The Z Contingency

W. I. Eganson

Copyright © 2013 by Hedgehog Press

All Rights Reserved.

This is an original work of fiction. Any resemblances to persons living, dead, or undead are purely coincidental.

PROLOGUE

“What the hell is this?”

“What are you talking about, and why are you shouting at me?”

“This article that just came out, ‘Zombie Apocalypse: CDC Denies Existence Of Zombies Despite Cannibal Incidents.’ Sorry about the shouting. I’m just so frustrated. We have to prepare the public for that eventuality.”

“And what eventuality is that, exactly?”

“Zombification.”

“I’m sorry. Did you just say zombification?”

“Yeah, I know how it sounds. What I’m getting at is the public needs to prepare for zombies. Think about it for a minute. Consider how these hemorrhagic viruses have been mutating. What if something like background radiation caused one of these viruses to mutate in such a way that, instead of causing the death of the victim, it takes the victim to a near death state, where the brain and nervous system are reduced to activity levels just sufficient to sustain motor control, but still keeps the victim alive. Consider how any pathogen that kills its host reduces the chance it can spread and further propagate its genetic material. A virus that mutates in the way I suggest would have a greater chance of spreading those genes. People would be walking around like … well, like zombies. We have to warn the public.”

“Yes. I'm familiar with viral evolution, and we did warn them. We got the CDC to launch the public awareness campaign on preparing for the zombie apocalypse. All the material is staying on the site. That won’t be taken down.”

“But that article says we’re denying it all. What about that statement, ‘CDC does not know of a virus or condition that would reanimate the dead.’”

“They had to deny the existence of a zombie apocalypse, what with all these bizarre attacks, and people eating people. The public was getting panicky.”

“But now they won’t take this seriously. They’ll stop preparing. They.…”

“Nonsense. We couched the initiative as a tongue-in-cheek campaign to educate the public on preparing for disasters using the popularity of zombies. Remember, we stated the rationale, ‘if you’re equipped to deal with a zombie apocalypse you’ll be prepared for a hurricane, pandemic, earthquake, or terrorist attack’?”

“Yes, but…”

“Look, do we know of any virus that would reanimate the dead?”

“Well, no ... but my model predicts that Marburg or Ebola will mutate toward that state, and that it will likely only take a few mutations to get there. The first mutation will keep the infected person alive so that he or she can continue to incubate the virus. Further mutations will allow them to ambulate and spread the virus.”

“Okay, but that’s your model. Does any virus exist today that would reanimate the dead.”

“Not yet….”

CHAPTER ONE

Quietly she crept into position in the underbrush. Inch by inch, easing closer and closer to her goal, taking care not to create any disturbance that might alert her prey. She tested each carefully placed step before setting her weight down. Knowing, even though they may be engrossed in their own activities, the slightest sound or movement that seemed out of the ordinary would cause alarm. The surroundings were filled with a chorus, mostly from the many birds that abounded in the jungle; she recognized the songs of several of the abundant species of larks, thrushes, and warblers serenading from the dark jungle canopy above. Mist swirled through the moss covered vines, while moisture gathered on the layers of fallen leaves adding to a mugginess that bordered on the oppressive.

Not wanting to lose the element of surprise and risk wasting all those days of careful planning, the poacher made her way through a dense forested part of the park, toward a large clearing she previously located on the map. It was known to be home to a particularly large family of chimpanzees.

She heard her quarry long before seeing them, and took advantage of the chattering to home in on the first target. Her eyes were still adjusting from being in the dark jungle for so long. Listening closely to the noises the chimps were making, she realized that in addition to the typical chattering sounds of routine chimpanzee behavior, there were also soothing, cooing sounds, like mothers would make to calm their sick children.

Over a thousand Euros a pound for the meat; those Europeans are crazy! Still, it lets me pay my bills, and puts food on my table, so who am I to judge? She shook her head in quiet resignation and slowly reassembled the rifle she had smuggled into the Park. It had taken quite a number of days to get all the pieces in without being noticed. First the stock, then the butt. A trigger assembly.... Finally the rifled barrel, which she dared not leave exposed to the elements for any length of time for fear that any resulting oxidation would reduce the range and accuracy she had come to expect from her tool of choice. She lovingly fitted together the two blued steel segments she had hidden under baggy cargo pants, one strapped to each thigh.

She brought the carbon fiber stock up to her shoulder and took aim at one of the closer chimps. He was a large, imposing specimen, but not the dominant male. She knew this because he was by himself, a bit away from the others, but mainly because he was not near any of the females.

Shifting her weight just a bit to steady herself, a twig lodged partly under her boot snapped. Suddenly the cooing became screaming, cursing, shrieks, all directed at her. She quickly squeezed the trigger, nearly missing her shot, as a piece of half-eaten fruit hit her in the face. These chimps were attacking her! I can’t leave my kill here. I have to get it home, but they’re starting to come down from the trees. She knew she had to get away before they descended and engaged her directly. She would have no chance if that happened; they were much stronger and faster than she was – it was a fight she would not win. She remembered what had happened to that other poacher who had gotten too close to a chimpanzee family group, and shuddered. Barely able to see, she beat a hasty retreat while being pelted by fruit, grimacing as she wiped fruit juice from her stinging eyes. I’ll come back later to gather my prize.

CHAPTER TWO

Gary Ecks glanced over at the clock on his nightstand. 1:28AM. He was tired, and desperately wanted to go to sleep, but instead, he was up late talking with his colleague, Natalie Wyler. Again. They had been engaging in more and more late night conversations recently. Something was clearly bothering Natalie, but Gary hadn’t a clue as to what. All he knew was that she seemed to be more agitated this past year.

Occasionally, they talked about work, as they had two nights ago when they discussed his theories on viral evolution into the wee hours of the morning. Gary had done most of the talking that night. She had listened politely, and only interjected rarely. Sometimes it didn't seem like Natalie took him seriously, but Gary chose not to notice, and he did enjoy spending time with her, even if it was only on the phone, and even if it meant losing sleep.

This evening, she had complained about the number of telemarketing calls she had been receiving. “So, one of my sorority sisters called earlier this evening out of the blue. Sally Peterson - do you remember her? She was part of the welcoming program at Freshman Orientation Week. You were there, right?” Natalie asked.

“Yes, we met on the second day of Orientation, remember?” Gary managed, while stifling a yawn.

“We were?” Natalie paused. “I’m sorry, I really don’t remember you much from Harvard. Anyway, Sally said she was calling to catch up on old times. So she’s telling me about everything she’s been doing, and asking me what I’ve been up to, and then, she suddenly drops this on me. She says ‘Oh by the way, I’m on the fundraising committee now, and I was wondering how much you would like to pledge.’” Natalie paused, waiting for Gary to react with the same indignation she was feeling.

“That’s awful. What did you tell her?” Gary replied, this time unable to keep from yawning.

“I told her…” Natalie began. “You’re tired, Gary. I’ve kept you up too late. Thanks for listening. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Natalie. I’ll see you in the morning.” Gary hung up the phone with a sigh of relief. Finally, he could sleep.

The ringing of Gary’s phone startled him awake. It seemed like he had only dropped off to sleep a few minutes ago.

Gary couldn't believe it, and at the same time it was beginning to be all too familiar. “What time is it?" his mind slowly wondered as he rubbed the sleep from his tired eyes. 2:36AM. That would be… 9:36AM in Uganda. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention team from Atlanta was to be greeted at the airport in Entebbe by a special envoy of the Ministry of Health who would escort them directly to the quarantine wing of the hospital where the patient was being treated. This was the third trip in six months, the second after which the Ministry allowed them to set-up a CDC run lab so they could immediately start collecting

samples and data on the outbreaks. The Ministry of Health was generous and even pitched in for equipment to ensure Biosafety Level 4, the highest level of precaution, but necessary to work with the types of pathogens and exotic agents that were part of day-to-day life for Gary and his team at the CDC Viral Special Pathogens Branch in Atlanta.

His team couldn't have been at the hospital for long. “What are they already seeing?” Gary wondered as he reached for his ringing cell. Tomorrow is going to be brutal. A venti, triple shot kind of day….“Hello?” he managed groggily.

“Gary? It's Jack. Get to your computer … you're going to want to see this.”

“Jack? I thought I was getting a call from someone on my team. I wasn’t expecting you.”

Dr. Jack Mugasa, Head of the Department of Infectious Diseases at CDC’s Uganda branch, who was normally courteous, was abrupt, and didn't even apologize for the late hour of the call. The fact that Jack was calling Gary meant there was something serious, especially seeing as the team from Atlanta was surely already there.

“Give me a second. I'll put you on speaker.” Gary hit the speakerphone button and managed to roll out of bed and find his way to his desk where he left his laptop. He had not bothered to turn it off last night after typing up his latest research notes on the mutations he had observed in the Bas Congo virus that had been discovered years earlier.

He had flown to Uganda himself after that first outbreak. It had taken a full day of flying, followed by a four day trek by Land Rover to the Bas Congo region of the Democratic Republic of the Congo. It seemed like it was only yesterday that Jack had called him in the middle of the night to report the first case of Bas Congo Virus - BASV, a virus in the same family as rabies, but much more deadly. A child in a rural village had suddenly fallen ill and started bleeding from his eyes and vomiting blood. Within three days, he had died from a hemorrhagic fever. A few days later, a schoolmate of the child also started showing the same symptoms, including death within three days. A third patient, who was previously thought to be the last in this outbreak, was the nurse who had attended to the first two patients. Luckily, the severity of the illness was now quickly recognized, and after an aggressive treatment, he recovered after several days. Some years later, several dozen bodies were discovered at an illegal mine deep in the jungle. Forensic analysis ruled out foul play, and had placed the time of death around the same time as the first two victims of the Bas Congo virus. Tissue samples confirmed the presence of the same strain of BASV that had infected the other three victims. Since then, other outbreaks had occurred, with each of the viruses exhibiting slightly different mutations in their genetic sequences.

After the third outbreak of BASV, Gary had gotten a temporary assignment in Uganda to study the BASV mutations, and the results of his studies were the basis of his still-unfinished paper. Unfortunately, he had to return home before his research had gotten very far due to budget concerns. He still wanted to finish that paper, even though, as news, it was now rather stale. Still as the subject of a scholarly article, it would get published, and likely in a top journal. The Lancet would almost certainly accept it or Infectious Diseases if he submitted, but if nothing else, he could always get in the EID, the CDC’s own journal, Emerging Infectious Diseases.

It was the first time one of the rabies viruses had been linked to hemorrhagic fever. Gary’s paper was on the proliferation of deadly viral outbreaks; how they were increasing in frequency and severity; how new deadly viruses were being discovered with increasing regularity; how it was related to human activity. More importantly, there was a tie-in to his theory about viral evolution that he wanted to share with the scientific community.

Jack knew that Gary would not mind his middle of the night call. Gary was a world-renowned researcher at the CDC, and a leading expert in viral hemorrhagic fevers. Most people in the infectious disease community, and everyone at CDC, knew that Gary wanted to be the first to hear about any new outbreak. If it meant he would be interrupted in the middle of the night, that was a price Gary was more than willing to pay.

“Your computer up yet?” Jack prompted.

Gary tapped his mouse and winced as the screen lit-up. With a couple of clicks he pulled up the live feed. CDC could stream video from the hospital allowing him to see what they saw. Not a bad alternative to keep his travel costs down, and Gary hated flying anyway, being mildly claustrophobic. “Okay… I'm on. I’m not all the way awake yet, so let me record this. What am I looking at? Something different from the last two outbreaks?”

“Yeah, this one’s a hemorrhagic fever. Your specialty. The patient is a poacher. One of those chimpanzee tour groups found her in the Kibale National Park, near the foothills of the Mountains of the Moon. Must have been collecting ‘bush meat’.” Jack found the thought of humans killing and eating their closest relatives to be very disturbing. It wasn’t even out of necessity. He could understand that people would eat anything when facing starvation, but these people were treating chimpanzees as delicacies, a luxury food for the wealthy to flaunt in front of their friends, who pretended to be shocked as they nibbled on those baleful canapés and chortled behind their cocktail napkins. He couldn’t help but conjure in his mind the scene from that old Indiana Jones movie where guests of some Maharaja were being offered a dessert of chilled monkey brains served in the monkeys’ own heads. “We’re pretty sure she was there at least fifteen days, from the ticket stubs, receipts, and what-not we found on her. Which is strange… she should be dead by now from the dehydration alone.”

“Were there any dead or symptomatic chimps around?” Jack said she was a poacher ... the chimpanzees in the park must have been the hosts of the virus that caused the hemorrhagic fever. Gary was awake now. He always experienced a burst of energy whenever a new viral strain might be discovered. But new viruses also stressed him out, and lately he had been feeling the burden, from the increased workload, from the annual threat of furloughs or a complete government shutdown which were the inevitable result of the now decades-old tradition of stalled budget talks, and what that meant for his research, and from the feeling of unease that had been gnawing at his subconscious since he saw his first case of hemorrhagic fever up close. The patient that first time was a farmer who had come to the hospital in Kenya Gary was visiting when he was still a graduate student. The patient had a high fever and had been complaining of dizziness, body aches and general fatigue. The doctors’ initial reactions had been that it was a severe case of the flu, but Gary knew better, and soon the patient started to bleed from his eyes and ears. Luckily, the patient had come in early. The doctors there were able to administer an aggressive treatment regimen, and the patient recovered before he went into shock and organ failure. Even still, the sight left a deep impression on Gary, who vowed to understand viral hemorrhagic fevers and focus his energies on fighting them.

“They did not find any dead or sick chimpanzees nearby. The patient must have wandered away from where she was exposed. Unfortunately, she was found in an area where the territories of three chimpanzee family groups overlap, so it will take some time to determine where she might have been exposed, and identify the host. But Gary, that’s all standard protocol, and not why I chose to wake you.”

Gary felt something ... a foreboding feeling starting to make his heart race. He tried to sound calm.

“Is there a problem, Jack?”

“The patient is presenting with a number of symptoms that are not typical of hemorrhagic fever. Unusual, but perhaps not unexplainable given our location. There must be something in her background that we’re just not aware of or ….” If Jack were speaking to Gary in person, he would have noticed that Gary visibly paled. Gary interrupted Jack, the fear taking over.

“Is she …” Gary was not sure he wanted to ask this question yet, but then decided to continue. “Is she able to move?” Jack was puzzled by Gary's question, and his sudden change in demeanor. His expression was that of someone who had seen a ghost.

“Of course she can't move. She's bedridden in this phase of the progression. Are you okay Gary?” asked Jack, concerned for his colleague.

“Oh … thank God.” Gary whispered, barely audible.

“I'm sorry? What was that Gary? You'll have to speak up.” said Jack.

“What? Oh sorry.” Gary felt relieved, but also thought it best not to get ahead of himself and share his theories with Jack at this time. Before Jack could say more, Gary decided it was best to try to wrap up the call.

“Hey listen Jack, thanks for calling. I’m forwarding a recording of this call to Natalie. She needs to see this. How quickly can you get blood samples back to Atlanta?”

“I’ll get them out with the next courier.”

“Thanks, and Jack?” Gary continued without waiting for a response. “My gut tells me this virus is mutating to spread itself farther and wider than before. Don’t rely on the conventional precautions. Take extra care around this patient.”

Gary ... always worrying too much. His gut? He’s a respected scientist, for God’s sake! Jack gave a nod and a brief wave before signing off, leaving a now rather alert Gary to his thoughts. Gary went back to lay down in his bed, but sleep eluded him. His mind was racing with thoughts about the ramifications of this discovery. Better get some rest. When Jack’s samples arrive, and if they contain …. Gary did not want to complete that thought. After lying awake for another hour Gary was finally able to fall back into a restless sleep … his final thought before his eyes closed … if he was right, the world will never be the same.

CHAPTER THREE

Minus 80 degrees C. The freezer temperature checks out okay. Update the maintenance log. Fire extinguishers aren’t due for checking for another month. Let’s see.... SEM calibration’s not due until next week. I guess I’m done early for the morning.

Great! Maybe I’ll head over to that arcade. I really want to try out that new video game. Zombie Hunter II. I can hardly wait to blow away some zombies.

Didn’t one of the lab techs mention something about a freezer lock being a bit temperamental? I could go check that out.

But she wasn’t clear about it, and didn’t say which one it was, and I don’t want to spend my free hour searching for it. It’ll keep until next week.

Maybe I could go and ask her to have lunch with me after I get back from the arcade.

But what if she says 'no’?

She’s friendly and she smiles at me. Plus she even hangs out with that Ecks guy in the cafeteria, and I’m much better than he is.

Remember that time back in tenth grade?

When I tried to ask that cute little red-headed girl out on a date?

She was friendly, and she used to smile at me too.... Until I asked her to go to the dance. I had even gotten all dressed up too. Wore a tie and everything. But she just laughed in my face, and ran off to tell all her friends what a dork I was for thinking I could ask her out.

As though I wasn’t good enough.

And then all her friends laughed at me too. They all whispered and laughed - as if I didn’t know.

CHAPTER FOUR

Simon Zaine had just settled in for the morning behind a dull gray metal desk that seemed much too large for his small office in the basement of the U.S. Treasury Annex building in Washington, D.C. “Battleship gray" he thought. He was sure the desk was Korean War surplus.

Simon closed his door – a flashing icon on his screen indicated a secure incoming call was waiting to be connected. After activating the protocol to lock down the private tunnel through the net, Simon was greeted by the shadowy face of one of his counterparts. Simon had met him only once before, many years ago at the orientation session, when he first joined the agency.

“I'm sorry we have to be reconnecting under these circumstances.” A chill suddenly ran down Simon's spine. “Take a look at this, but brace yourself. I think it's someone you know," and then off to the side "Okay, patch him in.”

The display changed over to a poor-quality video that looked like it was being streamed from a phone camera. The scene appeared to be a small village in a mountainous region. The surrounding area was arid. Only a few scraggly trees and bushes could be seen growing in the bare rocky ground. Several squat buildings made from clay bricks were arranged in a circular fashion around a central plaza, looking more like a collection of children’s building blocks than houses.

From the shadows, it appeared to be mid-afternoon. Simon knew he was watching a live feed from the region near the border of Afghanistan and Pakistan.

As the scene zoomed in on a central plaza, several bodies could be seen strewn in an open area between the buildings, strewn about as if a child had suddenly tired of her dolls and discarded them, but it was clear that these were not dolls but people. It was equally clear that they were no longer among the living.

As the image on his screen filled with the bodies, it became clear to Simon that they were not only dead, but had been tortured to death. Eyes were swollen shut, noses were broken, teeth were missing. Angry red cigarette burns could now be seen marring the victims’ skin as the camera panned over the bodies. Simon thought he heard someone in the background choking back the urge to vomit.

Finally, the camera moved to focus in on one of the corpses. The blood drained from Simon’s face. Even in the condition it was in, Simon could see his sister's features in the bruised and bloated face that filled his screen.

Simon Zaine was the son of an American diplomat father and British mother. His parents met and married when his father was stationed in London. Simon was born at the Embassy two years later. His sister, Emily, came less than a year after. They had spent much of their early childhood in England, and the two were inseparable. Even after they had grown, and had gone their separate ways to different schools, to different lives, they had stayed very close.

Emily Zaine, or Millie as her friends called her, had been working for an NGO advancing the rights of

women worldwide, and especially in the Middle East. She had studied the Muslim faith as her minor in school, and found it to be interesting, even attractive in some respects. She believed that the treatment of women as property, was contrary to the teachings of the Koran, and set out to educate the women, and the more liberal-thinking men of Afghanistan, accordingly. A week ago, when she was on a humanitarian mission delivering food and warm blankets to a remote village that had been devastated by an errant drone attack, her group was kidnapped by radicals that had learned of her group's activities.

“I’ve seen enough.” Simon managed to say with only the slightest tremor in his voice. He disconnected the secure channel, and got up to crack open his door. The smallness of his office, probably no more than a hundred feet square, seemed abnormally stifling. He needed air.

Shutting Simon off in that small, gray office was a plain door that seemed unusually heavy for its size. In the middle of the door was a frosted glass window with words etched on it. Simon's vision blurred as he thought about those cigarette burns, and stared at the backs of those words. Words that read:

Office of Domestic FinanceOffice of Financial Stability

Office of Probabilities and StatisticsOperations Analysis

His was one of several identical offices, each having the same dimensions, the same desk, the same door, and the same sign. This group within Office of Probabilities and Statistics had existed since before the Civil War. Some within the group thought that Abraham Lincoln himself was a founder. Although the names of the Office had changed numerous times, they had always been nondescript and very boring-sounding, but they had always referred to themselves as "OPS.” No one outside of OPS thought anything about the group at all.

If anyone had bothered to dig into the minutiae of the hundreds of thousands of pages of Congressional documents, they might have discovered that there was an organization being funded by thousands of tiny line items buried in an equal number of bills or amendments that had been enacted into law for well over a hundred and fifty years. But nobody ever looked too closely at these particular items, or noticed how they all went to obscure offices of which no one really knew the functions. Those who dug too deeply mysteriously fell silent shortly thereafter.

OPS' mission of paramount importance was to detect any foreign or domestic activity that threatened the stability or security of the nation, and to neutralize it at all costs, without anyone learning of either the threat or the subsequent corrective action. OPS was originally placed within the Treasury Department because it was believed that agents of England, which was still smarting over losses in the American Revolution, and then the War of 1812, were taking actions to destabilize the American Dollar.

Nearly as important as the primary mission was that no one outside of OPS knew of its existence. No one. Not even the President who sanctioned the organization's creation.

Except for the select few people who were deeply entwined in OPS, no one in the world knew of its existence. In most cases, new members were groomed for the roles by their parents from a very early age, thus ensuring that the secret would be preserved. It was the closest thing to the ancient family dynasties that

existed in America.

In rare cases, members were recruited from outside. Simon Zaine was one such member. After graduating from Harvard with an odd combination of degrees in Physics and Political Science, Simon, at his father's prodding, joined the CIA as a GS-7 Analyst. He quickly rose through the ranks due to his uncanny ability to spot patterns in activities around the world that even the most powerful computers at the CIA's disposal did not. It was in one of these patterns that Simon noticed something odd; something that could not be explained by what was known about the structures of any world government. Over some time, Simon puzzled out the existence of OPS, or rather that there must be some organization clandestinely operating within the U.S. government. Simon told no one about this because it sounded too far fetched. He wanted to find at least some shreds of evidence before letting his superiors know about his suspicions.

He did, however, let OPS know. Somewhere in the murky depths of the organization, someone made it a standard practice to flag the particularly talented employees in the National Security infrastructure, so as soon as Simon typed his theories into what he thought were secure personal files, OPS was notified. They were sufficiently impressed and it was quickly decided that there would be no "accident," and rather than risk chance exposure by letting Simon continue to dig, they recruited him. If Simon had refused though, accidents would be back on the table, but Simon did not know this at the time.

To lower his profile to the outside and the scrutiny he might be under, an elaborate back story was created and acted out by Simon where he became fed up with stress from National Security work after a close brush with death, and moved into a quiet analysis role at the Treasury Department. His father was none too pleased by the move, but it had been impressed upon Simon that second only to their mission, nothing was more important than keeping the existence of OPS a secret. Simon would just have to live with a disappointed father.

Simon's fog suddenly lifted when a quote he had once read popped into his consciousness. The sons of Allah breed like rats. Oriana Fallaci, the Italian journalist, had written it years ago, and Simon had forgotten it almost immediately, although the sentiment resonated with some deep, dark, chord hidden within him.

Apparently not forgotten, but merely filed away for safekeeping, that quote awoke that chord of darkness within Simon, and filled his soul as he kept repeating the words in his head, savoring the way they sounded, the way they made him feel as they formed and reformed in his mind. The beginnings of a plan started taking shape in his mind to the rhythm of his chant.

Drastic, maybe even Draconian measures are needed. Conventional responses are clearly not working, and now Millie is dead. Time to scorch the Earth he thought. Time to wipe the world clean of the Muslim filth that was spreading like a film of disease plaguing the land ... Simon stopped in the middle of the thought. He suddenly realized that his sister would have been shocked and dismayed if she knew what he had just been thinking. She would have chided him for thinking that way and then lectured him for hours on the errors in his thinking. Simon smiled briefly at the memory of having sat through a session of being lectured by her. Of course, his sister would have been right. The problem wasn’t Muslims. The vast majority of them were just like everyone else; they just wanted to live their lives in peace. It was the small percentage of radicalized ones that gave the whole faith a bad name. The ones who twisted and perverted the teachings of their prophet for political purposes to justify their actions. It was the radical Islamists who killed my sister, not Muslims.

It's still time to scorch the Earth, but it's the plague of radical Islam that needs to be exterminated. There would be no place for these rats to hide.

Simon's rationalization allowed him to move past the lingering of any guilt the memory of his dead sister was attempting to impress upon his conscience. Fueled by his pain and anger, he turned to his computer and started to work. Over the years Simon's talents and his ability to achieve results proved worthy to OPS, allowing him to climb steadily to his current level. He was given access to a team of people and had oversight of extensive resources at his disposal. He quickly initiated orders for a tech team to review the video.

The site from where the video was uploaded was quickly located by tracing back the IP address. In spite of the steps taken to disguise the true origin, Simon’s team were easily able to filter through the amateurish attempts at obfuscation. Within a few short hours, Simon had the location of his first target.

He would have people on hand to video the aftermath. He wanted to make sure everyone who saw the video of his sister’s murderers would also have the opportunity to see what the consequences looked like. He had already thought of the narration. “... they claimed to have killed to punish the infidels? The cowards who would kill in the name of Allah were the real infidels. These infidels have felt his wrath....” These dogs would feel Simon’s vengeance.

CHAPTER FIVE

Gary stared at the large manila envelope containing the micrographs that had just been delivered from the ESEM lab. Turning it over and over in his hands, Gary stared at the envelope intently, as if trying to uncover secrets hidden in the folds or even in the paper itself. Maybe, by not opening it, he could stave off the inevitable. Maybe ... if he didn’t get confirmation, his suspicion wouldn’t come true.

Jack’s samples had arrived from CDC-Uganda a few days ago along with his case notes and photos. Gary sent them to Dr. Robert Dobbs, who ran the Scanning Electron Microscope lab, SEM for short, to have micrographs made after carefully studying the notes from Jack’s observations, making sure everything was accurately entered into the system. His colleague Bob, and the others in CDC’s SEM lab was no stranger to samples Gary’s team brought home from the field, and could usually count on an interesting challenge to occupy their hours. In addition to the standard SEM, the CDC was home to the ESEM, the Environmental SEM, one of only three in the southeast region that allowed samples to be prepared faster, without the time consuming staining and preparation techniques required for biological samples viewed with the standard SEM. Gary spent a lot of time with the older SEM himself and picked up a thing or two over the years. He tried to keep up with the literature on this vital tool in the study and discovery of emerging viruses, and when time allowed, he practiced on routine samples, usually a strain from the previous flu season. He would go through his procedures and analysis, and then compare them with what the experts found.

This time, he relied solely on the experts for the images. These samples were too important to trust to his less skilled hands. The results had come back from the lab, so Gary reopened Jack's file, partly to refresh his memory, and partly to delay opening the envelope.

As Jack had commented over the phone, Patient Zero was a woman. Usually the first patients were men working in the wilderness areas of the region – miners, and forest workers. And poachers. Like the current Patient Zero. The prey are killing the hunters. How about that for poetic justice? Black female, age 27 years, height 5’2”, weight 110 pounds, with most of that being lean muscle mass. She exhibited the classic signs of a viral hemorrhagic fever, but Gary had never seen or heard of a disease progression like this before. The symptoms included delirium, shock, and massive hemorrhaging, typically with blood oozing from the patient's eyes, nose, and other orifices, followed by failure of the liver and other organs. All of this typically took from five to ten days. Death usually followed, unless very aggressive treatment was administered early on.

Patient Zero followed the normal progression through organ failure, only she didn't die. Based on Jack’s best estimates, she had been exposed more than two weeks prior to being found and taken to the hospital. Jack had been doing this for too long, and had seen too many cases from beginning to end for Gary to question Jack’s estimates. From cradle to grave. Gary chuckled grimly. Man, I’ve got to shake this before my humor gets morbid. While she was being given the most aggressive of treatments, no one really expected her to live. Only she did. Usually, when the treatments worked, the patient made a full recovery. Patient Zero, though, wasn’t getting any better. On the other hand she wasn’t getting any worse. Not from the disease at any rate. Her tissues continued to slowly deteriorate from lack of nutrition in spite of the feeding tube.

The doctors didn’t think it was the treatment or the hospital's machines that were keeping her alive, so they

unhooked her and stopped administering therapy. Nothing changed in her status. To say that her doctors were perplexed would be a huge understatement.

Gary was perplexed too, but at the same time, he had a strong suspicion he knew exactly what it was … or at least what it started out as.

He could delay no longer. The answer was in the manila envelope. Finally, after what seemed to be a lifetime, Gary could put it off no longer. Slowly, but deliberately, he unwound the red thread from the two white disks which held the envelope closed, and lifted the flap.

Gary stared at the image, just as Bob sauntered into Gary’s office. “Lunch?” he asked, and noting the open envelope, he added “Oh good, you got the pics. I hope they’re clear enough.” Turning back to Gary, he asked, “Heard anything new on the budget talks?”

“Yes, thanks. I was just studying them. And no, nothing worth mentioning. It just seems to be the same song and dance every year. The two sides are firmly entrenched. They both want to spend, spend, spend, but only one of them is willing to pay for it up front. So we get stalemate. And who pays for that? We do. I wouldn’t be surprised if we get RIF notices next,” referring to the Reduction-in-Force letters that the Office of Personnel Management sent to government employees when it was about to do a layoff. Bob immediately regretted bringing up the politically touchy subject. He knew that Gary had strong opinions, and would talk a person’s ear off if given the chance.

“Another Filovirus?” Bob asked, changing the subject. He had seen hundreds of these same images over the decade and a half he had been working in the various labs preparing samples and creating the beautifully detailed micrographs that were Bob’s trademark. Electron microscopy of viruses was as much art as science, and it took a special eye coupled with the scientific and technical knowledge to capture the images most useful to the researchers. But even having done it for so long, Bob had never really learned to recognize the pathogens whose images he was capturing. But it was enough to get Gary back on track. Viruses were Gary’s one true passion.

Gary held the micrograph up to get better light. The image was magnified 100,000 times and showed the classic filamentous particles of the filovirus family.

“Marburg," Gary muttered under his breath. His suspicions about what might be happening to Patient Zero were becoming a reality. Sometimes, he really hated being right. Marburg was the first of the filoviruses to be identified. It was discovered in a lab in Marburg, Germany in 1967 when a number of laboratory workers who were handling tissues from green monkeys, developed hemorrhagic fever. A total of thirty-one cases and seven deaths were associated with these outbreaks. The virus was named after the site of the outbreak.

As Gary continued to stare at the micrograph his trained eye noticed the subtle alterations. “But what do we have here …?” He was now certain this one had mutated, just as he had predicted it would years ago. He would have to sequence it to figure out the ramifications, but a feeling of dread swept over him. He was pretty sure of what he would find, and what that would mean. One, maybe two more mutations to go, before we have a full-blown zombie virus on our hands. He chose not to share that with Bob. Natalie already knew, and it was enough that one person already suspected that he might be crazy.

“Thanks for processing the samples so quickly, Bob, and thanks for the lunch offer, but I think I’ll be working through lunch for the foreseeable future. You go on ahead. I have to go find Natalie.”

Dr. Natalie Wyler was one of CDC’s top virologists. Reflecting back on the conversation he had with Natalie a few years back, he started getting that panicky feeling again. The last time he had tried to convince Natalie to protect the public against the zombie threat, things had not gone very smoothly.

Gary suddenly realized Bob had said something, and was staring at him expectantly. “Sorry Bob, what were you saying?”

“I said I’ll try catching up with Norman. I’m pretty sure he was heading for the cafeteria when I left my office.”

“Good luck with that. The cafeteria was really crowded this morning, so I sat down at his table. I asked if he minded if I joined him, just to be polite, but he just stared at his eggs and ignored me. I thought maybe he didn’t hear me, so I asked again. He just stared at me for a long time, and I swear he was making some kind of growling sound. I got the hell away from there. I’d stay clear of him today, if I were you, but if you do decide to talk with him, would you remind him that the lock on the -80C freezer in my lab is acting up?”

“Sure thing. I’ll catch you later.”

CHAPTER SIX

What’s the deal with that jerk Ecks? He just wouldn’t leave me alone.

What’s taking so long for email to load this morning? Is management trying to keep us from accessing our personal accounts?

I was clearly trying to eat my breakfast in peace, and he plops his skinny ass down and starts blathering away at me.

He just assumes he could sit anywhere he wants. Talk to whoever he pleases. Who died, and made him king of the world?

Just because he has a P-H-freaking-D. Big whoop. I’ve got a Master’s degree in engineering, which is a lot harder than biology, or whatever he studied. I could just as easily have gotten my doctorate too.

He must have some kind of superiority thing going on.

He just kept going on and on with his inane chatter. Blah blah blah.

I should start calling him Chatty Cathy.

Finally! No wonder it was taking so long for it to load. My inbox is full of spam.... Oh, wait…. Here’s something from my patent lawyer. I’ll bet they’re going to give me a patent for my invention for using television broadcasts to send secret messages.

Let’s see …. “Your invention is being suppressed under the Invention Secrecy Act.”

Suppressed? Invention Secrecy Act? Can they do that? What the hell is this?

The government is screwing me again. They just want to use my invention and not have to pay me anything.

I’d better make sure they’re not using it. I can program my smartphone to check. The microphone should be good enough to capture the sound and find the fundamental frequency in the audio. Use that to calculate the update frequency that’s embedded in the audio signal. They’re probably too lazy to change anything in my design, so I should be able to extract the key, and then decrypt the hidden signal embedded in the television video that’s captured using the camera. I can display the hidden messages on my screen.

Those worthless thieves won’t hide from me.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Gary plodded towards Natalie’s office to request her help again, reflecting on the last time he had come to have this discussion with her. Last time, he had been analyzing vast amounts of data he and others had collected for his research on viral evolution. It was late in the evening, and he was nodding off over his papers after pulling two consecutive all-nighters. He awoke to a terrifying realization. He had stayed up the rest of the night going back over his results to confirm he was not merely having a bad dream. The following morning, he had rushed to Natalie’s office to share his revelation, and to enlist her help in warning the public. That conversation did not go as he had envisioned it the night before. She was incredulous, to say the least. At one point, he even thought she was threatening to have him committed to a mental institution.

It suddenly occurred to Gary that he was standing at Natalie’s door and hadn’t knocked yet. He thought he could smell the faint scent of lavender. Natalie’s perfume. Actually he wasn’t sure if Natalie even wore perfume. Perhaps it was her shampoo. In any event, he loved the smell. It reminded him of the summer as a grad student he had vacationed in Kent. A local girl at Cambridge had taken a liking to the awkward American, and had persuaded him to accompany her to visit her Great Uncle’s country manor in Shoreham during her Summer vacation. The manor grounds included a large lavender field and staffed a Beekeeper who made her own honey. They had chased each other through the fields, trampling many of the plants. Finally, they flung themselves down amongst the hedges surrounding the field, exhausted, nursing each other’s bee stings. One thing led to another. From that time on, the heady scent of lavender always brought back memories of his first encounter.

The last time he had stood in front of Natalie’s door for so long without knocking, he only had to convince her to help get a public relations campaign launched. This time he would have to convince her to help him create the very thing he had been warning of – to get ahead of nature so a vaccine could be developed. This time there would be a host of ethical issues. He remembered the public outcry and condemnation within scientific circles from that Dutch researcher creating a highly-contagious strain of the H5N1 bird flu in the lab, in order to develop a vaccine for it. He remembered that his own reaction to the researcher’s actions was negative. He remembered Natalie’s reaction was even worse. Yes, this time, convincing her is going to be much more difficult.

While the CDC often developed vaccines for newly discovered viruses, they had never deliberately created a new virus for the purpose of developing a vaccine for it. Gary had no idea how he would convince Natalie to help him with something that was clearly outside standard CDC protocols, and was surely against CDC policy. He briefly wondered if it might even be illegal.

“Come in,” Natalie called, before Gary had settled on his opening statement. She always seemed to sense when he was nearby. Gary opened the door, and somewhat reluctantly walked into Natalie’s office, making sure the door was securely shut behind him.

I guess I’m just going to have to wing it. Okay, here goes.“Um, hi ... Natalie.” Gary stared at his feet. Man, these Oxfords are getting really scuffed up. Time for some new ones. Maybe a pair of Doc Martens this time. They’re supposed to have some really comfortable, rugged soles....

“Earth to Gary….” Natalie looked expectantly at her friend. She had known Gary since they were both doctoral students at the University of Cambridge in England, she in Biochemistry, and he in Molecular Biology. They had actually met more than four years earlier, but grad school was when she first started noticing him as an individual. Before that, he was just part of an ever-morphing group of friends and acquaintances she hung out with. Gary Ecks was perhaps the most brilliant scientist Natalie had ever met, but she often wondered if he was altogether here. It seemed that he was often off in his own world.

“Hello Gary,” she said dragging out the “o” sound. “What’s up?” She was looking at him expectantly, her chin resting on her clasped hands. Gary shook his head, recalling what brought him here.

“Sorry, Natalie… ummm…. Remember that zombie preparedness program we did a few years ago?” Gary chuckled unconvincingly, trying to relieve the tension, “and how I was suggesting that one of the hemorrhagic fever viruses could evolve to keep their hosts alive?”

“Yes….” Natalie answered hesitantly, not because she didn’t remember, but because she was uncertain where this was headed. She actually remembered that episode very clearly; how she had stared at him in disbelief, and even how she had checked her calendar to see if it was April first. “I remember you coming here with your scare story about viruses and zombies.”

“That was a great site you guys put together. Lots of good information. Some funny bits too,” Gary commented. “I especially liked the graphic short story.” The CDC had created and launched a website in only a few months. It provided a great deal of useful information for general disaster preparedness, but in the context of surviving a zombie apocalypse.

“Yes, and I also remember how you stormed into my office, shouting at me when you saw that official denial about a zombie apocalypse. It nearly sent you into an apoplectic fit.” Natalie smiled at the memory of Gary’s reaction. “Is there a point coming up? I have work to do.”

“Oh. Yeah ... I mean yes. Yes. It’s here.”

“What do you mean ‘it’s here’? What’s here?”

“A Marburg virus that’s one mutation closer to the one I was warning about. The one my computer model shows would present itself in a very horrifying way in those infected.”

Natalie’s face paled. “You mean,” she paused, “you were right?”

“Well, not about the timing. I didn’t expect it to happen so quickly, but it’s looking that way. We have to do something, Natalie, and I need your help again.”

“I don’t know how we’re going to do another warning, especially since we issued a formal denial last time. Besides what are we supposed to warn them of, specifically? We can't just go around spreading the fear of something that might happen. It would cause mass panic.” She vaguely recalled having this very conversation some years before. Deja vu?

“I’m not talking about warnings this time. I’m talking about creating a vaccine before it’s too late. Once it

gets out, the spread will be so rapid, there won’t be an opportunity to immunize. We have to get ahead of it. We have to get there and stop it before nature does. That’s where I need your help most Natalie. We have to find a vaccine for it while we still can.”

“How do you expect to create a vaccine for a virus that doesn’t exist yet?”

“That’s where I need your help....”

Natalie stared at Gary through squinted eyes, not sure if she believed what Gary was suggesting. Finally she managed a faint “You’re not suggesting that we create the virus first, are you?” Natalie’s ordinarily fair complexion paled even further. She knew what his response would be. “You know these are Category A Bioterrorism Agents, right? We can’t just go making them haphazardly, and we certainly can't do it without getting all the clearances. Do you know how much paperwork and red tape that's going to be?” Natalie ticked off point after point the arguments against doing what Gary was suggesting, and for each point Natalie made, Gary countered with a persuasive rebuttal. The problem was, Natalie knew that Gary was usually right about these things. He had accurately predicted numerous outbreaks, including the Ebola outbreak in Uganda back in 2007 and the H7N9 outbreak in China in 2014, with such uncanny accuracy that if she hadn't known his whereabouts during the relevant times, she might have suspected that he was responsible for them.

After over an hour of this, Natalie changed tack. “But why me? What do I know about making viruses? How am I supposed to help? Why not do it the conventional way?”

“We don’t have time to do it that way. That could take years for us to hit on the right combination of environmental factors to try before the mutation naturally occurs in our setup. While we’re altering one factor at a time in our tiny population of test subjects, Mother Nature is trying tens or hundreds of thousands of permutations each day. She doesn’t care about the experimental method, or controls, or any of that. She’ll hit on the next mutation long before we do. You’re an expert on RNA splicing. You know how to trigger those tailored transcription errors in a highly precise and predictable manner....”

“Only in theory. I published a paper on how it could be done. That’s all. That doesn’t make me an expert.”

Gary looked pointedly at Natalie, knowing she was being modest. “It’s called the ‘Wyler Method’ Natalie. How much more of an expert can there be?”

“I don’t care Gary. This is going too far. I am not helping you make a virus like that, especially considering how deadly you’re predicting it will be. Messing with this is crazy, and I’m not even sure I believe it’s necessarily going to come about in nature. What if you’re wrong? What if the virus would never have existed but for us? I’m sorry Gary. I know you have only the best of intentions, but this crosses an ethical line for me, and I’m not willing to take that chance. You’re asking for too much this time.”

“But ...”

“Damn it Gary,” Natalie said, looking at her watch, “I didn’t get anything done, and now I have to go. I’m being picked up in ten minutes!”

CHAPTER EIGHT

What’s with the boss today? He chews me out for nothing, and then threatens to fire me?

So I missed one lousy step in the sterilization protocol.

Everybody knows that’s a load of crap. There are way too many redundant steps. It’s like a belt and suspenders, plus an extra set of each.

He’s probably still going to bring it up when my performance review comes.

He’s just pissed because he can’t get laid.

It’s not like that’s my fault.

Hell I can’t either, but you don’t see me chewing people out over it....

Man, I’d love to get busy with that new tech in the flu lab.

What was her name, again?

Some sorority girl kind of name. Buffy? Stephanie? Maybe is was Leslie. Yeah, I think it was Leslie.

She probably won’t even acknowledge my existence.

Screw her.

Screw them all.

CHAPTER NINE

Simon had been in a dark mood for the past several months, to the point that everyone he encountered in the halls of Treasury hurried past him and didn’t even bother to greet him any more. Even his fellow plants in OPS avoided him.

Every morning would be the same – storm through what seemed to be miles of maze-like hallways, scowl at everyone he encountered, enter his office, and slam the door shut behind him. After perching himself in an office chair that didn’t match his desk, but didn’t altogether seem out of place, Simon spent most of his day alternating between remembering the times he had shared with his sister, and devising plans for not only those who murdered her, but also for everyone like them. All to ensure the safety of the country, of course. No, of the world; these Islamic radicals were a threat to the entire world. And they had to be exterminated he thought. Simon spent the rest of his time formulating a statement explaining the rationale for having executed the plans that were still taking shape in his troubled mind. A statement he was certain would have to be delivered many times to many people.

Time passed quickly this way. One day he would reminisce about the Summer he and Millie spent in the moors of the English countryside near York when he was thirteen. When their father took the family “on holiday” before he officially started his new assignment in London. The next day he would ponder “just nuking them all.” Even in Simon’s current state, he knew that the use of nuclear weapons was not an option. No matter how appealing that thought was. The ramifications to the United States were too dire. But thinking about wiping the entire race off the face of the Earth felt good to Simon, so he allowed himself to indulge in a bit of fantasizing from time to time. Not for too long though, as he did have serious plans to make, for the course of action he needed to take to gain closure presented itself to him last night.

As kids, they had been ecstatic about the change in their father’s assignment; a return to his old post in London was a huge improvement over his last post in Kabul. There was nothing for two children to do in Kabul, or anywhere else in Afghanistan really, and the constant threat of terrorist kidnappings and bombings meant that they spent most of their days trapped within the diplomatic compound. Simon closed his eyes and was instantly reliving a childhood memory in England. It was a cool, brisk morning in the North York moor. One where the fog was a white blanket that played tricks on your eyes as it shifted silently across the landscape. In some areas it developed in pockets too thick to see more than ten feet. It was the perfect natural anomaly for little sisters who liked to play hide and seek with their big brothers. Simon inhaled slowly. He could just sense the smell of the moisture mixed with the wild heather. The sudden reality of the memory caused a moment of pain, which his subconscious quickly steered him away from, by remembering the sound of a giggling little girl, running to the next thick patch of fog and slowly fading out of sight, like a fading memory. It was enough to pull him out of his little indulgence.

And that's all I have now … a memory. Simon lowered his head, and took a deep breath to clear his mind. He felt a clarity he had not known in quite a while. He knew what he had to do.

The next day he was feeling much better. He had actually greeted the Secret Service officer stationed at the employee entrance with a smile and a “good morning.” Without waiting for a response, Simon headed down the stairs toward his office. If anyone had looked closely, they might have observed a spring in Simon’s step

as he marched away. The officer waved at Simon’s departing back as he had every day for many years, and was about to call out a greeting when he came to the realization that he had never learned Simon’s name.

In what had become his normal routine, Simon would go to bed each night mentally exhausted, only to toss and turn, unable to fall asleep, always pondering what his reaction should be. Some time during the wee hours of last night, Simon had resolved to get retribution for his sister, and eliminate the threat forever. At last he was able to fall into a deep slumber.

He awoke refreshed, more so than he had felt in an eternity. He could now focus on details and contingency planning, two of his specialties. Apparently getting to this decision state was what had been keeping Simon’s mind so troubled. Since coming to the decision, his mind had returned to its normal state of calm. The crafting of a plan for achieving his goal, including the accounting for all contingencies and dealing with any possible fallout that may result would be a complex and grueling mental exercise, but that felt almost routine to Simon; he had faced much more difficult missions in the past. He had never had to make such a difficult decision before, and one where the line between national security and vengeance was so blurred.

What form would this take? A nuclear bomb would be most satisfying, but even in his current state, Simon knew what the repercussions would be when the world learned that it had originated from the United States. The same for a chemical weapon, and those had the additional shortcoming of having limited areas of effect. What kind of bomb can I use...? Simon continued to ponder the thought.

CHAPTER TEN

Everything sucks today.

Every day sucks. Today’s just worse than all the other sucky days.

I can’t seem to get a break.

I can’t believe that cop gave me another ticket for parking in front of my own home. What am I paying all those taxes for?

And when I go out to explain the situation to him, he threatens to haul me to jail for being confrontational!

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Natalie stared at the image in front of her on the computer screen. Jack had called, looking very different than when she spoke to him only days earlier. She could see that he was not calling from his office, but from the hospital.

“Tell Gary ... it’s much more contagious than I thought.” Jack sounded tired. “Tell him ... he was right. I should have listened to him.”

Natalie looked at Jack’s image on the screen in shocked disbelief. In the background she could see that all the beds in that ward of the hospital were filled with patients. Patients, who a week earlier had been the doctors, nurses, and technicians who worked at that hospital. They were all exhibiting the early stage symptoms of the disease brought into their midst by Patient Zero, but something was different. Several of them were restrained. Now why would these patients need to be restrained? she wondered.

“But this is a Marburg virus. How could the entire hospital staff have gotten it? It can’t be that contagious. They would have all had to come into contact with her, or her body fluids. Or did everybody somehow mishandle her cell cultures?”

“She suddenly started to spasm and cough days ago. It’s possible that every time she coughed, she spread the virus through droplets of aerosolized blood. Then it was picked up by the air conditioning system and dispersed throughout the hospital.”

“Surely the HEPA system there is working? Plus the patient ward is under negative pressure. Any airborne virus should have been isolated to just the room she’s in.” My God, was Gary right again? Did it mutate to cause its host to spread it further?

“This isn’t the U.S.” Jack managed with a weak smile. “But it is more likely that one of the technicians who was in close contact with the patient may not have followed proper procedures and started infecting the others without realizing it,” Jack continued.

“My God. What about you? Did you get exposed?” Natalie asked,

“When her doctors alerted me to the change, I came to collect a new sample of her blood, and to observe these new developments for myself. Apparently one of the doctors I met with had already contracted it. This was only a few days ago, and I’m already starting to exhibit symptoms. When I realized what may have happened, I shipped the sample off to Atlanta immediately rather than trying to isolate a virus specimen first. Have you received it yet?”

“Yes, yes. It came in yesterday. Look Jack, you’ve got to get your fluids and electrolytes balanced fast! Can you do a plasma transfusion on yourself? What about the clotting factors? Have you tried heparin therapy?”

“I’m familiar with the protocol, Natalie” Jack wheezed, “and I’m not sure I subscribe to the theory that clotting factor consumption is part of the disease process.”

“I know, I know. It’s just that it’s you, Jack, and I’m scared.” Suddenly an even more worrisome thought struck her. “If she was able to infect all of you ... who found her in the preserve? Where are they now? Have they been checked for symptoms? Are they out in the general public?”

“We alerted the tour group operator, but we haven’t been able to contact any of the tourists.” Jack replied. “The tour operator says they’ve all returned to China. They didn’t seem to be taking it very seriously.”

“Jack, please take care of yourself. Look, I’ve got to check on something, and I expect you to be in better shape the next time I call you.” Natalie terminated the call before Jack could respond, for fear that he would see the fear in her eyes. She had to examine the sequence of the virus’ RNA.

Grabbing the output from the rapid genome sequencer, she pored over the results. It was as she feared. The genome of the first sample they received from Jack differed from the Marburg virus in only a very small number of sequences. But what a huge impact it had on the disease. The genome of this new sample differed from that of the first one again only in a very small number of sequences. Was Gary’s prediction coming true?

Natalie walked down the hall, the gravity of what she was about to agree to do, weighing on each step she took towards the lab of the Viral Special Pathogens Branch. Gary would be there, conducting further research on one of the world’s most deadly, airborne contagions. Natalie trusted Gary. That was not the issue. If anyone even got wind of what they were going to attempt to do, getting fired was the least of their worries. They would lose credibility as scientists. Everything I’ve worked for up to this point would be worthless, forgotten, overshadowed by this one act. Why am I even considering this? This is crazy. I could lose my job … or worse.

Natalie approached the glass window of the maximum containment lab where she could see Gary at the bench under the hood. She hated the PPPS, the personal positive pressure suits; they made her look like a giant over ripe blueberry, and they made her feel a bit too confined. She always felt a tiny bit of admiration for her friend who was able to overcome his claustrophobia in order to work with these dangerous agents. Natalie shook her head and smiled as she watched her friend carefully preparing samples for storage. Gary was intently putting the last label on one of the vials. As he turned towards the cryo-storage unit, he noticed Natalie staring at him through the window.

When Natalie noticed Gary was looking at her, her expression changed, alerting Gary that something was on her mind. Natalie drew in a slow breath and let it out as she reached toward the intercom switch. Long seconds passed as she considered the next words that would set her on a path where there would be no turning back. But it was Gary who spoke first.

“I know,” he said quietly, understanding how difficult this was for her.

Natalie held Gary’s gaze and sighed deeply again. Was it only four days ago she was sitting in her office knowing full well she would never condone this very thing?

“You were right.” Natalie said quietly.

Gary knew this couldn’t be easy for her. “Look Natalie, I’ve been thinking. You don’t have to be involved. I

shouldn’t have come to your office and asked for your help. It wasn’t fair of me ...”

“No Gary, I’m glad you felt you were able to come to me.” Natalie managed a weak smile at her friend as she struggled internally to squash the last shred of doubt that if she let take hold, would cause her to lose it. “So, we’re going to save the world, right?”

Gary smiled back and placed his hand up against the glass. Natalie returned the gesture.

The Z Contingency

END OF ACT ONE