I work for a small medical laboratory, and generally the things we are sent are mutated viruses, or potentially hazardous spores from around the country. Normally we are contracted by either the CDC or directly by a Medical School. The thing that brings me here is the first time I've ever seen a package arrive with a Department of Defense stamp on the box. That was on Monday. As of this writing it is late at night on Thursday.
I was nervous as soon as I saw the red-ink stamp. My 'Mentor' at the firm seemed just as freaked out by the thing as I was even before opening it, and that woman has nerves of steel. It was her first time seeing the Government seal as well. She confided as much to me. I should probably be honest here, no sense in trying to cover it up now. We have been having an affair since we've been locked away out here. What did the guys at the top expect when we're isolated?
That fraternization directive is bullshit. I'm starting to think this company is more closely related to the Military than we were lead to believe. “Privately Owned” my ass. That's all really irrelevant to what I came here to tell you. She opened the plain brown packaging paper to find a white cardboard box with the words Handle With Care stenciled on the outside. This gave us both pause once again, and I could tell by the way her eyebrows furrowed she was more than nervous.
“Let's take this to the Clean Room.” She said softly, and I simply nodded my head, being her intern, and not exactly having the ability to argue. We dressed in the thin plastic suits, helping one another fasten the hoods to the suits as we came out of the decontamination chamber. The doctor moved to retrieve the sample box from the slot in the far wall before moving toward the bench near me. I was already soaked with sweat inside the suit, the drops stinging my eyes.
I blinked until the burning went away and watched the woman that I had come to love open the box, as she had seemed to be waiting for me. I don't know what either of us were expecting, but when she extracted an ordinary looking vial of small, black spores from inside the package, I could feel the wave of relief sweep through the room dispelling some of the tension. We unfastened and removed the hoods, placing them on the desk behind us.
Doctor Smith (for the purposes of this story at least) pulled one of the small black spheres from the vial and placed it in a resealable plastic box. I felt safe enough to approach the thing after it was closed. She instructed me to turn on the computer and the monitor sitting next to the microscope that she placed the box beneath. When the machines had powered up she adjusted the focus of the microscope while I collected a clipboard, already jotting down where the sample came from along with our names.
I also quickly jotted down a description of the object. I dug the small digital recorder from the pocket of my lab coat, switching it on so that the woman could describe the thing, and I could transcribe it later. Doctor Smith also ran a few other tests on the thing, before switching off the recorder. We both stared at the thing as if it might suddenly strike, like a rattlesnake or scorpion, and the woman beside me broke the momentary silence abruptly.
“Should we see if we can induce bursting?” She asked, and as my head turned, I caught a faint glimmer in her eye. It was the same look that had led to our complicated personal situation. I nodded, though my blood felt like glacial water in my veins. She moved the sample, carefully, with the elongated forceps she had used to remove it from the vial, from the tiny plastic examination container into a larger container which had long rubber gloves that reached inside to allow access to the specimen before sealing the top of said bullet-proof container.
She placed a small needle in a metal slot that allowed the transfer of instruments into the sealed box. The doctor placed her arms in the rubber gloves and retrieved the scalpel and forceps. Fascinated and curious I almost unwillingly stepped toward the box to watch the woman manipulate the tiny ball. The thing was no bigger than an airsoft pellet, and for the first time I noticed the odd striations of brassy coloration on the thing.
“Was that there before?” I asked the much more knowledgeable woman as I indicated the bands of brown color with the tip of the pen in my grip. She shook her head and looked back at the small object just in time to see the entire thing turn a coppery color, then burst into fine dust. It barely left a husk behind. Doctor Smith removed her hands from the thick rubber cases almost instinctively. The tiny grit seemed to float forever before coating every surface of the observation box.
We exchanged another concerned glance, but I also saw the woman steeling herself, detaching her emotions from the scientific part of herself. I envied her in that moment. I'll admit here and now that the eruption of the small spore had frightened me for some reason. It was a primal feeling, rooted in the deepest part of my psyche. I wish I could have turned it off as she had, maybe I wouldn't be as frightened now, either.
I'm getting ahead of myself again, and I apologize, but I really do think my time is running short here. Back to what I was saying. After the dust settled in the container, the doctor and I reattached the hoods to the clean suits. After that was done, she opened the top of the box, reaching into the container to pull the spore husk that remained on the bottom, and place it in the smaller box, for closer examination. She also walked to the right, opening a cupboard to grab a cotton swab.
She opened the foil package and swiped the head of the swab against the side of the large box that the spore had burst inside, closing the small plastic enclosure around the cotton puff before placing the swab into a Bio-hazard envelope. She sealed that into a larger, bubble-wrap filled envelope and jotted the address to OSU's Botany lab on the outside. She dismissed me before moving a small, plastic chair near the computer.
I went through the decontamination procedure and peeled the plastic suit from my body before heading to the showers, rinsing away the sweat coating my thin form. I walked to the small kitchen after redressing, and made myself a package of Top Ramen, pan-frying an eight ounce steak to cut into small cubes and mix into the noodles after draining away the water I had boiled them in. I ate quickly, surprised by how hungry I was and found my way to a vending machine, buying a bottle of iced tea.
Once I finished drinking the beverage and eating my noodles and steak, I rinsed my dish, placing it into a plastic strainer next to the utilitarian faucet. I walked into the sleeping quarters which were just as spartan and bare. I lay in the metal-frame bed and tried to sleep, laying on my back with my eyelids clenched tightly closed to no avail. I gave in and rolled onto my side, retrieving my well-read copy of Stephen King's 'Misery' intending to read until I got drowsy.
That plan was thwarted by a gentle rapping at my door. The woman had apparently finished her examination for the night, and wanted to spend time with me. It was better than reading a story I could probably recite by heart, so I rose from my bed and followed doctor Smith to her much more comfortable sleeping area. She moved to the full-sized refrigerator and freezer combo that took up a corner of her room, turning to ask “Do you want something to drink?” as she walked that direction. I settled for a bottle of water.
The rest of that night was uneventful, and so was the first half of the morning. When we put on new clean suits and entered the room we had examined the spore in, however things started to take a turn toward the strange for the lack of a better term. The fine brown dust that had coated the interior of the box had changed color and consistency yet again. It was dark green, and no longer light, ashy-looking flakes.
The stuff had become small granules of sand to go along with its new coloration. We moved simultaneously to examine the husk that the substance had exploded from. The thing seemed to have grown small, tubular roots, something like the roots that a potato grows. We both looked from the thing to the other, shock mirrored in our opposite hued eyes, hers brown, my own blue. My heart took a jolt upward before plummeting toward the ground.
“What the hell?” I breathed quietly. The doctor's eyes met mine through the clear windows in the hoods of the suits. “That's what I'd like to know.” she said, and for the first time I had met her, I saw the cold, calculating mask slip for the first time in a lab setting, her voice as shaky as I felt. Doctor Smith approached the small box containing the husk, approaching it as one would get nearer to a coiled rattlesnake.
Against every instinct inside me, I followed until she waved me toward the large, sand-coated box. “I need you to take some samples of the substance over there.” her voice was already calmer, distant. I could practically hear the wheels in her head turning. I moved to the cupboard, collecting a pair of swabs along with a small paint brush and a urine test cup. I opened the top of the large box and used the swabs first, collecting as much of the sandy pollen for lack of a better term as I could.
I closed the plastic tube around the end of the swab, repeating the process with the second object. I then collected a bit more of the grainy substance in the plastic cup, tightly securing the lid. I set the samples on a metal tray and turned back to see the doctor turning the root-covered husk over in the light, using a pair of long forceps to grasp the brittle, dry membrane. Though, as I approached I noticed that the thing didn't look as fragile as it had even moments ago.
We almost collided and I stopped short of the disaster. She deftly sidestepped my confused frame, moving back toward the microscope, speaking with her back to me once again. “Take those samples down to the Biology lab, would you?” I didn't waste time, and paused at the door to turn back to her. “I'm going to grab something to eat on my way back. I'm starving.” I said softly, and the hood of her suit nodded faintly before I left.
I stripped out of the suit, but put on a pair of thick rubber gloves before I reclaimed the sample containers, carrying them toward the stairwell rather than taking the singular elevator. I didn't want to see anyone I knew for fear of babbling everything that had happened into their unsuspecting ear. I was suitably isolated in the cramped space, feet carrying me down the concrete platforms rather slowly. I was in no hurry to get back into the proximity of the sprouting thing.
I arrived at the window to the laboratory, and filled out the half page form, before handing off the swabs and container. I felt a bit of weight lift off my shoulders as I stripped the gloves off inside-out before tossing them into the trash can. True to my word, I headed for the cafeteria, taking the elevator this time to the middle of the three floor facility, following the brightly lit hallways to the kitchen, where I got a tuna fish sandwich and a bottle of pomegranate juice.
I ate my meal slowly, though the food was bland, as most mass produced stuff is, but I couldn't really complain. I was almost on auto-pilot when I threw away my trash and placed the tray in the molded slot behind the hole in the top of the garbage receptacle. I walked back to the elevator, and stepped inside, but my fingers hesitated over the row of buttons. I eventually pressed the button that would carry me to the lobby and made my way out the front door.
I walked to the smoking area and bummed a cigarette from one of the security guard. The smoke was unfamiliar tasting, as it had been more than a year since I had quit, and it even caused me to cough, my lungs burning like I was sixteen again. Halfway through the paper tube, it stopped hurting and a slight high rocked my brain.
My nerves had also settled from their slightly jittery state, and I felt mentally well enough to walk back into the facility after I ground out the cigarette butt. I made my way to the elevator, riding back down to the floor with the lab, donning a brand-new clean suit, putting it on securely before I made my way back to the room that Doctor Smith was standing in. She had the viewing window up against the eyepieces of the microscope at first, but eventually she turned her head to look at me.
“Come here. I want to show you something.” she said, and a lot of the vacant tone in her voice had vanished. I walked toward her, a slight case of the jitters already stirring up inside me. “Take a look in there and tell me what you see.” the woman said, her voice still neutral. I maneuvered my head around inside the baggy hood, until I could see the object under the lens. In the magnified view, I could see some faint, barely there lines within the tuberous growths.
There were also small balls forming along the sides of each of the apparent root structures. I turned to look at the more qualified employee, my mind reeling. “What am I seeing here?” I asked, my head spinning a bit more quickly. She didn't answer, even when I stepped back, turning my expectant face toward the wiser of us. She only shrugged and shook her head, eyebrows drawing toward each other in a look of pensive frustration.
She removed the sample from the observation platform, moving it toward a different, slightly smaller box than the one the unknown ball had exploded inside. She noted the time before placing the small, clear container inside the larger, opaque box. We exited the clean room, and stripped off the noisy plastic suits. I excused myself for another break, and she only nodded, the emotional distance again creeping between us, the beginnings of a rift forming.
She didn't come for me that night, but I didn't give it any thought at first. It was only when she hadn't appeared by almost eleven on Wednesday morning, that I began to get suspicious. She wasn't in her quarters or the cafeteria, either. When I asked security, they would only tell me that she had applied for and gotten a pass approved at around five that morning. I sat around the day room and twiddled my thumbs until Doctor Smith eventually returned around one.
She dodged my inquiries into her whereabouts, the distance between her and I seemingly having doubled in the hours we had been apart. She sent me back to the lab I had visited the day before to retrieve the results of two of the tests that had been ordered the afternoon before. I quickly took a lunch break, if only to escape the uncomfortable feeling whenever the woman was around. I also slipped back out to the smoking area, bumming another cigarette. The tube of carcinogens was less intoxicating and nauseating than the day before.
It still helped to calm my nerves, and also soothe my slightly wounded feelings. I bummed another cigarette from the man, and he also spared me a book of matches, which I tucked into my lab coat pocket. I ventured back inside and made my way to the cafeteria, again taking my time on the stairs. I ate slowly again as well before I braved the journey back to the clean room, again donning a plastic suit.
As I approached the second door, I heard low mumbling. Doctor Smith was talking to someone, but I could hear no reply. I stood outside the laboratory, straining to hear exactly what she was saying, but I still didn't manage to make out her words, only the soothing, soft tone of her speech, as if she were talking to an animal of some sort. I almost turned back, but for some reason I did not, and Doctor Smith's voice halted as the door opened.
“How are you?” She asked, her voice more warm and sweet than it had been for nearing twenty four hours. I had to physically swallow the lump in my throat, along with the fear I was feeling. When we made eye contact, though, I forced myself to smile. “I'm fine. Just curious about your trip earlier.” I said, and she again met my words with silence, her eyes straying toward the files on the table. She diverted me into the study of the strange object.
From what results that our lab could give us, the thing was definitely some sort of fungal spore. There was no analogous fungus in our hemisphere, however, and we wouldn't know more for a few hours more. The doctor also seemed to be keeping me away from the actual husk of the thing, antagonizing my earlier suspicion and fear. After transferring the lab results into the clean room computer, I again excused myself for a break.
She looked almost relieved at first and I quickly stripped away the plastic outer garment once again, shoving it into one of the bio-hazard bins as I fought the urge to simply flee into the forest as fast as I could. The compulsion was irrational and sudden, and I attributed it to my earlier fear. I smoked the last cigarette I had borrowed alone in the small shelter. I didn't want to go back inside, but I had to. I did take a detour however, into the security office, for the second time that day.
“Can I help you?” the man behind the counter asked me, his face puzzled but slightly amused behind thick-framed glasses. “I need a pass to town.” I said quickly, in almost full on blurt mode. The man nodded his head and handed me a small packet of forms to fill out. The information they wanted was bordering on invasive, but I filled out every line, seriously doubting that the woman I had come to know and love had been comfortable with doing so.
I handed the man the packet and he told me that I had a few hours to wait, which again set off the alarms in my brain. Then again, the woman had a much higher security clearance than myself. I forced myself to take a walk to the floor that housed the cafeteria, using a rest room there before moving into the common area. In a way I was disappointed when I saw the large room nearly deserted besides the people who served the food and a pair of security personnel.
I ordered a large Styrofoam cup of lentil soup. I grabbed a bottle of apple juice from the refrigerator and found a place to sit and eat my meal, again wishing for the buzz of conversation around me to distract me from my rising feelings of fear. There was nothing to soothe me this time and I nearly climbed out of my skin even as I forced myself to swallow the thin broth. I finished the large container and then drank the bottle of juice rapidly. I managed to wrangle my inner turmoil as I discarded my trash.
I walked back toward the stairwell, walking up to the living quarters. I opened the door to my room and stepped inside, again refusing to return to the lab where the woman I thought I knew was currently doing God-knew-what. There wasn't much to distract me in the blank walled room, either and I felt a sense of very real heat forming in my chest and stomach as fear and frustration reared their ugly heads inside me once more.
I started pacing the small amount of floor space, just to do something, trying to force my mind to remain blank. Questions buzzed through my brain like angry hornets, and none of them had answers. I had to get out of the room that I had quarantined myself in, the feelings inside me threatening to force me literally up one of the walls. I opened the door and walked out into the hall before freezing in place, unsure of where to go.
I didn't want to pester the man about my pass, but I was still full. I walked to the stairwell, again climbing to the lobby and walking out into the shaded courtyard. I cut across the finely manicured grass once more, toward the smoking shelter. Thankfully a different person was in the small shack, and I quickly bummed a cigarette from them, as well as using their lighter. I didn't try to engage the man in conversation, and he reciprocated.
He finished his cigarette sooner than I did, and I borrowed another cancer stick from him before he walked away. I finished my own smoke, but lingered in the mild afternoon breeze, feeling less restless than when I was in the small subterranean room. I inhaled the clean, pine-scented air and closed my eyes, listening to the sounds of the birds and insects around me. The raging storm inside me lessened slightly and I exhaled, inhaling deeply once more.
I calmed down a little further, and even walked a large circle in the grass, basking in the feel of the wind in my face and hair. I let my eyes roll languidly open and felt composed enough to walk back into the building, making my way to the small security room. The man behind the desk wasn't there, and I only lingered for a few minutes. I made my way back outside, eyes scanning the narrow track that served as the road that led to the facility.
I then looked to the left and right of the dirt road, scanning the treeline, again considering bolting, my feet even carrying me toward the woods a bit before I was able to stop myself, though I did follow the ruts in the dirt for a hundred or so yards. I walked just far enough to confirm that there was indeed a man inside the small booth. I felt a slight pang of disappointment, and turned around, walking back to the smoke shack.
I don't know how long I waited for the first guard I had bummed a cigarette from appeared, but I was grateful that he did, my nerves fraying again, doctor Smith's strange, muffled conversation with nobody playing through my mind, tightening my chest and stomach. I bummed a couple cigarettes from him, as well as a another pair of strike anywhere matches, using one of the matches to light one of the nicotine tubes.
We smoked in silence, and walked back toward the squat structure at the same time, though we still didn't speak as we mounted the few steps to the smoked-glass doors. I used the elevator to go back to the cafeteria, buying a large cup of coffee. I carried the beverage to a table where I could observe the door. A thought fluttered through my head, and it was probably the first time I had realized that I hadn't seen the doctor eat in almost two days. This sparked an idea, which in retrospect, led me to the predicament I am currently in.
The next time I stopped into the small office, the man behind the desk told me in no uncertain terms that my pass had been denied. I didn't bother him any more than I needed to, and the thought of slipping into the woods again occurred to me, and this time I gave it a little more serious thought. I lingered around the lobby until I felt the same sense of entrapment that had almost sent me screaming into the now dark forest.
The rumbling of my stomach thankfully derailed my train of thought. I used the elevator, making my way back to the cafeteria, where to my surprise, the room was moderately full, providing the background noise I still very much needed. I ate a couple of pieces of fried chicken, quieting the rumbling in my gut. My eyes strayed to the entrance of the room, hoping to catch the doctor on her way in to get something to eat.
I was disappointed that she still hadn't made an appearance, and I realized that I couldn't stall any more. I used the stairs again, walking slowly down to the floor that housed to the lab. I walked into the small locker room, and Doctor Smith nearly collided with me, and then without so much as a glance at me, or a mumbled apology, continued on her way. I almost followed her, but suited up and continued into the clean room.
I moved to the large box first, and was relieved to see that the substance seemed to have stayed in its sandy form, and mostly still there. There were a few places where samples had been taken, but it didn't seem too excessive. I started to relax, just slightly, though I was still feeling jittery as I walked toward the side of the room she had placed the husk. I opened the blacked-out box, and peered inside, my stomach lurching when I didn't see the sample container inside.
I pivoted on my heel and started to walk toward the door, the barrier swinging in to meet me at the absolute wrong time. As I think back on it, my finger touching the tender split above my right eye, where the rigid plastic had severed my flesh after dislodging from the lighter plastic around it, I think she did it on purpose. I should have realized that as she was on top of me as soon as I had hit the ground.
There was something off in her eyes, a swirling, almost squirming movement in the normally entrancing depths. Along with that though, was pure, feral hatred. The vocalizations she was making were human sounding, but shrill and inarticulate, a far cry from her usual slightly aloof manor. I don't know how long we were struggling, but she eventually managed to completely remove my face shield, her fingers clawing at my face and eyes.
I realized as she tore burning furrows into my cheek that simply restraining the woman wasn't going to be enough. I started to buck and wriggle under her as she slapped and clawed at me, screaming like a banshee all the while, her harsh screams only serving to disorient me along with the stinging blows and scratching. I managed to separate the woman from me enough to stand and planted my feet once I had. “Stop!” I said, but only once as she scrambled to her own vertical base.
She charged me without warning, and I managed to stay on my feet for an admirable period of time, as strong as she was. We reeled across the floor, looking like a couple dancing a drunken, violent waltz until she slammed my kidneys into the edge of the counter that held the box of sand-like pollen (for lack of a better term). The sharp pain caused me to hesitate just long enough for her to gain the upper hand, wrestling me around to slam my head off the steel-plated surface. I felt my nose squash, and heard the pop along with the immediate swelling below each of my eyes.
Twin rivers of copper-tinged blood flowed into my shocked, gaping mouth as she slammed me forward again, this time my forehead connecting with, and fracturing the box that held the pollen. She let me go when I let my muscles relax, barely holding on to my consciousness. The woman dragged me into the center of the lab, and almost reverently pulled the flimsy hood off my head. The fury of earlier was gone, replaced by an eerie calm.
My bleary eyes didn't allow me to see a whole lot of detail, and just staying awake was a chore. Doctor Smith pressed something against my narrowly-closed lips, and then past them. I tried to eject whatever it was, but the thing practically slithered down my throat, as if it wanted to be swallowed. That was when I heard the commotion in the hall, and heavy footsteps. Black clad figures swept the room, shooting the woman when she foolishly tried to rush them as she had me.
I was loaded into a Life Flight helicopter and taken to a Veteran's Hospital, where I am posting this from. The reconstructive surgery on my shattered nose and orbital bones went well, and I look pretty much like my old self. The thing is, they still have me under observation here, and besides a few hours a day to exercise and eat, or even browse the internet, I am being tested in some way. I am starting to think I may never get to go home, and that's all I want to do.
There is one other minor detail. Since I was exposed to whatever that spore released, I've had horrible nausea and it's getting hard to make myself eat.
Submitted May 26, 2017 at 12:49PM by Kendersarecooler http://ift.tt/2qikpqb nosleep
No comments:
Post a Comment