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ALEXA DRAGGED THE HEAVY briefcase to the easy chair, within reach of Peet’s hand. He gripped the handle and hauled it onto his lap, a groan escaping his lips as the stitches pulled, and then pushed on two metal buttons. The clasps released with dual snaps and Peet lifted the lid of the bulging case. Inside were stacked over one hundred file folders, filled with sheaves of paper reports. The tab of each folder gave the name of a patient, their date of birth and hospital ID code. He picked up the first folder and flipped it open, thumbing through the loose pages. Peet’s eyes scanned the contents while a long whistle of appreciation escaped his lips.
“This is quite the stash of information. Are the feds aware you have these?”
“No.” Worry wrinkled his winged brows. “At least, I don’t think they do,” said Dr. Song.
“It only takes one person to talk. How many people know about these records?” asked Peet.
“Myself, my secretary while I was still at the hospital, and my daughter,” said Dr. Song.
“And every doctor who filled out a report?” asked Peet. “That is the problem.”
“No, you don’t understand. I filled out those reports, every single one of them.”
Peet’s mouth opened in surprise. “That is a ton of work. When did you find the time to examine every one of these patients?”
“I set up a control protocol under the guise of bio-hazard security. It required a secondary entry on all patients of interest to the government. I had to sign off on the electronic file and conducted my own review while I did so. Only my secretary Sylvia could interpret my notes. No one else could read my hand writing.” Dr. Song smiled. “Sylvia died about a year ago. As far as I know, she took the secret with her to the grave.”
“And your daughter?”
“She is part of the SOS initiative. SOS stands for—”
“Seeds of survival,” Peet finished the sentence. “Is it safe to assume that you are in contact with the SOS, then?” Dr. Song nodded agreement. “Then why have you not passed this research on to them? Surely they could use the information?”
“Ah, well you see, I have been in radio contact with them, but not physical. I am a modern homing pigeon, only I don’t go anywhere. The signals come to me.”
Peet frowned. “Does the SOS know you have the files?”
“Yes, but I don’t think they know how many.”
Peet picked up the first file, flipped it open again and began to read. The subject was female. Everything was there, from first admittance, tests run and results, daily observations and interventions and eventually the date and time of death. Peet examined the two dates. Three days. She had died within three days of presenting herself at the hospital with symptoms of a deep chest congestion and disorientation. Peet picked up a print from an MRI film examining the results. What he saw made bile rise in his throat. A good portion of her brain was missing. But that wasn’t what alarmed him. It was what had replaced the missing tissue. A symmetrical web-like structure was clearly visible, occupying the left half of her frontal lobe. Disbelieving what his eyes were seeing, Peet said “Is that...a honey comb?”
“Yes. Hard to believe, isn’t it? And there are ninety nine more cases just like it, in the folders below that one,” Dr. Song pointed at the open case on Peet’s lap. “Every single one of those cases were treated by the same two doctors, sent over by the government and assigned specifically to this phenomena. It was like they knew the sick would start arriving at our doors.”
“How so?”
“Those two doctors arrived within hours of the first cases staggering in through the emergency room doors. They virtually commandeered the old psychiatric wing, citing war time ordinances and waving signed documents from the feds. They came with an armed accompaniment too. A sniper team in fatigues. We just moved aside and let them do their thing. They rounded up the ill with certain symptoms and herded them down the hall to the empty psych wing, shouting orders for supplies and commandeering staff to gather it.”
Peet stared in amazement at Dr. Song. “Who were these doctors? Did you recognize them?”
Dr. Song’s eyes flickered to Alexa then back to Peet. “Yes. It was a pair of young, up and coming disease prevention doctors from the university. Dr. & Dr. Gainsborough.”
Alexa’s eyes widened. “Mama? Papa?”
Dr. Song nodded. “Yes, it was them. Whether they were working voluntarily or were being forced, we did not know. We were never allowed to speak to them directly, or alone. Later, they showed up at the SOS. From what I have heard, it was an interesting conversation that went down.”
Peet flipped through a few more files, frowning. “Did every patient die?”
“Yes. There was nothing we could do for them.”
“And what about those we saw at the hospital, crowding the corridors? Are they all infected too?”
Dr. Song shook his head. “No, those are just regular illnesses, if there is a such a thing anymore. Most of them are suffering from starvation and dehydration. But those one hundred cases in front of you, on your lap? They were in unprotected contact with the pathogen and by contact, I mean they were purposely exposed.”
“You don’t think this was an accident?” Peet’s voice was sharpened as the reality of the words spoken by Dr. Song sank into his mind. “You think they were being experimented on? That is a pretty massive accusation, Doctor.”
Dr. Song’s eyes narrowed in appreciation of Peet’s unwillingness to accept his words on face value. “Indeed, they are. But you see, we found more.”
“More what?” Alexa edged closer to Peet’s chair. “You found mummies? Zombies?” she shuddered, her imagination running wild.
Dr. Song smiled at her words, then it faded away. “No, Alexa, no zombies. Zombies make for great stories, but it really isn’t possible to animate the dead.” His gaze rose to meet Peet’s troubled eyes. “We found one of their experimental stations. They have them scattered all over the city. What we discovered was that the walking wounded that showed up at the hospital had escaped one of these ‘experimental hospitals’ for lack of a better term. These mini prisons are set up in abandoned sectors of the city, and the subjects drawn in to them are the homeless, people who no one will miss. Lured with the promise of food and a warm bed, they willingly agree to whatever they want, but they never leave. We found one such facility and carried away the people there. It is part of the work being done by the SOS.”
Dr. Song’s hand brushed the top of Alexa’s hair. “Your parents,” he said softly “are two of the scientists working to undo the damage to these people.”
“What is wrong with them?” she asked eyes wide.
“They have been stung. At first we thought it was just a remnant of some colony of killer bees, but these are worse, much worse. They take their natural aggression to a whole new level. We think they have been altered somehow.”
Peet let out a low whistle, as understanding dawned in his eyes. “A super bee,” he muttered.
“Yes. A super bee experiment that has gone horribly wrong. That is what we suspect too.”
Peet shifted, wincing. “Damn, why did I have to get shot now? I don’t have time for this crap.”
“You will heal faster if you don’t move around so much. Give it a week at least, before you attempt to do any serious activity. You should be able to get around then, without bleeding at least.”
“I need to find Mitch. He needs to know about this. Perhaps he can pull some strings at the police station.”
“Who is Mitch?”
Alexa piped up, pleased to contribute. “He is the cop that arrested my sister, Avalon for stealing, then broke her out of jail to come get me.”
Dr. Song stared at Alexa, the beginning of a smile twitching in the corner of his mouth.
“Another rebel. I should have guessed.” He shuffled over to Peet’s side and drew aside his borrowed bath robe to check on the dressing over his leg wound. “You know, if this had been left any longer, you would have died. The bullet hit the femoral artery of your thigh. Sit still and rest. I will see if I can raise the police station via the short wave. But understand, I am not going to tell them where I am or where to find us. Now, what message do you want me to pass on?”
Peet picked up a scratch pad of paper and a pen. The first page contained a short grocery list. He flipped it over and tore out the page underneath and scrawled a short message. It said “Careful with package. Highly contagious. Use extreme caution or we will all need an SOS.” He handed it to the doctor then motioned for Alexa to give him a hand standing. He lurched to his feet then hobbled back over to the couch, sinking down with a grateful sigh. “I need to rest.”
Alexa tucked the blankets around him and tiptoed out of the room, following Dr. Song back to the shortwave set, to send their precious message.