Zombie Fallout 3: THE END .... (14 page)

"No I was thinking of your son Justin."

"What's going on Doc?" I asked, all triviality discarded.

"If I had a team of virologists and biologists and a couple of dozen other ologists I might be able to use his blood to produce some sort of vaccine against this scourge."

"You're throwing a lot of hope out there with a significant amount of negative tone to it Doc."

"Well there's hope Mike, but not on as broad a scope as I was hoping for. I've been studying Justin's blood since the day he got here. There's a key there, of that I'm sure it just so happens to be locked in a world class bank vault and I'm trying to safe-crack it with a sparkler."

"That bad?"

"The sparkler might be an overstatement, more like a wet match."

"Ouch."

"Don’t get me wrong, I'm taking vials of his blood in the hopes that an epidemiologist somehow stumbles into camp. But until then I might have an answer or at least a way to treat what afflicts him."

"I'm listening." Hell he could have been talking about the Baroque movement and I would be listening, couldn't really go anywhere in the state I was in.

"I am going to put this in as easily explainable layman terms as I can, not because I think you're an idiot."

"Thanks."

"But because my grasp on the concept is tenuous at best. In a normal human when they receive a bite from a zombie, their immune system is completely destroyed by the parasite. The system doesn't even have time to offer a viable defense. The saliva of the infected appears to be the most optimum way to spread the contagion, unfortunately not the only way. But in Justin's case he received such a small influx of the bug his body was able to rally and offer something almost as good as a victory."

I was remembering that night not so long ago when I had sat over my son's bed dreading the fact that in all likelihood I was going to have to put a bullet in him. One does not easily get over one of the darkest days in their existence. "What's that Doc? What's almost as good as a victory?"

"A sliding stalemate, the parasites have been stalled, somewhat."

"I don't much care for 'sliding' and 'somewhat', there's more Doc, I can see it in your face."

"It's a war that Justin can't win. He might be able to hold them off for weeks, months maybe even a year or two but eventually they will overwhelm him. If he catches a cold or gets bronchitis and his body has to start spreading white blood cells around he won't be able to produce them quick enough. The antibiotics I'm giving him are helping but it's more like giving Percocets to a man with a dislocated shoulder. It dulls the pain but doesn’t fix the root of the problem."

The Doctor seemed hesitant to continue, I prodded him on. "And?"

"And, I've got an idea."

"The needle?"

"The needle."

"What's in the needle Doc?"

"It's what the CDC was developing when this whole thing started."

"You told me yourself it didn't work Doc."

"It didn't work because it just wasn't strong enough. But it might be enough to tip the scales with your son."

"Last time I checked Doc, scales can tip both ways."

"And that's the problem."

"You can't be asking me this Doc."

"Mike he is fighting a battle with a predetermined ending. This might be his only chance."

"What if it doesn't work?"

Doctor Baker sat back in his chair pinching the bridge of his nose in his thumb and forefinger. "Then the inevitable happens a lot sooner."

"If we, and by we I mean Tracy myself and Justin agree to this will he be cured? Will the virus be destroyed?"

"No this is a symptomatic treatment, it's much like giving insulin to a person suffering from diabetes. It will keep the parasite in check. It will allow his body to recover an equilibrium; it can stop the war that is raging within him."

"An armistice?"

"Armistice, détente, stasis, whatever you want to call it, your son will be back."

"Where is Justin now?" I asked a cold chill sweeping through my soul.

"He's in our isolation ward."

"Doc, I can't do it again." Doc Baker remained silent. "The night he was injured I stayed with him. I had a loaded gun with the hammer pulled back in my lap. I talked to him the entire night about every good and not so good thing we had done in our lives together. I fully expected to end his life that night." An unforced sob issued forth from the depths of my being. The Doc placed his hand on my good shoulder. "Can you know what it's like to take a piece of you, something that contains all your hopes, your dreams, your love and just destroy it? CAN YOU!?" I yelled.

I was sobbing nearly inconsolably. BT faked sleep. I owed him big for that. Tracy, true to her nature, was Johnny on the spot. She had somewhere along the line honed the skill of always being at the right spot at the right time to a science.

"What's going on Mike? Doctor?" She asked with concern. I was thinking that she thought I had received bad news about myself. Trust me I wouldn't have taken that news half as bad as what the Doctor was proposing. "You alright Mike?"

I wiped my eyes. "You know how I feel about you seeing me cry."

"I know, I know, you're Ironman. That's what has me concerned Mike, in twenty years of marriage I've seen you with more punctures, burns and body parts hanging on by a thread where you've just grunted about going back to the emergency room. The two times I've seen you cry, one involved the death of my dad and the other was your mom. So what's going on?"

The Doc took about ten minutes to lay out everything to her like he had to me.

"To quote my husband! Abso-fucking-lutely not!" She shouted.

"Go to him then." The Doc started.

"I do! Every day." She retorted.

"You didn't let me finish, Tracy."

In my head I couldn't believe he had pulled out the condescending card. BAD, BAD move.

"You've got about ten seconds Doctor, to explain yourself before I turn and walk out of here. I'd rather kick your ass right now. The only thing that’s keeping me at bay is the gratitude I have for you saving my husband, but that will only get you so far." Her finger of doom was in full thrust mode. A diamond tipped jackhammer would be less lethal.

I could tell the Doctor was especially appreciative of the fact that his chair had wheels and he was on a tile floor, but he would run out of running room long before she ran out of fuel.

"Tracy go to your son, ask him how he's doing." Tracy looked about to respond. "No really, ask him how he is doing. I've had long talks with him. He's told me that he feels like he slips a little deeper every day. That a little more of who he is gets dragged away and discarded like so much trash. Sometimes he just feels like giving up." Tracy sobbed much like I had. "He's tired of fighting both inside of himself and against the outside world. He knows what kind of threat he poses to all of you. He can't bear the thought that his mere existence could bring harm to any of you. He has lost hope. He's asked me more than once to give him enough pills or a lethal injection to end it all."

Tracy came over to me crying. She was careful to avoid my wound. She didn't do such a good job. I did my best to bite back my tears of pain.

"I don't bring this to either of you lightly."

Tracy held her hand up.

"It's just that…"

"Doc, stop talking now." I told him.

"Right, I'm going to check on my other patients."

"Thanks Doc." I wrapped my good arm around my wife. Her racking sobs jostled me, but that was a kind of pain I was familiar with. It was the kind that I could cope with. It was like a bad friend who you knew was going to borrow money that he had no intentions of paying back. He was the friend that would turn over your couch cushions after he burned them accidently with a cigarette after you specifically told him that nobody smokes in the house. He was an asshole, but he was YOUR asshole. That other pain? Well let's just say that pain was like a lawyer who just so happened to be a Yankees fan after they just bought their 26th championship. Yeah, he's that asshole.

Tracy and I did about another hour's worth of mutual consolation. We had a way of taking the little bit of strength we possessed and bouncing it back and forth between the two of us, adding to it at each and every toss. Do all married couples possess this super power? Probably not or there would have been fewer divorces.

"What do you think Talbot?" Tracy asked, lifting her tear soaked face off my tear soaked chest.

"I think I need a new shirt." Tracy made as if she was going to punch me. "I think we have the Doctor lay everything out there for him, the pros and the cons and we let him decide."

"Okay."

"Okay, that's it? No expletives about how crazy I am? Or how nuts this situation is? I was expecting more."

"There is no other answer Mike, you heard the Doctor. Our baby is ready to give up."

"I know." I said stroking her hair, which also happened to be wet. "You'd better wait before you go back out."

She looked at me funny. Ah, the Tracy I know and love.

"Your hair is soaked, you go out now and you're going to get an ice helmet. Although I really kind of dig chicks in uniform."

"Well maybe if you weren't in that hospital bed."

"That is not right. Not right at all." I lamented.

"I'm going to see Justin."

"Tell him I love him."

"Do I look like I've been crying?"

"Besides the running mascara, red eyes and Rudolph nose? No, you look fine."

"I'll tell him you love him. I'll see you tonight."

"Bye love."

"Bye Talbot."

Tracy walked out of the room. I turned to adjust myself. I had only been awake for a couple of hours and I was exhausted. BT's blanket was up over his head. I could see his whole bed shaking.

"You crying?" I asked him.

"I'm sleeping, leave me alone." He sniffed.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN - JOURNAL ENTRY 7 -

Justin was in a small room maybe ten by ten feet with a heavy lockable oak door. He was usually able to walk around his room but for this experiment he was fully restrained to his bed with cloth straps. I involuntarily got the heebie-jeebies thinking about being completely tied down and then getting an itch on my nose. I was convinced that would drive me insane. The room was cramped with myself in a wheelchair, Tracy behind me, Doc Baker, a fully armed guard and the center of attention, Justin in his bed.

"For the fourth time, Mom, I want to do this." Justin said looking up as high as he could with the strap across his forehead.

Tracy reached down and grabbed my hand out of my lap. "Is the guard necessary?" Tracy asked.

Nobody responded. He was necessary in case the unspeakable happened.

"Justin, I am going to put this mask on you for our protection, okay?" The doc asked him. Justin nodded his head, his eyes locked on a fixed location on the ceiling. The 'mask' was nothing more than a leather strap with a wide piece that fit securely over the most dangerous part of a zombie, the mouth. Images of Hannibal Lecter streamed through my head as the mask was placed into position. To say my stomach was in knots would be an understatement. I could barely pull in air. Even the guard who had zero vested interest was uptight, but then he'd be the trigger man if this went bad and killing any defenseless enemy strapped to a bed would not ever sit well.

Without another word spoken in the room the doctor administered the shot to Justin's arm.

"How long Doc?" I asked quietly. The doctor didn't even have time to respond as Justin's body struggled against the bonds. He thrashed so violently against them I thought they would start to saw through his skin. Tracy's grip on my hand was excruciating. She had my first and forth knuckles nearly touching. Saliva ran down the side of Justin's face in amounts I wouldn't think a human would be able to produce. Henry yes, Justin not so much. The doctor was checking Justin's pulse when he jumped back. The guard tensed up, undoing the snap on his holster. Tracy might have broken my hand. Justin's scream was muffled from the leather.

I won't swear to it. I can't. My mind just can't wrap around it securely enough to give a definitive answer but when Justin looked over to me and Tracy his eyes looked unbelievably black and flat. They reflected perfectly the soul of a black, dead heart. And just as quickly they returned back to their normal state. I hoped this wheelchair wasn't dry clean only.