Prometheus Mode, page 16
“What? You don’t want to leave? I know the world is screwed up now, but—”
“We are the children of a new breed.”
The term sends a chill down my spine. Before, when he used the term children, he hadn’t meant the offspring of Father Heall. He’d meant the Elders.
“The treatment,” I say.
“What about it?”
“It has to be given more than once, doesn’t it?”
Brother Matthew leans back in his chair. “Yes. Without repeated doses, the infection will eventually consume us.”
My heart sinks. “So, even if I get the treatment to Jake and Kelly, they won’t be able to leave.”
Brother Matthew unzips the small pack on his waist and pulls out the bundle of syringes. The pink liquid inside has now reverted back to a deep red. He splays them out on the table.
“The first order of business is to get these back to your friends, to treat them. Then we can discuss what needs to happen next.”
“Is one of those for me?”
He looks startled by the question. “Why would you ask that?”
“There are only four. I already know Micah doesn’t need one.”
“How do you know that?”
“You tested him yesterday.”
“Yes, but—”
“He’s negative.”
“Of course.”
“So, who are the other two for, if there are three of us remaining?”
“They are for the two boys you mentioned. One does might not be enough.”
“So, none for me?”
He frowns. “Why would you need it?”
“I’m infected, aren’t I?”
“What gave you that idea?”
“I saw you. I heard you two talking last night, down in the cellar. I didn’t mean to— I mean I didn’t plan on going down there, but my door was open and I came down and you and Father Heall were down in the cellar. I watched you draw those from him.”
He stares at me. I can’t tell if he’s angry or not.
“What if I’m bitten on the way back?”
“It wouldn’t matter.”
“Why not?”
He pulls one more item from his pack and slides it over the table at me. It’s my inhaler. “Let’s just say that you’d gain absolutely no benefit from a dose of Father Heall’s blessing.”
Chapter 23
Raindrops pelt the windshield as we pull out of the garage. The wind shrieks, stripping leaves from the trees and sending them in shimmering verdant waves across the lawn. It whips Brother Malcolm’s hair about his face as he waits for us to exit the barn. He bows his head and huddles as close to the wall as he can get to keep out of the brunt of the wind. As soon as the car clears the door, he draws it shut. I glance back through the window, and he’s a blur of color. He hurries past Shinji’s door and slips into the shotgun seat. Brother Matthew puts the car into gear and we roll down the drive.
Above us, the storm clouds are an upside-down ocean rising down to drown us. Shinji pants happily at his window. I wonder if he remembers riding in cars before.
“I still don’t feel right leaving Micah behind,” I say.
Brother Matthew glances at me through the rearview mirror. “That was the deal,” he reminds me. “If you wanted the treatment, he had to stay.”
“But why?”
“Father Heall has his reasons.”
I don’t like being extorted like this, but if I’m being honest, I’m also relieved he isn’t returning with us. It gives me one less thing to worry about.
We head back the way we came in, down Patchogue Avenue and onto Dunton. Then Sills. We weave between a half dozen long-abandoned cars, their windows smashed out, weeds growing up through them. Do they hide naked skeletons? Are there corpses inside with the flesh still mostly intact, preserved by the virus?
I think about Cassie stuck inside her bathroom for all these years. I think about the motorcycle couple. How many others remain hidden away inside houses just waiting to be set free?
I almost feel sorry for them.
Five minutes later we reach the entrance ramp for the Long Island Expressway. The road is so much clearer that it’s like a different world.
“Where are all the cars?” I ask. It’s been bothering me ever since we first stepped foot on the island. “I thought the outbreak spread quickly and people got trapped on the highways.”
“The military started clearing the main roads a few years back,” Brother Malcolm says.
Brother Matthew keeps silent. His knuckles are gray on the steering wheel, his eyes dark.
“They’re gone now. Packed up and left when they built the barrier,” Brother Malcolm continues. He seems a lot more jovial than the other men. “Now it’s that darn company pestering us all the time, causing such grief and making it hard to get around. They’re who we need to be looking out for now.”
I lean toward the window and peer at the ghost towns we pass. In a car, even at the speed we’re driving, they pass so quickly by, leaving little lasting impression. I read each road sign. They inform no one now, much less the illiterate dead. “Arc,” I mutter, bitterly.
“Darn right, them folks,” Malcolm declares. “Like we ain’t already got enough trouble with the Elders we got them to worry about.”
I chuckle to myself. He’s not fooling anybody. I now know, after witnessing Father Heall walk right past that IU this morning, that being infected makes one invisible to the undead. That’s what Micah had seen last night. And so it now makes sense how Brothers Matthew and Nicholas were able to dispatch so many of them so easily on Jayne’s Hill. The infected don’t go after each other, whether dead or alive.
“Been bit once,” Brother Malcolm says. “Ain’t something I would want to repeat.”
“Why would they bite you again?”
He turns and stares at me. “Why wouldn’t they?”
“But you’re already infected.”
He gives me an odd look.
“You’re invisible to them now.”
He laughs. “Is that what you think? Why would you think that?”
“The virus. You’re already infected.”
“The Elders will still attack us,” Brother Matthew answers.
“But—”
“It’s not the virus,” Brother Matthew says. “It’s some sort of electromagnetic impulse or electrochemical signal put out by the living brain. That’s what triggers their instinct to attack. No one really understands it.”
“Father Heall didn’t seem to have any problem with them this morning,” I argue. “I saw him walk right past one. He even patted it on the shoulder.”
Brother Matthew shrugs tiredly. “Father Heall is... not like us. He’s...”
“Special,” Brother Malcolm offers.
“Because he’s immune?”
Brother Matthew checks his watch. “We’ll be at the barrier in less than an hour. Let’s just hope we don’t encounter any problems on the road.”
“At least we’re not biking.”
“Wouldn’t want to do that in this wind,” Brother Malcolm agrees.
As if to drive the point home, another gust slams into the side of the car, jarring us. We slide into the left lane of the highway. Brother Matthew wrenches the wheel in the opposite direction. We make it back to the center of the road, where we remain, straddling the dashed white line. The tires hiss and thump over the derelict surface.
Nobody speaks for the next half hour. We’re all lost in our thoughts. I run my fingers through Shinji’s fur, and he rolls over, giving me his belly and his trust. He groans happily. I wish I could be so carefree. I can’t remember the last time I was.
“Before we arrive at the barrier,” Brother Matthew says, “we should discuss how to administer the treatment.”
“What’s there to discuss?” I ask. “I’ll help with whatever you need once we get there, but I’m not doing it.”
“The half-life of the serum once it’s been activated is eleven hours,” he says, ignoring me. “It degrades rapidly. After two half-lives, twenty-two hours, it becomes ineffective.”
“How long ago was it activated?”
“Shortly after it was added to the stabilizer.” He glances at his wrist. “Almost four hours ago.”
Five hours ago I was in the cellar watching him draw the blood out of Father Heall. The whitish liquid inside the syringe must’ve been the stabilizer.
“That gives you about a seventeen hour window to get back and administer the treatment.”
“You’re giving it to him.”
“I’m telling you this in case something happens to me.”
“Nothing’s going to happen.”
“On this island, you learn to prepare for every contingency. Always have backup plans and redundancies.”
Brother Malcolm nods and smiles idiotically. He reminds me of Shinji. Maybe he’s just happy to be out of that house. It’s so gloomy it’d depress anyone. “Yup,” he says. “You never know what might happen out here.”
Or in Gameland, I think.
“The chemical formula for the stabilizer is written on a card inside the satchel with the syringes.” He holds the pack up so I can see it. He must’ve taken it off when he got in the car. “As are instructions for preparing—”
“I don’t care about any of that! Besides, what good is the formula if what really matters is the anti-serum, right?”
His eyes meet mine in the mirror. “One syringe for your boyfriend. One for the boy who was bitten.”
“It’s Jake and Kelly, damn it!” I shout at the back of his head. Shinji barks and Brother Malcolm jumps at the unexpected outburst. “Their names are Jake and Kelly, not that boy who was bitten!”
“Administer a second dose if there’s no improvement after two hours.”
“And what about Kelly? How will I know it’s working on him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, that’s helpful.”
“Obviously, the treatment won’t work if your friend has already passed,” Brother Matthew continues, unfazed. “That goes without saying. There are a couple test kits. You should test the other two members of your group. It’s a simple assay; instructions are also inside.”
“And if they’re infected?”
“If all goes as planned, you’ll have the two extra doses to administer to them.”
“You’ll administer.”
“Anyone who is treated must be brought back to Brookhaven.”
“So you can give them new brother and sister names?”
“They must not be allowed to leave.”
I sigh in frustration. “And you agree to release Micah?”
“If you fulfill your promise, then yes.”
“And what if I don’t come back? What if I just take everyone and leave?”
His eyes meet mine, but he doesn’t answer. It’s your choice, they seem to say. Except I already know there’s no choice at all. I can’t risk taking anyone infected off Long Island.
“How does the treatment work?” I ask. “Is it antibodies?”
“The active component is a protein, but not an antibody. It’s actually a very rare mutated form of a very common but poorly understood protein called a prion.”
“I don’t know what that is.”
“Prions are transmissible, non-heritable, catalytic—”
“Wait, transmissible? What the hell does that mean?”
“It means they’re infectious, just like the virus. Think of mad cow disease. Or scrapie in sheep. Those are also prions. They act by altering the configuration of normal proteins they come in contact with.”
“And that’s how it blocks the virus?”
“Presumably, yes. What we know is that the prions found in Father Heall’s blood are caused by an extremely rare mutation. The role of the normal protein, called alpha, is unknown. Father Heall expresses a form called kappa. When the two interact, kappa catalyzes a change in the structure of alpha. In some cases, this has no phenotype — no observable effect — but it can cause problems in some people.”
“I’m sorry I asked,” I grumble.
Brother Malcolm nods sympathetically. “Me, too. It’s all scientific mumbo jumbo to me.”
“The virus expresses an isoform of the same protein called omega, which is also prionic. When omega comes into contact with alpha, it does the same thing as kappa— refolds the native form, except this time with deadly consequences.”
“And when all three are present at the same time?” I ask.
“Well, that wouldn’t happen under normal circumstances. If an alpha is infected with omega, the latter rapidly catalyzes the conversion of all of the existing protein into the omega structure, so it’s unlikely there will be any alpha remaining. Same thing happens when you inject kappa into an uninfected person. Kappa and omega are the dominant isoforms. But if you put kappa and omega together, guess which one dominates?”
“Kappa. The one from Father Heall.”
“That’s correct. That’s how it neutralizes the virus. At least temporarily, anyway. Unfortunately, kappa prion is highly labile, which means it degrades over time. That’s why the treatment lasts only so long. So, in the case of Artie infection—”
“I’m sorry. Who’s Artie?” I interrupt. The name actually sounds familiar.
“Artie is the re-engineered dengue virus that was used to create Reanimation technology. It was code-named r-d7.04. Or Artie, for short. You must have heard the term before given your... personal connection with the man who did the work.”
From some dark, dusty corner of my memory, an image arises: the word printed on ancient papers in my grandfather’s office, papers marked INFECTED FILES that I’d learned sometime later were supposed to have been destroyed years earlier.
“When exactly did you realize who I was? I never mentioned my last name before we arrived at Brookhaven.”
He doesn’t answer.
“Q-Artie,” he continues, “was the codename for the first infectious construct engineered in the laboratory, nearly eighteen years ago.”
The year before I was born.
“How do you know all this?”
“I was a grad student when it all came out. I attended a conference once where Richard Daniels gave a presentation.”
“And let me guess. You saw the resemblance to my father?”
“The viral prion form of Q-Artie is responsible for tissue plastination,” he says, ignoring my snipe. “Plastination is essential for reanimation. Kappa interferes with that step, thus blocking disease progression. But it only persists as long as there is kappa present.”
“How long?”
Brother Matthew shrugs. “The effect can persists for a few months in most cases. Up to a year in others. It depends.”
“On what?”
“We haven’t figured that out yet.”
“And that’s why Kelly and Jake have to stay.”
Brother Matthew nods. “Yes.”
I remain silent for several minutes, mulling this over again. I can save them both, but in doing so, I make them prisoners here.
“Are you the one who developed the treatment?”
“I had a hand in it, yes.”
“Along with who?”
He shakes his head. “Do you remember the conversation we had on our way out here? We were talking about Frankenstein and Prometheus.”
“The guy who made man out of mud.”
“It was clay, but yes.”
“Fine, clay. He was punished by being tied to a mountain so his liver could be eaten out every day, only to have it grow back again overnight.”
“That’s right. Well, we all play at being God, Jessica. Every single one of us. It’s in our nature. But so few of us are ready to understand, much less accept the consequences, of the things we create.”
“Okay.”
“Even you.”
“Don’t bring me into this. I had nothing to do with any of this.”
“Not the undead, no. But you are a part of it nonetheless.”
He meets my gaze in the mirror. There’s just the tiniest bit of a crinkle in his eyes, as if he’s trying not to smile. He holds it for a couple seconds, then says, “In the tale of Frankenstein—”
“Oh!” Brother Malcolm exclaims. “I read that book. Scared the panties off me!”
I stifle a giggle as Brother Matthew frowns at him. “The tragedy,” he continues, “isn’t that the monster was misunderstood by the world, but that it was rejected by its creator. It was this singular act of rejection that drove the monster to lash out at the world.”
In the film version I remember the monster being chased into a swamp by pitchfork-wielding townspeople. I vaguely remember something about it killing someone — maybe even Doctor Frankenstein himself — but for the life of me all I can picture is Reggie hamming it up by sweeping Ashley into his arms. She’d kicked and squealed the whole way up the stairs. The movie was over and the boys were playing Zpocalypto by the time they returned.
“I still don’t see what any of that has to do with me. Or us. Are you saying that Father Heall sees himself as sort of like Doctor Frankenstein?”
He gives me a slight shake of the head. “No, Jessica, I think you know that’s not what I mean. He thinks of himself as the monster.”
Chapter 24
“Look out!” Brother Malcolm suddenly cries out.
Brother Matthew’s gaze jerks from the mirror to the road ahead— or rather, to where the road used to be. Now there’s nothing but a gaping hole with crumbling sides opening up a hundred feet in front of us. He stomps on the brakes and I crash into the footwell, wrenching my neck. Shinji tumbles forward and lets out a surprised yelp.
I manage to push myself back up in time to hear Brother Matthew yell, “Brace yourselves! We’re not slowing!”
The engine revs. He spins the steering wheel to the right.
The car begins to slalom out of control. It skids sideways and hits a large pothole, slamming me into my door. Through my window, the edge of the chasm rushes closer. I throw out my arms, but the car spins around again, throwing me back across the seat.
“Wrong way!” Brother Malcolm shouts. He grabs for the wheel. The two men wrestle for control.
