Omega Pathogen: The Beginning (3 page)

Jim and Arzu gently pick up Berk and Kayra, and take them upstairs to their beds. After waiting for Berk to use the restroom before returning to his bed and falling back to sleep, Jim and Arzu descend the stairs back to the living room.
“Can I turn it back on, Arzu?” Chris asks.
“
Sure, please keep the volume down though.”
“Okay, will do.”
“
Actually, Chris and Jeremy, you guys come in here for a minute. I want to take care of a few things before it gets later,” Jim says, gesturing to his and Arzu’s bedroom.

Getting up and following their dad leads them through the bedroom to his closet. Both know this is where he keeps all but one pistol locked up. “Did you guys bring your guns with you?” Jim asks, with almost a dare for them to say no.
“
Of course we did,” they reply, in near unison. “All right, let's get the magazines for the rifles and pistols loaded up. Remember, if it holds thirty rounds, load it with twenty-nine, same applies with the pistol mags, one less than the max.” “Gotcha, Pop,” Chris replies.
“
We remember, Dad,” Jeremy follows.

For the next few hours, they load magazines for Jim’s and his son’s pistols, revolvers, rifles, and 12-gauge shotguns. Joining Arzu in the living room, they see that the scenes on the TV are only growing worse. From outside, they can hear several individual emergency vehicle sirens overlapping each other. Some come closer before fading, and others sound further away, getting closer and then fading away.

“Arzu, I think it may be a good idea if you and the boys go upstairs, and try to get some rest.”
“
What about you?”
“
I’ll stay down here with some coffee and keep an eye out. You know, watch TV and make sure we stay safe.”
“
I’m fine, Dad,” Jeremy says, looking to his father. “Yeah, I’m good too,” Chris agrees.
“
I know you guys are, and I know it’s going to be hard to sleep, but this is only getting worse, and will keep going that way for a while. We need to be smart about this. We can’t all stay awake, and all sleep at the same time.” “You’re right,” Arzu says, and rises from the sofa to embrace Jim. She then gives Jeremy and Chris hugs as well and ascends the stairs.

“
Alright, you two go up, and get some rest too.” “Really, we’re fine,” Chris says, with Jeremy nodding in agreement.
“
Think, guys. I’m going to need rest too, and you guys need to keep things safe and be able to wake me if something happens.” In an unspoken sign of agreement, both sons hug their father and begin to ascend the stairs.

“Hey,” Jim stage-whispers. Both look down from the stairs at him.
“
You guys got your guns?”
“
Yes, sir,” they reply.
“Love you guys.”
“
Love you too, Dad.”

Jim settles down on the sofa with his AR-15 on his lap, and Glock 9mm in his old drop-down holster on his right leg. He begins running scenarios for defending and evacuating his home through his head. The weight of the situation is heavy. He’s been in stressful situations before. He’s had to defend others before while working as a police officer, and then working security in Iraq. Those people weren’t his family.  

Man-made Demons

Thirty Years Earlier

The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics
1974

Lying awake in his bunk, staring up at the ceiling, he hears the sounds of running growing louder. He raises his head slightly, and to the left, to view the clock on the nightstand: 03:26
.
He left word that he was not to be disturbed under any circumstances, even if the bunker they’re in catches fire, the only exception being if the latest of the numerous test subjects recovered instead of succumbing to fever, intracranial edema, and lapsed into coma and death like all the rest.

He should feel excited. His staff wouldn’t dare to disobey him. However, the years he’s spent on this project, the constant failure after thinking they had finally worked out a solution, only to be dealt another setback, requiring more alterations to the viruses they’ve been tampering with . . .

The seemingly eternal length of time being stuck in the far northeast of Soviet Siberia, in this cold, damp underground complex, has left him melancholy and ill tempered. He is all too aware that he and his staff are prisoners, just like the criminals they use for their experiments.

He feels that this place is his hell; slowly rotting in this grey and musty hole in the earth the State calls Site 7. He has no doubt this is where he’ll die. This will be his tomb.
“
Doctor Kosktov!” he hears, as he squeezes his eyes shut, and wishes the man at his door would go away and let him slip into his vodka-induced slumber. But no, the pounding on the steel door to his quarters begins suddenly and in rapid succession.

“Doctor, please come quickly,” he hears between the poundings at his door. “It’s open. Come in.” Still, the pounding on the door continues, along with his name being called. “I said come in, damn you!” he yells. Finally, the pounding at the door stops. The subordinate fumbles with the doorknob momentarily before he’s able to open the door. It crashes open so forcefully that it strikes the interior wall, bounces off, and strikes the younger scientist in the shoulder. “Please, Doctor Kosktov! You must come quickly!” the younger scientist yells frantically. “What the hell is it?!” asks Doctor Kosktov. “Sir, it worked! The subject has recovered from the fever and is conscious,” replies the younger man.

“Doctor Levonen, if you have come in here and disturbed me after I explicitly informed everyone I was not to be, I will personally see that you are the next test subject, instead of one of our criminals in the pens,”  Kosktov states, with a low and calm voice, leaving Levonen with no doubt he is serious.
“
Sir, it worked this time! After all these years, it’s finally worked!”

Doctor Kosktov rises and walks out of his quarters, donning his lab coat and tucking in his wrinkled dress shirt. Ahead, the younger scientist alternates between a jog and a walk as he periodically turns with excitement in his eyes to look back at his superior.

The hallway from the living quarters is only wide enough for two people to walk abreast, with little room to spare. It’s lit by single fixtures in the ceiling, separated by several feet, which makes the space between them dim. What area of the hallways that isn’t grey is in shadow, and it's difficult to see far while under the overhead lights.

Doctor Levonen turns the corner to the right and opens the elevator door. Waiting impatiently, he shuffles from foot to foot and rubs his hands through his black hair. Doctor Kosktov rounds the corner, his light blue dress shirt now neatly tucked into his pants, and lab coat in place. A slight amount of anticipation begins to enter Kosktov when he looks at the younger scientist, and realizes he is still excited and not nervous, even after his threat to use him as the next guinea pig in their experiments.

The elevator doors close and the two scientists begin their descent even deeper into the bunker. The bunker complex consists of the top level above ground and is the only entrance. The area is a cave inside a large hillside that has had the ceiling and walls reinforced and enclosed with two large steel access doors. The level is only used when supplies, equipment, and new subjects for the experiments are brought in, and for storage of dilapidated equipment. No vehicles are stored in the ground level, or anywhere onsite, since the occupants of the bunker complex--scientists, maintenance staff, and prisoners alike--are not permitted to leave.

The next level below is the living quarters for the staff, with a joining section containing the power generation for the installation. The second sub-level contains food stores and dining and recreation areas, although use of the recreation area has decreased to almost nil over the years. The third sub-level is the lab area. The laboratory is in the best condition, even though most of the equipment is outdated and functioning poorly, even by the standards that existed when it was originally designed and built. The fourth sub-level is where the experiments designed in the lab are carried out. This area contains the isolation area for the test subjects. The final and fifth sub-level contains the test subjects themselves, Prisoners of the State. Some are the worst humans to have walked the earth, committing unspeakable acts of depravity. Others have dared to speak or write about the Motherland in an unfavorable light.

There are no guards outside the complex. They’re not needed. Someone could just walk out if they decided. However, only someone intent on committing suicide would do so, as the facility is hundreds of miles from any habitable areas and the temperature in this part of the world, at its warmest, is just slightly above freezing. Most of the time it is well below zero. The overseers of this project, who are thousands of miles away,saw fit to make leaving without authorization a death sentence
.
The only security present in the complex are the five men supplied by the military to maintain discipline of the prisoners, and to see that they are appropriately compliant when being taken to the isolation area, where the latest version of their altered virus is put to the test.

The ancient elevator creaks and groans as they descend further into the cold depths of the bunker. The clanking sound of metal and the ping of cables vibrate the occupants’ chests.
I should have taken the damned stairs
, Doctor Kosktov thinks. The two men continue until they stop at sub-level four. The door begins to open and then stops, with Levenon giving a swift kick to the side of the door, nudging it to continue the process of opening completely. A few short feet from the elevator is the entrance door to the isolation area. Doctor Levenon hurries past the lead scientist and punches in his code to unlock the door, and then pushes inward to open it. The sound of metal grinding on metal echoing through the level is comparable to nails scraping on a chalkboard. Doctor Kosktov feels it in his fillings.

Soon after the sound of the door opening fades, Doctor Kosktov hears the multitude of voices inside the isolation area. They all are filled with excitement, and laughter intermittently thrown in
.
Surprisingly, even with the noise of the door, it takes a few seconds before the room of eight scientists notices his arrival. Kosktov is greeted with cheers, and the other scientists rush to greet him with pats on the back, and some with hugs and kisses on the cheek. “Doctor Kosktov, we’ve waited for you to open the vodka and make a toast!” yells the diminutive Doctor Brazinski, while wiping a tear from his cheek and replacing his eyeglasses.

Holding up his right hand for quiet, Kosktov looks around the room. “Someone give me a report,” he says. “Sir, it worked! Please just look for yourself,” says another of the scientists, walking to the far end of the room where curtains hang on the wall. Kosktov follows him to the wall; on the other side is a soundproof room where they monitor the effects of their latest handiwork on the test subjects.

Upon reaching the curtains, the other scientist raises his hand to grab one of them. Kosktov notes the tremble of the man’s hand
.
“Well, open it, Sergi,” Kosktov says. Now he hears the tension and excitement in his own voice. He’s never seen these men in this state of elation. The curtain seems to move at the pace of hair growing. Finally, Kosktov realizes he’s watching the curtain, and not looking into the room itself. Turning his eyes into the room, he gasps for breath, not realizing he had been holding it.

In front of him is their latest test subject, lying supine on a thin, stained mattress on a steel bed. The test subject, a man, is in his late fifties, with all four extremities bound by leather straps. “When did the fever break?” Kosktov asks. “It broke about two hours ago, but we didn’t fetch you then because he seemed to lapse into a coma like the others,” answers the scientist beside him. Looking more closely, Kosktov sees that the man is squinting his eyes. His head and extremities are constantly moving in a jerking manner. His mouth opens and closes as if making noise, and he periodically bites at his lips and tongue, drawing blood. There is foaming saliva mixed with the blood flowing down both sides of his face and chin.

“Turn on the speaker,” orders Kosktov. After the click of the switch for the speaker, Kosktov hears the man’s growls and grunts with intermittent groans. The sounds are like that of a feral animal in pain. “Shall we have a drink, Doctor Kosktov?” asks another of the scientists. “Has it eaten or drunk?” Kosktov asks, ignoring the question to him. “No…we have not attempted to feed it or give it water yet, sir.” “Well, how the fuck do we know if it’s just going to starve to death or die of dehydration then?!” yells Kosktov. “It’s lived longer than the others, but we don’t know if can feed itself long enough to do anything we intend!” Kosktov yells.

“I’ll get the guards to do it right away, sir,” Levenon says, and hurriedly runs to the phone. “Have them go in with food and water and then release it. They can use the snare pole while they undo the restraints,” Kosktov says, while still staring unblinking at the man lying in the next room.

Two guards enter the isolation room as instructed. The subject has the restraints removed while they hold him from moving freely with a pole snare device. A bowl of beef stew and one with water is set on the floor; the men exit the room and then release the snare through a small opening in the door.