Grim title, I know, but I've been pondering this for awhile. As a Swedish American, I'm good at pondering. I haven't been around for a few weeks, but it's been a busy summer, and I've found Facebook. Folks can look me up there. So, I thought I'd come back with a bang.
Reading a book right now, that is one of those that you start, don't really like, but by the time you figure out you don't like it, you're deep enough into it that you're comitted to finishing it. Book's called "Warday" by Whitley Striever and James Kunetka. Apparently they were big writers in the '70's and 80's. I've not read anything by them prior, though Striever wrote "The Hunger" and Kunetka wrote "Wolfen." Both made pretty good movies, so the authors must have some creds.
Anyway, the book is one of those apocolyptic genre novels where we're wiped out by our own stupidity and nukes. It was copywritten in '84, so it was written in 82 and 83 would be my guess. I picked it up as an antique. A reminder of a lost era. A reminder of my high school years when there were still two superpowers and we worried about annilation in the blink of an eye.
There was a whole slew of movies and books out with this theme around that time. Everything from "Red Dawn to "The Day After." I read some of the books in the "Doomsday Warrior" series. A lot of us were convinced at the time that we would go out with a bang, because Reagan's finger was on the button, and the old boy was senile even then.
In Warday, the US and Soviet Union exchange a limited nuke strike on Oct. 27, 1987. Chaos reigns and life as we know it ends. But by that time, the USSR was starting to fall apart. The satilite counties it had controlled for nearly fifty years were peeling off faster than a pole dancer trying to make her car payment. By the early 1990's, the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics no longer existed. We backed down from the nuclear holocaust issue.
Not totally, but it's much less a threat than when I was in high scool; when this book was written.
So now, we have the zombie apocolypse to worry about. Out new genre of humans being snuffed out of existance is now in the slimy hands of a bunch of rotted corpses. We've got dozens of movies, some good, some not so good out there about zombies taking over society and those not converted to chow struggling to survive. I've written and published some of these stories as well. Got a whole series going right now. It's good fun for me, as it give you a lot of creative leeway to build a story. Mine, however, tend not to be as dark as a lot of them. When you've survived an era of realistically facing nuclear annihlation, a zombie hoard isn't much to worry about.
But this brings me around to our fatilistic mind. We as humans for whatever reason have it in our core to believe we'll go out in some great holocaust. Read Revelations in the Bible. If God's wrath isn't an apocolyps, I don't know what is. You can go back even futher, to Babylon. Read the Flood stories in there. Again, civilization is wiped away.
We believe we are going to be snuffed out. All at once. The planets aligned a few years ago, and we were supposed to be ripped apart by the gravity. We're supposed to be hit by a meteor. By plagues. The same things that killed the dinosaurs. Global warming, global cooling. We're supposed to die in some great catastrophy.
Here's the thing. We're not going to die until God says it's time. Whether individually, or as a race, we won't go until it's time. An generally, there's nothing we can do about it. We backed down from the nuclear bombs, but we can't control them all, and we can't control them personally. The lesson of all this is to live a good life, enjoy life while you have it, and don't get too attached to money. You'll go out with the same things you had when you came in. Nothing.
Now, all that being said, have a good day. I've got to get the kids up for school.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Sunday, July 5, 2009
The Dredded "R" Word
Yes, I'm talking about "Rejection." Now, as guys, we're used to rejection on a number of levels. Every time you get shot down by a lady, even if it's the so called easy let down of; "Oh, you're such a nice friend, let's not ruin it by dating." Our ideas get rejected at work, we get rejected at job interviews. Rejection is part of life for all of us.
Writing is no different. Matter of fact, it's probably more frequent and harder to deal with than rejection in other areas of our lives. We expect it at work, we expect it nine times out of ten when we approach a lady. The problem comes when we spend months of our lives (or in some cases, years) working on our masterpiece that will set the literary world on its ear. I hate to tell you this, but thousands of other people have done that as well. Thousands of first time authors each year send out manuscripts. Thousands get rejection letters. Thousands are crushed and stop writing. Let's take this apart and save some heartache.
Realistically, a first manuscript from a first time author most likely will not see ink from a major publisher. There are too many people out there. Writing is a business. Publishers and agents buy what they think will sell. Just because they didn't buy this particular 'script from you and make you an overnight J.K. Rowling, doesn't mean that you can't write. It means they didn't like that particular manuscript. Rowling collected a lot of rejections, but she kept polishing her Potter books. It finally paid off. Joe Konrath collected over 500 rejections before he got his first novel sold. I got close to that before I sold my first book.
Keep in mind too, that if a manuscript is not marketable, it most likely won't find a home. If you're writing a book about hospice care and support, it most likely is going to sell to that profession and the people involved, no matter how touching the book is. You have a limited audience for a book like that.
Another thing to remember, is that even after you've edited your book as much as you think you can, it can still be edited. Find someone who is willing to do that for you. A friend in the newspaper business. An English or lit teacher that you know. Someone who is in the word business is a good eye to have looking at your work. Once it's as polished as it can get, then start sending it out with a query letter.
One last thing I'm going to talk about, and you hear it from publishers and editors all the time. Make sure that you are sending your baby off to the right place. Meaning that you need to send your manuscript off to the appropriate markets. You don't want to send a children's picture book off to TOR. They do fantasy and horror. Children's books are not their gig.
Now, you could bypass all this rejection, plunk down fifteen hundred of your hard earned bucks, and self publish. This is getting to be quite common. If you're a good writer, that's not really an issue. There are some great writers out there who started with vanity presses. You do have to sell a lot of books that way to get the big boy's attention, but it is possible. Keep in mind that vanity presses earned that nickname. I have seen some truly awful work that's published in this manner and put out on the market. In the case of a bad work, it does more harm than good to your reputation. Don't let your ego get in the way of common sense. Everyone, even Stephen King and Joe Konrath need to be edited.
The business of writing is not easy. You need a thick skin and tiny ego to succeed in the business. You have to be able to take rejection and keep working. You can't let it get personal. It's like any other work. Take the suggestions, keep working, and your manuscript will see ink. If you can't handle the rejection, you need to determine if you can handle being in the business. Every writer asks themselves that question at one point or another. The ones who get published are the ones who determine they can take the rejection and the struggle.
Writing is no different. Matter of fact, it's probably more frequent and harder to deal with than rejection in other areas of our lives. We expect it at work, we expect it nine times out of ten when we approach a lady. The problem comes when we spend months of our lives (or in some cases, years) working on our masterpiece that will set the literary world on its ear. I hate to tell you this, but thousands of other people have done that as well. Thousands of first time authors each year send out manuscripts. Thousands get rejection letters. Thousands are crushed and stop writing. Let's take this apart and save some heartache.
Realistically, a first manuscript from a first time author most likely will not see ink from a major publisher. There are too many people out there. Writing is a business. Publishers and agents buy what they think will sell. Just because they didn't buy this particular 'script from you and make you an overnight J.K. Rowling, doesn't mean that you can't write. It means they didn't like that particular manuscript. Rowling collected a lot of rejections, but she kept polishing her Potter books. It finally paid off. Joe Konrath collected over 500 rejections before he got his first novel sold. I got close to that before I sold my first book.
Keep in mind too, that if a manuscript is not marketable, it most likely won't find a home. If you're writing a book about hospice care and support, it most likely is going to sell to that profession and the people involved, no matter how touching the book is. You have a limited audience for a book like that.
Another thing to remember, is that even after you've edited your book as much as you think you can, it can still be edited. Find someone who is willing to do that for you. A friend in the newspaper business. An English or lit teacher that you know. Someone who is in the word business is a good eye to have looking at your work. Once it's as polished as it can get, then start sending it out with a query letter.
One last thing I'm going to talk about, and you hear it from publishers and editors all the time. Make sure that you are sending your baby off to the right place. Meaning that you need to send your manuscript off to the appropriate markets. You don't want to send a children's picture book off to TOR. They do fantasy and horror. Children's books are not their gig.
Now, you could bypass all this rejection, plunk down fifteen hundred of your hard earned bucks, and self publish. This is getting to be quite common. If you're a good writer, that's not really an issue. There are some great writers out there who started with vanity presses. You do have to sell a lot of books that way to get the big boy's attention, but it is possible. Keep in mind that vanity presses earned that nickname. I have seen some truly awful work that's published in this manner and put out on the market. In the case of a bad work, it does more harm than good to your reputation. Don't let your ego get in the way of common sense. Everyone, even Stephen King and Joe Konrath need to be edited.
The business of writing is not easy. You need a thick skin and tiny ego to succeed in the business. You have to be able to take rejection and keep working. You can't let it get personal. It's like any other work. Take the suggestions, keep working, and your manuscript will see ink. If you can't handle the rejection, you need to determine if you can handle being in the business. Every writer asks themselves that question at one point or another. The ones who get published are the ones who determine they can take the rejection and the struggle.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Third Book Finished
Well, the third book of ghost stories, is finished. I wrapped up the last story this morning. Started out as a book of ghsots stories gathered from along Interstate 55/Route 66. As always, however, writing is a business. As such, as I was working on this book, my publisher and I had a falling out. I won't go into details, but lets just say that he decided to write the book himself and cut me out of a verbal agreement to write this book for him.
Needless to say, I was upset. I put the manuscript aside, and went to work on other projects. I wrote a series of short stories (the first of which is published at www.talesofworldwarz.com/stories/), edited a novel manuscript, and sent out some query letters. Basically, I ignored the ghost stories I had saved here on my hard-drive. Besides, I was burned out on ghost stories. I had read and researched so many ghost stories over the last three years, I had absolutly zero interest in writing another. A huge factor involved with with this was the limitations my publisher put on me. It was to the point where I felt like I was writing a high school lit paper.
A lot of that changed when a buddy at work told me his story. Great story about his ice fishing experiances on a local lake, and footsteps on the snow as he was fishing at night. I thought these stories deserved to be in a book, mine specifically, and it occoured to me that without the restrictions put on me by my publisher, I could add this story.
With this little epiphany, I went back to work on the book. In the last few months, I've collected a number of stories from across the Midwest and South. Everything from the first recorded haunting of the Alamo by six specters bearing flaming swords, to the ghost of the miner hauling on the warning rope who died as the shaft filled with water in Minnesota. Great stories, bloody stories, stories of the bizarre I wasn't allowed to use before.
This little book, which I've titled Southern Fried Ghosts and Their Midwest Cousins is ready. I'm going to put it aside for a few weeks, then come back to it sometime in August to edit it. After that, I'm shopping it around. I've got a few publishers in mind, and hope to have it sold by the end of the year. We'll see what happens. I'll keep everyone apprised. I think it's the best of my work on ghost stories. I know I had more fun researching this one and writing the stories than I have lately. I may put a couple of the stories up here if anyone's interested.
Needless to say, I was upset. I put the manuscript aside, and went to work on other projects. I wrote a series of short stories (the first of which is published at www.talesofworldwarz.com/stories/), edited a novel manuscript, and sent out some query letters. Basically, I ignored the ghost stories I had saved here on my hard-drive. Besides, I was burned out on ghost stories. I had read and researched so many ghost stories over the last three years, I had absolutly zero interest in writing another. A huge factor involved with with this was the limitations my publisher put on me. It was to the point where I felt like I was writing a high school lit paper.
A lot of that changed when a buddy at work told me his story. Great story about his ice fishing experiances on a local lake, and footsteps on the snow as he was fishing at night. I thought these stories deserved to be in a book, mine specifically, and it occoured to me that without the restrictions put on me by my publisher, I could add this story.
With this little epiphany, I went back to work on the book. In the last few months, I've collected a number of stories from across the Midwest and South. Everything from the first recorded haunting of the Alamo by six specters bearing flaming swords, to the ghost of the miner hauling on the warning rope who died as the shaft filled with water in Minnesota. Great stories, bloody stories, stories of the bizarre I wasn't allowed to use before.
This little book, which I've titled Southern Fried Ghosts and Their Midwest Cousins is ready. I'm going to put it aside for a few weeks, then come back to it sometime in August to edit it. After that, I'm shopping it around. I've got a few publishers in mind, and hope to have it sold by the end of the year. We'll see what happens. I'll keep everyone apprised. I think it's the best of my work on ghost stories. I know I had more fun researching this one and writing the stories than I have lately. I may put a couple of the stories up here if anyone's interested.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Test Subject
Well, I mentioned that the actual first story in my zombie series was inspired by Rhianna's "Disturbia" video. The scene of the singer chained in a small room triggered the idea, and the opening scene in my story is a hit off that. From there, it rather grew. It's a good story, but was rejected by the website as not quite what they wanted. I studied the site a little more, and came up with the one that Editor Ryan West liked, and posted on the website. Thus another lesson learned: Know your market. Hope you enjoy this story. As i said, it has worked its way into the series, but not in this form. I love the charectors. I've had a friend who read this story for me describe Chrissy as "A hyper-active puppy with rabies." Great description.
Test Subject
“Tess,”
The voice came to her. It wormed its way through her scattershot dreams.
“Tess,”
The voice came again. She dreamed. A dance floor in a laboratory room, which didn’t make sense, but she enjoyed it. Music throbbed. People gyrated. She was there to have fun. She didn’t want this voice to tell her otherwise.
“Tess,”
“Go ‘way.”
“Time to wake up, Tess.”
“Don’ wanna,” She tried to get away from the voice and go back to her party, but something rattled. She tried to move, and the rattle was accompanied by something cold against her belly. She shook her head to get rid of cobwebs, and opened an eye.
A chain winked back at her. The thing attached her arm to a belt around her waist. A cable led from the belt across the floor to a hole in the wall the size of a quarter, sealed with a rubber gasket. Tess tried to lift a hand to rub her head. Her temples throbbed like a tiny construction worker was trying to dig his way out of her skull. Her arm stopped at shoulder level. The cuff on her wrist held. She lifted her other arm, with the same result.
“…the fuck is this?” She mumbled. She pulled again. Her arms could go no further up than shoulder level, no lower than below her knees. More chain chinked, and she looked at her feet. Her ankles were shackled together. Like a prisoner on a chain-gang, she would have only enough room to walk.
She sat, folded in half on the edge of a bed in a tiny white room. It wasn’t her dorm room. She recognized nothing. Tess tried to stand, and fell flat on her face. Millions of needles raced from her hips to her feet.
“…the fuck is going on? Who are you people? Where the fuck am I?”
“It seems you and Terri share the same vocabulary at least.” The voice had a canned quality. Almost as if the person were talking through. . . .
Tess saw the speaker under the window now. The face beyond it must have been the one that woke her up.
“Professor Johnson?”
“Ah, good. You recognize me. You’ve answered that question. We wondered how much of Tess would be left.”
She could feel the cold tile against her bare legs. Her belly shivered as the cold seeped through her tee shirt. Tess pushed herself to her feet.
“What’s going on here, Professor Johnson?”
A television clicked on behind her. Mounted to the wall opposite the window, it was the only non-white item in the room. A news channel burst onto the screen. Its commentator droned on about the stock market.
“Let’s just say you are now part of a history bigger than yourself.” Johnson said as she pushed the glasses back up on her nose.
Tess stumbled upright. The tingling died away. She could feel the cold tiles under her feet. “I don’t understand. I. . . Why am I black?” She held her hands in front of her, turning them over to look at the pink palms. Her legs, her belly, her arms. All the skin she could see was now dark brown. She felt her chest. “Why are my boobs so big? Doctor Johnson, what the fuck is going on?”
“One of your ancestors apparently was black. We simply allowed your body to express that heritage. As for your chest, it now fits the rest of you. Plus, we don’t want anyone to recognize you in the future. Now, we’ve made quite a sum of money with the advances we’ve made with you.” Johnson turned to leave. “Feel free to explore your room. I think you’ll have enough slack in the reel to reach the areas you need.”
“Doctor. Don’t go.” Tess rushed to the window. “Let me out of here, Doctor. Tell me what’s going on.” Johnson continued her walk down the hall. Tess couldn’t hear anything beyond her room. Just the news behind her. “Doctor, please!” She banged the glass, but it didn’t even shudder.
Tess stood at the window a moment. Tears flowed down her face. She was scared. She had no recollection of what happened. Why she was here. She remembered working in Doctor Johnson’s lab. She was a grad student working on DNA sequencing at the University of Illinois. This room wasn’t at U of I.
She turned back to the TV monitor. So many thoughts swirled through her head. She had to sit down. The news anchor droned on. Tess looked at the date in the corner of the screen. Oct 15, 2008. Had to be wrong. It was only 2005. Sometime in the spring. That’s what she remembered. She was a senior. Going to graduate and go into med school. But, other things reared up in her mind. Injections. Restraints. A cluster of people in masks and lab coats talking about the test subject.
Tess tried to rub her temple as all these thoughts bounced around her head, found her arms wouldn’t reach with the cuffs on, and bent down. For short minutes she sat there trying to make sense of it. Bile ran up the back of her throat. She choked it down the first time, as she leapt to her feet. The cable gave her enough slack to shuffle quickly to the door-less bathroom and vomit.
Her mouth still felt sticky as she ran a cool washcloth over her face. The girl in the mirror was unfamiliar. The blue eyes were hers, but the mocha skin and long kinky black hair weren’t. She moved in for a closer look, and the face with the full lips did the same. The lips peeled back to show the perfect teeth that braces her dad had paid years for straightened. It was strange not to know your face.
“. . . outbreak at Western Illinois University of what seems to be a hemorrhagic fever. We go live now to the scene.”
Tess stepped back into her bedroom. The news cast switched to a live remote in Macomb. A reporter stood in front of a squad car parked sideways in the road, one of many that could be seen as they tried to enforce a quarantine. She explained how this outbreak was rumored to be an Ebola virus strain. Several students were hospitalized with bleeding from the eyes, ears, and mouth. It was also rumored that at least one student had already died. More news as it developed.
The screen turned back to the newsroom. Another anchor was there to drone on about the stock market. Tess tried to change channels, but couldn’t reach the buttons. She gave up, sat on the bed, and gave in to tears. She had friends at WIU. Maybe. If the date was correct, she had no idea what was going on.
Two days she sat in her room. The only person to talk to her was Doctor Johnson. Someone would come past three times a day, and slide food to her through a hermetically sealed slot under the window. The door gave a little asthmatic sigh each time her food appeared. Nobody had been in the room to see her, or to tell her anything else. No one removed her restraints. There was a sink. She could wash. She couldn’t shower. The shower and stool were around the corner. Out of sight from the window, and there was no camera in the bathroom like in the other room.
On her third morning of awareness, she woke to thumping on the wall opposite her bed. Slow. Monotonous. Like someone trying to take down the wall with a sledge hammer. Tess also realized she was ravenous. She could eat a horse. Raw. She was hungry yesterday, but figured it was just boredom. Now, she wanted someone to throw her a bloody steak and leave.
Doctor Johnson appeared at the window. The pounding stopped next door.
“Good morning, Tess. Ready for breakfast?”
The slot wheezed open. On the tray rested a pint bag of blood. Tess lifted it. It was warm. Her hands shook as she stared at it. Her mind screamed at her to rip it open. To pour it down her throat. She had to choke down the saliva that filled her mouth.
“What the hell is this? A sick joke?” Tess whispered.
“No. It is what you need. What you crave. I can see by your reaction what you want to do with it. Follow your instinct.”
Tess looked up at Johnson on the other side of the glass. Her mentor Her captor. “You crazy bitch. Have you lost your mind?”
“I didn’t want it to come to this, Tess. I really didn’t. I thought you were smarter than Chrissi.”
“Who?”
“That failure next to you. The one beating her head against the wall. Oh well. We can do this the hard way.” Johnson lifted a small silver box, and pushed a button.
Pain buzzed at the back of Tess’ head. Pain followed by paralysis. Her body went rigid. The warm bag dropped from her fingers. She stared straight at the window.
“Tess,” Johnson’s voice came over the speaker. “I want you to go and sit on the chair facing the television.”
Tess felt her body turn, walk to the chair, and sit down. The TV came on as she fought to make her body move. Move a leg. Move a hand. Hell, move a finger. But nothing worked. It was like her mind was disconnected from anything that controlled her.
She sat, and was aware of the news. Horrible news now came from Macomb. The reporter stood behind quarantine lines. In front of patrol cars, bodies laid in piles. Tanks and other military vehicles supported the troopers.
“. . . first hand accounts of something from a zombie movie. Bodies of the dead seem to re-animate after death and begin to devour those left alive.”
The door wheezed open behind her. She could smell the antiseptic in the air as it followed Johnson. A yellow gloved hand appeared in her peripheral vision. The hand held the end of the tube of the blood bag.
“Open.” Johnson said. Her voice was muffled.
Tess realized she must be speaking through a respirator. Her mouth popped open in compliance. She felt the tube hit her tongue.
“Now, drink until it’s all gone.”
Tess took a pull on the tube. She could taste the latex at first, nothing else. She tried to will herself to stop, but nothing happened. Her mouth continued to suck until she got her first taste of blood. It washed into her mouth thick and warm. There was a rich taste to it, almost like liquid meat, underlined with a tint of copper. She tried to keep from swallowing, but had no luck at that either as the first gob slid down her throat.
“Good girl.” Johnson walked around in front of her holding the blood bag. The woman was dressed in a yellow hazmat suit. The kind they wore at level four biohazard institutions. Self contained air. Heavy rubber, thick gloves, enclosed face shield. “After our failure with Chrissi next door there, we couldn’t risk losing another investment. We decided not to give you the option of not getting your blood intake. Chrissi wouldn’t drink voluntarily, the virus nearly killed her. Now, she’s pretty much worthless to our goals, but her blood has proven to hold some. . . interesting characteristics. She is, however, quite insane.”
More blood washed down Tess’ throat. Johnson turned to watch the news. A reporter and camera man were trapped in a lab with four surviving students.
“. . . we ran into Simkins Hall when a group of students tried to attack us.” The reporter, young, male, huddled in a corner under a third floor window. The students did the same in a small cluster beside him. “For now I think we’re safe. The doors are steel with reinforced frames and deadbolts. The students tell me that they are set up like this to keep lab equipment from being stolen. Outside it’s like a scene from a bad horror movie. That’s the only thing I can relate it to. We saw packs of people appearing to attack and eat anyone they came across. I can’t go into details, but the images will haunt me the rest of my life.”
“Such an elegant virus,” Johnson murmured. “It’s our own creation. Ebola-Zaire bred with a synthetic virus. The one kills you, the other, re-animates you. Of course, there is very little thought left in your tiny reptilian brain at that point.”
Tess felt her body warm. The hunger died in her guts. She tried to spit the tube out of her mouth, but her body wouldn’t comply.
“We have conflicting reports coming out of Macomb now,” The reporter switched to another video, this one shot by someone in town. Helicopters flew low over head. Streaks of smoke came from the belly of the birds as rockets blasted targets. “The people who sent us this video say military helicopters opened fire on people trying to break the quarantine. Other reports say they fired on packs of zombies roaming town and eating people. Either way, we have confirmation of rocket strikes in the city of Macomb.”
“They won’t stop this with rockets,” Johnson said. “It’s like swatting a mosquito with a sledge hammer. Only way to stop it is to fumigate. Perhaps this administration has the guts to do that once. Maybe twice. After all, it took the Japanese Hiroshima and Nagasaki before they understood what they were dealing with.”
Tess took two last pulls on the tube, got nothing, and let it slide from her lips. She wanted to throw up, to vomit out the blood, but her stomach wouldn’t let her. She felt strength wash through her. She felt good. Like her system hummed with electricity. The tube brushed her shoulder as it fell. Dribbles of blood spotted the white cotton.
The camera switched to the reporter at the quarantine line. Gun crews blazed away as a pack of zombies chased a half-dozen people toward them. Bodies absorbed the bullets until they were cut in half, or disabled. Even on the ground dismembered, the corpses pulled themselves forward. The reporter screamed as she and her cameraman ran to their van. They dove inside, locked the doors, and continued to broadcast.
“She has guts, I’ll give her that,” Johnson said. “Oh, all finished?” She turned to Tess. “That wasn’t so bad was it? I’ll have them bring you another shirt.” Johnson bent produced a key. She unlocked the shackles on Tess’ legs. “I imagine you could use a change of panties too.”
The reporter stopped screaming as police and military troops dragged the people off her van. “We have noticed a lack of air traffic in the last three hours. Before that, we had military and police helicopters flying over most of the day. We don’t know what that means, but there have been no airplanes. . . .”
The screen went white. Static filled the airwaves. The anchor in the newsroom tried to get the connection back. Technicians scrambled to re-establish the feed. When that failed, they switched to another story. This one about a little girl, still missing from her Florida home.
“Ah, looks like the United States fumigated.” Johnson said. She turned, punched a button on the remote, and the door hissed open. “We’ll see if they need a Nagasaki.”
As the door closed, Tess could feel the pain at the back of her skull again. Her body went limp, and she nearly fell from the chair, but at least she had control again. The pounding on the wall stopped, as she ran to the bathroom to throw up. She produced nothing but dry heaves that lasted long minutes and left her ribs sore. By the time she wandered back into the main room, a fresh pair of panties and a shirt waited on the food tray. She changed without bothering to go into the other room. She just didn’t care.
An hour later, she lay on the bed, curled in a ball. The news was grim. Macomb, Illinois, no longer existed. It was ash. A tactical nuclear strike was ordered in Washington with no warning to people on the ground. They cut to a live feed from the Whitehouse. President Simmons was to speak.
He came on the air, red-eyed, haggard. He explained the virus was a biological attack by a group calling itself United States Taliban. The virus was lethal, but reanimated the bodies of those who died from the infection. Macomb was a rather isolated town, but he could not run the risk of the virus getting into a larger population, such as Chicago or St. Louis.
“Make no mistake. These terrorists hit us hard. They’ve made an impact, but we do not strike deals with terrorists. It was my decision to use nuclear force. It was the only option. In the meantime, the Center for Disease Control and Prevention is working on a cure for the infection. We hope to have a viable resolution to this disease in thirty days. We also have top people from every intelligence agency tracking these villains in order to prosecute them to the furthest extent of the law. Our troops are being called home to secure our borders while we deal with this threat. When more news becomes available, I will let you know what progress we make. Until then, good night, and God bless.”
The screen switched back to the news room so the talking heads could dissect what was said. Tess cried herself to sleep as she pulled on the chains that held her arms in place. Everyone she knew in Macomb, gone.
She woke with a small scream caught in her throat. Tess found she sat on the edge of her bed again. This time no chains rattled when she moved. Nothing kept her hand from probing the sore spot on back of her head.
“Good afternoon, Tess.” Johnson’s voice came from the speaker. “I assume you had a good nap?”
“No,” Tess mumbled. “Bad dreams. I hoped this was one.”
“Sadly, no. This is your home for the duration I’m afraid. However, I have made it more comfortable for you. The electronic restraints worked so well, we decided your physical ones could be removed.”
Tess rubbed the place where her neck joined her skull. “Hurts.”
“Yes, the micro implants are foreign to your nervous system, but they do work well. And I can make it hurt a lot worse, remember that too, before you decide to do something stupid.”
“What did you do to me, Doc? You at least owe me that.” Tess stood and walked to the window. “I’ve got nothing but a black hole in my memory for the last three years.”
“Let’s just say you are now a cross between Typhoid Mary and the Terminator. You’re our own sexy little vector. Much more effective than an explosive. A push of the button, you’ll do as you’re told. All these brilliant intelligence people will be looking for airborne viruses and such. They’ll never suspect a college co-ed.”
“You’re nuts. Someone will find you. My folks must be looking. I didn’t just drop off the face of the earth.”
“Your parents, Chrissi’s parents, my parents, and a few others buried their children three years ago when Clean Room Three exploded and burned in. . . how did they phrase it? ‘The worst conflagration in U of I’s history.’”
“You bitch,” Tess whispered. “I ought to kill you.”
Johnson held up the remote. “I don’t think so, dear.”
She punched a button. Pain streaked like lightning through Tess’ body. It started at the back of her head, wrapped around her face, and shot to her feet. She fell to the ground, legs pulled up to her midsection as her body jerked in a long spasm. After a minute, Johnson let her finger off the button.
“I’ll see you at dinner time, Tess.”
For the next two weeks, debate raged on over what actually happened in Macomb. Every pundit had an opinion. Some thought the government overstepped their boundaries in calling in a nuclear strike. Others argued that by cooking a smaller town, it kept the infection from getting out of control and spreading. What about the innocents? One side screamed. What about the rest of us? The other replied.
Doctors at the CDCP said they were hard at work on a cure, so that it couldn’t happen again. Tess knew they were full of shit. The people at the CDCP couldn’t find a vaccine for the flu in two weeks, let alone a hemorrhagic fever. She did remember enough of her doctorial studies to put a few things together in her head.
Johnson called her a vector. Therefore she carried the virus in her system. She was apparently immune to most of the effects, but it seemed to cause an anemia in her, thus the need for blood. The cure, if it could be found, was in her blood, or the blood of any child she might have.
The virus wasn’t airborne. Johnson had as much admitted that. Transfer must take place through body fluids.
She also realized that damned remote was tied into her neurological system. The micro-fibers must be attached to her nervous system somehow, and thus tied to her brain. Johnson had mentioned Terri when she had first woke up. Who was Terri? How far had they destroyed her?
Tess needed some way to burn off the hate and boredom. Calisthenics became her focus. It was slow going at first, but one hundred pushups burned away a lot of anger. One hundred sit-ups followed. Leg work, arm work, until tendons sang with exertion. Work until she collapsed, then start over. She focused on getting through another day with mind intact. Muscle hummed as it grew stronger, more toned than it had ever been.
She followed her routine, doctors followed theirs. According to the time in the corner of the TV, lights out at ten, lights on at six. Meals three times a day, blood once a week. Her period came and went, although it caused the hunger to ravage her, and she swallowed two pints of blood that week.
An hour after lights out, a lone security guard made his rounds. A young man named Dave, he was Tess’ only contact with the outside world. He kept her up-to-date on things other than what the news droned on about. It was fall. The holidays would be here soon. People would forget about the zombie outbreak. They would move on to other things. Tess hated to keep him in the dark, but he didn’t know anything about why she was there, and each night, he lingered a little longer.
Three weeks after the nuke strike, Johnson appeared at the window. “It looks as if the United States needs a Nagasaki, Tess. They have a week to come through and meet the demands of our employer.”
“What are you talking about, Doc? I thought it was you doing all this.”
“Oh no. My talent has been hired out. This started long before you came to work for me. I was tired of the University making millions off of my discoveries, and me getting another ten thousand added to my stipend for the year, if I were lucky. No, I’m quite self-sufficient now, but my employer is disappointed in the government’s response. It looks as if Terri will have a chance to go out next week.”
“Johnson, you’re nuts if you think I’m going to let you send me out there to infect another town.”
“Did I say it would be you?” She turned and walked away. “You may get a chance to meet your sister though,” Johnson said over her shoulder.
At the end of the week, Tess got her answer as to who Terri was. Johnson came to the window, and without a word, punched the button on the remote. Tess was at the full extension of a pushup, when her body locked into position. She held her place, as her muscles screamed, while Johnson came through the airlock.
“Should we see how long you can hold that pose, Dear?” Johnson threw a pair of pants, some shoes and a light sweatshirt on the bed. More clothes than Tess had seen in nearly a month. “Get dressed, we’re going out.”
Mechanically, Tess climbed to her feet. She pulled on the clothes that waited for her, and stood.
“Good girl. Now, this is going to be something of an old home week. For both of us.” Johnson said. “I’m going to drop Terri off at U of I to do her job.”
Tess screamed inside her head. She tried to make a sound. Tried to move a finger. Tried to do anything, but go no response. Johnson handed her a pair of sunglasses before they stepped from the room. The inside door opened, and they stepped into the antiseptic mist. For sixty seconds they waited as chemicals washed around them to kill any random bacteria or virus that clung to their clothes. For thirty seconds after the mist bath, forced ventilation sucked it away to be sterilized in a series of filters.
They walked into the hall. Tess wanted to run, to find an exit and rush out, but her body wouldn’t allow it. She heard a thud to her right, repeated.
“Ah, Chrissi wants to say goodbye to you,” Johnson said. They stepped briefly to the window. There, a young girl, probably no more than twenty one stood, face stuck to the glass, wild grin on her face. Her face, drawn and deeply lined gave her the look of an ancient woman. Eyes that were probably brown at one time, were covered in opaque cataracts. Tears ran through the filth of her face. Her blond hair hung to her shoulders in greasy strings. She banged her head against the glass again.
“Not feeding time, Chrissi,” Johnson said into the microphone.
“Go with,” Chrissi whimpered.
“Why would I let you out? You look like a freak. They’d shoot you on sight.”
Chrissi screamed, and ran back to the corner of her room. She wore a stained straight jacket, and nothing else. She curled herself in a corner and cried.
“Failure,” Johnson muttered. “Come, Tess. We have a long trip.”
They turned and walked away. Several doors lined the hall. Each a different laboratory. Some were DNA labs, some were viral studies. There was another dorm room, this one with the door open and empty. One of the last rooms they passed was the security office. From the corner of her eye, Tess saw a weapons locker full of shotguns and rifles. The man behind the desk wasn’t Dave, but he wore a uniform and pistol.
Johnson stepped to a steel door, placed her left thumb against a small box lit with a red light. After a brief pause, the box turned green, she pushed the door, and they walked out together.
They stood in an old barn. Hay littered the floor, old tools hung from the walls. Year’s worth of cobwebs filled spaces between the beams. The place smelled of mold and rot. As they walked through the barn, dust kicked up around their feet. It tickled Tess’ nose, and she sneezed.
Johnson immediately pulled a can of air sanitizer from her purse and sprayed.
“God, don’t do that. The virus isn’t airborne, but I don’t want to take a risk.”
They walked through another door, stepped between two buildings, and paused at another door with a red box. Again Johnson pressed her thumb to it, again the door opened. Inside the machine shed were several vehicles. They walked to a simple white box van. Johnson told Tess to climb in, as she slid into the driver’s seat.
“We’ll take the company truck for this trip.” Johnson turned the key, hit a button on the visor, and rolled through the door as it opened. Once clear, she hit the button again, and it closed.
The house they passed on the farm was a decrepit thing. Rotted roof, broken windows, vines out of control as they grew up the walls. The place was tucked back hard against a hill, and they drove several yards on an overgrown driveway to get to a paved road. They turned north, and from the corner of her eye, Tess could see a river. On her right tall hills rose nearly straight up.
“You can talk to me, Tess,” Johnson said.
Tess could feel a small buzz in her head. “I won’t do this. I won’t do what you want me too.” She struggled to move a finger, but got nothing.
“I know you won’t, but Terri will. You’ll meet her when we get to Champaign.” Johnson hit the radio button. Music filled the van.
For the first time in months she could remember, music. Something beside news. Air rushed outside the van. Not filtered and pumped in, but real air. The leaves were just starting to turn. Tipped with red and yellow, they blazed in the early morning sun. They drove past fields where the corn would be picked soon. Green leaves mixed in with a lot of brown. Cows grazed in pastures along the hills. Tess felt a tear trickle from the corner of her eye, and slide down her face.
Johnson noticed. “Glad to be out, eh? Sorry we can’t take these field trips more often, but you understand why.”
“Why’d you do that to Chrissi?”
“Do what?”
“Tear her apart like that. You should kill her or treat her.”
“If I kill her, I lose the research I can do on her. If I cure her, what do I do with her then? Let her loose? We no longer exist. We died. She’s not going to just go back to her life, become a doctor, get married and have babies. She can’t be turned loose, for the same reason you can’t. As for why I treat her the way I do, what does it matter? She’s totally insane. Her body’s desiccated, but won’t die. Her brain knows what’s wrong, and she can’t do anything about it.”
“I thought you were somebody worth learning from. Somebody that would make a difference in the world. You’re not. You’re just a money grubber who found a new way to blackmail anyone you want.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Fuck you.” Tess rode the rest of the way in silence.
In Champaign they pulled into a hotel parking lot. It was a midrange place. Nothing fancy, mostly business travelers passed though the doors. Johnson checked into the office, and came back with a room card. She drove around to the rear of the building, got out, and told Tess to join her.
They found the room. Being afternoon, there were few people in the building. Housekeeping mostly. A couple businessmen who checked in early. Johnson laid a suitcase on the bed, opened it to reveal clothes to young, and too small for her.
“Time to say goodnight, Tess. I’ll speak with you in the morning.”
“What do you. . . ?”
Johnson pointed the silver remote, and punched a series of buttons. Tess felt something. As if someone walked past her in an empty room, but she couldn’t tell who.
“Hiya, Carla,” Tess heard herself say. But it wasn’t her voice. It sounded younger somehow. The pitch was different. She tried to ask a question, but couldn’t say anything.
“Good afternoon, Terri. How have you been?”
“I’m fine, but I feel like I been cooped up for weeks.” Terri took in the room. “Where we at?”
Inside her head, Tess screamed. She realized now what Johnson meant when she said that she wouldn’t be dealing with her.
“We’re in Champaign. You feeling okay, Terri?”
“Feel great. Haven’t felt this good in a long time. Feel the need to get out an’ party though.” Terri looked around the room. “Kinda nice place. Big bed.”
Tess knew what this girl was thinking. She could feel the urges washing though her. The need. This girl wanted laid. She had to stop her. But how?
“You’re in luck, Terri. There’s a bunch of Halloween parties tonight.” Johnson laid out several fliers. They were printed on different colored paper, mostly in red, to celebrate the season. “I picked up some costumes as well. You can decide what to wear.”
“Cool,”
Terri leafed through the pile of fliers. She paused. A costume party at one of the sorority houses. Tess shouted in her head. Tried to make herself heard, but there was no reaction. It was as if she were locked back in her little sound proof cell at the lab. Tess recognized the sorority. It was the one she belonged to when she was on campus.
“This one looks interestin’. Think maybe I’ll go to it.” Terri said. She sorted through the costumes, and pulled out a thin, short, flame red dress with a matching pair of horns and a tail. Red fishnets were in the bottom of the case, a small pitchfork went with.
“Appropriate for you, Terri.” Johnson grinned. “You know the rules. Back in the room by morning. We’re not here for long, and I don’t want to have to come find you.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be here. If I’m lucky, there’ll be some more of us here.”
“I’m next door. Knock if you need anything.”
Terri waved dismissively as Johnson let the door close behind her. The sun was going down, and the party started in two hours. Terri stepped into the bathroom, and peeled off.
“God, these are ugly clothes. Where did I get them?” She stood in front of the mirror. “When did I get so ripped? And furry?” She ran her fingers through the tangle of her patch. “Man, I have work to do if I gonna be ready.”
Tess tried to make herself heard, but again got nothing. She was along for a ride in her own body. Terri collected the toiletry kit from the case, stepped back into the bathroom and started the shower. By the time she was done, everything had been washed, and all the body hair was gone.
Terri toweled off, turned on the fan, and began her final preps. She tweezed a few random hairs in her eyebrows which gave her face a much cleaner look. Tess watched from behind her own eyes as she transformed from a pretty girl, to someone who could be on the cover of a men’s magazine. It wasn’t that she let herself go, she just didn’t do the maintenance locked in a cell.
As she slid the fishnets up her legs, Terri hummed a little tune. Tess could catch emotions from this doppelganger. She was happy to be out. Not that Terri was aware of her status. Not aware that she was a shadow of someone else’s personality, but happy to be somewhere going to a party. She pulled the short red dress on over her head and stood back to admire herself in the mirror. Terri smiled, giggled, and started to work on her hair. Desire flowed through her mind. Thoughts of what she wanted tonight. Tess couldn’t read them but could feel what they were about.
“God, this girl’s a slut,” she thought.
Terri capped off her hair with the horns, tied on the tail. She called a cab and headed for the door, pitchfork in hand.
She climbed out of the car in front of the red brick sorority house. As Terri went up the short walk, Tess could feel the emotions well up inside. This was her home at one time. Her sisters were here. Her friends. And Terri was going to kill them.
Music throbbed from inside the house. Terri let herself in and was met by an Asian girl dressed as a cat.
“Hello, Pretty Kitty,” Terri said. “I hear there’s a party.”
“You heard right you sexy little devil. C’mon in.”
The girls stepped into the main room, where twenty or so people in costumes mingled. Most had already paired off, while there were small clusters of guys and girls standing off to the sides.
“I’m Jade, by the way,” The girl said. She held out her hand.
Terri took it, with a definite hunger in her eye. “I’m Terri. Pleased to meet you.”
They made the circuit, Jade doing the introductions. The two got a drink, then found a place to chat. Terri glanced up, and saw a picture with a plaque underneath.
“Tess Hanson,” she read aloud, “Who’s that?”
“That was one of our sorority sisters. She died in a fire when I was a freshman. She helped initiate me. Shame.”
“Yeah,” Terri agreed.
More girls came to talk. Soon Terri was in a circle of six sorority sisters as they compared notes on the frat brothers that were there. The party was going well. Jade slid a small tube from inside her costume. She spun off the lid, and poured some yellow and red pills into her hand.
“Little E?” She offered. “Break the ice. Take the edge off.”
Fingers snatched up ecstasy. The girls washed them down with sips from their drinks. The vial disappeared as Jade put it away. In short minutes, the buzz kicked in. They swayed to the music. Terri grabbed Jade by the tail and pulled.
“Hey,” Jade protested with a wide smile, “Don’t you know better than to pull a cat’s tail?” She backed up a step and found herself wrapped in Terri’s arms.
Terri placed a soft kiss on the nape of Jade’s neck. She nuzzled her way up to her ear. “Sorry, Pussy Cat,” She whispered. “Didn’t mean to hurt.” She brushed Jade’s ponytail out of the way, and kissed the back of her neck. Her hands stroked the soft material of the costume.
“Mmmmm. You gonna kiss it and make it better?”
“Yes.”
Jade turned in Terri’s arms. “So don’t tease, prove it.” She smiled.
Tess screamed inside her head. She gazed into this beautiful girl’s eyes. Trusting. Happy. Tess knew what would happen. Terri kissed her. Long, deep. Tongues dueled. Lips slid together, bodies crushed against one another. Tess could feel shivers run through her body. She fought. She protested. She didn’t like girls, but god, this felt good. Isolated for so long. Not able to touch, and now, such an intimate touch. Hands slid over bodies. Tracing curves, exploring.
Jade broke away. “Naughty girl, you’re not wearing undies.”
Terri smiled down at her. “Neither are you.”
Jade faked a deep sigh, shrugged her shoulders. “I guess we’re both naughty.” She pulled Terri down to her, and their lips met again.
The rest of the night they spent entangled, one way or another. They were not out of one another’s sight. They stood and chatted, arms around each other’s waist. At some point, Jade’s sometime boyfriend joined them. Nice looking guy, in a blond, Midwestern way. He talked to Jade, but his blue eyes followed every curve of Terri’s body.
As the party wound up, talk became harder without having to scream. Jade led the way upstairs to her room. Terri played with her tail as it swayed in front of her. In turn, Mike, Jade’s boyfriend, slid his hand under Terri’s skirt. In the room, the door locked behind them. The girls fell together as they were able to explore more. Downstairs, the party thumped away. Terri pulled Jade’s costume over her head. She stood, wearing nothing but cat ears and black pantyhose. They kissed deep as Mike pulled Terri’s costume off. The girls pressed together.
No words were spoken as Terri backed Jade to the bed and laid her down. She kissed her way down Jade’s body as the girl wriggled under the attention. Mike tried to push in, Terri pushed him back.
“She’s mine tonight. You get to watch us, but you can have me.” Terri slid her thumbnail through the crotch of Jade’s pantyhose, and yanked. The nylon came apart, and gave her what she wanted. She felt a tug as Mike gave her the same treatment. She heard a condom opened, and he slid inside. After that, it was slick tongues, hot bodies, and gasping climax. The three tangled together for more than an hour.
When they were spent, heaving for breath piled close together in Jade’s tiny bed, Terri slid out.
“Leaving? So soon?” Jade mumbled
“I have to go.” Terri said.
“Stay. Spend the night.” Jade propped herself up on one elbow.
Terri pulled on Mike’s shirt. “I can’t, Pretty Kitty, but I had a great time.” She leaned over to kiss her lover goodnight. Jade snuggled into Mike’s arms as Terri let herself out.
On the curb, she flagged down a taxi that took her back to the hotel. She let herself in with the card key, and collapsed on the bed.
Tess retreated into a dark corner of the cell in her mind. She wasn’t even aware Terri was asleep. Until Johnson opened the door in the morning. Sunlight streamed through the curtains.
“You fucking bitch!” Tess rolled out of the bed.
“Whoa,” Johnson chuckled. “Good morning, Tess.” She pointed the remote as Tess took a step forward. Her body locked in place. “I guess when one sleeps, the other can be awake. That’s easily solved.”
Johnson punched a few buttons, and Tess felt the small buzz as Terri was put back into her bottle.
“You fucking homicidal cunt! I just killed two kids last night.”
“Yes. You actually killed a lot more than that, but that will take time.”
“I ought to kill you.”
“This is getting old.” Johnson punched another button. “Tess, go shower, get dressed and come out here. We’re leaving in a half hour.”
Without a word, Tess spun and did as she was told.
“Leave the clothes you’re wearing. Just put on what you had yesterday.”
In a half hour, they were in the van, headed north. They made the trip in silence. Within three hours, Tess was in her room at the lab. Her pants were gone, she was down to her lab-rat uniform of tee shirt, panties and socks. The announcer on TV gave the latest news, but she sat on the bed, back to the window, knees pulled around her chest.
Two days passed. She hadn’t spoken to anyone but Dave. The blood hunger grew. She needed her fix. Morning of the third day, she woke to Chrissi’s thumps. When they stopped, she knew the girl had what she wanted. Johnson appeared in her window next. The food slot opened, and there was a pint bag of red life on the tray. Her stomach growled with need. Pavlov’s dog. That’s what she felt like as she gathered it.
Tess wanted to refuse, but couldn’t. She wanted to live long enough to make these people pay. She snatched up the blood bag, marked “Mississippi River Blood Center,” bit the tube off half-way. She spit it on the floor, and proceeded to suck it dry. Finished, she slammed the bag against the glass in front of Johnson’s face.
“You always watch me you sick bitch. Why?”
“Scientific interest.”
“Bullshit. I’m surprised you didn’t come along and watch me with Jade and her boyfriend the other night. Just what did you get out of that anyway?”
“Another ten million dollars in my tax free account in Switzerland.”
“Just doing it for the money?”
“Yes. I have no political goals. Although I chose U of I for personal reasons.”
“Great. How did you create Terri? Is she a chip or what?”
Johnson chuckled. “Silly girl. Freud could write an entire dissertation on you. Terri is nothing more than your own Id. The more repressed you are, the wilder your Id because you never let yourself have a good time. I let your Id out and gave her a name. Terri is simply you off the leash.”
“So, to let her out?”
Johnson held up the remote. “I just change channels.” Johnson turned to walk away. “I got tired of Terri whining all the time when she wasn’t given her way, so I changed the channel back to you. Remember that.” She was gone.
Tess started her pushups again. She thought she might have a way out. Devious and deadly, but it might be the only way she could ever hope to put a stop to this thing. She had found something under her skin. It was a small lump no bigger than a grain of rice at the base of her skull. Slightly below that was a flat disc. Apparently one was a battery, the other was a chip. There had to be a receiver wire mixed in with her hair somewhere, but she wasn’t going to pluck every strand to find it. No, she had to disable the chip and hope it wasn’t wired into their computer system.
She stayed in the bathroom one day, away from the camera. She sat, towel clamped in her mouth as she fished for the little grain of rice that controlled her. Tess didn’t know what would happen. Didn’t know it she would set off alarms. Didn’t know if it would kill her, but she had to stop being controlled by these people. She finally had the thing pinched between the nails of her thumb and index finger.
She dared not move, as she took one last deep breath. Tess ground down on the towel, closed her eyes, and pinched the chip in two. Pain flashed through her body as she bit into the terry cloth. She held back the scream in her throat, and ground the thing a little harder. More pain, and a little whimper escaped, but nothing more. The pain subsided, and she slumped into a pile on the floor. No one came. She waited. Five minutes. Ten. No one showed up in her room with restraints. No one. She almost laughed. The feeling of freedom was overwhelming. Her mind was free, now to get free from this prison.
Terri made an appearance. She rose to the surface a few minutes after the chip was disabled. It was difficult, at first to keep themselves sorted out. They were after all, part of the same woman. Then as Terri began to understand what had been done to Tess, and where they were now, she started to think along the same lines. Within days, the differences between them blurred to the point where they were the same person again.
The fifth day home, Tess worked on her second set of leg lifts. Her morning rotation of five hundred was past, now she was half-way through her afternoon workout. A panicked newscaster broke her attention.
“. . . reports of a nuclear detonation over the city of Champaign, Illinois. Home of the University of Illinois. The reports are unconfirmed, but we just got word that President Simmons is requesting an emergency press conference. We take you now. . . .”
Before the talking head could finish her sentence, the President was on the air. Simmons sat in the oval office, grim faced. His notes were spread on the desk in front of him. He again told the American people that he had ordered a nuclear strike against a town. He had received a confirmed report from the CDCP of another outbreak of the zombie virus. He would take no chances with the rest of the country.
This time, the entire state of Illinois was under quarantine. Troops were mobilized and several units were already in place. Borders would be locked down by regular troops, state police and US Marshals. He had called up the Army and Marine Reserves in the five border states, as well as to federalized the National Guard of each of those five states. Shallow water boats of the Coast Guard and Navy would patrol the Mississippi and Ohio Rivers. Anyone attempting to break the quarantine would be shot. Marshall Law was instated, for the safety of the citizens of the United States, and would be in effect for the next 30 days.
“They’re already in negotiations with my employers.” Johnson’s canned voice made Tess jump. She hadn’t realized anyone else was there.
She turned. Johnson watched the screen, the images reflected on her glasses. Tess felt rage build up in her. Hatred. For a brief moment, she wondered if it were her, or Terri pushing this adrenaline button, as she had never felt this deeply before. She decided she didn’t care. She swallowed, took a breath.
“Lot of good your Swiss account will do you now. You can’t leave the state.”
“Oh, I’ll just wait out the quarantine. Americans have short memories. If they settle with my employer, there will be no other outbreaks, the quarantine will be lifted, and we can move on.”
“Move on?”
“Silly girl. After certain groups saw the weapon we had, we became quite popular. We’re in high demand right now.”
Tess swallowed her rage. She turned her back on Johnson. After a few minutes, she realized she was alone. She had to get out. Her plan had to go into action. Tonight.
At eleven o’clock, Dave would make his first round. He lingered longer each night, and came back more often. True, she had been stringing him along, but if circumstances were different, she still would have found him attractive. It made it that much harder to think about her plans.
Ten o’clock, the lights went out. Tess assumed that the medical and research staff left well before then, and only a small detail of security was there. Dave told her that he held down the night shift with one other guy, and he sat and read magazines all night.
She peeled off her clothes, showered and shaved and waited for Dave to come by. She was nervous, scared. This was the only way out though, possibly the only way to find a cure. There was now a CDCP research lab at Northwestern University in Chicago. Her baby would hold the cure for this plague. Of course, she needed to get pregnant. Dave could help with that. From there, it was a gamble.
Dave walked to the window, and laid a hand against it. Tess stepped out of the shadows, naked. She laid her hand against his through the glass. He drew a breath.
“Make love to me,” Tess said.
“Tess, I-I can’t. I’m not allowed in there with you.”
She knew he was in the dark as to why she and Chrissi were locked up. He was paid a lot to provide security and not ask questions.
“Please, Baby. I need you. It’s been so long since anyone’s held me. Don’t make me beg.”
“I-I,” Dave backed away from the window. “I have to fix the camera.”
Tess waited inside the door. He was gone forever. What if she had misjudged? What is he was calling Johnson right now? What if. . . ?
No, he was back. The outside door opened. She counted. At ninety the inside door hissed open. Dave stepped in, smelling slightly of chemicals. She stepped to him, ran her hands against his chest, and wrapped him in a hug. He held her tight. For long moments, they pressed together. Dave ran his fingertips down her naked back, and she shivered.
“Come here,” Tess pulled his face down to place a lingering kiss. His lips were just right. Not soft like a girl’s. He’d shaved too. While he didn’t have a lot of stubble, his face was rough enough. A man’s face. She wished she were smoother, but the electric razor didn’t get everything.
Dave gently picked her up, and walked across the spartan room with her in his arms. Softly he lay her on the bed. He peeled his own clothes off, and hung them on her chair. Tess flipped the sheet up, and he slid underneath with her.
They came together. Bodies entwined. He kissed his way down her neck to her shoulders. Nothing was said. Their need for one another was beyond anything that could be said. Dave slid his hands down her body, rolled on his back, and pulled Tess on top. She pushed herself down on him with a gasp. She smiled kisses all across his face and neck. As they ground together, she nipped her way along his shoulders. With her climax, she clawed red furrows in his chest. His followed, with deep fingerprints in her rear as he held her down on top of him.
Sated, they lay together under the damp sheet.
“You’ll come see me tomorrow too?” Tess asked.
“Yes,” Dave said. “But if I get caught, I’ll get fired.”
“We won’t get caught.”
For a few minutes they lay together, she wrapped in his arms, face buried in his chest. She tried to hold back the tears, but they came anyway.
He gently stroked her hair. “Why are you crying?”
“It’s been so long,”
He kissed the top of her head. “I have to go, before they miss me.”
Dave slid out from under the covers, and slowly pulled on his clothes. He kissed her goodbye before he left. Tess held on to his hand as he slipped away. She curled up under the sheet and cried herself to sleep.
The next two nights, Dave came to visit. Their time was passionate, urgent. He said he would try to get her out. Asked her why she was here. She wouldn’t tell him. Couldn’t tell him. Each time he left with a promise to see her the next night. But on the fourth night, he said he didn’t feel good and didn’t want to give her anything, so they talked with the glass between them. The fifth night, he didn’t come in to work. Someone else walked his rounds. Someone who didn’t talk to her. Just looked in the window. Tapped on the glass with his nightstick and walked on, like she was some exotic creature in the zoo to be teased by a bratty kid with an ice cream cone.
For four more nights, it was the new guy. No one said anything to her, but Tess knew. Dave was sick. Somewhere out there, he was dieing, or dead. His corpse feeding on anyone it could get hold of. Maybe not, Terri whispered. Maybe he was one of the few that would survive the ebola. Maybe. But then Tess heard the gunshot.
The sound echoed through the building like a muffled sonic boom. Her father had taken her hunting enough she knew what a shotgun blast sounded like. Another shot came, followed by two smaller pops. Tess could hear no screams, but the soundproofing took care of that. A third shot reached her ears, closer now, followed by the short crack.
Tess waited behind her window. She could see a few feet in either direction down the hall. Thuds came from next door, and she knew Chrissi heard the sounds too. Johnson walked toward her, long black shotgun in hand. The butt of the gun folded over. Johnson stopped in front of Tess’ window, her white lab coat spattered in blood from close range shots. Tess backed away until she was in the center of the room.
For long moments, Johnson stood as she wheezed for breath.
“We’re symptomatic out here,” She rasped out at last.
“I’m fine in here, thank you.”
“. . . fucking cunt. How did it get out?”
Tess smiled. “Let me guess, you didn’t inoculate anyone.”
“There is no inoculation, damnit. Ebola isn’t something you want in your bloodstream. You don’t live long enough to develop an immunity.”
“Guess you shouldn’t have been fuckin’ around with it then, eh, Johnson?”
Johnson’s chest heaved as she coughed a red mist into the air. “You bitch, how did it get out?”
Tess bit down a sob. “Same way I got pregnant.”
“You lie.”
Tess shook her head. “No period.”
“Dave. Damn. Men and their dicks. Always looking for a warm hole.” Johnson held up the remote. Tess felt a small tingle on the back of her head, but nothing else. No paralysis. “You stand right there, Tess. I’m going to eliminate my creation personally.”
Johnson stepped away from the window, and into the airlock. Tess knew she had ninety seconds, and started the count. As she sprinted to the bathroom, she skinned off one of her sweat socks. At the count of forty five, she snatched a new bar of soap from her shower, and slid it in the sock. At sixty, she wrapped the top around her hand one loop as she waited in front of the door. The bar was in her hand, tucked behind her back. At ninety, the inner door hissed open.
Johnson took a step inside, as she muttered something about lost research. She glanced up. “Tess? What are you doing over here?”
Tess looked up at Johnson from under her eyebrows, a slow smile peeled back over her perfectly white teeth. “Hiya, Carla.” She said.
“Terri?” Johnson whispered.
“Maybe.” Tess dropped the soap to the end of the sock. It dangled against the back of her leg.
“That’s not pos. . .”
Tess let out a roar and lunged. The movement caught Johnson off guard. Before she could get the shotgun barrel around, Tess swung her soap. With a wet thud, the improvised black-jack smacked Johnson in the temple. Her glasses flew from her face as she staggered back. Tess caught her on the back-swing, knocked a tooth loose from her jaw. With her left hand, she grabbed the shotgun barrel and yanked up. Johnson pulled back, and the gun ripped a blast into the ceiling. Recoil flipped the muzzle backwards, and it hammered into Johnson’s nose. She staggered, her nose spurting blood. Tess yanked the gun from her hand, and flung it across the room.
With her weight, Tess drove the Doctor to the floor. She ripped the pistol from Johnson’s pants, and flung it over to join the shotgun. One punch, two. One more, and Johnson went limp. She rolled the doctor over on her back, put one knee on her neck, the other on the small of her back, and peeled off her shirt.
With quick motions, she tore the shirt to strips, bound Johnson hand and foot. Tess gathered the shotgun, checked make sure it was loaded. She skinned off the other sock, stuffed it into Johnson’s mouth. The remote was in a pocket of the lab coat. She hoped it was a simple one. Johnson growled around the sock as Tess punched a button. She had watched a few times, and had an idea which one opened the door. On the second try, the door opened, and Tess stepped into the airlock.
As the door wheezed open on the other end, Tess waited long moments. Three years, conscious or not, she had been caged. Only with escort had she been let out. She eased out the door, gun at the ready. To the left, nothing. To the right, someone in white scrubs lay dead in a pool of blood. Chest blown out from the shotgun, small hole and a pile of brains from the pistol. She stepped far around the body.
As she slid past the room that had been empty before, someone slapped their face against the glass. Three people milled around inside. They shouted at her to let them out.
A vicious smile split her face as Terri reared up in her mind. “Why should I do that?” Tess asked.
“We’re cramped in here. We’re sick. We need treatment.”
Tess shrugged. “Give it a few days, and I bet there’s only one of you. Then you’ll have plenty of room.” She walked on.
At the security desk, were two more corpses, shot through like the first. One sat in a chair, the other slumped over the main desk. At least Johnson knew how to fix it so they wouldn’t roam around dead. The gun cabinet was unlocked. She found a box of buckshot, and stuffed the gun full again. A search of other drawers found the shackles she had first woken up to. A slow smile split her face as she gathered the gear up.
Back in her room, Johnson had rolled, but not gotten untied. With deft moves, she wrapped her mentor into the locks. She yanked the gag out of the doctor’s mouth.
“You can’t do this. You can’t go out. They’re infected out there.”
“Can it, Carla. I’m infected too, so ask me if I give a shit. The news says the CDCP set up shop at Northwestern, so I think a road trip’s in order.”
Tess peeled Johnson’s clothes off, and threw them in a pile near the door. “Just like I woke up.” She grabbed a handful of Johnson’s hair as she stood. Johnson squealed and backpedaled to follow. Tess pulled a length of cable out of the wall from the reel, and padlocked it to the shackles around Johnson’s waist.
Johnson struggled to her feet. She tried to take a step, and Tess pushed her back, shoulders to the wall. “You can’t do this. You can’t leave me in here, I’ll die.”
Tess leaned in, within a whisper. “Yes I can.” She turned Johnson’s head to the side, pinned to the wall. “You won’t die. I want them to come back and find you. At least what’s left of you by then.” She leaned in further, just a breath away, she paused. A wide smile split her face. A soft kiss on Johnson’s neck, as the doctor trembled. Another. Then Tess took a mouthful of skin into her mouth, and bit.
Johnson screamed. She squirmed to get away, as Tess clamped down harder. Humans have the teeth of omnivores, so it takes some doing to rip holes in flesh. Tess ground more, and blood squirted from the wound. It ran down Johnson’s chest as Tess bit and tore. A chuck of skin came free, as Johnson screamed. She tried to put a hand to the wound, but the chains wouldn’t let her. Tess stepped back as she chewed.
“That was good. Almost orgasmic.” The blood ran warm down her throat. “Much better fresh from the cow. I’ll have to try Johnson tar-tar more often.”
“You crazy bitch!”
“Where have I heard that before?” Tess collected the pistol, shotgun and clothes from the room. “Oh yeah, I remember now.” She stepped into the airlock. The clothes she left. Putting on something of Johnson’s made her skin crawl. The guns went with her.
In the hall, thumps came again from Chrissi’s room. What to do with her? She stepped in front of the window.
“Outoutout!” Chrissi danced around the room, crazy laugh cackled from her lips. “Outoutout!” She shouted again. She stopped her dance, ran to the window. “Take me.”
Pity, revulsion, anger. It all mixed together in Tess’ head. The last thing she wanted was to have Chrissi go chomping her way across the countryside. Even less if Chrissi was going to chomp her. Still, she didn’t want to leave the girl here.
Tess hit the intercom button. “Chrissi?”
“What?” The girl paced around the room, face down, mumbling.
“I know you want to go with, but I don’t know if I can trust you.”
“Hungry,” Chrissi said. “Blood.”
Tess backed away. Blood. That might do the trick. She started a search of the small complex. She found scrubs in a linen closet, and pulled a set of blue ones on. She pulled another set for Chrissi, and tucked them under her arm. A surgical room was located, as was a small kitchen and locker room. At last she found the lab that contained much of the DNA work.
Tucked in a back corner was a stainless steel cooler. Tess opened the door to find at least fifty pint bags. All labeled with the same sticker. She took one out, bit the end off the tube, and sucked it down. Cold, it wasn’t much, but it was what she needed. Strength flowed. She gathered up three before she headed for Chrissi’s room.
“Test subject three” was printed above the slot of Chrissi’s room. Tess slid the blood bags through the food slot.
“Chrissi, how do you open. . . ?”
She tore a bag from the tray with her teeth, picked up the tube in her mouth, bit the end off, and started to suck it dry. Tess went to find keys for the locks on the straight jacket, and find keys for the van outside in the barn.
At the security desk, a pegboard was hung with labeled keys. Test Subject Three had a small ring with a padlock key on it. She found an ignition key for the van as well. The gun cabinet was unlocked, and she pulled a case of shotgun shells from inside. These she dragged to the door. She pulled an M-4 rifle from the rack, along with several magazines and a battle pack of ammo for it. Pistol supplies next. These she stacked by the door as well. From around a guard’s neck, she pulled his identification badge. She slid it through the slot on the red box next to the door. It opened. Good, she didn’t need a thumb-print.
For the next ten minutes, she loaded the van. Guns, ammo, and a backpack with twenty bags of blood went. Finished, she went back to Chrissi’s room. The girl sat, back to the wall, empty blood bags scattered across the floor. She stared at the empty room.
“Chrissi?”
“Thought you left me.”
“No. You feel better?”
“Best I’ve felt in a long time. Why three? Johnson only gives me one.”
“Johnson said your body was desiccated. That you were a failed experiment. I wondered if more blood would help.”
Chrissi turned her head to the glass. “It did. I feel like a tick on a dog’s ear.”
Tess looked the girl over carefully. Color had come back into her face. The lines that made her look shriveled filled out. Her eyes, while not clear, at least no longer had such a wild look.
“I take you with, you gonna hurt me?”
“Don’t know. I’ll try not to.” Chrissi grinned a mouth full of yellow teeth, stained with red streaks.
Tess took a deep breath, hit the button on the wall, and stepped into the airlock. The keys she held in one hand, pistol in the other. On the other side, her eyes began to water as the smell assaulted her senses. The room was as stained and smeared with filth as the girl was. Chrissi tried to stand, slipped. Tess caught her, helped her to her feet. The straightjacket was white at one time. Now, it was smeared with all matter of things. Tess turned the girl around. She shoved the barrel of the pistol into the greasy, blond hair.
“You do anything stupid, this ends here and you never see sunlight.”
“Okayokay.” Chrissi smiled.
Tess slid the key into one padlock. With a twist, it popped open. She did the same with three more straps. Chrissi pulled, the jacket came off, and hurled it to the floor. Naked, she stomped on the thing, laughing and crying at once.
“Go now?”
“Not quite yet.” Tess led the way to the locker room. Inside, she handed Chrissi a set of green scrubs. “Go shower. I’m not going anywhere with you smelling like that.”
“I stink?” Chrissi raised her arm, took a whiff of hairy pit and smiled. “Phew.” She laughed and dashed into a shower stall.
Long minutes later, she stepped out. Skin pink, clean. Her eyes were almost clear. Tess could see the brown under the slight grey cataract. Her hair, while wet, didn’t look greasy. Her body was smooth.
“Look, no more furzy,” Chrissi giggled as she spun around. She jumped into the scrubs before they left the room. “How long?” She asked as they stepped into the hall.
“How long?”
Chrissi waved her arms around her. “How long?”
“Oh. How long in here.”
“Yeahyeah.”
“I remember two thousand five. Now it’s two thousand eight.”
“Long time.” Chrissi stared at the floor.
“Yeah. Long enough.”
They walked past their old rooms. Chrissi’s stood with the door open. Stench rolled out to fill the hall. Both coughed at the smell. Chrissi glanced into Tess’ room. Johnson kicked against the shackles on her legs. She tried to reach them, but her hands couldn’t go far. She glanced up, noticed the two in the window, and started to shout.
“Her neck?” Chrissi asked. Blood ran down her naked body until it coagulated on her belly and around the heavy leather belt.
Tess grinned. “She a little bland. Some spice would go a long way.”
Chrissi giggled as they walked away.
In the barn, they stood beside the van. Tess held up some handcuffs and a shackle chain.
“Kinky,” Chrissi said.
“Maybe later,” Tess said. “I don’t know how your system works. I don’t want you going zombie on me and trying to take a nibble while I’m driving. Wear ‘em or walk.”
Chrissi paused for a moment. Emotions raced across her face. When Tess thought she was about to walk out of the barn, she held her arms up. Tess snapped them in place, and opened the middle door. Chrissi climbed in. Tess locked the trailing end of the chain to the seat frame, slid the door closed.
In the driver’s seat, she rolled the engine over before she handed back a pair of sunglasses. “For your eyes. You haven’t been out in awhile.” She slid her own into place.
Chrissi grinned as Tess hit the button. With a jerk, the door opened.
“It’s a hundred and seventy miles to Chicago. We’ve got a full tank of gas, a bunch of loaded guns, a backpack full of blood. It’s sunny out, and I’m wearing sunglasses.”
Chrissi cackled as she rocked in her seat. “Love that movie.” She said. “Hit it!”
Tess dropped the van into gear, and they rolled into the light.
Test Subject
“Tess,”
The voice came to her. It wormed its way through her scattershot dreams.
“Tess,”
The voice came again. She dreamed. A dance floor in a laboratory room, which didn’t make sense, but she enjoyed it. Music throbbed. People gyrated. She was there to have fun. She didn’t want this voice to tell her otherwise.
“Tess,”
“Go ‘way.”
“Time to wake up, Tess.”
“Don’ wanna,” She tried to get away from the voice and go back to her party, but something rattled. She tried to move, and the rattle was accompanied by something cold against her belly. She shook her head to get rid of cobwebs, and opened an eye.
A chain winked back at her. The thing attached her arm to a belt around her waist. A cable led from the belt across the floor to a hole in the wall the size of a quarter, sealed with a rubber gasket. Tess tried to lift a hand to rub her head. Her temples throbbed like a tiny construction worker was trying to dig his way out of her skull. Her arm stopped at shoulder level. The cuff on her wrist held. She lifted her other arm, with the same result.
“…the fuck is this?” She mumbled. She pulled again. Her arms could go no further up than shoulder level, no lower than below her knees. More chain chinked, and she looked at her feet. Her ankles were shackled together. Like a prisoner on a chain-gang, she would have only enough room to walk.
She sat, folded in half on the edge of a bed in a tiny white room. It wasn’t her dorm room. She recognized nothing. Tess tried to stand, and fell flat on her face. Millions of needles raced from her hips to her feet.
“…the fuck is going on? Who are you people? Where the fuck am I?”
“It seems you and Terri share the same vocabulary at least.” The voice had a canned quality. Almost as if the person were talking through. . . .
Tess saw the speaker under the window now. The face beyond it must have been the one that woke her up.
“Professor Johnson?”
“Ah, good. You recognize me. You’ve answered that question. We wondered how much of Tess would be left.”
She could feel the cold tile against her bare legs. Her belly shivered as the cold seeped through her tee shirt. Tess pushed herself to her feet.
“What’s going on here, Professor Johnson?”
A television clicked on behind her. Mounted to the wall opposite the window, it was the only non-white item in the room. A news channel burst onto the screen. Its commentator droned on about the stock market.
“Let’s just say you are now part of a history bigger than yourself.” Johnson said as she pushed the glasses back up on her nose.
Tess stumbled upright. The tingling died away. She could feel the cold tiles under her feet. “I don’t understand. I. . . Why am I black?” She held her hands in front of her, turning them over to look at the pink palms. Her legs, her belly, her arms. All the skin she could see was now dark brown. She felt her chest. “Why are my boobs so big? Doctor Johnson, what the fuck is going on?”
“One of your ancestors apparently was black. We simply allowed your body to express that heritage. As for your chest, it now fits the rest of you. Plus, we don’t want anyone to recognize you in the future. Now, we’ve made quite a sum of money with the advances we’ve made with you.” Johnson turned to leave. “Feel free to explore your room. I think you’ll have enough slack in the reel to reach the areas you need.”
“Doctor. Don’t go.” Tess rushed to the window. “Let me out of here, Doctor. Tell me what’s going on.” Johnson continued her walk down the hall. Tess couldn’t hear anything beyond her room. Just the news behind her. “Doctor, please!” She banged the glass, but it didn’t even shudder.
Tess stood at the window a moment. Tears flowed down her face. She was scared. She had no recollection of what happened. Why she was here. She remembered working in Doctor Johnson’s lab. She was a grad student working on DNA sequencing at the University of Illinois. This room wasn’t at U of I.
She turned back to the TV monitor. So many thoughts swirled through her head. She had to sit down. The news anchor droned on. Tess looked at the date in the corner of the screen. Oct 15, 2008. Had to be wrong. It was only 2005. Sometime in the spring. That’s what she remembered. She was a senior. Going to graduate and go into med school. But, other things reared up in her mind. Injections. Restraints. A cluster of people in masks and lab coats talking about the test subject.
Tess tried to rub her temple as all these thoughts bounced around her head, found her arms wouldn’t reach with the cuffs on, and bent down. For short minutes she sat there trying to make sense of it. Bile ran up the back of her throat. She choked it down the first time, as she leapt to her feet. The cable gave her enough slack to shuffle quickly to the door-less bathroom and vomit.
Her mouth still felt sticky as she ran a cool washcloth over her face. The girl in the mirror was unfamiliar. The blue eyes were hers, but the mocha skin and long kinky black hair weren’t. She moved in for a closer look, and the face with the full lips did the same. The lips peeled back to show the perfect teeth that braces her dad had paid years for straightened. It was strange not to know your face.
“. . . outbreak at Western Illinois University of what seems to be a hemorrhagic fever. We go live now to the scene.”
Tess stepped back into her bedroom. The news cast switched to a live remote in Macomb. A reporter stood in front of a squad car parked sideways in the road, one of many that could be seen as they tried to enforce a quarantine. She explained how this outbreak was rumored to be an Ebola virus strain. Several students were hospitalized with bleeding from the eyes, ears, and mouth. It was also rumored that at least one student had already died. More news as it developed.
The screen turned back to the newsroom. Another anchor was there to drone on about the stock market. Tess tried to change channels, but couldn’t reach the buttons. She gave up, sat on the bed, and gave in to tears. She had friends at WIU. Maybe. If the date was correct, she had no idea what was going on.
Two days she sat in her room. The only person to talk to her was Doctor Johnson. Someone would come past three times a day, and slide food to her through a hermetically sealed slot under the window. The door gave a little asthmatic sigh each time her food appeared. Nobody had been in the room to see her, or to tell her anything else. No one removed her restraints. There was a sink. She could wash. She couldn’t shower. The shower and stool were around the corner. Out of sight from the window, and there was no camera in the bathroom like in the other room.
On her third morning of awareness, she woke to thumping on the wall opposite her bed. Slow. Monotonous. Like someone trying to take down the wall with a sledge hammer. Tess also realized she was ravenous. She could eat a horse. Raw. She was hungry yesterday, but figured it was just boredom. Now, she wanted someone to throw her a bloody steak and leave.
Doctor Johnson appeared at the window. The pounding stopped next door.
“Good morning, Tess. Ready for breakfast?”
The slot wheezed open. On the tray rested a pint bag of blood. Tess lifted it. It was warm. Her hands shook as she stared at it. Her mind screamed at her to rip it open. To pour it down her throat. She had to choke down the saliva that filled her mouth.
“What the hell is this? A sick joke?” Tess whispered.
“No. It is what you need. What you crave. I can see by your reaction what you want to do with it. Follow your instinct.”
Tess looked up at Johnson on the other side of the glass. Her mentor Her captor. “You crazy bitch. Have you lost your mind?”
“I didn’t want it to come to this, Tess. I really didn’t. I thought you were smarter than Chrissi.”
“Who?”
“That failure next to you. The one beating her head against the wall. Oh well. We can do this the hard way.” Johnson lifted a small silver box, and pushed a button.
Pain buzzed at the back of Tess’ head. Pain followed by paralysis. Her body went rigid. The warm bag dropped from her fingers. She stared straight at the window.
“Tess,” Johnson’s voice came over the speaker. “I want you to go and sit on the chair facing the television.”
Tess felt her body turn, walk to the chair, and sit down. The TV came on as she fought to make her body move. Move a leg. Move a hand. Hell, move a finger. But nothing worked. It was like her mind was disconnected from anything that controlled her.
She sat, and was aware of the news. Horrible news now came from Macomb. The reporter stood behind quarantine lines. In front of patrol cars, bodies laid in piles. Tanks and other military vehicles supported the troopers.
“. . . first hand accounts of something from a zombie movie. Bodies of the dead seem to re-animate after death and begin to devour those left alive.”
The door wheezed open behind her. She could smell the antiseptic in the air as it followed Johnson. A yellow gloved hand appeared in her peripheral vision. The hand held the end of the tube of the blood bag.
“Open.” Johnson said. Her voice was muffled.
Tess realized she must be speaking through a respirator. Her mouth popped open in compliance. She felt the tube hit her tongue.
“Now, drink until it’s all gone.”
Tess took a pull on the tube. She could taste the latex at first, nothing else. She tried to will herself to stop, but nothing happened. Her mouth continued to suck until she got her first taste of blood. It washed into her mouth thick and warm. There was a rich taste to it, almost like liquid meat, underlined with a tint of copper. She tried to keep from swallowing, but had no luck at that either as the first gob slid down her throat.
“Good girl.” Johnson walked around in front of her holding the blood bag. The woman was dressed in a yellow hazmat suit. The kind they wore at level four biohazard institutions. Self contained air. Heavy rubber, thick gloves, enclosed face shield. “After our failure with Chrissi next door there, we couldn’t risk losing another investment. We decided not to give you the option of not getting your blood intake. Chrissi wouldn’t drink voluntarily, the virus nearly killed her. Now, she’s pretty much worthless to our goals, but her blood has proven to hold some. . . interesting characteristics. She is, however, quite insane.”
More blood washed down Tess’ throat. Johnson turned to watch the news. A reporter and camera man were trapped in a lab with four surviving students.
“. . . we ran into Simkins Hall when a group of students tried to attack us.” The reporter, young, male, huddled in a corner under a third floor window. The students did the same in a small cluster beside him. “For now I think we’re safe. The doors are steel with reinforced frames and deadbolts. The students tell me that they are set up like this to keep lab equipment from being stolen. Outside it’s like a scene from a bad horror movie. That’s the only thing I can relate it to. We saw packs of people appearing to attack and eat anyone they came across. I can’t go into details, but the images will haunt me the rest of my life.”
“Such an elegant virus,” Johnson murmured. “It’s our own creation. Ebola-Zaire bred with a synthetic virus. The one kills you, the other, re-animates you. Of course, there is very little thought left in your tiny reptilian brain at that point.”
Tess felt her body warm. The hunger died in her guts. She tried to spit the tube out of her mouth, but her body wouldn’t comply.
“We have conflicting reports coming out of Macomb now,” The reporter switched to another video, this one shot by someone in town. Helicopters flew low over head. Streaks of smoke came from the belly of the birds as rockets blasted targets. “The people who sent us this video say military helicopters opened fire on people trying to break the quarantine. Other reports say they fired on packs of zombies roaming town and eating people. Either way, we have confirmation of rocket strikes in the city of Macomb.”
“They won’t stop this with rockets,” Johnson said. “It’s like swatting a mosquito with a sledge hammer. Only way to stop it is to fumigate. Perhaps this administration has the guts to do that once. Maybe twice. After all, it took the Japanese Hiroshima and Nagasaki before they understood what they were dealing with.”
Tess took two last pulls on the tube, got nothing, and let it slide from her lips. She wanted to throw up, to vomit out the blood, but her stomach wouldn’t let her. She felt strength wash through her. She felt good. Like her system hummed with electricity. The tube brushed her shoulder as it fell. Dribbles of blood spotted the white cotton.
The camera switched to the reporter at the quarantine line. Gun crews blazed away as a pack of zombies chased a half-dozen people toward them. Bodies absorbed the bullets until they were cut in half, or disabled. Even on the ground dismembered, the corpses pulled themselves forward. The reporter screamed as she and her cameraman ran to their van. They dove inside, locked the doors, and continued to broadcast.
“She has guts, I’ll give her that,” Johnson said. “Oh, all finished?” She turned to Tess. “That wasn’t so bad was it? I’ll have them bring you another shirt.” Johnson bent produced a key. She unlocked the shackles on Tess’ legs. “I imagine you could use a change of panties too.”
The reporter stopped screaming as police and military troops dragged the people off her van. “We have noticed a lack of air traffic in the last three hours. Before that, we had military and police helicopters flying over most of the day. We don’t know what that means, but there have been no airplanes. . . .”
The screen went white. Static filled the airwaves. The anchor in the newsroom tried to get the connection back. Technicians scrambled to re-establish the feed. When that failed, they switched to another story. This one about a little girl, still missing from her Florida home.
“Ah, looks like the United States fumigated.” Johnson said. She turned, punched a button on the remote, and the door hissed open. “We’ll see if they need a Nagasaki.”
As the door closed, Tess could feel the pain at the back of her skull again. Her body went limp, and she nearly fell from the chair, but at least she had control again. The pounding on the wall stopped, as she ran to the bathroom to throw up. She produced nothing but dry heaves that lasted long minutes and left her ribs sore. By the time she wandered back into the main room, a fresh pair of panties and a shirt waited on the food tray. She changed without bothering to go into the other room. She just didn’t care.
An hour later, she lay on the bed, curled in a ball. The news was grim. Macomb, Illinois, no longer existed. It was ash. A tactical nuclear strike was ordered in Washington with no warning to people on the ground. They cut to a live feed from the Whitehouse. President Simmons was to speak.
He came on the air, red-eyed, haggard. He explained the virus was a biological attack by a group calling itself United States Taliban. The virus was lethal, but reanimated the bodies of those who died from the infection. Macomb was a rather isolated town, but he could not run the risk of the virus getting into a larger population, such as Chicago or St. Louis.
“Make no mistake. These terrorists hit us hard. They’ve made an impact, but we do not strike deals with terrorists. It was my decision to use nuclear force. It was the only option. In the meantime, the Center for Disease Control and Prevention is working on a cure for the infection. We hope to have a viable resolution to this disease in thirty days. We also have top people from every intelligence agency tracking these villains in order to prosecute them to the furthest extent of the law. Our troops are being called home to secure our borders while we deal with this threat. When more news becomes available, I will let you know what progress we make. Until then, good night, and God bless.”
The screen switched back to the news room so the talking heads could dissect what was said. Tess cried herself to sleep as she pulled on the chains that held her arms in place. Everyone she knew in Macomb, gone.
She woke with a small scream caught in her throat. Tess found she sat on the edge of her bed again. This time no chains rattled when she moved. Nothing kept her hand from probing the sore spot on back of her head.
“Good afternoon, Tess.” Johnson’s voice came from the speaker. “I assume you had a good nap?”
“No,” Tess mumbled. “Bad dreams. I hoped this was one.”
“Sadly, no. This is your home for the duration I’m afraid. However, I have made it more comfortable for you. The electronic restraints worked so well, we decided your physical ones could be removed.”
Tess rubbed the place where her neck joined her skull. “Hurts.”
“Yes, the micro implants are foreign to your nervous system, but they do work well. And I can make it hurt a lot worse, remember that too, before you decide to do something stupid.”
“What did you do to me, Doc? You at least owe me that.” Tess stood and walked to the window. “I’ve got nothing but a black hole in my memory for the last three years.”
“Let’s just say you are now a cross between Typhoid Mary and the Terminator. You’re our own sexy little vector. Much more effective than an explosive. A push of the button, you’ll do as you’re told. All these brilliant intelligence people will be looking for airborne viruses and such. They’ll never suspect a college co-ed.”
“You’re nuts. Someone will find you. My folks must be looking. I didn’t just drop off the face of the earth.”
“Your parents, Chrissi’s parents, my parents, and a few others buried their children three years ago when Clean Room Three exploded and burned in. . . how did they phrase it? ‘The worst conflagration in U of I’s history.’”
“You bitch,” Tess whispered. “I ought to kill you.”
Johnson held up the remote. “I don’t think so, dear.”
She punched a button. Pain streaked like lightning through Tess’ body. It started at the back of her head, wrapped around her face, and shot to her feet. She fell to the ground, legs pulled up to her midsection as her body jerked in a long spasm. After a minute, Johnson let her finger off the button.
“I’ll see you at dinner time, Tess.”
For the next two weeks, debate raged on over what actually happened in Macomb. Every pundit had an opinion. Some thought the government overstepped their boundaries in calling in a nuclear strike. Others argued that by cooking a smaller town, it kept the infection from getting out of control and spreading. What about the innocents? One side screamed. What about the rest of us? The other replied.
Doctors at the CDCP said they were hard at work on a cure, so that it couldn’t happen again. Tess knew they were full of shit. The people at the CDCP couldn’t find a vaccine for the flu in two weeks, let alone a hemorrhagic fever. She did remember enough of her doctorial studies to put a few things together in her head.
Johnson called her a vector. Therefore she carried the virus in her system. She was apparently immune to most of the effects, but it seemed to cause an anemia in her, thus the need for blood. The cure, if it could be found, was in her blood, or the blood of any child she might have.
The virus wasn’t airborne. Johnson had as much admitted that. Transfer must take place through body fluids.
She also realized that damned remote was tied into her neurological system. The micro-fibers must be attached to her nervous system somehow, and thus tied to her brain. Johnson had mentioned Terri when she had first woke up. Who was Terri? How far had they destroyed her?
Tess needed some way to burn off the hate and boredom. Calisthenics became her focus. It was slow going at first, but one hundred pushups burned away a lot of anger. One hundred sit-ups followed. Leg work, arm work, until tendons sang with exertion. Work until she collapsed, then start over. She focused on getting through another day with mind intact. Muscle hummed as it grew stronger, more toned than it had ever been.
She followed her routine, doctors followed theirs. According to the time in the corner of the TV, lights out at ten, lights on at six. Meals three times a day, blood once a week. Her period came and went, although it caused the hunger to ravage her, and she swallowed two pints of blood that week.
An hour after lights out, a lone security guard made his rounds. A young man named Dave, he was Tess’ only contact with the outside world. He kept her up-to-date on things other than what the news droned on about. It was fall. The holidays would be here soon. People would forget about the zombie outbreak. They would move on to other things. Tess hated to keep him in the dark, but he didn’t know anything about why she was there, and each night, he lingered a little longer.
Three weeks after the nuke strike, Johnson appeared at the window. “It looks as if the United States needs a Nagasaki, Tess. They have a week to come through and meet the demands of our employer.”
“What are you talking about, Doc? I thought it was you doing all this.”
“Oh no. My talent has been hired out. This started long before you came to work for me. I was tired of the University making millions off of my discoveries, and me getting another ten thousand added to my stipend for the year, if I were lucky. No, I’m quite self-sufficient now, but my employer is disappointed in the government’s response. It looks as if Terri will have a chance to go out next week.”
“Johnson, you’re nuts if you think I’m going to let you send me out there to infect another town.”
“Did I say it would be you?” She turned and walked away. “You may get a chance to meet your sister though,” Johnson said over her shoulder.
At the end of the week, Tess got her answer as to who Terri was. Johnson came to the window, and without a word, punched the button on the remote. Tess was at the full extension of a pushup, when her body locked into position. She held her place, as her muscles screamed, while Johnson came through the airlock.
“Should we see how long you can hold that pose, Dear?” Johnson threw a pair of pants, some shoes and a light sweatshirt on the bed. More clothes than Tess had seen in nearly a month. “Get dressed, we’re going out.”
Mechanically, Tess climbed to her feet. She pulled on the clothes that waited for her, and stood.
“Good girl. Now, this is going to be something of an old home week. For both of us.” Johnson said. “I’m going to drop Terri off at U of I to do her job.”
Tess screamed inside her head. She tried to make a sound. Tried to move a finger. Tried to do anything, but go no response. Johnson handed her a pair of sunglasses before they stepped from the room. The inside door opened, and they stepped into the antiseptic mist. For sixty seconds they waited as chemicals washed around them to kill any random bacteria or virus that clung to their clothes. For thirty seconds after the mist bath, forced ventilation sucked it away to be sterilized in a series of filters.
They walked into the hall. Tess wanted to run, to find an exit and rush out, but her body wouldn’t allow it. She heard a thud to her right, repeated.
“Ah, Chrissi wants to say goodbye to you,” Johnson said. They stepped briefly to the window. There, a young girl, probably no more than twenty one stood, face stuck to the glass, wild grin on her face. Her face, drawn and deeply lined gave her the look of an ancient woman. Eyes that were probably brown at one time, were covered in opaque cataracts. Tears ran through the filth of her face. Her blond hair hung to her shoulders in greasy strings. She banged her head against the glass again.
“Not feeding time, Chrissi,” Johnson said into the microphone.
“Go with,” Chrissi whimpered.
“Why would I let you out? You look like a freak. They’d shoot you on sight.”
Chrissi screamed, and ran back to the corner of her room. She wore a stained straight jacket, and nothing else. She curled herself in a corner and cried.
“Failure,” Johnson muttered. “Come, Tess. We have a long trip.”
They turned and walked away. Several doors lined the hall. Each a different laboratory. Some were DNA labs, some were viral studies. There was another dorm room, this one with the door open and empty. One of the last rooms they passed was the security office. From the corner of her eye, Tess saw a weapons locker full of shotguns and rifles. The man behind the desk wasn’t Dave, but he wore a uniform and pistol.
Johnson stepped to a steel door, placed her left thumb against a small box lit with a red light. After a brief pause, the box turned green, she pushed the door, and they walked out together.
They stood in an old barn. Hay littered the floor, old tools hung from the walls. Year’s worth of cobwebs filled spaces between the beams. The place smelled of mold and rot. As they walked through the barn, dust kicked up around their feet. It tickled Tess’ nose, and she sneezed.
Johnson immediately pulled a can of air sanitizer from her purse and sprayed.
“God, don’t do that. The virus isn’t airborne, but I don’t want to take a risk.”
They walked through another door, stepped between two buildings, and paused at another door with a red box. Again Johnson pressed her thumb to it, again the door opened. Inside the machine shed were several vehicles. They walked to a simple white box van. Johnson told Tess to climb in, as she slid into the driver’s seat.
“We’ll take the company truck for this trip.” Johnson turned the key, hit a button on the visor, and rolled through the door as it opened. Once clear, she hit the button again, and it closed.
The house they passed on the farm was a decrepit thing. Rotted roof, broken windows, vines out of control as they grew up the walls. The place was tucked back hard against a hill, and they drove several yards on an overgrown driveway to get to a paved road. They turned north, and from the corner of her eye, Tess could see a river. On her right tall hills rose nearly straight up.
“You can talk to me, Tess,” Johnson said.
Tess could feel a small buzz in her head. “I won’t do this. I won’t do what you want me too.” She struggled to move a finger, but got nothing.
“I know you won’t, but Terri will. You’ll meet her when we get to Champaign.” Johnson hit the radio button. Music filled the van.
For the first time in months she could remember, music. Something beside news. Air rushed outside the van. Not filtered and pumped in, but real air. The leaves were just starting to turn. Tipped with red and yellow, they blazed in the early morning sun. They drove past fields where the corn would be picked soon. Green leaves mixed in with a lot of brown. Cows grazed in pastures along the hills. Tess felt a tear trickle from the corner of her eye, and slide down her face.
Johnson noticed. “Glad to be out, eh? Sorry we can’t take these field trips more often, but you understand why.”
“Why’d you do that to Chrissi?”
“Do what?”
“Tear her apart like that. You should kill her or treat her.”
“If I kill her, I lose the research I can do on her. If I cure her, what do I do with her then? Let her loose? We no longer exist. We died. She’s not going to just go back to her life, become a doctor, get married and have babies. She can’t be turned loose, for the same reason you can’t. As for why I treat her the way I do, what does it matter? She’s totally insane. Her body’s desiccated, but won’t die. Her brain knows what’s wrong, and she can’t do anything about it.”
“I thought you were somebody worth learning from. Somebody that would make a difference in the world. You’re not. You’re just a money grubber who found a new way to blackmail anyone you want.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Fuck you.” Tess rode the rest of the way in silence.
In Champaign they pulled into a hotel parking lot. It was a midrange place. Nothing fancy, mostly business travelers passed though the doors. Johnson checked into the office, and came back with a room card. She drove around to the rear of the building, got out, and told Tess to join her.
They found the room. Being afternoon, there were few people in the building. Housekeeping mostly. A couple businessmen who checked in early. Johnson laid a suitcase on the bed, opened it to reveal clothes to young, and too small for her.
“Time to say goodnight, Tess. I’ll speak with you in the morning.”
“What do you. . . ?”
Johnson pointed the silver remote, and punched a series of buttons. Tess felt something. As if someone walked past her in an empty room, but she couldn’t tell who.
“Hiya, Carla,” Tess heard herself say. But it wasn’t her voice. It sounded younger somehow. The pitch was different. She tried to ask a question, but couldn’t say anything.
“Good afternoon, Terri. How have you been?”
“I’m fine, but I feel like I been cooped up for weeks.” Terri took in the room. “Where we at?”
Inside her head, Tess screamed. She realized now what Johnson meant when she said that she wouldn’t be dealing with her.
“We’re in Champaign. You feeling okay, Terri?”
“Feel great. Haven’t felt this good in a long time. Feel the need to get out an’ party though.” Terri looked around the room. “Kinda nice place. Big bed.”
Tess knew what this girl was thinking. She could feel the urges washing though her. The need. This girl wanted laid. She had to stop her. But how?
“You’re in luck, Terri. There’s a bunch of Halloween parties tonight.” Johnson laid out several fliers. They were printed on different colored paper, mostly in red, to celebrate the season. “I picked up some costumes as well. You can decide what to wear.”
“Cool,”
Terri leafed through the pile of fliers. She paused. A costume party at one of the sorority houses. Tess shouted in her head. Tried to make herself heard, but there was no reaction. It was as if she were locked back in her little sound proof cell at the lab. Tess recognized the sorority. It was the one she belonged to when she was on campus.
“This one looks interestin’. Think maybe I’ll go to it.” Terri said. She sorted through the costumes, and pulled out a thin, short, flame red dress with a matching pair of horns and a tail. Red fishnets were in the bottom of the case, a small pitchfork went with.
“Appropriate for you, Terri.” Johnson grinned. “You know the rules. Back in the room by morning. We’re not here for long, and I don’t want to have to come find you.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be here. If I’m lucky, there’ll be some more of us here.”
“I’m next door. Knock if you need anything.”
Terri waved dismissively as Johnson let the door close behind her. The sun was going down, and the party started in two hours. Terri stepped into the bathroom, and peeled off.
“God, these are ugly clothes. Where did I get them?” She stood in front of the mirror. “When did I get so ripped? And furry?” She ran her fingers through the tangle of her patch. “Man, I have work to do if I gonna be ready.”
Tess tried to make herself heard, but again got nothing. She was along for a ride in her own body. Terri collected the toiletry kit from the case, stepped back into the bathroom and started the shower. By the time she was done, everything had been washed, and all the body hair was gone.
Terri toweled off, turned on the fan, and began her final preps. She tweezed a few random hairs in her eyebrows which gave her face a much cleaner look. Tess watched from behind her own eyes as she transformed from a pretty girl, to someone who could be on the cover of a men’s magazine. It wasn’t that she let herself go, she just didn’t do the maintenance locked in a cell.
As she slid the fishnets up her legs, Terri hummed a little tune. Tess could catch emotions from this doppelganger. She was happy to be out. Not that Terri was aware of her status. Not aware that she was a shadow of someone else’s personality, but happy to be somewhere going to a party. She pulled the short red dress on over her head and stood back to admire herself in the mirror. Terri smiled, giggled, and started to work on her hair. Desire flowed through her mind. Thoughts of what she wanted tonight. Tess couldn’t read them but could feel what they were about.
“God, this girl’s a slut,” she thought.
Terri capped off her hair with the horns, tied on the tail. She called a cab and headed for the door, pitchfork in hand.
She climbed out of the car in front of the red brick sorority house. As Terri went up the short walk, Tess could feel the emotions well up inside. This was her home at one time. Her sisters were here. Her friends. And Terri was going to kill them.
Music throbbed from inside the house. Terri let herself in and was met by an Asian girl dressed as a cat.
“Hello, Pretty Kitty,” Terri said. “I hear there’s a party.”
“You heard right you sexy little devil. C’mon in.”
The girls stepped into the main room, where twenty or so people in costumes mingled. Most had already paired off, while there were small clusters of guys and girls standing off to the sides.
“I’m Jade, by the way,” The girl said. She held out her hand.
Terri took it, with a definite hunger in her eye. “I’m Terri. Pleased to meet you.”
They made the circuit, Jade doing the introductions. The two got a drink, then found a place to chat. Terri glanced up, and saw a picture with a plaque underneath.
“Tess Hanson,” she read aloud, “Who’s that?”
“That was one of our sorority sisters. She died in a fire when I was a freshman. She helped initiate me. Shame.”
“Yeah,” Terri agreed.
More girls came to talk. Soon Terri was in a circle of six sorority sisters as they compared notes on the frat brothers that were there. The party was going well. Jade slid a small tube from inside her costume. She spun off the lid, and poured some yellow and red pills into her hand.
“Little E?” She offered. “Break the ice. Take the edge off.”
Fingers snatched up ecstasy. The girls washed them down with sips from their drinks. The vial disappeared as Jade put it away. In short minutes, the buzz kicked in. They swayed to the music. Terri grabbed Jade by the tail and pulled.
“Hey,” Jade protested with a wide smile, “Don’t you know better than to pull a cat’s tail?” She backed up a step and found herself wrapped in Terri’s arms.
Terri placed a soft kiss on the nape of Jade’s neck. She nuzzled her way up to her ear. “Sorry, Pussy Cat,” She whispered. “Didn’t mean to hurt.” She brushed Jade’s ponytail out of the way, and kissed the back of her neck. Her hands stroked the soft material of the costume.
“Mmmmm. You gonna kiss it and make it better?”
“Yes.”
Jade turned in Terri’s arms. “So don’t tease, prove it.” She smiled.
Tess screamed inside her head. She gazed into this beautiful girl’s eyes. Trusting. Happy. Tess knew what would happen. Terri kissed her. Long, deep. Tongues dueled. Lips slid together, bodies crushed against one another. Tess could feel shivers run through her body. She fought. She protested. She didn’t like girls, but god, this felt good. Isolated for so long. Not able to touch, and now, such an intimate touch. Hands slid over bodies. Tracing curves, exploring.
Jade broke away. “Naughty girl, you’re not wearing undies.”
Terri smiled down at her. “Neither are you.”
Jade faked a deep sigh, shrugged her shoulders. “I guess we’re both naughty.” She pulled Terri down to her, and their lips met again.
The rest of the night they spent entangled, one way or another. They were not out of one another’s sight. They stood and chatted, arms around each other’s waist. At some point, Jade’s sometime boyfriend joined them. Nice looking guy, in a blond, Midwestern way. He talked to Jade, but his blue eyes followed every curve of Terri’s body.
As the party wound up, talk became harder without having to scream. Jade led the way upstairs to her room. Terri played with her tail as it swayed in front of her. In turn, Mike, Jade’s boyfriend, slid his hand under Terri’s skirt. In the room, the door locked behind them. The girls fell together as they were able to explore more. Downstairs, the party thumped away. Terri pulled Jade’s costume over her head. She stood, wearing nothing but cat ears and black pantyhose. They kissed deep as Mike pulled Terri’s costume off. The girls pressed together.
No words were spoken as Terri backed Jade to the bed and laid her down. She kissed her way down Jade’s body as the girl wriggled under the attention. Mike tried to push in, Terri pushed him back.
“She’s mine tonight. You get to watch us, but you can have me.” Terri slid her thumbnail through the crotch of Jade’s pantyhose, and yanked. The nylon came apart, and gave her what she wanted. She felt a tug as Mike gave her the same treatment. She heard a condom opened, and he slid inside. After that, it was slick tongues, hot bodies, and gasping climax. The three tangled together for more than an hour.
When they were spent, heaving for breath piled close together in Jade’s tiny bed, Terri slid out.
“Leaving? So soon?” Jade mumbled
“I have to go.” Terri said.
“Stay. Spend the night.” Jade propped herself up on one elbow.
Terri pulled on Mike’s shirt. “I can’t, Pretty Kitty, but I had a great time.” She leaned over to kiss her lover goodnight. Jade snuggled into Mike’s arms as Terri let herself out.
On the curb, she flagged down a taxi that took her back to the hotel. She let herself in with the card key, and collapsed on the bed.
Tess retreated into a dark corner of the cell in her mind. She wasn’t even aware Terri was asleep. Until Johnson opened the door in the morning. Sunlight streamed through the curtains.
“You fucking bitch!” Tess rolled out of the bed.
“Whoa,” Johnson chuckled. “Good morning, Tess.” She pointed the remote as Tess took a step forward. Her body locked in place. “I guess when one sleeps, the other can be awake. That’s easily solved.”
Johnson punched a few buttons, and Tess felt the small buzz as Terri was put back into her bottle.
“You fucking homicidal cunt! I just killed two kids last night.”
“Yes. You actually killed a lot more than that, but that will take time.”
“I ought to kill you.”
“This is getting old.” Johnson punched another button. “Tess, go shower, get dressed and come out here. We’re leaving in a half hour.”
Without a word, Tess spun and did as she was told.
“Leave the clothes you’re wearing. Just put on what you had yesterday.”
In a half hour, they were in the van, headed north. They made the trip in silence. Within three hours, Tess was in her room at the lab. Her pants were gone, she was down to her lab-rat uniform of tee shirt, panties and socks. The announcer on TV gave the latest news, but she sat on the bed, back to the window, knees pulled around her chest.
Two days passed. She hadn’t spoken to anyone but Dave. The blood hunger grew. She needed her fix. Morning of the third day, she woke to Chrissi’s thumps. When they stopped, she knew the girl had what she wanted. Johnson appeared in her window next. The food slot opened, and there was a pint bag of red life on the tray. Her stomach growled with need. Pavlov’s dog. That’s what she felt like as she gathered it.
Tess wanted to refuse, but couldn’t. She wanted to live long enough to make these people pay. She snatched up the blood bag, marked “Mississippi River Blood Center,” bit the tube off half-way. She spit it on the floor, and proceeded to suck it dry. Finished, she slammed the bag against the glass in front of Johnson’s face.
“You always watch me you sick bitch. Why?”
“Scientific interest.”
“Bullshit. I’m surprised you didn’t come along and watch me with Jade and her boyfriend the other night. Just what did you get out of that anyway?”
“Another ten million dollars in my tax free account in Switzerland.”
“Just doing it for the money?”
“Yes. I have no political goals. Although I chose U of I for personal reasons.”
“Great. How did you create Terri? Is she a chip or what?”
Johnson chuckled. “Silly girl. Freud could write an entire dissertation on you. Terri is nothing more than your own Id. The more repressed you are, the wilder your Id because you never let yourself have a good time. I let your Id out and gave her a name. Terri is simply you off the leash.”
“So, to let her out?”
Johnson held up the remote. “I just change channels.” Johnson turned to walk away. “I got tired of Terri whining all the time when she wasn’t given her way, so I changed the channel back to you. Remember that.” She was gone.
Tess started her pushups again. She thought she might have a way out. Devious and deadly, but it might be the only way she could ever hope to put a stop to this thing. She had found something under her skin. It was a small lump no bigger than a grain of rice at the base of her skull. Slightly below that was a flat disc. Apparently one was a battery, the other was a chip. There had to be a receiver wire mixed in with her hair somewhere, but she wasn’t going to pluck every strand to find it. No, she had to disable the chip and hope it wasn’t wired into their computer system.
She stayed in the bathroom one day, away from the camera. She sat, towel clamped in her mouth as she fished for the little grain of rice that controlled her. Tess didn’t know what would happen. Didn’t know it she would set off alarms. Didn’t know if it would kill her, but she had to stop being controlled by these people. She finally had the thing pinched between the nails of her thumb and index finger.
She dared not move, as she took one last deep breath. Tess ground down on the towel, closed her eyes, and pinched the chip in two. Pain flashed through her body as she bit into the terry cloth. She held back the scream in her throat, and ground the thing a little harder. More pain, and a little whimper escaped, but nothing more. The pain subsided, and she slumped into a pile on the floor. No one came. She waited. Five minutes. Ten. No one showed up in her room with restraints. No one. She almost laughed. The feeling of freedom was overwhelming. Her mind was free, now to get free from this prison.
Terri made an appearance. She rose to the surface a few minutes after the chip was disabled. It was difficult, at first to keep themselves sorted out. They were after all, part of the same woman. Then as Terri began to understand what had been done to Tess, and where they were now, she started to think along the same lines. Within days, the differences between them blurred to the point where they were the same person again.
The fifth day home, Tess worked on her second set of leg lifts. Her morning rotation of five hundred was past, now she was half-way through her afternoon workout. A panicked newscaster broke her attention.
“. . . reports of a nuclear detonation over the city of Champaign, Illinois. Home of the University of Illinois. The reports are unconfirmed, but we just got word that President Simmons is requesting an emergency press conference. We take you now. . . .”
Before the talking head could finish her sentence, the President was on the air. Simmons sat in the oval office, grim faced. His notes were spread on the desk in front of him. He again told the American people that he had ordered a nuclear strike against a town. He had received a confirmed report from the CDCP of another outbreak of the zombie virus. He would take no chances with the rest of the country.
This time, the entire state of Illinois was under quarantine. Troops were mobilized and several units were already in place. Borders would be locked down by regular troops, state police and US Marshals. He had called up the Army and Marine Reserves in the five border states, as well as to federalized the National Guard of each of those five states. Shallow water boats of the Coast Guard and Navy would patrol the Mississippi and Ohio Rivers. Anyone attempting to break the quarantine would be shot. Marshall Law was instated, for the safety of the citizens of the United States, and would be in effect for the next 30 days.
“They’re already in negotiations with my employers.” Johnson’s canned voice made Tess jump. She hadn’t realized anyone else was there.
She turned. Johnson watched the screen, the images reflected on her glasses. Tess felt rage build up in her. Hatred. For a brief moment, she wondered if it were her, or Terri pushing this adrenaline button, as she had never felt this deeply before. She decided she didn’t care. She swallowed, took a breath.
“Lot of good your Swiss account will do you now. You can’t leave the state.”
“Oh, I’ll just wait out the quarantine. Americans have short memories. If they settle with my employer, there will be no other outbreaks, the quarantine will be lifted, and we can move on.”
“Move on?”
“Silly girl. After certain groups saw the weapon we had, we became quite popular. We’re in high demand right now.”
Tess swallowed her rage. She turned her back on Johnson. After a few minutes, she realized she was alone. She had to get out. Her plan had to go into action. Tonight.
At eleven o’clock, Dave would make his first round. He lingered longer each night, and came back more often. True, she had been stringing him along, but if circumstances were different, she still would have found him attractive. It made it that much harder to think about her plans.
Ten o’clock, the lights went out. Tess assumed that the medical and research staff left well before then, and only a small detail of security was there. Dave told her that he held down the night shift with one other guy, and he sat and read magazines all night.
She peeled off her clothes, showered and shaved and waited for Dave to come by. She was nervous, scared. This was the only way out though, possibly the only way to find a cure. There was now a CDCP research lab at Northwestern University in Chicago. Her baby would hold the cure for this plague. Of course, she needed to get pregnant. Dave could help with that. From there, it was a gamble.
Dave walked to the window, and laid a hand against it. Tess stepped out of the shadows, naked. She laid her hand against his through the glass. He drew a breath.
“Make love to me,” Tess said.
“Tess, I-I can’t. I’m not allowed in there with you.”
She knew he was in the dark as to why she and Chrissi were locked up. He was paid a lot to provide security and not ask questions.
“Please, Baby. I need you. It’s been so long since anyone’s held me. Don’t make me beg.”
“I-I,” Dave backed away from the window. “I have to fix the camera.”
Tess waited inside the door. He was gone forever. What if she had misjudged? What is he was calling Johnson right now? What if. . . ?
No, he was back. The outside door opened. She counted. At ninety the inside door hissed open. Dave stepped in, smelling slightly of chemicals. She stepped to him, ran her hands against his chest, and wrapped him in a hug. He held her tight. For long moments, they pressed together. Dave ran his fingertips down her naked back, and she shivered.
“Come here,” Tess pulled his face down to place a lingering kiss. His lips were just right. Not soft like a girl’s. He’d shaved too. While he didn’t have a lot of stubble, his face was rough enough. A man’s face. She wished she were smoother, but the electric razor didn’t get everything.
Dave gently picked her up, and walked across the spartan room with her in his arms. Softly he lay her on the bed. He peeled his own clothes off, and hung them on her chair. Tess flipped the sheet up, and he slid underneath with her.
They came together. Bodies entwined. He kissed his way down her neck to her shoulders. Nothing was said. Their need for one another was beyond anything that could be said. Dave slid his hands down her body, rolled on his back, and pulled Tess on top. She pushed herself down on him with a gasp. She smiled kisses all across his face and neck. As they ground together, she nipped her way along his shoulders. With her climax, she clawed red furrows in his chest. His followed, with deep fingerprints in her rear as he held her down on top of him.
Sated, they lay together under the damp sheet.
“You’ll come see me tomorrow too?” Tess asked.
“Yes,” Dave said. “But if I get caught, I’ll get fired.”
“We won’t get caught.”
For a few minutes they lay together, she wrapped in his arms, face buried in his chest. She tried to hold back the tears, but they came anyway.
He gently stroked her hair. “Why are you crying?”
“It’s been so long,”
He kissed the top of her head. “I have to go, before they miss me.”
Dave slid out from under the covers, and slowly pulled on his clothes. He kissed her goodbye before he left. Tess held on to his hand as he slipped away. She curled up under the sheet and cried herself to sleep.
The next two nights, Dave came to visit. Their time was passionate, urgent. He said he would try to get her out. Asked her why she was here. She wouldn’t tell him. Couldn’t tell him. Each time he left with a promise to see her the next night. But on the fourth night, he said he didn’t feel good and didn’t want to give her anything, so they talked with the glass between them. The fifth night, he didn’t come in to work. Someone else walked his rounds. Someone who didn’t talk to her. Just looked in the window. Tapped on the glass with his nightstick and walked on, like she was some exotic creature in the zoo to be teased by a bratty kid with an ice cream cone.
For four more nights, it was the new guy. No one said anything to her, but Tess knew. Dave was sick. Somewhere out there, he was dieing, or dead. His corpse feeding on anyone it could get hold of. Maybe not, Terri whispered. Maybe he was one of the few that would survive the ebola. Maybe. But then Tess heard the gunshot.
The sound echoed through the building like a muffled sonic boom. Her father had taken her hunting enough she knew what a shotgun blast sounded like. Another shot came, followed by two smaller pops. Tess could hear no screams, but the soundproofing took care of that. A third shot reached her ears, closer now, followed by the short crack.
Tess waited behind her window. She could see a few feet in either direction down the hall. Thuds came from next door, and she knew Chrissi heard the sounds too. Johnson walked toward her, long black shotgun in hand. The butt of the gun folded over. Johnson stopped in front of Tess’ window, her white lab coat spattered in blood from close range shots. Tess backed away until she was in the center of the room.
For long moments, Johnson stood as she wheezed for breath.
“We’re symptomatic out here,” She rasped out at last.
“I’m fine in here, thank you.”
“. . . fucking cunt. How did it get out?”
Tess smiled. “Let me guess, you didn’t inoculate anyone.”
“There is no inoculation, damnit. Ebola isn’t something you want in your bloodstream. You don’t live long enough to develop an immunity.”
“Guess you shouldn’t have been fuckin’ around with it then, eh, Johnson?”
Johnson’s chest heaved as she coughed a red mist into the air. “You bitch, how did it get out?”
Tess bit down a sob. “Same way I got pregnant.”
“You lie.”
Tess shook her head. “No period.”
“Dave. Damn. Men and their dicks. Always looking for a warm hole.” Johnson held up the remote. Tess felt a small tingle on the back of her head, but nothing else. No paralysis. “You stand right there, Tess. I’m going to eliminate my creation personally.”
Johnson stepped away from the window, and into the airlock. Tess knew she had ninety seconds, and started the count. As she sprinted to the bathroom, she skinned off one of her sweat socks. At the count of forty five, she snatched a new bar of soap from her shower, and slid it in the sock. At sixty, she wrapped the top around her hand one loop as she waited in front of the door. The bar was in her hand, tucked behind her back. At ninety, the inner door hissed open.
Johnson took a step inside, as she muttered something about lost research. She glanced up. “Tess? What are you doing over here?”
Tess looked up at Johnson from under her eyebrows, a slow smile peeled back over her perfectly white teeth. “Hiya, Carla.” She said.
“Terri?” Johnson whispered.
“Maybe.” Tess dropped the soap to the end of the sock. It dangled against the back of her leg.
“That’s not pos. . .”
Tess let out a roar and lunged. The movement caught Johnson off guard. Before she could get the shotgun barrel around, Tess swung her soap. With a wet thud, the improvised black-jack smacked Johnson in the temple. Her glasses flew from her face as she staggered back. Tess caught her on the back-swing, knocked a tooth loose from her jaw. With her left hand, she grabbed the shotgun barrel and yanked up. Johnson pulled back, and the gun ripped a blast into the ceiling. Recoil flipped the muzzle backwards, and it hammered into Johnson’s nose. She staggered, her nose spurting blood. Tess yanked the gun from her hand, and flung it across the room.
With her weight, Tess drove the Doctor to the floor. She ripped the pistol from Johnson’s pants, and flung it over to join the shotgun. One punch, two. One more, and Johnson went limp. She rolled the doctor over on her back, put one knee on her neck, the other on the small of her back, and peeled off her shirt.
With quick motions, she tore the shirt to strips, bound Johnson hand and foot. Tess gathered the shotgun, checked make sure it was loaded. She skinned off the other sock, stuffed it into Johnson’s mouth. The remote was in a pocket of the lab coat. She hoped it was a simple one. Johnson growled around the sock as Tess punched a button. She had watched a few times, and had an idea which one opened the door. On the second try, the door opened, and Tess stepped into the airlock.
As the door wheezed open on the other end, Tess waited long moments. Three years, conscious or not, she had been caged. Only with escort had she been let out. She eased out the door, gun at the ready. To the left, nothing. To the right, someone in white scrubs lay dead in a pool of blood. Chest blown out from the shotgun, small hole and a pile of brains from the pistol. She stepped far around the body.
As she slid past the room that had been empty before, someone slapped their face against the glass. Three people milled around inside. They shouted at her to let them out.
A vicious smile split her face as Terri reared up in her mind. “Why should I do that?” Tess asked.
“We’re cramped in here. We’re sick. We need treatment.”
Tess shrugged. “Give it a few days, and I bet there’s only one of you. Then you’ll have plenty of room.” She walked on.
At the security desk, were two more corpses, shot through like the first. One sat in a chair, the other slumped over the main desk. At least Johnson knew how to fix it so they wouldn’t roam around dead. The gun cabinet was unlocked. She found a box of buckshot, and stuffed the gun full again. A search of other drawers found the shackles she had first woken up to. A slow smile split her face as she gathered the gear up.
Back in her room, Johnson had rolled, but not gotten untied. With deft moves, she wrapped her mentor into the locks. She yanked the gag out of the doctor’s mouth.
“You can’t do this. You can’t go out. They’re infected out there.”
“Can it, Carla. I’m infected too, so ask me if I give a shit. The news says the CDCP set up shop at Northwestern, so I think a road trip’s in order.”
Tess peeled Johnson’s clothes off, and threw them in a pile near the door. “Just like I woke up.” She grabbed a handful of Johnson’s hair as she stood. Johnson squealed and backpedaled to follow. Tess pulled a length of cable out of the wall from the reel, and padlocked it to the shackles around Johnson’s waist.
Johnson struggled to her feet. She tried to take a step, and Tess pushed her back, shoulders to the wall. “You can’t do this. You can’t leave me in here, I’ll die.”
Tess leaned in, within a whisper. “Yes I can.” She turned Johnson’s head to the side, pinned to the wall. “You won’t die. I want them to come back and find you. At least what’s left of you by then.” She leaned in further, just a breath away, she paused. A wide smile split her face. A soft kiss on Johnson’s neck, as the doctor trembled. Another. Then Tess took a mouthful of skin into her mouth, and bit.
Johnson screamed. She squirmed to get away, as Tess clamped down harder. Humans have the teeth of omnivores, so it takes some doing to rip holes in flesh. Tess ground more, and blood squirted from the wound. It ran down Johnson’s chest as Tess bit and tore. A chuck of skin came free, as Johnson screamed. She tried to put a hand to the wound, but the chains wouldn’t let her. Tess stepped back as she chewed.
“That was good. Almost orgasmic.” The blood ran warm down her throat. “Much better fresh from the cow. I’ll have to try Johnson tar-tar more often.”
“You crazy bitch!”
“Where have I heard that before?” Tess collected the pistol, shotgun and clothes from the room. “Oh yeah, I remember now.” She stepped into the airlock. The clothes she left. Putting on something of Johnson’s made her skin crawl. The guns went with her.
In the hall, thumps came again from Chrissi’s room. What to do with her? She stepped in front of the window.
“Outoutout!” Chrissi danced around the room, crazy laugh cackled from her lips. “Outoutout!” She shouted again. She stopped her dance, ran to the window. “Take me.”
Pity, revulsion, anger. It all mixed together in Tess’ head. The last thing she wanted was to have Chrissi go chomping her way across the countryside. Even less if Chrissi was going to chomp her. Still, she didn’t want to leave the girl here.
Tess hit the intercom button. “Chrissi?”
“What?” The girl paced around the room, face down, mumbling.
“I know you want to go with, but I don’t know if I can trust you.”
“Hungry,” Chrissi said. “Blood.”
Tess backed away. Blood. That might do the trick. She started a search of the small complex. She found scrubs in a linen closet, and pulled a set of blue ones on. She pulled another set for Chrissi, and tucked them under her arm. A surgical room was located, as was a small kitchen and locker room. At last she found the lab that contained much of the DNA work.
Tucked in a back corner was a stainless steel cooler. Tess opened the door to find at least fifty pint bags. All labeled with the same sticker. She took one out, bit the end off the tube, and sucked it down. Cold, it wasn’t much, but it was what she needed. Strength flowed. She gathered up three before she headed for Chrissi’s room.
“Test subject three” was printed above the slot of Chrissi’s room. Tess slid the blood bags through the food slot.
“Chrissi, how do you open. . . ?”
She tore a bag from the tray with her teeth, picked up the tube in her mouth, bit the end off, and started to suck it dry. Tess went to find keys for the locks on the straight jacket, and find keys for the van outside in the barn.
At the security desk, a pegboard was hung with labeled keys. Test Subject Three had a small ring with a padlock key on it. She found an ignition key for the van as well. The gun cabinet was unlocked, and she pulled a case of shotgun shells from inside. These she dragged to the door. She pulled an M-4 rifle from the rack, along with several magazines and a battle pack of ammo for it. Pistol supplies next. These she stacked by the door as well. From around a guard’s neck, she pulled his identification badge. She slid it through the slot on the red box next to the door. It opened. Good, she didn’t need a thumb-print.
For the next ten minutes, she loaded the van. Guns, ammo, and a backpack with twenty bags of blood went. Finished, she went back to Chrissi’s room. The girl sat, back to the wall, empty blood bags scattered across the floor. She stared at the empty room.
“Chrissi?”
“Thought you left me.”
“No. You feel better?”
“Best I’ve felt in a long time. Why three? Johnson only gives me one.”
“Johnson said your body was desiccated. That you were a failed experiment. I wondered if more blood would help.”
Chrissi turned her head to the glass. “It did. I feel like a tick on a dog’s ear.”
Tess looked the girl over carefully. Color had come back into her face. The lines that made her look shriveled filled out. Her eyes, while not clear, at least no longer had such a wild look.
“I take you with, you gonna hurt me?”
“Don’t know. I’ll try not to.” Chrissi grinned a mouth full of yellow teeth, stained with red streaks.
Tess took a deep breath, hit the button on the wall, and stepped into the airlock. The keys she held in one hand, pistol in the other. On the other side, her eyes began to water as the smell assaulted her senses. The room was as stained and smeared with filth as the girl was. Chrissi tried to stand, slipped. Tess caught her, helped her to her feet. The straightjacket was white at one time. Now, it was smeared with all matter of things. Tess turned the girl around. She shoved the barrel of the pistol into the greasy, blond hair.
“You do anything stupid, this ends here and you never see sunlight.”
“Okayokay.” Chrissi smiled.
Tess slid the key into one padlock. With a twist, it popped open. She did the same with three more straps. Chrissi pulled, the jacket came off, and hurled it to the floor. Naked, she stomped on the thing, laughing and crying at once.
“Go now?”
“Not quite yet.” Tess led the way to the locker room. Inside, she handed Chrissi a set of green scrubs. “Go shower. I’m not going anywhere with you smelling like that.”
“I stink?” Chrissi raised her arm, took a whiff of hairy pit and smiled. “Phew.” She laughed and dashed into a shower stall.
Long minutes later, she stepped out. Skin pink, clean. Her eyes were almost clear. Tess could see the brown under the slight grey cataract. Her hair, while wet, didn’t look greasy. Her body was smooth.
“Look, no more furzy,” Chrissi giggled as she spun around. She jumped into the scrubs before they left the room. “How long?” She asked as they stepped into the hall.
“How long?”
Chrissi waved her arms around her. “How long?”
“Oh. How long in here.”
“Yeahyeah.”
“I remember two thousand five. Now it’s two thousand eight.”
“Long time.” Chrissi stared at the floor.
“Yeah. Long enough.”
They walked past their old rooms. Chrissi’s stood with the door open. Stench rolled out to fill the hall. Both coughed at the smell. Chrissi glanced into Tess’ room. Johnson kicked against the shackles on her legs. She tried to reach them, but her hands couldn’t go far. She glanced up, noticed the two in the window, and started to shout.
“Her neck?” Chrissi asked. Blood ran down her naked body until it coagulated on her belly and around the heavy leather belt.
Tess grinned. “She a little bland. Some spice would go a long way.”
Chrissi giggled as they walked away.
In the barn, they stood beside the van. Tess held up some handcuffs and a shackle chain.
“Kinky,” Chrissi said.
“Maybe later,” Tess said. “I don’t know how your system works. I don’t want you going zombie on me and trying to take a nibble while I’m driving. Wear ‘em or walk.”
Chrissi paused for a moment. Emotions raced across her face. When Tess thought she was about to walk out of the barn, she held her arms up. Tess snapped them in place, and opened the middle door. Chrissi climbed in. Tess locked the trailing end of the chain to the seat frame, slid the door closed.
In the driver’s seat, she rolled the engine over before she handed back a pair of sunglasses. “For your eyes. You haven’t been out in awhile.” She slid her own into place.
Chrissi grinned as Tess hit the button. With a jerk, the door opened.
“It’s a hundred and seventy miles to Chicago. We’ve got a full tank of gas, a bunch of loaded guns, a backpack full of blood. It’s sunny out, and I’m wearing sunglasses.”
Chrissi cackled as she rocked in her seat. “Love that movie.” She said. “Hit it!”
Tess dropped the van into gear, and they rolled into the light.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Where do Ideas come from?
Well, when the mommy idea and daddy idea really love one another. . . .Wait, it ain't that easy. Ideas for writing come from a diverse plan of existence. Truthfully, I don't know where most of my ideas for fiction stories come from. I was always an imaginative kid. Always living in my own little world. Something that drives math teachers nuts. A lot is just the way I think. Gary Larson, the great creator of "The Far Side" once said: "It isn't that I couldn't do a strip like "Blondie," but in my version Daisy would bit Dagwood, he'd get rabies, and go attack Mister Dithers." Stephen King said something similar in his book, "On Writing." People often ask him why he writes horror. His response is to ask what makes them think that he can write anything else.
Most stories are organic. They come from how you think and where your interests lie. Sharon Kay Pennman writes historical fiction, because Medieval Europe fascinates her. Ann Rice writes vampire stories, because the idea of an afterlife bothered her after she lost a daughter.
Ideas can be rather lame at first. If you love British history, and want to write a story about King Henry III and his son Edward I, you might find it pretty dry. Then you could do a little more research, and find that Henry had a antagonist in his brother-in-law Simon de Montfort, who wanted to extend the Runnymede Charter and planted the seed for democracy, by capturing the king and holding him hostage while he ran the country and forced these new laws on the other barons. Prince Edward stood against his uncle, killed him in battle, and put his head on a pike on the battlefield as a warning to those who would stand against the king. Edward I would become known as Longshanks, and would be immortalized in the film Braveheart. Cultivating the idea, giving it time to grow is important.
I don't do a lot of outlining, I find it too confining, but I do mull a story idea over for a few days before I start to work on it. By the time I start on a story, I have a pretty good idea where it's going. There are a few times that it will surprise me however, and I actually like that, as it means the story and the people in it are taking on lives of their own.
I have had ideas for stories come from unusual places. Once when cleaning the attic of our old house, I came across a suitcase, a pillow, a child's red jacket, a dolly and a newspaper from 1947. I put all that together and came up with a pretty good horror story about a little girl, Martha May, who was killed in an accident by her drunken father. Dark area of my mind to explore, as I have my own little girl, but it made for a good story.
Right now, I'm working on a series of zombie stories, and the first one has been published on the web at Tales of the Zombie Wars: www.talesofworldwarz.com/stories/ I've been on that kick lately, and don't know why, but the series has developed into a character study, in a horror setting. More about how people survive and continue with life rather than just blood and guts. The first story I wrote in this line, actually didn't get published, but will end up as part of the back story, and elements of it will be included in the series. That story itself was inspired by the Rhianna, Disturbia video. So, one little clip of less than five minutes has thus far inspired eight stories an roughly thirty thousand words.
Always be open to ideas. Some keep a dream journal, some people are just dreamers, some base their stories on fact. I've done a little of everything along that line. Just because an idea seems too limited, doesn't mean it can't or won't grow. You have to give it the room to do that.
Most stories are organic. They come from how you think and where your interests lie. Sharon Kay Pennman writes historical fiction, because Medieval Europe fascinates her. Ann Rice writes vampire stories, because the idea of an afterlife bothered her after she lost a daughter.
Ideas can be rather lame at first. If you love British history, and want to write a story about King Henry III and his son Edward I, you might find it pretty dry. Then you could do a little more research, and find that Henry had a antagonist in his brother-in-law Simon de Montfort, who wanted to extend the Runnymede Charter and planted the seed for democracy, by capturing the king and holding him hostage while he ran the country and forced these new laws on the other barons. Prince Edward stood against his uncle, killed him in battle, and put his head on a pike on the battlefield as a warning to those who would stand against the king. Edward I would become known as Longshanks, and would be immortalized in the film Braveheart. Cultivating the idea, giving it time to grow is important.
I don't do a lot of outlining, I find it too confining, but I do mull a story idea over for a few days before I start to work on it. By the time I start on a story, I have a pretty good idea where it's going. There are a few times that it will surprise me however, and I actually like that, as it means the story and the people in it are taking on lives of their own.
I have had ideas for stories come from unusual places. Once when cleaning the attic of our old house, I came across a suitcase, a pillow, a child's red jacket, a dolly and a newspaper from 1947. I put all that together and came up with a pretty good horror story about a little girl, Martha May, who was killed in an accident by her drunken father. Dark area of my mind to explore, as I have my own little girl, but it made for a good story.
Right now, I'm working on a series of zombie stories, and the first one has been published on the web at Tales of the Zombie Wars: www.talesofworldwarz.com/stories/ I've been on that kick lately, and don't know why, but the series has developed into a character study, in a horror setting. More about how people survive and continue with life rather than just blood and guts. The first story I wrote in this line, actually didn't get published, but will end up as part of the back story, and elements of it will be included in the series. That story itself was inspired by the Rhianna, Disturbia video. So, one little clip of less than five minutes has thus far inspired eight stories an roughly thirty thousand words.
Always be open to ideas. Some keep a dream journal, some people are just dreamers, some base their stories on fact. I've done a little of everything along that line. Just because an idea seems too limited, doesn't mean it can't or won't grow. You have to give it the room to do that.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Calander of Signings
Hello all. Well, things are starting to pick up, and the bookings are starting to fill up the calander. Okay, not a lot, but when I work a full time job, my weekends are busy. Summer's here, and activities with the kids are coming more often, but I have a few signings on the book. Here's how things stand as of today:
July 13, '09
Bookmouse, Ottowa Illinois 6:30-7:30
Parinormal Mondays
September 26, 2009
Glen Ellyn (I'll get the details when I have them nailed down)
October 3, 2009
Barnes and Noble, Davenport Iowa, 1:00-2:00
October 16-17
Indianapolis, Indiana. Bouchercon.
October 23-24
Bishop Hill, Illinois, VagnHall Galleri.
12:00-5:00 both days.
Gathering of Midwest Authors.
Okay, okay, so it isn't that impressive, but there's a few bookings, and growing. As time progresses, I'll add more events as they come along.
July 13, '09
Bookmouse, Ottowa Illinois 6:30-7:30
Parinormal Mondays
September 26, 2009
Glen Ellyn (I'll get the details when I have them nailed down)
October 3, 2009
Barnes and Noble, Davenport Iowa, 1:00-2:00
October 16-17
Indianapolis, Indiana. Bouchercon.
October 23-24
Bishop Hill, Illinois, VagnHall Galleri.
12:00-5:00 both days.
Gathering of Midwest Authors.
Okay, okay, so it isn't that impressive, but there's a few bookings, and growing. As time progresses, I'll add more events as they come along.
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