The Zombie Letters (7 page)

              It was the greatest moment of my life.

VI

              I mentally logged those few precious moments. I did . . . because, as with life, you throw a ball in the air? It’s going to come down. You didn’t need a scientist with an IQ of one-hundred and seventy to tell you that. No MENSA Gold Card is required to learn that bit of information.

              I saw Samantha in high spirits that day, as she always was. Brilliantly vibrant and vivacious. What I didn’t know was that in November of that year, she had been diagnosed with breast cancer. I was told a little while later when she started chemotherapy. I saw her not six months later on June 4
th
, 2015 when I visited their home. Her cancer spread rapidly; due to her not taking scheduled tests and ignoring a lump she found all the way back in August of that year. In March of 2015, she had to have a double mastectomy. The disease had spread to her breastplate. Her ribs were affected and she was beyond surgery. Her doctor said he had never seen cancer spread that fast. I wish I hadn’t stayed away for those months. Things were so insane at work and Nathaniel asked me to take care of Brucie for awhile. I don’t know if I could have been much help, though. I didn’t feel bad about them not telling me. They needed that time to themselves. Still . . . maybe I could have helped ease their stress a little bit. I am a therapist, after all.

              What a terrible thing to happen. She was going to die and my boss . . . my best friend . . . had changed. Animal trials were going well. We’d managed to cure blindness in rhesus monkeys and helped to rebuild wound tissue in amputated rats. The limbs didn’t grow back, obviously. The healing, however, was remarkable. The amputations healed within days. Completely. Nathaniel theorized that the limbs would not grow back. Cells were just repairing themselves. We had the cure for everything. Even the cancer trials for the mice were working. I remember taking a rat we had chemically paralyzed and in eight days after injection, the spine completely repaired itself. We couldn’t grow anything new . . . however, every disease that affected cellular activity was cured. That pretty much means any disease known to the human race.

              But . . . Samantha Winters was dying. Nathaniel had her moved to a wing at Locke itself, where she stayed twenty-four seven. Nathaniel visited his kids every other day, but as Sami became more and more ill and constantly bed-ridden, he never left the lab. The only time I saw the kids was when they visited the facility. My heart was breaking for them. They would only see their mother for a few minutes, and then Nate rushed them out into the hall as if they were strangers. I don’t know
how
many times he promised them he would take time and make it up to them, but he never did. How many times did I see him sitting at his desk at all hours of the morning, staring off into empty space? I felt so bad for them that I took both of the kids to that Adventure Land theme park on one of my weekends off. Neither of them said a word the entire time.

              “I won’t lose her, guys. I won’t lose her,” is all he would say to anyone. He worked tirelessly . . . day and night; often short-tempered and irritable. Nathaniel Winters had completely changed. He built up reports on the animal testing at breakneck speed. The team, as well as I, completed work by the end of June that would normally have taken two years.

              I came in one day at the tail end of that month to find Nathaniel, Michael and Emily sitting on a bench outside. They all had that light in their eyes missing. Michael especially. You could sense the distaste of having to sit next to his pale, thin and unkempt father. Nathaniel never looked like that before. The man was always so well-rounded and put together. A wedge had been driven between them and it was a big one. “They’re moving her to the Cancer Treatment Center in Dubuque. Got a letter this morning. Her primary physician . . . you know, that prissy fuck who waltzes in here once a week? Right into a facility that is more than capable of caring for her? Yeah . . . the man who comes in here once a month, takes one look at her and leaves. He said he’s moving her. He says that this is a
research
facility, not a medical establishment that can properly treat her. Samantha signed the paper to leave and go there. Even with me being power of attorney, her doctor actually took the time to threaten me with a suit if I didn’t release her. What can I do? This
isn’t
a hospital. I was backed against a wall. Sami signed that paper to give me some time to rest and finish the cure. I couldn’t stop her . . .” Nathaniel spoke as he started to cry. Emily put her hand in his and squeezed it. Michael shot both of them a look of impatient disgust. I realized that moment that Nathaniel had lost them. Even Emily had a look on her face as if she was holding a dead squid in her hand . . . a slimy, displeasing thing she couldn’t wait to let go of. “Human trials . . . oh,
Christ
. . .” he sobbed harder; his controlled cries turning into weak gasps. I thought he was going to scream.

“What . . . what about human trials?” I said, my heart breaking for the ruined family in front of me.

“They denied us. After all that work . . . I even broke down and faced a goddamn malpractice suit when I showed them Brian’s records. They were furious that I never told them. As of tomorrow, we have ninety days to finish animal trials, remit all data and close the doors. All funding has been pulled. I . . . laid off thirteen people today. You, Brian and I are the only ones that will continue this. I didn’t tell those fucks at the Pentagon that
you
knew about Brian. I put the blame all on me. I stand to have my license removed because of this. I told them it was no one’s fault but mine.”

“Are you
fucking CRAZY??!”
I tried to keep calm, but ended up doing a terrible job holding the simmering rage coming to the surface. “They’ll crucify you for this! I feel awful for you, I truly do. I love Samantha, but you’re talking about human trials
after
we are officially shut down??! That’s not a license revocation, that’s not unemployment, that’s fuckin’ prison!”

“
YOU’VE SEEN IT WORK!”
Nathaniel shouted at the top of his lungs. He lurched off of the bench, walking towards me. His eyes were bloodshot and his body shaking all over. “We do this and make it public . . .
ALL OF IT!
Fuck the Pentagon, we tell the world. They will not shut us down and I will keep your precious
ASS OUT OF ALL OF IT!
Please help me, friend. Please . . . help me. I promise, Darin. I will not implicate you. Just . . .”

I held him. He fell into my arms and I held him like I’d never embraced anyone before. I knew full-well the repercussions of what I was doing, as I assumed Brian did, but deep down I knew that I would gladly be burned at the stake if it meant saving millions . . . if not billions of lives. Just to be responsible for no more sickness. No more loved ones dying of incurable agonies. No more need for children’s hospitals or nursing homes. This . . . this was worth more than my career. This was worth more than my reputation. More than my freedom. More than my life.

“Okay, old buddy. I’ll do it.”

CHAPTER 2

I

S
amantha was already in a coma when we set up an appointment with her primary doctor to move her. Six days. We only had six days. Brian O’Reilly, looking forty years younger than his actual age, agreed to be the first human recipient of the lab-simulated drug based on the plant’s extract. We named it Lynn001. Lynn was Samantha’s middle name. Brian was studied for forty-eight hours straight. And I mean
straight
. Something that would normally take a week, we achieved in two days. I distinctly remember peering into a microscope and watching Brian’s blood cells float around for a solid six hours.

Sami was in the lab with us. She had been moved from the lounge-converted hospital room to the lab itself. She was in such stark contrast to who she was before. Her hair had thinned, she was down to ninety-seven pounds and with both of her breasts removed, she looked like a shell. Like some kind of empty, shed exoskeleton. We had to shave her head because she kept getting sores. Everything that made that woman lovely was ravaged. Her skin was like dry Play-Doh. Her breathing sounded like the air seeping out of a pinhole in a balloon through her white, chapped lips. Nathaniel had a renewed sense of vigor. He’d started shaving again and washed his now shoulder-length hair. He took frequent breaks outside and was beginning to get some color back. As fast as we were working, he seemed less stressed. It was around that time that Lyn001 was given to Brucie. Both he and Brian were doing better than expected. Especially Brian. His immune system was something the writers at Marvel Comics would envy. Even his lifelong near-sightedness was gone. The man would never need reading glasses again.

There were also changes in Brucie that happened within days. I was just as guilty in deciding that we had enough trial success to give Samantha the injection. After four and a half hours, her eyes responded to movement, light and other stimuli. After twenty-six hours, she was awake . . . but barely able to comprehend her surroundings. Her body was very weak and she would only sit up for five minutes at a time. Three days later, she was speaking, eating on her own and was able to walk the length of the hallway with minimal assistance. As expected, the fine representatives from Mercy Regional Cancer Treatment Centers were due to arrive. The six days had come to an end. July 7
th
. That morning, we all decided to pay the doctor a little visit personally. We drove down to Dubuque and as we were about ten minutes away, I called her physician. Doctor Salyers, if memory serves me. We told him that we were bringing Samantha ourselves. I will never forget that conversation.

He
picked up the phone. Not his secretary. He had given Sami his personal cell number. “Hello? Who is this?” he said, already irritated. In the back of my mind, I hoped he was sitting down. The thought brought a smile to my face.

“Doctor Darin Miles.” I tried to sound as obnoxious as I could. It isn’t everyday one gets to do something like we did that day.

              “Oh, yes I believe we’ve met. How can I help you?”

              “We’re bringing Samantha Winters to you.” I dropped my voice when I said it. I wanted to savor any moment of that. “We will be there in a few minutes.”

              He paused for a moment, seemingly struggling to process what he had just heard. I don’t blame him. “You’re transporting a comatose patient in a car??!” he screamed so loudly that his voice cut out over the phone.

              “Well,
duh
,” I said, “someone’s gotta drive.” I looked over at Nate. He was physically holding is hand over his beet-red face to keep from laughing.

              “If you called to play some kind of prank on me, I don’t find it humorous, sir. Furthermore, if you are serious . . . I’ll have your ass arrested for abuse.”

              “Hold up, partner. We’re here.”

              The car pulled up to the door where Doctor Salyers himself was standing outside. What he saw get out of the driver’s seat made him fall to his knees. His mouth hung open and shook his head slowly in utter disbelief. The well-off, well educated man was reduced to something else when Samantha walked out of the car to greet him. A petty man on his knees. A small creature witnessing a miracle. A woman who had six months to live and previously in a coma walked up to her own doctor, helping him to his feet. He tried to speak, but nothing escaped his lips . . . so Sam spoke for him.

              “I’m here for my check up, doctor.”

II

              “This is impossible. There exists no trace . . . absolutely
no
trace of it in her system. Her white blood cell count is perfectly healthy. I ran it twice. There are no signs present that Samantha wasn’t even
in
a coma. Aside from a shaved head, you’d never be able to tell she even had a cold.” Salyers plopped down behind his desk. He removed his glasses and vigorously rubbed his face. Every inch of his desk was covered in paper. X-ray scans, blood test results . . . everything. Nathaniel and I just stood there, watching a professional question everything he knew. I could sympathize. I remember the first time I saw Brian O’Reilly’s wrinkles disappear. I saw a sixty-year old chain smoker playing basketball in a park for hours, then going for a jog afterwards. “How the hell did you achieve this again?” he said behind his clammy hands.