I abandoned this story after plotting the Apheresis/Aperture race riot story. I felt that another sweeping bit like a plague would be too much in one season. So I cut this one loose. I’m not going to divulge the eventual outcome of this story because I may, someday, recycle the idea. Anyway here is the abandoned corpse of ASEPSIS

“It’s about time.” Roger Kreiger said as he climbed into the trailer. There was a whir as the air was sterilized. He broke the seal on his mask and took it off. He sat down. Tricia looked out from inside the lab. She smiled at him. Roger’s hair was drenched with sweat and he struggled to take off the huge gloves.

“Will we be moving on soon?” She asked, using the speaker.

Roger nodded. “Yeah, there’s nothing more out there. I’m sure we’ll be moving uptown before long.” He shook his head. “Any new numbers?”

“They’re reporting over seven-hundred now.”

‘Man!” Roger dropped his gloves onto the seat next to him. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. He thought of how nice it would be to be on the wharf in Barleton rather than here in Big City. It was to hot here. He missed the East Coast. He missed the seafood and the beer. He had seen enough dead bodies in the last week to last a life time. He just wanted to go home.

The silence was broken by the crackle of his radio. Ben’s voice blared out. “Rog? Where are you?”

Roger lifted the radio to his mouth. “I’m in the truck.”

“I got one over here.” Ben replied. “He’s been dead for quite a while. It’s weird. No blisters. Hold on. “ There was static for a moment. Roger and Tricia looked at each other. Finally Ben’s voice returned. “Call the cops. His throat’s been slit.”

Roger sighed and stuck his head back into the sweaty humidity of his biohazard mask. He pulled on his gloves and stepped back out into the Big City viral outbreak, to log yet another body.

Big City

“ASEPSIS”

by Eric Schwartz

“They’re still not letting anyone in or out of Big City.” Charlie’s voice cracked. Even over the phone Laura could tell he was frustrated. He always did this thing where he’d suck on the back of his teeth with his tongue “There are no flights,” he said, “Smiles and I have taken a room in Denlan.”

“It’s probably for the best, honey.” Laura said, not meaning it. All she wanted was Charlie with her. Charlie and Smiles had flown up to Denlan the day before they found the first bodies. By the time they were set to come home, Big City was declared a hot zone by the Disease Control Taskforce and was quarantined. Laura missed him terribly.

“How is it?” He asked, sucking on his teeth.

“It’s bad. We’re reporting 738 confirmed dead, so far.” Laura pulled a small orange medicine bottle out of her pocket and fiddled with it. “Disease Control is doing their best. They have the Army handing out the antibiotics and breath masks but we don’t know if they’re any closer to a cure.”

“How is Needless?” Charlie asked, after a pause.

Laura dropped the antibiotics back into her pocket. “They have him in a sterile tent. He’s fighting it but it’s touch and go. They’ve managed to hold off the blisters but they are constantly pumping fluid out of his lungs. I think the only thing keeping it a bay is the elf in him.” There was a long pause at the other end of the phone. Laura felt tears in her eyes. She could feel herself keeping the conversation from getting too emotional.

“I wish I was there.” Charlie said, finally.

“I know. I wish you were here too. I miss you.”

There was more silence as the two shared a moment of quiet love. Then they said their goodbyes and Laura hung up the phone. She sat there for a moment looking at the day’s headline; “738 DEAD AS PLAGUE BEGINS SECOND WEEK.”

*

Dr. Finnemore and his team braced themselves and stepped out of the van. Like birds of prey, the journalists descended on them from all directions. The air outside the city building was filled with the shouts of reporters, the whirring of video cameras, the protests of the crowd that had gathered and the radios of the police who held the crowd back.

Finnemore pushed his way through the journalists and up the steps toward the building. Questions rang in his ears; How close to a cure? Why aren’t elves being affected as strongly? Do you believe this virus was created by the military? He fought his way clear and moved to higher ground. He turned back.

“At this time the Disease Control Taskforce has no more information. We are still trying to identify the virus.” He addressed the crowd.

“Is there any speculation on the virus being spread by elf religious radicals and that’s why elves seem more resistant to it?” Came an anonymous voice.

Finnemore could feel his fists clench. “That is absolutely ridiculous. It’s crap like that that starts rumors and panic. We have enough to contend with without a race riot starting.” He bellowed at the crowd. “Now, we have a job to do and lives to save. We still don’t know what this thing is.”

“That’s a lie.” Blasted a voice from the crowd. Most eyes turned and rested on an unshaven man in his early thirties. “The virus was identified over a week ago.”

Finnemore finally caught sight of the man and his eyes blazed. The man moving through the crowd toward him was Dr. Edwin Kayhill. “It was NOT identified. This man was recently kicked off the task force, please pay no attention to him.”

“I identified this virus a week ago as a strain of Beggar’s Pox.“ Kayhill shot back.

Finnemore chuckled. “Kayhill, that’s nothing but outrageous speculation. It would take an unnatural mutation for this type of Beggar’s Pox strain. It goes against all logic. It would be an unprecedented leap in evolution. The last reported case of Beggar’s Pox was fifteen years ago, half-way around the world. We know what Beggar’s Pox is and how to treat it. There is nothing tangible to base your theory on!”

Kayhill looked at the journalists. “I examined the DNA. The differences are striking but the similarities are even more so.”

“Edwin, do you really want to do this here?”

“I think the public has a right to know!”

Finnemore took a deep breath. He really had hoped not to have to do this. “Edwin Kayhill was kicked off the Taskforce because we discovered that some of his credentials were forged. He has had an on going battle with Fleck addiction and his work can’t be trusted.” Kayhill’s face fell. He could feel the journalists turning away from him. “I’m sorry Edwin, but I can’t have you running in here starting a panic. We have the best researchers in the world looking into this. Please, let us get back to work.”

After a few apologies to the press, Finnemore and the Taskforce continued into the building. Kayhill walked across the road to Millennium Park and sat at the edge of the fountain. He knew he still had half a gram of Fleck in his pocket. He knew that Finnemore was right about his work. Most of all, he knew he was absolutely right about the virus. It was a drastically mutated strain of Beggar’s Pox. He couldn’t explain how, it just was.

Kayhill stood and got his bearings. He set off into Big City. The Taskforce was looking in the wrong direction and he had to do something before everyone was dead.

*

The drone of the respirator was only occasionally broken by the sound of suction, pulling liquid out of his partner’s lungs. Stack sat staring through the wrinkled plastic of the tent. Needless was very quiet and still. He was frustrated. Had Needless taken a bullet or been attacked by a perp, Stack could hunt them down. Here, he was completely helpless. All he had left was hope and that didn’t comfort him. He never ran on faith.

He needed a shower. He needed to clear his head. He needed a case.

Breen put had put him on leave when Needless was hospitalized. At the time, it seemed to be the best thing. Stack couldn’t concentrate on anything. Now, he could only think of work. He put his hand on the plastic and stared at his partner for a moment. Without a word he walked out into the corridor.

He pulled the breath mask down over his mouth and nose and pulled the rubber band taut as he stepped out into the balmy Big City afternoon. The street outside was blocked by army military tents and swarms of residents waiting for their masks and antibiotics. Stack put his hands in his pockets and walked against the flow of families looking for government reassurance of their safety. Several blocks away the crowds began to thin out and Stack sat down. He took a deep breath of the stale, moist air inside his mask. He choked and spluttered which made a passing family turn and look at him.