Authors: TS Alan
He looked up at me in agony. For the first time I clearly saw his entire face. He looked like Chef,
Jerome “Chef” McElroy from the animated television series
South Park
. The resemblance was uncanny. I started laughing.
“Well, suck my salty chocolate balls!”
“Your eyes, your head… what the fuck are you?” he asked in a frightened tone.
I retorted, as usual, with a smart-ass attitude, “I told you. I’m the guy with the gun. No more heroics. Okay, Chef? Just sit there and listen to what I have to say.”
“I saw your
head. It was backwards!”
“And did you see
visions of sugar plum fairies dancing in your head, too? I musta cracked you too hard.”
“No, I saw your head… backwards,” he adamantly answered.
“You’re delusional, that’s all. Being confined too long in a stressful situation can bring about elevated blood pressure, arrhythmia, and episodic hallucinations… but you’re not listening, are you?”
I cocked the gun into a firing position to show him who was in charge. “You’re wasting valuable time.” He was about to speak. “Tsst!” I warned. “I don’t have time to dick around.
Just listen
.”
He was silent.
“Thank you. The facility had a biological mishap. There was a transmute and at least one virus we know of got into the air filtration system. Your lockdown was basically useless. The virus is still active… tsst,” I pre-empted, as he opened his mouth. “What did I just tell you?” He closed his mouth.
“I got lots of suck-ass news for ya and only one item of good. Unfortunately, you’re probably infected. But don’t worry; Doctor France has a counter agent. That’s the good news. The rest of the news is this: it looks like everyone on the base have been killed, and the world has been overrun by the walking dead. I’m one of five survivors, including the doctor. We ran into him in one of the underground subway maintenance tunnels. The doc was trying to take a powder. We persuaded him otherwise. Okay, you can talk.”
He said, “I knew whatever they were doing was going to bite them in the ass one day!”
I was apprehensive to believe him. Hell, I was downright distrustful and skeptical. “Damn, that was too easy. So much so, that I don’t believe you.”
“Son, if you’ve seen the shit I’ve seen down here these past eight years, you’d believe anything was possible. Who, or what, were you looking for in my kitchen?”
“Your kitchen?”
“Yes. I’m the Senior Army Chef for the complex.”
“You’re the cook?”
“No, son. I’m the chef. And no more jokes about cartoons. Like I haven’t ever heard the salty chocolate balls joke a million times before,” he stated frankly.
But it was true; he was a dead ringer for Chef, right down to the protruding belly and facial hair, although his stomach wasn’t as large as
Jerome McElroy’s and the facial hair appeared to be a heavy day’s growth.
I finally responded to his question in regard to what I was searching for in
his
kitchen. “Food.”
“Food? That’s
it?
”
“Consider me the Recon Team.”
“And you managed to breach our security protocols for food?”
“Not exactly. I have Dick’s special ‘get out of jail free card’, which lets you back in.”
“Son, what the hell are you talking about?”
“Damn, are you that culturally bereft that you’ve never played Monopoly? I have Doctor France’s access card which let him escape through a secret exit.”
“He was always a shifty little bastard. Figures he’d bail the minute the shit hit the fan. Where is the little weasel?”
“Under armed guard and hoping I don’t return.”
“Can I get up now?”
“Sure, if you promise to play nice.”
“Fine,” he responded, and then stood up and asked, “So, what’s this transmute thing?”
“A grayish creature with nasty teeth, big glowy yellow eyes, and razor-like talons.”
The master sergeant looked at me, as if I were describing myself.
“Do I look gray?” I asked. “If I were a transmute you’d be dead all ready.”
He was still skeptical.
“I’ll explain my condition later,” I assured him. “It’s all part of the virus that got out.”
“What exactly were they doing down here?”
I was surprised that he was totally clueless, so I asked, “You mean you’ve been here eight years and you don’t know what they were doing?”
“Son, all I know is what I was told––they were doing experimental research, trying to develop vaccines for autoimmune disorders and the Avian Flu. I knew it was a cover story, but it was all need-to-know. And I didn’t want to know.”
“Then why the hell are you here?”
“Two ex-wives and two alimonies. Took this job because it compensated me above my pay grade.”
“Whatever you were getting paid, it wasn’t enough. They were developing biological weapons, one of which bit them in the ass big time. Plus it causes some humans to mutate. The shifty little bastard calls them transmutes. I’d really like to round up some food for my friends. They’ve been waiting nearly two hours. They probably think I’m dead. And you need to be vaccinated. You have any steaks?”
“
Steaks
? You want me to cook?”
“No. Just need them raw. I have a hungry canine waiting for me who deserves a reward.”
“You brought a dog?”
“Yep.”
“Don’t that beat all.”
Though he seemed genuine in collaborating with me, I still was a bit leery. I let him lead the way. After we packed some boxes of food and eating accoutrements, and seeing that he had not tried to make a play to overpower me, I gave him the H&K machine gun. I warned him, not about trying to overpower me, but about what he was going to encounter on his way out of the facility.
“This transmute thing did all of this?” he asked.
“Don’t be too judgmental,” I replied. “You don’t know the truth. Those creatures were, are, human, just altered. They are intelligent and have an acute sense of self-preservation. They knew they were about to be terminated. Wouldn’t you kill to survive?”
Kermit said nothing.
I added, “I’ll fill you in on the whole thing later. The exit is here.”
V. Reunion
As the door opened into the tunnel, I found Marisol with her Smith & Wesson in hand, pointing it in my direction.
“Whoa, slow down there sweet cheeks. I don’t need a bullet in the head,” I told her as I set down the box of food I had been carrying.
She lowered the gun and ran to me, throwing her arms around my body and hugging me tight. She reached up and kissed me on the lips, which took me by surprise. She didn’t notice I was damp.
“Joe said you were dead, but I told him you’d be back.” She turned to Joe, “See!”
Joe responded with, “Who the hell is that?”
I responded with, “Someone to aggravate you. Everyone, this is Army Master Sergeant Brown. Found him… taking refuge in a walk-in refrigerator. I think you’re familiar with the sergeant, Doc.”
The doctor mumbled, not being too pleased on their reunion. I realized that the master sergeant had been in the cooler for over twenty-four hours. That would be impossible.
“Hold it,” I said, then addressed the sergeant. “How long were you in that cooler?”
“I don’t know. Since about 0200 or 0300 hours. Why?”
“Cause I just realized you’d only have enough air in there for two, three hours, maybe. How come you’re not dead? Or undead?”
“Undead?” he asked, puzzled.
“Yeah, that’s another part of France’s little world inhalator…
so
… air?”
“Every few hours I’d open the door just a crack to let some in.”
I was puzzled. “You should have been infected long ago and turned into the living dead. How is that not possible?” I turned to the doctor, “Doc?”
“You are asking me to draw conclusions again without any previous observations of the phenomena.”
“God damnit! This isn’t rocket surgery! A guess will do, if that’s not too overly taxing on your inflated ego.”
“Das Ich
is for those who have an over inflated sense of self-worth but lack the intelligence quotient to support their claim. I on the other hand, know that I have superior synthesis of information, intellectual functioning, and memory. I am a Mensa International member.”
I tried to annoy him into an answer. “So am I, and I have a gift certificate to proof it. You have no clue, do you?”
“If this is an attempt to goad me into making an assumption without—”
Kermit interrupted. “Just answer the man’s question, Doc. Or I’ll motivate you the old fashion way.” There was irritation in his tone and facial expression. Apparently the doctor had pissed him off.
I was
really
beginning to like this guy.
“So be it,” he unhappily responded. “Since I am
forced
to speculate, there should be no reason why he is not infected. The risk of infection, for a normal airborne pathogen, depends on various factors including dose of particle inhalation and the ability of that particular cotangent to cause infection. But this is a highly contagious pathogen. A dose of one particle means infection.”
“There you go again, Dick,” I said, in my usual irritated tone. “You didn’t answer the question, did you?”
“Very well. Hypothetically, the mean temperature of the refrigerator may have damaged the virus. He could be asymptomatic at this time. Or the spread of the infection had been retarded or dormant due to the cooling and slowing of his blood in the colder temperature. Does that satisfy your curiosity?”
“Maybe he’s got delta-32,” Marisol said.
“What is delta-32?” Kermit asked.
“There’s a special mutated gene in certain people of European decent, mainly the English and the Irish,” I explained. “It can either prevent you from contracting the disease or make it less severe if infection occurs. It’s also the same gene that causes some people to mutate in to transmutes.”
“Then I have this delta thing!” Kermit declared. “I had a raging fever and a crazy thirst. Felt as though death was strangling me. I must have passed out, ’cause I woke up on the floor dehydrated as hell, but my fever had passed.”
“That would not be possible. People of African descent do not have it,” France adamantly stated.
“But I’m Irish,” he countered.
“
What?”
the doctor surprisingly exclaimed.
“Not entirely Irish. My great, great, great Grandfather was a wealthy Irish slave owner, who liked to… let’s say… fertilize his female property. I have descendants in Ireland.”
I almost burst out in laughter. Master Sergeant Brown was closer to the cartoon than he wanted to admit, or knew. The fictional Chef’s parents came from Scotland, and when I chuckled he turned on me.
“Is that funny to you, slavery?”
“Ah, no. I’m sorry. My mind was elsewhere and had nothing to do with your explanation.” Though, in a roundabout way it did.
“Still not possible,” France said, ignoring the obvious.
“And yet the evidence spoke for himself,” I countered, and then moved onto, “We’ve brought some food for everyone. That’s the good news. The bad is you’ll need to stay here for a while longer.”
“Why?” Julie asked. “I want to go in and use the bathroom.”
“I’m sorry, Julie. I need to clear more of the building. Just find a dark spot and go.”
“I’ll go back in with you, son,” Kermit declared. “I’m combat trained and damn good with a carbine.”
“So will I,” David said, volunteering.
“I appreciate the offer, both of you. But there’s a reason why it’s safer if I do it alone. David can fill you in on that, Sarge.” I turned to Joe and the doctor. “
David
will tell him,” I warned, then turned back to Kermit and said, “He’ll tell you how we got here and what happened to me. He’ll tell you the truth.”
I knelt down next to Max who had been patiently sitting before my feet.
“Gute Hund,
Max.
Gute Hund.
I have a special treat for you.” I roughed up his fur a bit. “Marisol. Here,” I said, as I pulled two of the three steaks out of the box. “Please take them and cut them up for Max. There’s a knife in the box. Tell him
Nimm futter
when you’re ready. Just like I wrote down.”
I picked up the other one, plated it and held it in my hand. “Time for me to go. Not sure when I’ll be back.”
“Going to make steak tartar?” Kermit asked.
“Ah, no. Long story. Keep your eye on the weasel for me.” I handed David the doc’s swipe card.
He gave me an odd look.
I slide the Special Ops soldier’s card through the reader; no code was necessary. “If I’m not back in four hours, I won’t be back. You decide if you want to follow.”