed Tunguska well over a hundred years ago were still viable. They’re probably not a virus in the terrestrial sense of the word, but it would be impossible to tell for sure without an electron scanning microscope. The damn thing seems to be spreading like one.
They’re going to die. Both of them. Kath doesn’t have the heart to tell that to the kid. Up until this point, he’s lived in a world of movie heroes overcoming all odds. How could she explain the need for sacrifice? How can she explain that they need to die to contain the spread? If they don’t, everyone else dies? She can’t even convince herself of that even though she understands what’s going to happen next. The government is going to have to scorch the earth. Nothing within the contaminated zone will be allowed to leave. The chance of someone escaping with an undetected infection is just too great. If earthly viruses like varicella-zoster can cause chickenpox in kids and then lie dormant for fifty years before manifesting as shingles when those same kids reach old age, there is no way in hell anyone is getting out of this region alive.
Kath says, “I’m cold. I’m going to try on some of your Mom’s clothes. Is that okay?”
Jimmy nods. She’s not cold, but that nod has told her two things. He’s compliant and he can’t tell when she’s lying. Kath pushes him a little further, wanting to better understand his mental state.
