Synopsis:

Things grow darker as the virus begins to spread

Synopsis:

Things grow darker as the virus begins to spread

Story:

Acidalia III
By Amanda D

At 5:30pm Ellie, formerly Elijah, Wolf sat in from of her television to watch the president’s address to the nation.

President Fuller “Good evening, and thank you for letting me into your homes this evening. I am here tonight to try to dispel some of the rumors surrounding the so-called Acidalia outbreak in the San Francisco area. Much of what has been reported thus far has been pure conjecture on the part of the various news outlets in the area.

“The first rumor that I would like to discuss is the one concerning the virus itself. I personally have seen reports saying it does everything from kill to cause nose bleeds. The truth is that Acidalia only effects men, and has caused some small mutations in their genetic structure, causing some to need hospitalization. But to our knowledge no one, I repeat, ‘no one’, has died from this virus. For those of you with family members that have been infected, I hope this brings you some small solace.

“There is, however, a prolonged period of contagion associated with this virus. To help combat further infection in the population, we have set up two sites to house the infected until this period has elapsed. The first is at the Dillon Army Medical center, located just out side Santa Marina. The other is the Reynolds Center located near San Quentin prison. Both of these facilities are under the strictest of security to protect those on the inside as well as those outside. If you have a loved one there, do not try to go there and see them. You will not be allowed inside. As soon as the contagion period has passed, they will be sent home to you.”

‘Acidalia? What the heck is that?’ she wondered as the President droned on in the background. She turned to her computer and looked up the word. After discarding the numerous references to the crater on Mars, she finally found a definition that seemed to fit the President’s meaning. Reading about the legendary pool coupled with what she had just learned about the infectious period was akin to a light being turned on inside her head. Suddenly she knew why God had blessed her so.

Getting up from her chair, she dialed her best friend Roger. Poor Roger was the saddest of Transsexual cases. Standing well over six feet tall, with broad shoulders, large feet and hands, and a face that could belong to nothing other than a man, his feminine desires, were mocking fantasies that could never be fulfilled. On the third ring his deep raspy voice answered with “Hello?”

“Hi Roger, or is it Sandra today?”

“Who is this?” he asked with a touch of indignation in his voice.

“It’s me, silly. Elijah!”

“Oh, hi, El. You sound different. Do you have a cold or something?”

“Ah, no. I need you come over. I have something I need to show you.”

“I got to go to work soon and I’m still dressed up, so can I come by later?”

“Roger my friend, what I have to show you is well worth calling in sick for. Now get yourself changed and get your butt over here!” she told him, hanging up the phone.

Once done, she turned to the picture of Jesus that hung on the wall above her computer desk, knelt down and said a long rambling prayer of thanks to God for blessing her and revealing his plan for her so quickly. From now on she would dedicate her life to changing those that desired to be. There would be no more needless mental anguish for the gender confused, if she had anything to say about it.

***********

“Thank you and goodnight.” After the red light on the camera went dark, President Fuller looked over at his press secretary Kerry Enrich and asked “Well? What do you think?”

“I think it’s the best we could have done in the time we had to do it in, Sir.” Enrich replied, as they left the White House Press Room for the privacy of the Oval office.

“Well that’s something, I suppose. Have you contacted Smithers about the Ryson interview? We’ll be naming her as the responsible party sometime in the middle of next week.”

“Yes Sir. I called him, but he was so upset about his anchor woman being shot and the missing station employees, that he hung up on me.”

“Shit!” Fuller cursed. “Did you at least have time to explain the situation to him?”

“Yes Sir. The Chief of Staff was on the line with us and spoke to him first. He made sure that Smithers knew the consequences of taking the accident public, Sir.”

“Good. And what about the production crew?”

“The ones that refused to cooperate have been taken to the security wing at San Quentin as Major Brady instructed.”

The mention of the Major’s name made Fuller grimace as he recalled the zeal with which Brady has promised him that the crew would never say a word about the incident once he was through talking with them. Brady’s reputation was well knownto top administration officials. However, hard times required hard men to help get everyone through them, and Brady was just such a man. So the administration would turn a blind eye to his dealings, at least until he went too far.

“Okay, and what are we saying about the shooting?”

“We’ve already put out a rumor about a terrorist attack. The beauty of the story is that it totally covers the army’s involvement. The rest of the media outlets in the area are eating it up. As for the station itself, we’ve got our people there making sure that they only play reruns for the rest of the night.”

“Good!” Fuller said flatly. Earlier, when everything had first happened, before he’d had any time to really think over today’s events, suppression and denial of the truth had seemed like the best possible course. Now, however, a bit of doubt was beginning to creep in. With a mental shrug he put his internal conflict aside. ‘In for a penny, in for a pound.’ he thought to himself. He was the President, it was part of his job to make hard decisions. He was just going to have to find a way to live with this one.

Refocusing on Enrich, Fuller said, “Before too long we’ll need a statement to come from someone high up at the station. I’d like it to be Smithers, so see what you can do.”

“Yes Sir. I’ll take care of it.” Enrich confirmed as he got up to leave.

“And Kerry?”

“Sir?”

“Make sure we control what ever it is that he winds up saying.” Kerry nodded and headed out the door.

**********

Forty five minutes later there was a knock on her door. After one last profuse thanking of God, she sprang up and ran to answer it. Looking through the security eye hole in the door, she spotted Roger’s hulking form waiting impatiently in the hall. Elli pulled open the door and greeted him with a hardy “Roger!!!! I’m so glad you decided to come!”

He looked at her confusedly. “Is Elijah here?” he asked.

Pulling him inside Ellie said “Roger, I’m Elijah.” He looked at her skeptically, wondering how this petite girl with waist length sandy blonde hair could be his old friend. Smiling at the look, she continued “Did you see the President’s speech today? The Acidalia virus?”

“Yeah,” he carefully replied.

“Well, I caught it last week! And look what it’s done for me!” Ellie pronounced as she twirled slowly around so he could see her from all sides.

“Bull shit!” he said in amazement.

“Nope. Not at all. Last week I got so sick I thought I was gonna die. When I came out of it I looked like this. God has blessed me, Rog. He’s also shown me why I was so blessed.” Taking his large hands in hers, Ellie pulled him towards the couch and sat him down. “Roger, God has told me that my mission is to help those like me, like us, like you. Will you let me help you?”

“How?”

“The virus is contagious. Stay with me so I can cause the change to happen to you. I’ll watch over you while you change and make sure you are as comfortable as I can. Once you’re transformed, the two of us can go and find others like us to help.”

“You’re serious? You can really change me, too?” he asked with tears of hope welling up in his eyes.

“God has shown me the way, my friend.” She said with a bright smile.

He was thoughtfully quiet for a moment, then said, “OK, I’ll stay.”

Her smile grew even brighter. “Good. You won’t regret it. I promise.”

*****

Thursday June 1
San Quentin Prison
Early morning:

Bob Parker sat naked and shivering in the darkness on the cold concrete floor of the holding cell. Several times in his news career he had come across a reporter who had been witness to a torture. Iraq, Iran, Somalia, even in Russia and some of the other former communist countries in Eastern Europe had been known to use nefarious methods, or so he had been told. Never in his life, and especially not in his own country, had he thought he would get a first hand look at the process, and most particularly not fro mthe victim’s viewpoint. In the last twelve hours, he had been beaten and abused in ways he never thought could happen in the US.

Bob had never considered himself a brave man. In high school he had done everything he could to avoid fighting, but the way the military had demanded his silence about what had really happened to poor Wanda had infuriated him beyond words. That fury was what had carried him through all that had been inflicted upon him since, though the last few hours, the anger had turned to hatred for the author of his pain, Major Craig Brady. While he didn’t believe that he was ever going to get away, and this troubled him terribly, he swore that if the opportunity presented itself, he would kill Brady.

He was also worried about the rest of his crew. He had not been alone in his refusal to cooperate. Tom Kelly, Frank Cho, Lillian Tremont and Harry Samuels had been taken along with him. Where they were now, was anyone’s guess. He prayed that they were safe and unharmed, but he knew better. Considering what he had been put through, Bob feared for Lillian the most. She was a good hearted older woman who had never purposely hurt anyone to his knowledge. To do to her what had been done to him would be an unforgivable sin.

Unexpected the lights sprang on, momentarily blinding him. When his vision cleared he saw Brady looking down on him. If he’d had even an ounce of strength left in his body, Bob would have lunged at him. However all he could do was glare at his tormentor.

“Still feisty huh? I got to tell you Bobby boy, I’m impressed. I honestly didn’t think you had it in you.” Brady said sarcastically. “Have you reconsidered your stance on signing that paper I left for you?”

Bob did his best to meet Brady’s stare, trying to show that he wasn’t going to be intimidated. When he had first arrived ,the object had been to keep him quiet about Wanda. In the last few hours the Major had also been trying to pin the murder in him and the others. So far Bob had resisted signing the confession that the military had prepared for him. “No.” Bob answered as defiantly has his wasted vocal cords would allow him too.

“Bob, you disappoint me. I thought for sure with a little time to think it over, you would have come to agree it was in everyone’s best interest for you to take the blame. Well my superiors want someone to blame, and I promised that you would do your patriotic duty and ‘fess up, but I guess you’re going to be stubborn.” Looking over his shoulder at someone Bob couldn’t see Brady said “What do you think Jose? Think you and your boys can get him to own up?”

“Heh. Yeah Major. By the time where done with him, he’ll confess to killing Lincoln if you want him to.”

Brady smiled and returned his attention to Bob. “Bobby boy, I’d like you to meet Jose Rivera. Jose and his crew have been in solitary confinement for the better part of the last three weeks for trying to start a riot here at lovely San Quentin, so they’re dying to play with something other than themselves.”

Brady paused to let Bob consider what was going to come next. “So this is what’s going to happen, Bobby. I’m going to ask you this one last time to cooperate and if you refuse, I’m gonna let these boys run a train on you. Understand?”

His resolve wavered momentarily as Bob realized what kind of train the Major was talking about. Struggling to keep his sudden failure of courage to himself, he yelled, “Go fuck yourself!” at his captor.

Brady smiled and said “No, Bob. It’s you that’s gonna get fucked. You were a very bad boy, Bobby. Taking all those nice people hostage and killing that poor woman. Frankly, I don’t know how you can live with yourself.”

Getting up, Brady continued to Jose “Have fun with him. Remember, there’s no need to be too gentle.” To the guard at the door. the Major ordered. “If he survives, have him taken to Reynolds and thrown in with the rest of the infected. I’ll have him listed as killed while trying to escape. along with the others, so no one will come looking for him.” As he left the room. Brady spatover his shoulder. “Enjoy yourself, Bobby. Hope to see you over at Reynolds later on.”

5:30Am Grayson Labs:

For the first time in what felt like days, Col. Charles Jordon slept. The stress of the last few days had finally overwhelmed him about 10:30 the previous night and he had simply crashed onto the couch in his office. Several times during the night Lt. Col. Gary Tyler had checked in on his superior officer and friend.

As he waited a moment and watched his friend sleep, Tyler felt a wave of pity wash over him. Charles Jordon had been one of his closest friends since the early 90’s, when they had met in Germany. Jordon had been a member of the USAMRID team that had been sent to the Landstuhl Regional Medical Center to look into possible causes of the so-called Gulf War Syndrome. Tyler had been on the staff team that worked in conjunction with them. At one point the lack of housing at the base had forced Jordon to bunk at Tyler’s residence.

After the research project concluded the two kept in touch, through email and the occasional phone call. Several times in the intervening years Jordon had petitioned to get Tyler into USAMRID, but he had never been successful for one reason or another. Eventually, however Jordon had been promoted to the head of the unit. His first action as the new commander was to get Tyler transferred and promoted to his second in command.

As it turned out, coming into USAMRID had been the best move of Tyler’s career. Along with rest of the team Jordon had assembled, they attacked their research with cold calculation and precision. For some time now it had seemed there was no bug they couldn’t conquer or at least contain.

Now, however things had changed. The research was still there, but the President had commissioned Jordon with an impossible task in asking him to contain Acidalia after it had already infected a portion of the general population. Every day since their arrival here, as the infection count continued to go up, Tyler saw his friend become more and more distant. Jordon had never failed in anything he had done before, but everyone seemed to sense the hopeless of the situation.

Letting out a deep sigh he stepped closer. He had done what he could to make sure the Col. had remained undisturbed, but now he had no other choice but to wake him. “Col. Sir?” Tyler said as he gently nudged at his long time friends shoulder. “Sir, you need to get up now.”

Rolling over and looking up sleepily Jordon said “Huh? Wha? Tyler? What time is it?”

“It’s 05:30 Sir.”

Pulling himself into a sitting and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes the Col. asked “What’s going on?”

“Well Sir, I just got off the line with Major Brady. He says that he was unable to get the TV people to cooperate and none of them survived the interrogation, Sir.”

Jordon looked Tyler with complete disgust, “All of them dead?”

“That’s what the Major said, Sir.”

“Shit. That careless son of a bitch! I told him we needed them unharmed. Get him back on the line and tell him I want him here to present his report to me personally at 14:30.”

“Yes Sir.” Tyler said but made no move to leave.

Standing up and stretching the Jordon asked “Is there something else?”

Yes Sir. Sir, the President’s Chief of Staff is still waiting for names to release to the media and with the Major’s inability to get any of his prisoners to admit their guilt, well we still need a scapegoat Sir.”

Sighing loudly Jordon walked over to his desk and opened a folder containing all the names of the news crew that had been present during the shooting. Beside each name was an assessment of each person’s willingness to go along with the cover up. He scanned down the list looking for a couple of names that had stood out to him the night before when he’d originally looked over the report.

Finally he found what he had been looking for and turned the folder so Tyler could see it. “These two. The report says they were very reluctant to agree to the cover story. Give the press their names and have the police get after them.”

Though his voice remained stony, Tyler could see the conflict raging behind the Col’s. eyes. Pulling out a pen and a small spiral note book, Tyler jotted down the names. When he was done, he put his things back into the appropriate pockets and looked back up at the Col.

“Was there anything else?” Jordon asked.

“No Sir.”

“Well, Dismissed then.” Jordon said curtly. Tyler snapped off a salute and left to carry out his orders.

Jordon sat down behind his desk and rubbed his temples. The headache that had been plaguing him since he arrived in California was coming back as fierce as ever. ‘And it’s only a quarter to six in the morning,’ he thought darkly as he reached for the bottle of Advil in his top drawer. He poured a half a dozen pills into his hand and swallowed them quickly without water..

As he waited for the medicine to take the edge off his pain, he leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and wondered what he was going to do with Major Brady. His type was certainly useful in a situation like the one they were presently in, but killing four civilians while trying to extract a confession from them was something that could not be allowed to happen again. Somehow he had to be made to understand that. Jordon just wasn’t sure how he was going to do it.

Finding no answers to his problem tattooed on the back of his eyelids, the Col. leaned forward and turned on his computer. Once it completed booting, he went directly to his email to see what else he had missed during his attempt to get a few hours shuteye. The first one he opened was from Lt. Watson, who had become the official source for the infection tally. He grimaced as he saw the number of known cases had climbed to over 500 overnight. ‘Jesus, how are we ever going to keep this contained when every twelve hours the count jumps this much?’ he wondered to himself. To make matters even worse, the report ended with a comment the fifteen new cases had been found outside the state, including seven in New York City.

‘Oh God, not there, too.’ he bemoaned silently. Just yesterday evening several Los Angeles area hospitals had asked about shipping over sixty cases to either Reynolds or Dillon. The chief of Home Land Security had approved the transfer over Jordon’s objections, all the while assuring him that a quarantine center would be set up nearer to the city soon.

While that was all well and good, it wasn’t going to help the fact that Dillon was already reaching its capacity. Reynolds only had about a hundred infectees housed at the moment, a quarter of what it was design to hold, but would probably be filled to the breaking point before the end of June. If the virus continued to spread at its current rate, they were going to need a hell of a lot more than just one more facility near LA.

8am News KLTR San Francisco:

“Good morning. This is Terry Gates associate news director of KLTR. As many of you know, yesterday was a day of tragedy here at KLTR as one of our anchor people was brutally murdered on camera. We here at KLTR would like to send our most sincere condolences to the friends and family of Wanda Maximov. She was a good friend, a great employee and will be sorely missed by all those who had the pleasure of knowing her.

We now ask for your help to track down the remaining members of the terrorist faction who perpetrated this horrible tragedy. For the next several days, before and after every commercial break, or util they have been captured, we will be showing the photographs you now see behind me, in an effort to capture the two men who managed to escape the military’s attempt to detain them yesterday. Police ask that anyone out there who has any information regarding these two suspects, to please call their tip line at 800-555-6127.”

Warren Quinlan’s, long time employee of KTLR, mouth hung open in horror as he saw his face and George Mathers’ on the screen. He couldn’t understand what was going on. They had both agreed to keep quiet yesterday. Why were they now being named as part of the group responsible? Didn’t they already have enough people on whom to place the blame? They had taken four of his coworker away already when they refused to cooperate. Choking down his mouthful of Cheerios, he got up and paced his small kitchen, trying to think of something to do. As he walked his circles, the sound of a siren going by his apartment building made him all but jump out of his skin.

His reaction to the sound was like a bolt of electricity going through him. Suddenly realizing the enormity of the situation, he bolted into his bed room and grabbed his phone book. Finding George’s number he misdialed it twice before getting it right. As the phone hit the third ring, George answered groggily.

“George, it’s Warren. Have you seen the news yet this morning?” Warren asked trying to suppress a rising tide of panic.

“No. I was sleeping until you woke me up!” George responded with an air of annoyance.

“Well you better get your ass out of bed, cause they just said that we were part of the group that attacked the station yesterday,” Warren shouted into the phone.

“They WHAT?”

“Terry was anchoring, and she just said that we were wanted for shooting Wanda.”

“No fucken’ way. We didn’t have anything to do with that. Christ, it was the fucken’ army …” George’s voice suddenly cut off in mid sentence as Warren heard a loud crash over the line. The sound was followed by a lot of shouting voices ordering George to drop the phone and to get on his knees.

Before he could say anything else into the phone, Warren heard a strange noise coming from his front hallway. Dropping the phone, he grabbed his wallet from the dresser and hopped out the bedroom window onto the fire escape. He got the window closed just as his front door exploded inward. He caught a quick glimpse of several policemen entering his apartment as he lunged toward the stairway.

Almost falling off the rusted metal stairs as he descended, Warren prayed that there would be nobody waiting in the alley below. Unfortunately his prayers went unanswered as a police officer came into view just as his feet hit the pavement. The bright side was that the cop didn’t seem to expect to find him there and was a second slow in drawing his weapon. This gave Warren the opportunity to rush him. With a shoulder block that would have made any NFL player proud, Warren sent the surprised officer sprawling. Wasting no time celebrating his good fortune, Warren hauled ass out of the alley and lost himself in the crowded street beyond.

City Hospital 11:30 am Director Batson’s office:
Conference call to inform local hospitals of the new test for Acidalia:

It had started out well enough, with all the hospital directors excited that a quicker detection method was going to be distributed at the beginning of next week if the clinical trail at County Memorial proved to be a successful as the labs tests had proven to be.
However the mood had quickly changed when Casey Greg of Homeland hospital brought up the question of health care worker safety in regards to the virus. Col. Jordon and Mia Blue had both tried their best to reassure the various directors that their concerns would be dealt with, and the containment suits for the doctors would be available soon.

“God Damn it Col. we need those containment suits now!” Bill Batson yelled having heard enough of what he thought was just placation from the two of them. “Six of my doctors have already tested positive for the infection and four more are refusing to treat any more cases until some kind of protective measures are put into place, and frankly, I don’t blame them!”

“Director, I assure you that the suits …”

“I don’t want your assurances, Col. I want my people protected. We have the second most cases in the state housed here after San Francisco General. We’re being overwhelmed, and I can’t afford to have my doctors getting sick too. If those suits aren’t here by this afternoon, I’m going to close this facility to any new patients and send them to Dillon!”

“Director, you know Dillon is only set up to house the contagious. It’s not a fully functioning hospital. Sending people there would be denying them proper care through the transition.”

“Then send me the damn suits you promised!” Bill yelled and slammed the phone down. ‘Damn bureaucrats!’ he thought to himself.

Director Batson felt as if he hadn’t slept a month. He and his staff had been quickly overwhelmed by the number of Acidalia cases flooding his emergency room. The entire fifth floor had become one large quarantine area. and it was rapidly becoming over crowded. Even with Dillon and Reynolds up and running, it was like shoveling against the tide. He had a meeting scheduled with some Homeland Security people this afternoon to discuss getting funds to convert the sixth floor too.

He was sure the new test was going to help. With the current one taking somewhere in the neighborhood three hours to complete, and the need to segregate any suspected cases, even some of the ones who had tested virus free were showing back up a few days later and testing positive the second time. It was all very frustrating. Instead of helping these poor people, they were actually contributing to the problem. ‘How long, he wondered, ‘will it be until testing for all men, everywhere is required?’ He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but deep inside he knew better.

Grayson Labs:
“Sam I need to speak to you, please.” Mia said loudly into her headset trying to get the confined scientist’s attention. Sam had left her headset on the desk just inside the observation window, but looked up from what she was doing as she saw Mia waving her arms from outside.

Putting aside the test tube in her hand, Sam shuffled over the desk and put her headset on. “What’s up?” she asked wearily.

Mia took a moment to look Sam over, and was distressed to see how thin she was becoming. When she had first met Sam, Mia had despised her for her role in creating the problem they now faced. However after a few days of working alongside her, Mia had begun to understand how personally devastating the situation was to Sam. Like Laura, it seemed the long hours, the guilt of responsibility, and the long confinement were take a tremendous toll on this poor girl’s body. With concern in her voice Mia asked, “Sam, when was the last time you slept?”

With a wan smile, Sam replied, “Umm. I don’t really remember, to tell the truth.” Stifling a yawn she repeated, “So what’s up?”

Mia decided that being a mother hen about the sleep situation wasn’t going to get her anywhere so she let the subject drop for the moment. “We just got through with our call to the area hospital administrators about the new test.”

“How did it go?”

Mia rolled her eyes and said “It went well until your friend Bill Batson started in about wanting viral protection suits for his doctors. He even threatened to stop taking in patients if something wasn’t done soon.”

“Well if he went that far, then I would take him seriously. If there’s one thing I can tell you about Bill, it’s that he isn’t given to hyperbole.”

“His concern is well founded; we’ve received reports about male doctors becoming infected from just about every hospital that’s currently treating Acidalia patients. I’ve tried to get Jordon to get them some protection, but so far all I’ve got to show for my efforts is a broken finger nail from typing so much. However the Col. told me that he couldn’t allow any of the area hospitals to stop admitting infectees. Considering what’s already been done in the name of protecting the public, I’m concerned for your friend.”

“Why? What’s happened?”

“A lot. Most of it is classified, so I can’t talk about it. Things that I wish I didn’t have to know about. But being head of the research, I get updates on all aspects of the containment effort. I don’t think Director Batson realizes what the government is willing to do to eliminate this problem.”

“Things are going badly, I take it?” Mia didn’t respond, but the look in her eyes gave Sam the answer to her question, anyhow. Sam’s heart sank even lower at the thought of all the problems she had caused. Tears began to well up in her eyes as she lamented, “God, all I wanted to do was to find a way to get myself out of that damned chair! I never meant for any of this to happen. If I could, I would take it all back and sit in the thing contently for the rest of my life.”

Mia wanted nothing more than to find some way to comfort the crying girl, but no words came to her. Instead she sat and waited helplessly for the emotional storm to pass. After several minutes, it did and Sam looked back up at her, ”I…I’m sorry,” Sam sniffled “I didn’t mean to come apart like that.”

“Don’t worry about it. If it didn’t bother you, then I’d be concerned.”

Sam gave her a small nod of understanding and asked, “Has there been anymore word on the babies over at City?”

Letting out a deep sigh, Mia replied “The corpse of the first two arrived a couple hours ago. Dr Greer is doing the autopsy as we speak. We lost a third one, but the last one is still hanging in there. He’s going through the same change as the infected adults at this point. If he survives the next twenty or so hours then he should be through the worst of it. That’s a very big if, though.” Mia stopped and contemplated the baby’s chances, then quickly pushed the thought aside before she began crying herself. “Anyhow, we’ll have a better idea where we stand tomorrow afternoon.”

“Well, at least that’s something, I suppose.” Sam said gloomily. Changing the subject, she inquired, “Do you know where Laura is? I haven’t seen her at all today.”

“She’s at County Memorial with Dr. Ryan. They’re helping with Acidalia testing. They are comparing the results of the traditional test to the faster method. They’ll be there until tomorrow afternoon. If the test proves to be as accurate in the field as it did here, then we’ll start to distribute testing kits at the beginning of next week.”

Reynolds late afternoon:

It was almost fortyeight hours after their arrival before the medical staff came to check on their health status. Dr. Stanly waited out side the sealed room while her underlings performed interviews and gave physicals to Thomas, Mona, Renee and the newest addition to the group, Jo.

The physicals were done in the middle of the cell, in full view of everyone, with no consideration given to any reluctance the inmates may have to disrobing in front of each other. The four new women had turned almost purple with embarrassment at having to stand stark naked in from of each other for the duration of the exams. All had been left feeling slightly dirty over being fondled and groped in sensitive places that until a few days before, they didn’t have.

Thomas’ injuries were inspected thoroughly and she was found to be in very good shape considering the report they had received about the beating she had taken. Her head no longer spun when she moved, and her face showed only moderate bruising. In addition to those pleasant surprises, the vision in her left eye had returned to a semblance of normal. The spot on her stomach where she had been hit, however, continued to bother her. But in the end they were all pronounced to be healthy females. It seemed that even longstanding health problems, such as Jo’s diabetes, had disappeared along with their manhood.

The sense of humiliation was completed by the clumsy lessons in the proper use of tampons and pads. There was no psychological help of any kind offered, no emotional support to be found. They were given, to quote SGT. Joe Friday, “Just the facts, Ma’am.” It was at that point they all realized just what this place truly was, a prison. Though none of them had committed a single crime, or been convicted in a court of law, they were certainly being treated as if they had.

Just as the medical staff was gathering their gear and getting ready to depart, two guards came into the cell. They were literally dragging a man stripped down to just his boxers. He looked like he had gone fifteen rounds with Mike Tyson in his prime. Once again, with no regard for how the current occupants might feel about a full male being confined with them, the solders plunked him down in one of the far bunks and left him there. None of the medical personnel made a move to look him over. They simply finished gathering what they had brought with them and left with the solders.

Once the outsiders were gone, Thomas walked over to their new cell mate to get a look at him. He had curled himself into a fetal position and stared vacantly off into space. His face was swollen so badly that it was practically impossible to give a description of his features. His right eye was so blood shot that she couldn’t see any of the white. He had stitches over his left eye, in his top lip, and one of his ears looked like it had been sown back on. His nose was obviously broken, and his right cheek looked almost crushed. Several of his teeth were missing, too.

That was just the beginning of his injuries. Both of his hands appeared to be broken. He had several lacerations on his chest and a lot more on his back. His right knee was the size of a grapefruit, with the left only slightly smaller. The blood stains on the back part of his boxers made Thomas queasy, just thinking about how they could have gotten there. Reassessing his earlier impression, Thomas decided that he looked more like the victim of an extremely brutal rape than he did a boxer who had lost a fight.

Thomas tried to ask the poor man his name several times and was met with silence after each attempt. To be honest, there was no way to know if he was even aware that there was anyone else in the room with him. There was really nothing that could be done for this poor soul, so Thomas gently lifted his head and slipped a pillow under it, trying to make him comfortable.

Mona came over and gasped after getting a good look at the man’s injuries. Not really expecting an answer, she asked, “How could anyone do this to another human being?”

“I think the more important question is why was he left here with us?” Jo stated.

“That’s easy. He’s here because some wanted him to disappear. Putting him with us is just the easiest way to do that. No one is going to be visiting any of us, and after a few days breathing the same air he’ll change the same way we did. Then no one will know who he was. He’ll be just another victim of this virus, just like the rest of us,” Thomas said flatly. “Let’s face facts; the chances of any of us ever leaving here are very slim. The way they’ve treated us so far, makes me believe that to the outside world we’re dead already.”

The three others all tried to come up with arguments to Thomas’ statement but found not a single one that sounded like anything more than wishful thinking. Jo opened her mouth, then shut it again, her argument dying before ever being born. She shuffled over to her bed and sat heavily upon it. With tears running down her round cheeks she wailed “Oh God. How can this be happening? It’s not fair!”

Renee went over and put a consoling arm around Jo. “Shhh. Everything’s going to be alright.”

“How … How can you say that? Look at us! Where we are. How is everything going to be ok? I … I just want to go back home and see my wife. I mi … I miss her so much.” Jo cried. For the next several minutes Jo’s body shuddered with emotion as she continued to let it all out. Renee and Mona sat and cried with her the entire time, showing Jo that she was far from alone in her misery.

Thomas stood next to the man’s bed trying like hell to hold her own tears in check. She too, missed Yvonne and the kids terribly, and would gladly sell her soul to have even just another hour with them. She knew that this was never going to happen, however, and refused to give anyone that might be watching the pleasure of seeing her cry.

**********

Craig Brady sat behind his desk watching the scene over the security feed on his computer. He had taken a keen interest in what went on in cell #3554. He was simultaneously angered and enticed by the challenge of breaking Thomas Logan. He took her refusal to take a more feminine name and act submissively as a personal affront to his authority.

Brady had been in a foul mood ever since getting chewed out by Col. Jordon earlier this afternoon. He had known it was coming, but it still pissed him off. Who was the old man to ask him to do the dirty work, and then question his methods? The fact that had lied about what had really happened to the prisoners was irrelevant. Three of them were dead, sure enough, but they hadn’t died as a result of their interrogations. Quite the opposite. It had been their refusal to do as he wanted that had led him to lose his temper and kill them himself.

He was delighted that Parker had survived, though. He considered putting him in Logan’s cell a stroke of genius on his part. The effect Parker’s presence had had on those in the cell was just what he had hoped for. Seeing the three others blubber away while Logan fought to contain her emotions was almost enough to put him back into a good mood. Almost, but not quite. Seeing her wallowing in self-pity along with the others would be a step in the right direction.

What would really set his mood straight would be some quality time with, what to his mind, was quickly becoming his raven haired adversary. He dreamed of ways that he could break this new woman. If left to his druthers, the things that could be done to break a woman would leave him feeling fulfilled regardless of this mission’s outcome. However that would never happen. He had no desire to become infected, as any exposure to her would cause, so he had to be content with watching and allowing others to do his dirty work for him, but oh, how he dreamed!

*****
Friday June 2 8:30 am EDT

Carla Ryson sat quietly as the government chartered private plane made its descent towards Washington D.C. With her wrists and ankles bound, she looked around at the federal agents surrounding her, wondering how she had ever gotten herself into this predicament. All she had wanted to do was help cure poor Brian’s cancer, and Sam’s retrovirus hadseemed like a dream come true. Now, that dream had become a nightmare. Brian had taken sick a week after the treatment, while visiting Carla. She had brought him to the hospital, refusing to leave his side until federal agents came into his room, saying she was under arrest. At first, she had refused to leave, demanding to speak with her lawyer. Eventually, the agent in charge lost his patience with her and had literally dragged her out of the hospital. She hadn’t seen or heard a word about Brian since.

From the hospital she had been driven to San Francisco, where she had been questioned for hours on end about something they called Acidalia. No mater how many times she told them she had no idea what they were talking about, they refused to believe her. During the interrogation, she had once again demanded to have a lawyer present, and had been refused. Her complaints about civil rights violations had been met with either amusement, or were outright ignored. Eventually, she had refused to speak to her persecutors any more, which at the time, had seemed a good course of action.

However it had turned out to be her worst mistake yet. Apparently fed up with her silence, the FBI had turned her over to the military and the demon that called himself Brady. She had been brought to San Quentin Prison and locked away by herself for several hours. The thought of being in a men’s prison alone, terrified her, but when Brady came to visit, she learned the true meaning of terror. He had her stripped to her underwear and then paraded her through several cellblocks, all the while threatening to leave her completely stripped and alone for the prisoners to do with as they pleased.

Despite his threat, the combination of fear and anger gave her the strength to continue to refuse his demands. That was when things had become very serious. He had her strapped to a chair. Then they began to work her over with a knife and another device that would give her an electrical shock each time it touched her skin. all the while continuing to demand that she confess to being responsible for the release of some virus of which she had no knowledge.

Finally it became too much for her to bear, and with him holding the knife to the front of her neck, she’d relented. She’d agreed to say anything they wanted of her. She had been broken so completely that she would have sat still while they slit her throat if they had asked.

After signing everything they had insisted on, she had been taken to a small dark cell and left there, sans clothes, for who knows how many days. It had been terribly cold in there since all she had to cover herself with was a small blanket, and food came only when they felt like giving to her, or so it seemed. Then this morning they’d pulled her out of there, patched her up, got her dressed and threw her onto the plane she was now in.

The plane was given top priority and landed quickly, then taxied to a deserted hanger at Dulles airport. As soon as they were stopped, the agent closest to her, pulled Carla up and began pushing her towards the exit. After reaching the bottom of the stairway attached to the plane, she was shoved into a dark colored Suburban and whisked away.

A couple miles down the road Carla finally worked up the nerve to ask the agent sitting next to her, “Where are you taking me?”

He glanced over at her but said nothing. Under normal circumstances, Carla would have been in his face demanding an answer, but after her experiences with Brady, she just couldn’t work up the guts. So she sat there and stewed over her inability to act. That was the worst part of this whole thing, in her mind, anyhow. The fact that she had been so cowed by what had been done to her that she lacked the ability to even stand up for herself anymore.

About an hour later they arrived at the Marine base in Quantico Va. Once again looking over at the man next to her she asked “Why are we here?” Once again there was no reply. Once they were through the main gate, they were joined by a military Humvee and the two vehicles drove towards the far side of the base before stopping at a simple wood framed building, basically in the middle of nowhere.

Upon seeing where she was, it was all Carla could do to hold her water. This remote location, with no one around to see to her safety, made her hackles stand on end. It reminded her too much of being alone with Brady. She was so shaken that she could barely stand after she was pulled from the truck.

Two of the large men from the truck literally held her upright as they waited in front of the Suburban. “Is this her?” Carla heard a man ask from behind her somewhere. She turned her head to see a stocky man of Indian looking descent in a military uniform walking towards where the three of them stood.

“Yes Sir,” The FBI agent to her right answered.

“Well then, thank you for delivering her. We’ll take it from here,” he told the FBI agents dismissively.

“Sir, our instructions were to stay with the prisoner.”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass what your orders were. I said we will take care of it from here.”

The FBI man looked tentative as two military police (MP) stepped towards them. At first, it looked like they weren’t going to let Carla go, but after a moment’s hesitation, they handed her over. With that done, they walked back to the Suburban and got in.

“Dr. Ryson, I’m Col. Robert Sa’heed. I’m the commander of this facility.” Much to her disappointment, Carla found herself too petrified to any more than just nod. The Col. looked at her for a moment, feeling a small prick of curiosity at the meekness of her reaction. Everything he had read about her, after he was informed that she would be staying on the base, had led him to believe that this was a strong willed firecracker of a woman. He briefly wondered what had happened to her to make so scared. With an internal shrug, he motioned towards the door and said, “Shall we?”

Her head was spinning with fear and confusion as the MP’s helped her through the open doorway. Visions of another military torture chamber filled her head but to her surprise there was just a single female solder waiting inside for her. She looked up as they entered, stood and saluted as she recognized who was coming in.

“Dr Ryson, this is SGT. Masterson. She will be your day guard. If you behave for her, you will be treated fairly. If you choose to make things difficult, she has permission to make your time here miserable. Do you understand?” the Col. asked.

Carla nodded meekly.

“Good. SGT?” Sa’heed said, indicating for Masterson to take charge of Carla.

“Very Sir. Ma’am if you’ll step this way?” the solder said to Carla pointing toward the cell that took up the majority of the small building.

Carla stepped forward and unsteadily walked through the open cage door. Once inside, she sat at the far end of the bed supplied for her as the SGT closed the bared door.

With a quick salute, the Col. walked back outside with the two MP’s. “The two of you will guard the door. No one goes in there without my permission. Understand? Not even the two of you, unless the SGT. request your help.”

“Yes Sir,” they replied in unison.

After another salute, the Col. walked back to the waiting Humvee. Settling into the passenger’s seat, Sa’heed picked up the mobile phone as his driver turned the vehicle around for the long drive back to central area of the base. He dialed his office and got his civilian assistant, “Phyllis? Would you have Lt. Granger gethold of someone in command over at Grayson and have him request a full report on Dr. Carla Ryson? I need to know who’s been handling her until she was transferred, and what she’s been through.”

*********

San Francisco KLTR noon time news report:

“Good afternoon. Our top story this hour continues to be the massive region wide man hunt for suspected domestic terrorist Warren Quinlan. Quinlan, as you may remember, is wanted for questioning in connection with the shooting death of KLTR anchor woman Wanda Maximov. Local police, in conjunction with federal authorities, have been diligently following up on all leads in the case, but thus far Quinlan remains at large.

“Yesterday his accomplice George Mathers was apprehended in a daring early morning raid on the apartment he was known to live in. Local authorities confirm that Mathers’ has been cooperating with their efforts to bring Quinlan in. Working from information supplied by Mathers, police have been canvassing several of Quinlan’s known hangouts.”

“In other news, the chief of Homeland Security, Harris Skellington has announced the apprehension of the woman suspected of releasing the Acidalia virus in the Bay area, Dr. Carla Ryson. While no details were given as to where she was being held, Director Skellington confirmed that federal agents are questioning Dr. Ryson at this time, and once they are finished, there would be a press briefing.’

“Locally: Police are still investigating the early morning break-ins at several area pharmacies. No cash was taken, but several boxes of various antiviral agents were stolen. The theft of these items will only compound the quickly growing area shortage of such items. Federal authorities have put out a warning that the hoarding of such items will not be tolerated. Anyone caught with large supplies or illegally selling these medications will be subject to federal prosecution, a spokesperson was quoted as saying.”

“Internationally: President Fuller today issued a statement of disappointment over French President Marques Rogue’s decision to quarantine Pan Am flight 911 this morning. The given reason was because the flight had originated at San Francisco International, and there was no way to tell if any aboard were infected with Acidalia.

“In a statement made during an inspection of the soon to be completed viral containment wing at the Walter Reed Medical Center in Washington D.C., President Fuller was quoted as saying, “This administration will not look favorably on any country that discriminates against our citizens because of a minor outbreak of this virus. Any country, friend or other wise, should think twice before taking any kind of similar actions.””

Ellie’d had enough of the news and turned off the television. She got off the couch and walked into her bedroom to check on Roger. In the last few hours he had begun to feel quite ill. While she knew this was the first step in the viral induced transformation that she had experienced, she had pledged to make sure he was as comfortable as the situation would allow.

She found him with the blanket pulled up to his chin, shivering and sweating at the same time. He looked ghostly pale and miserable, with his flushed cheeks, glassy eyes and running nose. Stepping over a pile of clothes, she took a seat on the bed next to him and put the back of her hand against his forehead. He felt hot to the touch. “Oh, Sweetie, you’re burning up. Would you like some aspirin?” she asked, knowing it wouldn’t have any physical effect, but hoping that it would help him psychologically.

He looked at her and replied though chattering teeth “Y … yes th … thank you. That would b … be wonderful.”

“OK, sweetie, I’ll be right back. Ellie hurried into the bathroom and said a quick prayer for Roger as she grabbed the bottle of pills and a glass of water. She scurried back into the room and helped him into somewhat of a sitting position. Once positioned a bit more upright Roger, was wracked by a fit of coughing.

Ellie waited patiently for it to pass, then handed him a three pills. Roger put them in his mouth and gagged as he tried to choke them down. When he was ready, Ellie handed him the water glass and watched as he used it to wash down the pills.

Handing her back the cup, he rasped “Thank you.”

Smiling sweetly, Ellie replied “My pleasure. Did you have enough water, or would you like some more?”

“I’m all set, thank you.”

Setting the empty glass down on the night table she asked “Would you like me to sit with you for a while until you fall asleep?”

“Yes please. My goodness Elij … err … I mean … Ellie, is this how it felt for you?”

“I’m sorry, Sweetie, but yes. As a matter of fact, this is only the beginning. It will get a lot worse before it gets better, I’m afraid. But trust in God, my friend, and he will see you through.”

After a moment of silence went by Roger joked “Y … you know, Y … y … you h … have a horrible b … bedside m … manner.”

Giving him a mock stern look, Ellie playfully slapped at his shoulder, then took a seat on the edge of the bed. She gently stroked Roger’s hair as they absently watched television for a while. “Are you still going to use Sandra as your name once you change?” she asked him during a commercial break.

Looking at her sleepily, Roger replied “No. I was actually thinking of something different.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“I … I was thinking that I’ve always liked the name Nicole. Wha … What do you think?”

She looked him over for a moment considering. “Yes,” she said. “I think that name would fit you perfectly.

Roger smiled at his friend. “Good. I really like the name a lot.” He yawned loudly.

“You tired now?” Ellie asked him.

“Yes. Very.”

Getting up from the bed and leaning over to kiss his warm forehead, she said “Well then, sleep well, Nicole. I’ll be in the other room if you need anything sweetie.”

“Thank you again,” Nicole said to her.

“For what, Sweetie?”

“For being here with me.”

“Oh Nikki, it’s my pleasure. Now get some sleep,” she said with a tear in her eye.

Nicole rolled over and Ellie stood and watched until she was sure her friend was asleep. Once positive, Ellie went back into the living room and kneeled down in front the small statue of Jesus and prayed again for her friend’s safe transition into womanhood.

**********

County Memorial Hospital:

Jack Ryan was exhausted and agitated. For better than twenty four hours he, along with Laura Wayne had been testing and retesting blood samples at County Memorial hospital, in an effort to determine the effectiveness of the Acidalia test the he had developed. An hour ago he’d finally convinced her to go get some sleep while he waited for the computer to finish compiling the results.

Now sitting in the lab looking over the results of the comparison, he found himself becoming despondent over the results. In the lab at Grayson, the test had been about 97% effective. Here, in a real life test, however, the effectiveness had dropped to about 70%. To make matters even worse, it seemed to have a tremendous issue with the Rh factor in type A/B negative blood.

He scowled at the printout the paper on the desk in disgust and leaned back in the chair. ‘How could I have been so wrong?’ he wondered as he rubbed his tired eyes. Ryan wasn’t used to being wrong, and was embarrassed at his test having failed so miserably. He thrummed his fingers on the desk as he considered what to do next. To him, there was nothing short of his reputation at stake. After a few more moments of consideration, he reached for the computer and began to type.

Confirmed cases: 570
Actual cases:927
End part III

Notes:

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