All The Beautiful People (A Dread Novel Book 1) (7 page)

CHAPTER 13

“Sweet Mary,” Wade said. He sat in his chair rubbing his temples while Taylor and Jason finished relaying their story. “How long were the boyfriend and the other girl on the field unconscious before they showed symptoms?”

“Minutes,” Jason said.

Wade sat quiet, his eyes moving between Taylor and Jason. He wasn’t simply digesting the new information. Taylor knew he was deciding what to do with them now. If Lazarus was trying to keep a lid on what was really happening, then they were liabilities.

Taylor was comfortable with the silence. She sat in her seat giving every indication she was at ease and waiting to be told what to do next. Her hands were folded in her lap like a student waiting for instruction.

This was all an act. As the trio sat in the air-conditioned office, the clean scent of varnish permeating the area around Wade’s bookcases and desk, Taylor sat coiled. One of two things was about to happen. Either they would be deemed as assets to the company and kept around to be used as such, or they would be labeled as loose ends and snipped off.

“What happened to the other teams?” Jason asked. He gave off all the same physical hints of relaxation as she was, but Taylor knew he wasn’t acting, he actually was relaxing.

Taylor played out the events in her mind in slow motion. Wade would reach into his pocket to pull out a concealed handgun. That or his hand would disappear into a desk drawer under the false pretense of showing them a file.

Taylor’s plan was simple. In one motion she would grab the chair behind her and use the gathered momentum of standing to fling the wooden seat at Wade. It would buy her a second, maybe two. That would be enough. A second was all she needed to be over the desk slamming her fist into his face. He wouldn’t get a shot off.

All of this flashed through Taylor’s mind as she sat with a tentative expression on her face. Wade drew a deep, tired breath. Instead of reaching for a concealed weapon, he placed both hands on the desk and answered Jason’s question.

“No other team came back. You’re it.”

“No other Cleaner or Operator made it back?” Taylor asked in shock.

Wade shook his head slowly, his eyes somewhere else. He stared behind them into a nightmare world he had a hand in creating.

“We’ve lost contact with them all. We need every asset cooperating on deck for what is coming next. I know you must have a dozen questions about Vanidrum—what it’s doing, how to stop it—and I’ll answer them all. The Board is issuing a statement to the government now.” Wade ran a hand through his thick hair. “How did we let it get this far?” he muttered to himself.

Taylor and Jason sat quiet. They knew the question was rhetorical. The past decisions Wade was recalling would be his to carry forever.

“We need both of you,” Wade said, snapping out of whatever dream he was in and back to the nightmare they all called reality.

“What needs to be done?” Jason asked.

Taylor practically heard the Boy Scout in his voice. In the short time she had spent with Jason, Taylor knew he was a true believer, a diligent subscriber to the morals and ethics she’d abandoned long ago.

Wade nodded to Jason, then looked to Taylor, “And you, Ms. Hart? Prior to divulging any further information I need to know you are with us in this. All the way to the end.”

“My income for a year. I’ll need that entire amount for this one job, but…” Taylor paused to do the math. She was the only Cleaner they had left. She was the best at what they did. Wade Treadstone would give her whatever she wanted, she was sure of that. “…tripled.”

Jason leaned away from her in shock. A look of disappointment Taylor hadn’t witnessed in years, usually coming from a parent, twisted his face. “Taylor, how could you think of money at a time like this? There are people out there dy—”

“Done,” Wade said, a smile penetrating through the layers of worry and responsibility. “I would have given you more if you’d asked.”

“I know,” Taylor said, “I didn’t want to take advantage of the situation.”

Wade chuckled. He stood from his desk with a wave of his gnarled hand. “You two follow me. We have a full briefing scheduled with the Board and everyone else who is going to be part of what happens next.”

“What
is
going to happen next?” Jason asked.

Wade opened the door to his office and walked out, not looking back to confirm they would follow. “Our last best chance of beating this thing before it destroys society as we know it.”

“Oh,” Jason said in a low tone, “is
that
all?”

Taylor followed Wade and Jason through Lazarus’ massive headquarters. Compared to that morning, the place was as silent as the inside of a church. Employees moved around the steel and glass but it seemed everyone was too wrapped up in their own thoughts to talk even to one another. Where groups of two or three passed, no words were exchanged. Everyone wore the same look, one Taylor had become accustomed to seeing over the years. It was a look of dread, a look of defeat.

Past lonely corridors, empty offices, and long halls the silence between herself and her companions lengthened. The weight of what was happening was falling on their shoulders just as it had to those Taylor saw passing. Each person was left alone to doubt and wonder.

This was a dangerous place for Taylor. Her past haunted her like a shadow. She was hard because she had to be. Because she refused to be a statistic, she refused to be another two-minute segment on the news. She had chosen this life at an early age because of the darkness in humankind she had been exposed to through the events surrounding her friend’s kidnapping and eventual death. She had done things since then to survive and she would survive this. The past happened the only way it could. Thinking about it wouldn’t change anything. All there was, was to move on. Taylor cleared her mind of the events that made her the person she was today.

“We’re here,” Wade said. He stopped in front of a pair of armed guards and waved his badge.

Both guards stepped aside, allowing the group entrance to two large stainless steel doors. The gray metal doors were massive; rivets outlined the perimeter of each door like a frame expertly designed for a painting. Wade reached for a handle and hesitated. His glance back confirmed what Taylor expected. Wade had enough guilt on his plate to last a lifetime. He was trying to relieve his stressed conscious as much as he could.

“What you are about to witness, I wouldn’t ask either of you to see if we didn’t need your help. It will be difficult to grasp. Please keep an open mind.”

Taylor nodded, Jason licked his lips and adjusted his glasses. Wade opened the door.

CHAPTER 14

The room reminded Taylor of a college lecture room. Stadium-style seating digressed into a pit where a wooden podium was placed below four large monitors.

The lecture hall was lit with halogen lamps set deep into the vaulted ceiling. The room was already full. It was no surprise to Taylor that she didn’t recognize anyone, but Jason gave a few upward chin jerks and sad smiles to several of the room’s occupants.

“Take a seat,” Wade said. “I’m going to start now. We can’t waste a single moment.”

He walked down the stairs to the bottom platform. The dull chatter in the room hushed. Attentions were honed to razor sharp tips as they witnessed their leader stride with determined steps to the front of the room. Taylor and Jason found seats halfway down the rows of scared yet eager employees. Taylor sat beside Jason and a young boy she thought at first might be lost.

He couldn’t be more than 16. Wild hair hung close to his tired eyes as he stared back at her. “What? Do you have a problem?”

Taylor rolled her eyes. With everything happening, a teenager with a bad attitude was the least of her problems. Why he was even there was something that seemed minuscule compared to the information they were all about to learn.

“Thank you for coming,” Wade said in a voice that commanded attention. He could have saved the boom in his tone; all eyes were already on him. No sound other than the gum chewing of her adolescent neighbor met Taylor’s ears.

“What you are all about to hear is the truth whether you accept it or not. I’ve received word from the Board that we will be holding nothing back. They have already contacted the CDC, our own government, and those of the countries where our drug has been shipped.”

Wade took a deep breath, his eyes scanning the many people who were in attendance. Taylor knew it was impossible to look each and every single one of them in the eyes yet that was exactly what he was doing. Taylor almost felt bad for thinking he was going to try and kill them in their brief meeting, almost. It was clear to her now that he was sincere. As he continued his speech, she wondered how much of it was fact sharing and how much was a confession on behalf of the company. Wade’s voice never lost its firm handle on the room but something was added. Something extra hid in the brief pauses. It was sadness. Regret.

“Four years ago Lazarus Pharmaceuticals undertook a project with the hopes of developing a drug that would enhance one’s perception of themselves. It was an attempt at happiness and joy. It was an alternative to anti-depression pills but an answer to those not happy with their inward mindset or outward appearance. It was designed to bring out the inner beauty we all possess. The medication was named Vanidrum. It was a success in trials. There were a few notable side effects as there are in any clinical study, but they were nothing like what we are seeing today.”

Wade pressed a button on his podium bringing the four large monitors suspended above him to life. The screens jolted to attention with blank white screens. “Vanidrum was released to the public as a prescribed drug two weeks ago. It was a success, or so we thought. Last night, one of our Operators received a call regarding a possible issue with our product.”

The room was so quiet Taylor heard Wade click another button from his podium control panel. Although she was twenty yards away from him, the distinct sound nearly echoed through the room. The screens lost their blank white image to a smiling image of James Jones. The man couldn’t be happier. In the picture he was wearing a cardigan, holding his wife in both arms. The couple was standing beside a pier. A blood-orange sun was sinking behind white-capped waves in the background. It was perfect.

“Meet James William Jones,” Wade continued. “65 years old, an architect by trade, father of three, and loving husband. The picture we are looking at now was taken last week. The video I am about to show you next will be shocking to most but it is imperative that you understand the gravity of the situation.”

Wade moved to the next screen. A gasp broke from every pair of lungs in the crowd. The only exceptions to the collective shock were Taylor and the teenage gum-smacker sitting next to her. Taylor didn’t need to look around to know what everyone’s face was depicting. They were confused and scared. Taylor examined the picture through the eyes of a researcher. She might as well have been looking at a mathematical equation. She didn’t see open wounds or the madness in the eyes staring back at her. She was gazing at a problem, searching for an answer. She looked for anything that might be able to give her a clue as to the progression of the disease or virus or the manic origination point.

The video was of James Jones in a clean, bleached room with wrists and ankles secured to a metal chair, gnashing broken teeth. Guttural noises broke free from his throat. The sounds he made each began like a grunt or groan but ended one syllable short of a full word.

It became apparent to Taylor that James Jones was regressing. The complete end game of Vanidrum had not yet manifested; he apparently had farther to fall. She struggled to conceive how much more degeneration James Jones could encounter. Wasn’t this it? How much further could he fade into the darkness? All signs of humanity were gone. Nothing was left of the once happy and successful man. This was a monster.

Wade remained silent as the video continued. Mr. Jones was arching his back, struggling against the bonds restraining him to the chair. His face was a mess of brown and bright red blood. Gashes crisscrossed his flaking skin in a way that made it impossible to tell where one wound stopped and another began. His white hair was missing from his scalp in large clumps. Beyond disturbing, the sight was a state of physical decay Taylor didn’t know existed. It was madness at its apex.

After a few moments, Wade paused the video. The screens stopped at a moment where what was left of James Jones was gnashing his remaining teeth at the camera in a kind of sadistic grin.

“Since James Jones’ event last night, hundreds of reports have been called in across the globe. It seems as though Vanidrum has infected its hosts in a way that is baffling our scientists. None of this was even a remote possibility during clinical trials. Our job is to find out how to stop this. To do that, we have to understand how this started. As we speak, those already infected are spreading this unknown agent to new hosts of every age and race. If we can stop this now, we may have a chance at stopping a global epidemic. Which brings us to the reason we are all here. I’d like to introduce to you the leading mind in apocalyptic strategy and homo sapiens survival, Frank Caster.”

Wade looked at Taylor and motioned with his hand. Taylor gave him a confused look then realized he was motioning to the kid sitting beside her. The boy who couldn’t even be enrolled in college stood with a loud pop of pink bubblegum.

The youth walked down the set of stairs toward the podium leaving confusion in his wake. Taylor leaned into Jason. “Care to tell me what’s going on here? Another one of your buddies?”

Jason looked as shocked as Taylor felt. “You got me,” he whispered back. “I’ve never seen him. I thought he was a lost intern.”

When Frank reached the podium, he nodded to Wade and addressed the room.

“So let’s get this out of the way,” he said, brushing unkempt hair from his eyes. “I know I’m super young to all of you but that shouldn’t matter. I know what I’m doing and I’m a lot smarter than anyone here. My IQ is probably higher than everyone in this room combined, so listen when I’m talking to you.”

Taylor almost cracked a smile. Frank was trying to make up for his age by bullying the crowed but the inflexion of his tone was of a boy, not a man. The fact that he was wearing a t-shirt sporting a smiling cartoon character and jeans that looked like they had seen better years didn’t help.

“I’ve run countless scenarios on how this event could end using the most state of the art programming and it’s not good. We have, oh, about a four-hour window to maintain a fifty-fifty chance of stopping this plague before it kicks our collective booties. And by ‘kick our collective booties,’ I mean exterminate the human race as we know it.”

The audience sat stunned. Not only was there a teenage boy leading them now but also, if he was right, they were up against what could be mankind’s greatest threat. The matter-of-fact way Frank spoke sent a chill down even Taylor’s spine. He was so young, yet talked about the death of millions as though he was commenting on the weather.

“I’ve put together a slide to show you. Every minute from here on out counts. Take a look.”

The screens moved from their freeze-frame on James Jones’ husk of humanity to a black and blue diagram of the globe. The country in the center of the screen was the United States. Its familiar shape sat with a dark blue hue against the blackness of surrounding bodies of water.

“So this is us,” Frank said, pointing a finger to the screen above him as a whole. “I only had a few minutes to put this together so it’s simple, but the red dots are every known Vanidrum outbreak.”

The shape depicting the United States broke out in what looked like a case of the chicken pox. Bright red dots filled every state from California to Maine.

“So that’s as of now, and this is in the next twelve, then twenty-four hours.” Each red dot oozed out to the states around it, first slowly then picking up speed. If Frank was correct, in twenty-four hours a quarter of the United States would be infected. “The same holds true for every country across the globe. Time wouldn’t allow me to put together a similar diagram, but let your minds run with the worst possible scenario and you’re probably close.”

Nervous whispers broke through the crowd like sporadic ripples on calm water.

“Remember,” Frank said, “this is only a rough estimate based on records of who has taken the drug and how fast we know it can spread. The truth is, it could be a lot quicker. We only have a few reported cases on the time it takes for someone on Vanidrum to attack a bystander and then for that bystander to change into—into those things they are now—zombies or whatever you want to call them. So, now that you know the stakes let’s talk solution. Wade?”

Wade tore his eyes from the screen of spreading red dots and moved to stand beside Frank. “I’m not going to sugarcoat anything. The short version of this is that we had a scientist who worked on the development of Vanidrum who did predict an outbreak like this. I already know what you are going to say, and you’re right. We should have listened. But even he didn’t predict an event to this degree. He was worried about what the drug could unleash in people. He had misgivings about the project’s ethical boundaries and resigned from Lazarus when we refused to put the brakes on developing the drug. Our hope is that if he knew something like this could happen then he also knows of a way to stop it.”

Taylor’s mind was racing as fast as the cars near the end of a NASCAR race. She wondered how many people in the room were thinking the same things. The three thoughts winning the race for attention were: Lazarus really did it this time by not listening to one of their scientists; it was a definite leap to think this man also had a cure for what was going wrong with Vanidrum; and this was much bigger than she originally imagined.

Sure, she knew things were serious. The madness of those she encountered on the drug, the security measures at the front gate, the involvement of the various governments—it was all bad, really bad. The detail that truly caused her to consider her calm demeanor was the diagram Frank showed the room. If this disease could spread as quickly as those red dots on the screen, they were all in an exceptionally serious amount of trouble.

“You okay?” Jason whispered.

Taylor thought about the question. It was ingrained in her at an early age to answer “yes” when someone asked that question. She was taught to smile past what you really thought and be pleasant.

“No,” she said, “but I will be as soon as we can start doing something to stop this.”

Frank’s young voice once again filled the room. “The scientist that Wade is speaking of is Doctor Thomas Jenkins.”

The screens above Frank and Wade released their hold on the picture of impending doom, giving way to an image of a middle-aged man with glasses and a thick, graying beard. If Taylor were to picture a stereotypical scientist, this man would be it. He was small of stature with inquisitive eyes set behind his lenses and a look that said he wanted to know so much more than he could. Although the man was the focal point of the picture, it was the young girl next to him that caught Taylor’s eye.

She was small, a little thing. Taylor was horrible at guessing children’s ages. If she had to, she would put the girl in the six-to-seven range. She was standing by Dr. Jenkins. The same look her father had, the same inquisitive expression, was spread over his daughter’s face. Her eyes were also the same. Wisdom in those blue orbs that hinted of knowledge reserved for someone twice her age.

“The young girl in the picture is his daughter Cidney,” Frank said. “The photo was taken around the same time the doctor parted ways with Lazarus. We’ve tried to contact him since the events of last night, but there hasn’t been a response. Lucky for us, the doctor and his daughter live here in Los Angeles. A forty-five minute journey through a city that is falling apart as we speak.”