He kept calling me.
I put my hands on my ears and told myself, It isn't him! It isn't! It isn't! You can't open the door! You promised you wouldn't!
I just closed my eyes and waited for the scary noises to stop.
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Friday, May 20,2016
Houston, Texas
At 7 P.M. CST, Dr. Frank Eastman walked through the parking lot of Houston Pathology Laboratories (HuPath). His satchel hung from his right shoulder, and tucked under his left arm was a small Styrofoam cooler. He moved with the haste of someone in fear of being caught.
Had Eastman been allowed to take these resources, he would've packed them properly with secondary, or even tertiary, packaging to ensure the contents' safety, but his actions weren't known by his colleagues. In his anxious attempt to pack the resources, the bare minimum was all he could muster: the cooler and a few ice packs.
When Eastman reached his sedan, a black rat with a gray spot on its back darted into the nearby greenery.
The clinical pathologist yelped and dropped his belongings. The cooler's contents—six vials containing clear liquid, six 3-millimeter syringes, and several ice packs—spilled onto the blacktop. Unbeknownst to Eastman, a single vial rolled near the rear driver's side tire.
"Stupid rat!" Eastman growled as he frantically gathered the scattered materials. When finished, he got in his car and left, reversing over and shattering the lone vial. Its contents lay exposed.
When the car was out of view, the rat emerged from the bushes to inspect the vial's remains.
* * *
Wake Forest, North Carolina
As pinks and purples blended into the dimming North Carolina sky, my husband and I sat on the back porch swing, watching our giggling daughter run around the yard with our yapping puppy. The birdsong had long since quieted, and only the occasional rumble of a car engine disturbed the otherwise peaceful evening.
A breeze brushed the trees, and Gerald, with his arm around me, pulled me closer. A sigh accompanied his small smile.
"What is it?" I asked, glancing up at him. His brown hair appeared darker in the fading light; shadows crawled over his skin, hiding his features. He wasn't that much taller than me, but the few inches he had let me rest my head on his shoulder comfortably.
Without taking his eyes off Sadie, he said, "Just a nice night. It's supposed to rain tomorrow, though."
"There will be more nights like this," I said, listening to my daughter shriek with excitement when our puppy caught her. "Sadie, be careful, sweetie."
"I will!" she called back as she twirled, then fell to the ground, sprawling out in the grass.
Trooper sat, tongue lolling, clearly exhausted from her playtime. She had been a present for Sadie's seventh birthday last month. A teeny-tiny, brown and black Yorkshire terrier who loved to bark at everything and hated loud noises. The three-month-old puppy adored Sadie. She followed her everywhere.
As the night crept in, moths soon replaced butterflies, and bats flew from tree to tree, catching their meals. The swirl of colors adorning the sky became a dark blue hue falling over the landscape. I could hardly distinguish my daughter until the neighbors' back porch light came on, illuminating part of our lawn over the short wooden fence separating the yards.
Gerald put his hand on my leg and squeezed my thigh before standing. After stretching the kinks from his back, he lent me his hand. I accepted, and he pulled me to my feet. "I think it's time for some shuteye," he said. He was so handsome with his boyish hairstyle, soft eyes, and gentle smile. He was the man I fell in love with and continued to fall in love with every day.
"Call in Sadie," I said, walking to the back stoop. Our porch light came to life when it sensed the motion.
"Pumpkin, it's time for bed!" Gerald beckoned. "Grab the pup."
"Okay! Will you come sing to me?"
Gerald's ritual of singing Sadie to sleep started the day we brought her home from the hospital and continued until she was about three years old. Now he only did it when she didn't feel well, when she couldn't sleep, or sometimes, just because she asked. She adored her father's rendition of the lullaby, and Gerald was never inclined to reject the opportunity.
"I'll be right behind you, sweetheart," he replied.
Moments later, I heard the pitter-patter of feet on the patio until Sadie dashed by, up the steps, and through the door with Trooper in her arms, singing, "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine! You make me happy when skies are gray!" Her voice faded as she got farther away.
"Don't forget to brush your teeth!" I called after her.
Gerald approached me. "I don't think she's forgotten to brush her teeth since she was five." He slipped his arm around the small of my back.
I settled into his embrace. "I just worry."
"I know, Karen." He pulled me in to kiss the side of my head. "She'll be okay."
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
I looked at him with a sideways smile, saying nothing. He rubbed my shoulder and kissed me again.
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Saturday, May 21,2016
Houston, Texas
At 8 A.M. CST, Eastman began removing vials from the Styrofoam cooler in the comfort of his private lab in the basement of his suburban home, setting up what he hoped to be the start of a turning point in modern medicine. Plastic aquariums filled with white guinea pigs, white mice, and white rabbits surrounded him. On the far wall were metal cages stacked three high and three across, totaling nine units, with a single brown brood hen occupying each. Next to them was a large incubator full of eggs. The animals' racket was constant, and whenever Eastman would enter the lab, the noise would be at its peak for a brief moment.
Sitting under a heat lamp on the desk while Eastman unpacked was the freshly laid fertilized egg he planned to use during the meeting. At the egg's side was a folder labeled PRIMATES. Eastman had to make sure he had everything in order for when he presented his findings to the other scientists. This would be their biggest break.
Scientists dared to cross boundaries seemingly impassable, some untethered to moral compasses. Eastman and his colleagues knew science meant risk, but without morals, the world would spiral into chaos. Without his moral compass, the project would've gone through all those years ago in the wrong way, a merciless, unforgiving, relentless way. More people would've needlessly died or worse. Eastman wanted the project to come to fruition, but not like that. He knew there were boundaries scientists should never cross.
Things were different now. The right people—good people—were at the helm of this voyage, and soon, they would finish what they started. Soon, the world would know no sickness, starting with the pesky common cold.
Evolution was a beautiful part of nature, albeit lengthy. How the world could progress if evolution could be manipulated! With the help of modern science, certain adaptations could be created rather than waited for, and modern medicine could be at its greatest. The human body could evolve to fight off once incurable illnesses rather than suffer through them. That was the point of science, wasn't it? To progress humanity?
An experiment that started so many years ago in the wrong way—an experiment that showed cruel, horrific side effects—would be renewed with proper resources and just testing. Eastman was ready.
However, as he removed the fifth vial, to his dismay, he noticed the sixth was missing.
He looked at each vial's label, and his heart only faltered more when he realized the missing vial contained the bioengineered chimera virus needed to conduct the experiment on primates.
"No," he growled. "No!"
He desperately searched to no avail, ripping the ice packs from the cooler. The worst thing that could happen to a scientist had happened: he had incomplete data.
Eastman wasn't aware of the destruction he had unleashed when he ran over the lone vial in the parking lot of HuPath. To his immediate knowledge, his only concern was that, with incomplete data, he couldn't present the experiment properly, which meant he had let his team down.
How could he be so careless?
* * *
The black rat with the gray spot on its back made its way to its nest in the sewers, the fluid from the vial coating its underbelly and feet, seeping into its skin. The animal didn't know what the fluid was. It was only doing as nature intended. Its natural instinct was to inspect the contents of the broken vial, and when it returned to its colony, those instincts led to the contamination of the entire mischief.
The rat also wasn't aware that, though it wasn't a suitable host for whatever was in the liquid, it was a viable carrier.
* * *
Wake Forest, North Carolina
The heavy rain came quickly in the morning and persisted through the day, engulfing our quiet home. Sadie stuffed her arms through her red raincoat, then slipped on her matching rubber boots. As she buttoned her jacket, Gerald stuffed a red cap on her head, and by the end of it, my daughter looked like a fire hydrant. I wasn't complaining. I mean, at least she was noticeable.
"All geared up, little lady?" Gerald stepped back and put his hand to his chin, inspecting our daughter's handy work.
Sadie lifted one foot, then the other. Raising her arms and letting them fall back to her side, she grinned and said, "All set!"
I stood in the kitchen doorway, sipping lukewarm coffee from a mug, watching the two loves of my life prepare themselves for their adventure of dancing in the rain. Gerald shrugged his heavy jacket over his shoulders and yanked the zipper up. Eyeing my husband from head to toe, I chuckled at his choice of pants. "Jeans? You'll be soaked in seconds."
"Ha. Ha. Ha." Gerald put his hands on his hips. "I don't see you suiting up to join us, will you?"
Leaning on the doorframe, I took another sip of my beverage. "I think I'll skip this round," I said. "I have to go out, remember?"
"Well, then you have no room to judge what I'm wearing, especially if you're going out in that." He motioned to my not-so-waterproof pantsuit. "Why are you dressed like that anyway? Are you going into work? On a Saturday?"
"I have a meeting."
He raised an eyebrow. "I repeat, 'on a Saturday'?"
"It's a video meeting."
"Why can't they call you here?"
"It's an important call involving multiple people. We have to discuss an experiment being conducted at our partner lab in Houston."
Gerald groaned. "Fine, fine. What's NC Pharmaceutical up to nowadays anyway?"
I smirked and said, "That's classified," before gesturing to his head. "Where's your hat, Mr. Man? I don't need you catching the sniffles."
We stared at each other for a moment before breaking into laughter.
"Are you ready yet?" Sadie let out an exasperated huff of air. "I don't have a lot of patience," she said, folding her arms and pursing her lips.
Gerald twisted around. "Oh, really?" He lunged for Sadie and swept her off her feet into a spin. Waving her arms, she giggled and screamed.
From her crate, Trooper barked at the commotion, standing on all fours and wiggling her hind end. Her tiny yaps weren't the scariest, but they quickly wore thin on the ears. I didn't mind it for the most part, especially when she barked for Sadie. Another set of eyes with the intent of keeping my daughter safe was all right by me.
"Okay, okay," I said, placing my mug on the side table next to the couch. Luckily, Trooper stopped once Gerald and Sadie quieted down, so the aching in my eardrums didn't last. I walked over to my family.
Gerald landed Sadie with a whoosh and a plop before turning to me. Neither of them could help but glance at each other, still giggling. I swore I was taking care of two children.
Crouching in front of my daughter, I checked the buttons on her coat and tugged her nylon pants, ensuring both were secure. She looked good to go. I kissed her cheek, stood, and stepped back. "Yard only and watch for cars. Some people still don't believe in turning on their headlights when it's obvious you should."
"Honey." Gerald gave me a sidelong look as if to argue that he didn't need the lecture.
I rolled my eyes and smiled. "Have fun."
Sadie bounced with a toothy grin. She turned and pulled on Gerald's coat sleeve. "Let's go—let's go—let's go! Puddles won't jump in themselves!"
"Yes—yes—yes!" Gerald mimicked Sadie's enthusiasm, not for the sake of the moment but because he genuinely shared her excitement. He followed as she opened the door.
The rush of rain filled the house with a burst of fresh air. The heavy raindrops loudened, leaving no surface untouched. Sadie darted through the threshold, under the awning, and the white noise ended as quickly as it began as Gerald went next, shutting the door behind him. The noise softened, and I was left alone with a whining puppy.