Virulent

Chapter 12: Shock

LOG ENTRY: 4

DATE: 26 December 2098

TIME: 5:30 AM

LOCATION: Gov Research Laboratory. (Location unknown.)

Dr. Ezra Mayur, Microbiologist & Epidemiologist. Expertise: Designer Pathogens.

I couldn't sleep last night. Again. It had nothing to do with the party going on up on the canteen level, or the noises of happy campers in the corridors, fumbling, shit-faced-drunk to their beds.

I couldn't sleep. Watergate, what he said, what he showed, and that at 06:00 hours, someone's going to knock on my door and say we're heading off. To where? Still no idea. The General was tight-lipped, and I haven't really left my room other than to stretch my leg and grab some food before it was all gone. I had no desire to partake in festivities with my captives. Some days I seem to forget... that I'm not here by choice. That these are not friendlies.

What's bizarre is—for folks who are ruthless gatekeepers of the future—last night, they actually attempted to decorate the canteen as festive as anyone can make a bland concrete bunker. There was even a soldier dressed as Santa, and not one of those cheap suits either that some in our neighbourhood used to wear, stained, tattered, and faded, offering crooked smiles and missing teeth for Christmas Photos. I remember both Shaki and I used to get scared of them... there's even a photo of us, me at twelve, her, a tiny wailing baby. She did not like the creepy man in the red suit. Honestly, neither did I.

However, the food was the highlight for me. I even went back up for seconds. The men, Millen especially, were inviting me to join them but I had other things on my mind, like, where are we going today? What does this Vault look like? But you know what, for the first time in my life, I saw a whole turkey. There were also several roast chickens, other meats, assorted veggies, and desserts that simply made you feel you were in heaven. I've never seen anything like it. In the middle of widespread famine? Where did they get all that food? Was Watergate lying? About the shortage?

But honestly, that wasn't it either. We're about to leave for a central HCL, for pathogens—the place I thought was a myth—where I'll be forced, under guard, to secure samples of the world's deadliest pathogens known to mankind. How can one sleep with that on their mind? Every time I closed my eyes, those screens flickered to life, those faces—

"Dr Mayur?" There was no courteous knock this time.

Ezra sat at her table, laptop in front of her, an empty bowl of cereal she'd forced down her throat beside it. She slammed the screen down just as the door swung open and he stood there. Rai.

"Captain?" Ezra stood, not rushing to hide the laptop from him.

"It's time." His gaze moved from the device to her as he stood ramrod straight. "I'll give you a minute to gather your things."

As they walked those subdued halls, his heavy boots synced with her thin sneakers, and Ezra trailed a few paces behind. The man wasn't exactly tall, but he was a fast walker, measured, and she needed to jog occasionally to keep up with him.

They walked several levels up. The air felt thicker and heavier here. December. Aussie December, the height of summer. Wonder why Watergate told me to pack for the cold. After what felt like a good-leg-day jaunt up several flights of stairs, they arrived at a large garage of sorts, at the end of which stood large, guarded double doors. Rai nodded at those men, hopped into the nearest open-top Jeep, waited for her to slide onto the passenger seat, lugging her army-issued duffle bag onto her lap, and drove them towards those very gates.