“Six months after his vehicle was found abandoned with a dead body at the wheel, the search continues for both Christian Saint James and Steven Ray, a motel employee that disappeared at the same time. Saint James has been linked to the disappearance of multiple people, and in a possibly related case, an intersex individual was found dead in Steven Ray’s room. The tiny community of Red Dust, where Saint James made his home, has attempted to draw a line under the disturbing revelations that rocked the community when, at the home of the former deputy, a macabre scene unfolded as the team originally tasked with finding the deputy instead found a concealed graveyard.
“Today we’re examining the disappearance of the two men, and discussing the impact on the small community of Red Dust. This is a KSLV Channel Eight special report.”
God, it’s the most generically early-2000s jingle along with graphics that look like they belong on Stranger Things. I really want someone at KSLV to do some self care and buy themselves some cute new assets. Perhaps I should send them some if I ever start making real money again, since I still find myself watching all the damn time. I really should have stopped. But watching, unlike my obsessive attempts to find what the fuck I did to myself…and those poor women, and I guess to Steven, watching does have a purpose, even though it’s verging on self harm.
I’ve become sorta fond of hearing the minutiae of life in the stupid rural towns. With no connections here, working in a lab surrounded by assholes, and not wanting to endanger anyone else, I’ve been holed up. Barely met anyone. So this is my socialization, I guess.
And, I’m not making excuses here but, with Mary-Anne moved, I lost my source of regular updates from Red Dust and I really, really want to make sure that nothing more untoward is happening there. I stretch out, rub my aching back. I dunno what I did to it but every so often it just… aches. For days. And I feel like shit with it. Headache, sore throat, stomach’s off. It’s been like that the last couple of days. Hasn’t helped with dealing with the puerile nonsense from the boys at work.
“…women have been identified, finally bringing some closure to families across the state whose daughters, wives and girlfriends had gone missing. With the exception of the two unidentified individuals, all of the victims were taken from clubs in Reno and Las Vegas,” Kylie intones in her best serious broadcaster voice. The camera’s positioned to highlight the contrast between her on-the-street reporter garb and the decaying diner behind her. Somehow the juxtaposition of her, the diner and the barren rock red desert beyond makes Red Dust even more exhausted than it did in my memory. To be fair, the abandoned post office on the edge of frame really doesn’t help — although the framing’s also probably deliberate.
“It is a community forever shattered by the events that unfolded here. The town wasn’t just hit by the revelation that a trusted member of law enforcement was, in fact, likely involved in the disappearance and deaths of multiple women. At the same time as the investigation began several women, including the county coroner fell ill…”
I sort of zone out for a while, letting her reporting float all around me. Newscast ASMR. Instead I focus on actual work. KSLV’s just ended up the background noise in my work life. Thankfully it mostly saves me listening to Adam and Damian’s tedious rants.
I really, really need to find a new job. A real one with a real company and ideally an actual HR department.
“Hey, Adam. How was that cute piece of ass you were out with last night? I saw you at Ruby’s last night. That girl looked out of your league.” God Damian’s got a set of lungs on him. He’s not even in the fucking lab. Just hollering from the office.
“It was a fucking waste of time. She’s a frigid bitch — just wanted a free night on the town. I bet she’s a lesbian. Y’know, one of those ones that looks like a normal girl, but just wants pussy. I paid for everything and she didn’t even put out.” He hesitates and I take the moment to brace myself because I know what’s likely to come next. Being the only woman here sucks. “Hey, Erika. Why would you let a guy pay for everything if you’ve got no intention of fuc—”
“Lemmie stop you right there Adam, because I think you’re going to say something which starts with you being a dick, and ends with me chloroforming you and sticking you in the fridge.”
“Oh, see, she’s another one. Probably a fucking lesbian too.” Disdain drips from Adam’s words. “Just look at her. She looks like a lesbian.”
“I’m at work, Adam, you idiot. The uniform is lab coat, pants and a top. What do you expect me to wear, a damn ball gown?”
“Nah,” Damian’s pokes Adam, almost causing him to drop the tray in his hand, and causing him to let loose a volley of swears. “But I’ve seen you outside of work and you wear the same shit as you do here. Barely fucking try, just taking the easy ride of being a woman. Bet people buy you drinks all the time, even when you dress like a slob. Anyhow,” he turns back to Adam and nudges him. “Erika said she’s got a boyfriend — although I’ve never seen him and she never talks about him. Maybe he lives in Canada.” He laughs obnoxiously. It’s like being surrounded by teenage fucking boys.
“Look, believe what you want. I don’t give a damn.” I growl, shoving my headphones back in.
“…many of the townsfolk, particularly single women, are choosing to leave.”
If I roll my eyes any harder I’ll have to pick them up off the lab floor. Weird how the women don’t want to hang out in a town where the Sheriff let a murderer run around free, looking the other way about his permanently malfunctioning body camera? Letting Saint James’s reputation for pulling over cute women to hassle them slide without any investigation. Gawd, the reason women might not want to stay is truly is a mystery for our time. They should call in the FBI. Oh wait, they did.
“Mary-Anne, one of the women who chose to leave is on the line with us now.”
:::ES: Oh shit, oh shit! You didn’t tell me you were gonna be on TV!
“Welcome, and thank you for joining us today. Can you tell us what life was like in the community before?”
:::ES: Stick it to ‘em Mary-Anne.
“Oh for sure! The thing that always kept me in Red Dust was the community. Especially the community among us single women — there aren’t a lot of places where…”
Something about moving seems to have lifted a weight from her. Her movements seem less encumbered. Or maybe it’s just not having to deal with a dubious enemy of the people running rampant. Or — I realize — I mostly heard her voice while I was there. Maybe when she’s not dealing with having some random survivor dropped in her home she sounds less worn down.
Now Mary-Anne’s voice sounds brighter than it did. It makes me smile to hear her sounding better.
“It’s hard, uprooting yourself at this stage of life, particularly as an older single woman, but I couldn’t stand to stay. To see Sheriff Robberts, the other deputies who’d worked with Christian. His drinking buddies, laughing it up in the bar about the women buried in his yard. What is it my friend said? It’s not one bad apple, it’s the whole darn tree.” I grin the second she quotes me. Ha.
“The minute those CDC folks were furloughed and the Nevada Department of Health and Human Services left us to it with just that interesting man’s colloidal silver — which, ope, I don’t want to turn blue…”
Wait.
I lose the thread of what she’s saying as a flash of anxiety spikes. Did she say the CDC just abandoned ship and fucked off? In the middle of a novel disease outbreak?
I quickly scan the news sites and sure enough, from the outside it looked like a regular end to the quarantine — no one else appeared sick and were so close to the end date they’d set for the quarantine — but all the staff were all furloughed when they left town. Buried deep in some Reddit murder-conspiracy-theory thread are links to some interviews with the leads from the quarantine team, and it turns out the CDC investigation just stopped. The contact tracing, the attempts to gather samples, the analysis of disease trajectory from people’s history. All of it was just terminated… and as far as I can tell, no one picked it up.
The whole CDC was on the table as another bargaining chip from President Deals, and the result of the government funding being on hold was he fucked up any hope of tracing who everyone sick had contact with.
Shit.
Well, hopefully everyone who was sick didn’t…like, travel. But I’ve not heard of isolation occurring anywhere else, and I’ve run assays on myself now and…I don’t appear contagious anymore. So, it’s probably fine.
It’s probably fine.
Right?
“In the diner earlier today, I was talking with Claire, a former school teacher who moved here four years ago..”
:::MA: Did you enjoy my cable news debut?
:::ES: You were 🔥
:::ES: How come you didn’t tell me you were going to be on?
:::MA: I wasn’t sure I would go through with it.
:::MA: I’m guessing the fire is good?
:::ES: Yes! I’ll get you online one of these days.
:::MA: No thanks. I can just walk down the street and see Sam, and I can just text you.
:::ES: Luddite!
:::MA: Hey, now. I’ve got an iPhone and an Apple watch.
:::ES: And yet emoji flummox you
:::MA: Hush. Oh! I got some amazing news.
:::MA: I don’t believe it!
:::ES: Is this hot gossip?
:::ES: Because if it is…
:::ES: spill!
:::MA: You remember Anna? She’s got together with a woman! Her name’s Kelsey — I never thought she’d come out.
:::MA: Anna that is. She used to kiss girls when she was drunk.
:::MA: She’d get all experimental. And then deny everything when she was sober.
:::MA: That boyfriend of hers was interesting. Anywho, tossed him in the trash bam, she met Kelsey and they’re moving in together.
:::ES: That’s so cool!
:::ES: 🎉
:::ES: Wait. Isn’t she still having chemo?
:::MA: Did I not tell you? I’m sorry! I must have forgot with moving and then this whole TV thing. She got her first clear scan! She was out celebrating when she met Kelsey!
:::MA: Holy cow they’re so cute together!
:::MA: They’re gonna road-trip up to see me and Sam. She said Kelsey has a sweet RV!
:::MA: I’m so excited. Hyped, isn’t that what you said?
:::ES: Yep Mary-Anne. Hyped is perfect.
:::ES: That or 🔥
:::MA: ❤️
#
Of course it’s fucking Adam who answers the phone and of course he’s like, Oh, I bet it’s girl problems. Most of the folks at Itero, you know why they ended up there. I am gonna have to see someone about this fucking back ache though. A few days every now and then the thing just flares up. I guess I really did a number on it.
Anyhow, despite that, I finally summon the courage to look. To pull up the carefully anonymized and forwarded messages from my old phone. I’ve been meaning to do it for a couple of months. Well, okay. I’ve been meaning to do it since a few weeks after I ran. But what’s the point, really?
:::Neuragene HR: You have failed to meet your attendance requirements. Your contract has been terminated. Please return your access / ID card to building 27.
:::XL: So you finally fucked off.
:::XL: Screw you Tav.
:::XL: Asshole.
:::XL: I thought Oaklen was gonna dump all that work on me.
:::XL: Thought I’ll have to deal with those weird trannys downstairs.
:::XL: Though I think he’s maybe not gonna go with gene editing again. He’s pretty fucking pissed. And he had to close the lab in case you did something rash.
:::XL: He was even more pissed when they pulled over some random guy in a pickup with your phone.
:::XL: I’d say good luck, but I think fuck you tav is right.
:::Neuragene HR: You have been billed $200 for failure to return property of Neuragene. See contract agreement for further details.
:::OR: Don’t think you can just leave.
I take a slow steadying breath.
Surely there’d be some mention if they knew what I did to the data? If they knew the viral sequence they have now was just fucking random telomeres now.
God, I’m so fucked.
Okay, so, plan: Look at virus and see if I left anything really obvious in there that I can use to make a vaccine or a treatment.
I look at the screen, pain flares behind my eyes. God damn it, this stupid migraine. On the one hand I should be worrying if this is some unexpected part of the virus. I didn’t get data from anyone this far from after infection. Not with my version. With theirs, sure. But mine? We’re well into here be dragons land. But it should all have turned itself off, by now. Gone laten—
Oh fuck no.
I roll over and grab the notebook, despite the pain riven through me I flick through the pages. There’s a cornucopia of simple farm animals drawn but there on page sixty three is a chicken. With splotches on it.
Headache be damned, I pull up the genome for Varicella Zoster and sure enough there’s ORF 63 — the latency associated transcript. I stole LAT and stuck it in my virus. Probably other bits too, now, I realize. I press my fingers against my eyes, watching the shapes dance and flicker.
What the fuck have I done.
I’ve created a reservoir of infected people with chunks from one of the most infectious and easily transmittable viruses, and those folks have scattered to the winds.
What’s the R value on chickenpox in an unvaccinated community? Each case causes like twelve more…But maybe it’s close enough to chicken pox that I could just modify a vaccine? Maybe it’s close enough that folks who had chicken pox can fight it off.
Fuck, who’m I kidding.
The number of folks infected in Red Dust — it can’t be that all of them were naive to chicken pox infections.
At least all the women survived and seem none the worse for wear.
It’s fine.
No one’s sick.
It’s latent. They might never cause another infection. it may never come out of its latent state.
It’s fine.
It’s fine.
It’s fine, Erika.
Fuck.
Oh fuck.
Stop panicking, Erika.
“Aaah.” I whine. Fucking back cramps. This is bullshit. All I did was move one fucking box of reagents. Tylenol clearly isn’t cutting it, I should’ve stolen more Neuragene shit.
So new plan: Go get more drugs, then fix this virus.
And also get some vodka and some coke because I think I’ve wiped out humanity.
#
Another spasm.
Fucker.
“I guess it’ll have to be naproxen.” I mutter to myself, checking the back of the pack. You’d think, when you go to the bother of rebuilding your body you wouldn’t have to put up with stupid aches and pains, but apparently not. I guess you’d also think you would have the sense to steal more quality experimental drugs but apparently Past-Erika was maybe not as fucking clever as she thought she was.
Instinct kicks in. I flinch away from someone’s fingers brushing against me before I’ve even fully registered they’re there. Terror coils up around my arm; around my throat and I’m preparing to run before I realize she doesn’t look like one of Neuragene’s hired muscle. The first thing I notice is her pale gray eyes, and the look of gentle concern radiating out from her. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
It takes an aeon before I manage to find my voice and stop staring at her. “Uh, don’t worry. I’m always a little jumpy.” She inclines her head to the side, taking me in, before she slowly nudges me back to the side of the aisle, letting other folks past.
I’m still not used to how much more contact I have now. As a guy it always felt like I was on the periphery; blended into the background. It often felt like I barely existed. Virtually no-one ever touched me, and strangers speaking to me outside of transactional conversations — basically never happened. Maybe a handshake. An affable remark alongside a pat on the back. But now? Now it’s just a thing that happens. Other women, mostly. Even with my barely outside socializing I’ve noticed it. A gentle touch against my arm, fingers on top of mine, an arm wrapped round my shoulder in concern. And also compliments — that my hair looks good or that the slogan on my T-shirt made them smile. Random conversations — bitching about some stupid thing that’s happened, chatting about seemingly random bits of people’s lives. It’s nice. Warm.
But still startling.
I mean, men touch me too, now. But that definitely isn’t the same. That I’ve also noticed, and not in a good way. But the woman next to me just looks worried, her hand dropping away from my upper arm as I glance at my arm like she’s burned me.
“Hey sweetheart, I hate to tell you this but there’s, ” she scrunches her forehead, lowers her voice and leans in close “Communists in the summer house. You want to borrow my hoodie for a few minutes?” She holds it out, her face telegraphing sympathy.
“What?”
“You’re riding the crimson wave, honey.” She waves the hoodie at me again, gestures tying it around my waist.
“What?” I stare at her.
“You’re bleeding, sweetheart.”
“I’m bleeding?!” Fuck, what else did I do to myself with this virus? I frantically glance up and down the visible bits of my body and and can’t see blood anywhere. The anxious yelp makes me the center of attention for a few deeply embarrassing seconds. At least the two women look sympathetic.
“Shhh. It’s okay! It’s happened to all of us.” She wraps the hoodie round my waist and ties it off.
“What do you mean I’m bleeding and that’s okay?”
Still louder.
Why am I being louder?
Shut up, Erika.
Shut up.
“I mean, isn’t it your time of the month?” She whispers, her arm also around my waist, gently walking me somewhere through the store.
“No, it’s not my fuck—” I realize this isn’t Adam or Damian being dicks. “Sorry, not your fault. No, it’s not.” I stand still for an eternity, mind spinning, vaguely aware of the pressure of her arm against me.
“Oh, no. Oh shit, I’m so sorry. Were you trying… Sorry, none of my business. Anyway, I’m so sorry.” She hesitantly puts an arm back around me, draws me into a half-hug. “You’re okay sweetheart. It’s a big store, we can get you sorted out, get you some clean clothes too, no-one else’s gonna remember. She starts leading me and I’m apparently going to follow her.
She seems to know where she’s going which is good because my brain’s entirely taken up with trying to work out what the hell’s happening. Ha, no. Can’t be. There’s not enough cells in the prostatic utricle. Are there? Suddenly I realize that she’s waiting for me to say or do something. I stare blankly at her again, attempting to telepathically communicate that I have no idea what she wants.
“Do you have, like, a brand or something you prefer?”
I focus on the shelf. Oh yeah. Tampons. Huh.
“I dunno.” I finally drag out from the overwhelm. “It’s my fir—” I slam my mouth shut as this random woman looks at me in confusion. Snaking out of her hold, I turn to run.
“Wait!” She says after I’ve taken all of three staggering paces. “Okay, so let’s just get you some basics.” She says, grabbing a box from a shelf. “These are what I like, just pads for now I guess.” She reaches out and takes my arm again. Gently walks me to the clothing section and looks me up and down. “This size?” She holds up a hanger.
“Um, I think.”
“Well, let’s grab one up and down and some clean panties.” She’s holding up a skirt and after a few seconds returns with a pack.
“I’ve—this—it’s—” I trail off. This woman’s a complete stranger and suddenly she’s walking me towards the changing room and nudging me into a cubicle to change. Chucking me some face wipes to clean up with. And then going back to take the skirt to the counter to get the tag removed, once I tell her which one fits.
“Huh, you clean up well.” She says smiling. “It looks good on you.” She glances at the skirt. “Though it had good foundations to start with.”
“Um, thanks.”
“You should make more of your legs, they’re really nice.”
“…okay.”
“Caitlin.” She says, sticking out a hand.
“Erika.”
“Well, sorry we had to meet under these circumstances but Hi. You look like you’re having a rough day? Week? Whatever? If you wanna talk about it… Like I’m sure you’ve got friends you can talk to but if you—”
“I don’t.” Oh god, Erika, shut up.
“Sorry?”
“I uh, I’m kinda new in town and the place I work’s kinda sketch so, yeah, no, I don’t y’know, have friends.” Now she’s properly staring at me. I really can’t just trauma-dump on some random woman outside the changing room of some Safeway.
“Wait— Aren’t you that woman who that shit head deputy attacked.”
“Um, yeah.”
“Oh well, that was fucked situation. I’m sorry you went through that and now you’re here, without any support.
“So, huh, since you don’t seem to know some things you probably need to know, and you look like you could use a friendly face, here’s my number. Should you decide you want a friend to talk to.” Hastily she scribbles Caitlin Morgan, and her number, on an old receipt and hands it across. “Look, I’ve got to get back to my kids before my friend murders them, or they murder her. Never sure which is the higher risk. Shit. Sorry. Bad taste?”
I shake my head. “S’okay.”
“Look, if you want to, you can give me your number too, no pressure. We can just meet up for coffee.”
She holds out her phone in front of her, unlocked. After a moment’s hesitation I tap in my number before I can reconsider.