Virulent

Chapter 7: Demands

When Ezra came to, she was back in that cell, locked up, waiting for the inevitability of one of two things. By midnight, she would either agree to their demand and save her family—her one life goal since she lost her mum—or she'd face the music, as Dad often quoted. She'd never fully comprehended that saying, and even now, sitting huddled in that cot, she struggled to see how facing the music was in any way bad or scary. This was no music she was facing. Death. Death was no music, either for herself tonight, or for her family when the culling started.

Or the thousands, if not millions, if I do this...

The images of men and women, scientists alike, dead on the lab floor swam back into her vision, one after the other. So much blood. So much death.

Ezra scooted to the side of the cot and retched again. I can't let them die like that. Dad and Shaki...

Yet another voice in her mind asked, 'And what about strangers? Can you let them die like that?'

She clutched her empty stomach. There was nothing in there for her to bring up. Nothing except guilt. Why did I write that paper? None of this would have happened if I hadn't written that stupid paper...

'It was inevitable, like the General said. You. Or someone else. One of you would have designed the perfect pathogen. One of you would be the brains behind it. It was a matter of time, or worse, if no one did anything, imagine what the real last resort would be?' her logical brain chimed in.

Ezra didn't need to imagine it. She'd had many such debates with other students when she was in uni, discussions she'd bring home to Dad, to see if any had merit. Now, the one scenario that had even the mighty and brave Siddhartha Mayur blanching white simmered in the back of her mind.

She could almost imagine the sound of bombs dropping in high-density areas. They'd make the atomic bomb look like firecrackers in comparison.

"They'll target cities at critical mass and blame it on an integral malfunction at the plants or silos. Or a hacker, some disgruntled 'scapegoat' they'll latch the blame on probably," had been her dad's exact words. "If worse comes to worst, that's what they will do, those deep-pocketed bureaucrats and politicians. To save their bacon..."

But what if I can stop them? Stop them from making this...?

'How would you do that?' her skeptic voice raised the issue.

"As the General said, it's me or some other scientist they grab..." Ezra eyed that grey door, chewing her lips. She'd have to come up with something. Given time, she could. She was sure she could come up with something.

'Yes, and?'

"If I design this thing..." Ezra paused, suddenly aware that they may have bugged the room. Her dad had taught her not to trust any unfamiliar spaces. There could be cameras and microphones. Gadgets that could steal her secrets... her haphazard plan to foil any nefarious projects...

If I design this, maybe I can put in some fail-safe? Something? I don't know... something that could stop it from spreading like wildfire...

Thus, by the time that door opened again, at precisely midnight, Ezra Mayur realised there was no choice before her. She was the only one who could save her family, and she was also the only one she wanted doing this abominable job. If anyone was going to design a pathogen for 'pest control', it would be her because she doubted the next person may share her morality.

So Ezra jumped off that bed as General Waterford crossed the threshold. "I'll do it." She hadn't meant to sound so enthusiastic, but the smile on his face told her he bought into it.