Itero Biotechnology’s lab is sketch. Really fucking sketch. Not a surprise, obviously, since they employed the new me and sure, I’ve got an identity, complete with a social security number that works, but I’ve also a history that’s paper thin, a resume so scant it could barely be used as lingerie and, as a scientist, no publications, a degree from a college that everyone in the industry knows is pay-for-play, and the n for my references works out as insignificant. But I don’t care about being sketch right now, because it’s money, and money means an apartment. An apartment and food and gas for the car. If they didn’t care then why the fuck should I?
And sure, any job you can get where they don’t care enough to interview you, you know it’s gonna be bad. It’s going to either be a terrible workplace, a terrible job, or sketchier than a backstreet club. But it’s a job.
It’s a start.
Also, secondary to me getting to be me, the next most important thing is I don’t have Oaklen Rue either glazing or screaming at me. Which means I’m not feeding his little pet-side project, I don’t have a basement full of captive test subjects lurking on my conscience, and while I don’t have shiny new equipment, I am also not having to corrupt the data for my research and run like fuck across the country.
All of that is better.
Sure, like Neuragene the lab is pushing boundaries, just…different ones. The specific boundaries are how long you can keep equipment working with duct tape and wishes, the exact point that a safety protocol becomes an unsafety protocol, and just whether you need an ultramicrotome to slice something thin enough to wedge between patent infringement and the work it’s produced. Oh, and I’ve got a lab supervisor who starts the day two fingers in and ends it when the fifth’s done. Which is a bonus because I can do whatever the fuck out of hours.
I’ve got the kind of project I can mostly do in my sleep. I mean, not nothing. I do actually have to work, I’m not just here to be pretty. So it’s not money laundering. At least, if it is, it’s not just money laundering. What it is, is contract biotech with nice defined borders and clearly defined goals: Rip this off, but make it look like you didn’t.
:::MA: Did you eat breakfast?
I smile at the notification as I get out of the car. A quick chat with Mary-Anne while I get my day set up — my favorite new habit.
:::ES: Yes mom
:::ES: I made poptarts
In front of me, even with the sun hitting it, the grey-brown of the concrete’s not exactly welcoming. Clearly it had a past life as an office. On its way to wherever buildings go after death, it’s hanging out in purgatory with us poor bitches.
:::MA: Geez sweetheart! Poptarts again?
:::MA: Well, I guess that’s better than nothing.
:::MA: I gotta teach you to cook.
:::ES: Hey, I can work a microwave too.
:::MA: 🙄
:::MA: One day I’ll teach you the family meatball recipe.
:::ES: Promise?
:::MA: Promise.
:::MA: Be good today.
:::ES: Always am.
:::MA: Ha.
Coffee.
For a while I wondered if coffee maker was part of some extended study into fungal spores. Turns out none of the boys could be bothered to clean it. I spent a few hours on it, then abused some excessively vicious lab detergent and an autoclave, and it mostly doesn’t taste like mold now. Except after the weekends when some late-working asshat will probably not take out the last filter of the day.
:::MA: Promise me you’ll look after yourself.
:::ES: I mean, I try
:::ES: Wait, why?
:::MA: No reason.
:::ES: You’re a terrible liar.
:::ES: Do you have some health thing going on? Do I need to come back?
:::ES: Shit. Do I need to call Sam to come down?
:::ES: Damn. You need to send me Sam’s number.
:::ES: If you need someone, I can be there soon as possible.
:::MA: Don’t come back right now. It’s fine.
:::MA: Erika! I’m fine.
:::MA: Oh Jen got back to me. She said he said he “was f**cked up”
:::ES: Don’t change the subject. Although thank you. But why are you suddenly promoting independence?
:::MA: Oh, she also said he looked sick. He was soaked in sweat. Staggering. Said he hurt all over. Her and the girls steered well clear of him.
:::MA: Poor Beth served him. Probably why she was laid up with some kinda flu for a couple of weeks.
The sound of the carafe shattering is what snaps me back. Glass sparkling across the floor. A dull thunk as the plastic handle comes to rest.
No.
“Erika? What the fuck man?”
“Uh, I slipped.” I mumble, picking up the worst of the broken glass. There’s no way. “Steve. Chill. There’s a spare next to the fridge.” I wave my hand in the right direction. Glass crunching underfoot as I grab the brush and sweep up the rest of it. I designed it not to be infectious. We tested it. In the lab. Shards sparkling and tinkling against each other as I tip them into the trash. The assay showed there weren’t enough virions. You basically needed to lick someone while they were presymptomatic.
“You gonna make coffee or just hold that thing there all day?”
“Uh. shit. Yeah.” It can’t be.
:::MA: You know they still don’t know who the woman in his truck was.
Filter from box and into the funnel. Shove it down so it doesn’t poke out the top.
“Hey, what did that poor thing do to hurt you?”
But what if it is?
Pour coffee into the filter.
“Um, Erika, I think that’s too much.”
“It’s fine.”
“Are you okay?”
:::MA: We’ve been told no one can leave town.
:::MA: Contact tracking – I think that’s what they said?
:::MA: Something like that.
Grab the tank.
Fill it with water.
Someone’s hands taking the overflowing tank from mine.
Shit.
:::MA: The EMTs got sick too. The ones who went out to the truck. The coroner said it’s the worst virus she’s had. Took her out for 3 weeks. She was just so tired all the time.
“I think you should sit down. Let me do—Erika!”
“I’m fine.”
New pot on the hot plate.
“Erika, Do you need to go home?”
:::MA: No one else is sick though. And everyone recovered.
:::MA: I’m scared though. I saw a picture of that woman in the truck. She looked like she’d been starved.
Red glow from the power switch. Wait.
“Clearly you’re not. Did you eat breakfast? Shit, is it your time of the month?”
:::MA: What if that happens to me?
:::MA: You’ve not been sick?
“No, Steve. It’s not my fucking time of the month, what are you fucking twelve? And I ate poptarts.”
“No need to be a bitch, Erika. I was just gonna offer you some chocolate.”
A thunk as the bar hits the table. Skitters to a stop.
Hiss and burble of the coffee machine.
Walk out of the breakroom.
Get some space to breathe.
Don’t leave.
Don’t run.
#
The restroom’s empty, thankfully. Cold water on my face, digging my fingernails into my arms, wishing I had ice to hold on the back of my neck, things to drag me screaming back into myself.
I just need to stay present long enough to know not just that this is bad, I know it’s bad. But specifically how fucked is this? How fucked is Mary-Anne. I never intended cis women to get this. It was just meant to be used in controlled fucking conditions.
I guess, also, how fucked am I?
It still doesn’t make any sense. It’s not transmissible. I checked. I designed it that way.
But clearly it fucking is, Erika.
I message Mary-Anne; something reassuring, I think. I hope. The phone pings. She promises to let me know if she gets sick. She’s just scared. But aside from her girlfriends they’re loners out there. She’s not too worried. It was just the shock.
I double—triple—quadruple check. There’s no one in here but me. Peek out the door and the hallway’s empty. It’s still early enough that most people aren’t in yet. I should’ve grabbed my headphones but they’re sitting under the bench, tucked in my purse. So instead I turn the volume down as low as I can. Perch on the toilet. It takes about eight goes before my trembling fingers finally function well enough to pull up the stream I need.
Commercials. Of course. Dumb fucking commercials. I’m still too new, my profile hasn’t got enough data for the AI to know how to hook me. YouTube doesn’t know whether it wants to send me trad-wife content or right wing guys screaming about gun rights. After two ads for some kind of patriot meals I get…what I guess is meant to be a heart warming story about some kid who managed to raise enough money his dad could get treatment for some shit.
God it’s fucked up.
At least the annoyance distracts me from my fear. Waiting through another local news story — nothing I care about. Back to another commercial-break, by the time the pitch for protecting your identity for a low monthly fee is finally fucking done, I’m gripping the phone so tight I wonder if it’s going to shatter.
“Welcome back to KSLV Channel Eight’s Morning Break. We’ll have a weather update at nine with Cindy, but first we have some breaking news.” I can hear the presenter’s sudden tone shift from cheerful to oh-shit. “The unincorporated community of Red Dust is reeling today following a double whammy. The two hundred and fourteen members of the town have been placed under indefinite quarantine after the county coroner, two EMTs and a group of women all contracted a mysterious novel illness. The coroner first raised the alarm after eight women developed an unknown viral infection which caused severe joint pain, nausea, and in two cases high fever and a rash. A ninth woman, the niece of one of the original eight fell ill a couple of weeks later after coming to care for her older relative. Initial reports suggest her symptoms have been more mild and are resolving faster.
“Just over an hour ago, the Nevada Department of Human Services held a press conference in which they stated that no one is to enter or leave the town, and contact tracing is under way. At this time the CDC has yet to provide a response.
“We’re joined this morning by Ariel Mccarty, the Woolsey County coroner who was one of the first people affected. Ariel, welcome. What can you tell us about this virus?”
“Thank you for having me. Well, hopefully I can reassure folks watching about the situation. It’s still very early days but so far everyone who we believe has been affected by the virus appears to have recovered. Although, obviously, I think it’s also very important to say that at this time we haven’t confirmed that all individuals who fell ill did have the virus, and — we still, fortunately, only have a very small number of people affected and the data we have got is very limited.”
“Can you tell us a little bit about your experience with the virus?”
“Of course. First up, it was lousy!” She laughs. “When we identify the means of transmission, I encourage viewers to do anything recommended to avoid catching it. I’ve caught a bunch of things over the years — being a coroner you’re exposed to everything from A to Z — an’ this was one of the roughest things I’ve had. My joints ached like crazy, I had a high fever for days on end, and I was super fatigued. If any viewers do fall ill, please do contact the Nevada Department of Human Services on the special number that’s been set up for this. You can also file a report of a potential case on the Nevada Department of Human Services website — hopefully you can get all those details up on screen.”
“We sure can.” The presenter nods a little too enthusiastically.
“So far, from all the case reports we’ve got, one good thing seems to be that when you’re recovered you’re recovered. Unlike a lot of viruses we haven’t seen lingering after effects. No one who’s been affected and recovered that we know of has reported any chronic symptoms.
“Honestly Melissa, sometimes I think I have more energy than I did before!” She suddenly seems to realize what she said. A flash of anxiety crosses her face. “But that’s probably just me comparing with the exhaustion during infection. Definitely not a suggestion that getting this virus is some kind of life hack! We really don’t know what the long term sequelae — sorry — long term effects of it will be.”
“Well, that’s all good to know. Do you think we’re looking at the start of another COVID here?”
“It’s really far too early to tell. Hopefully we can contain it with isolation and quarantine. Fortunately Red Dust is a pretty keep-themselves-to-themselves kinda place an’ there hasn’t been a ton of traffic in and out. But at the moment all we can do is wait and see.”
Should affected individuals go to the hospital?”
“Obviously, if y’all are sick enough that you feel you need to go to the ER, you should go. If you’re in or near Red Dust you’re gonna need to pass through the quarantine boundary, an’ officers will escort you to the hospital. If y’all do go in, you’ll be isolated for everyone’s safety. Now, if anyone thinks they’ve came into contact with the virus or if you’ve recently been in or near Red Dust and you fall ill, please give your local ER or EMTs a warning so they can isolate and protect you and everyone else.”
“Ariel, can you stick around? We’ve got one more question we’d love to get your thoughts on after the commercial break?”
“Oh sure, sure Melissa.”
I resist the urge to scream. Mike will be wondering where I’ve gone. Hell even Brandon might notice once he’s finished his second vodka and coffee. I rest my head against the stall and wait out the stream of ads.
“Welcome back to Morning Break on KSLV Channel Eight, I’m Melissa Brown and we’re joined right now by Ariel Mccarty, the coroner for Woolsey County who was one of the first people affected by the virus that currently has the unincorporated community of Red Dust quarantined.
“Ariel, at this time most of the people affected have recovered, and the ninth is improving, but some have linked this virus to both the unidentified woman found dead in the vehicle belonging to the missing Deputy, Christian Saint James, and the unidentified woman found in the Desert Light Motel. Are you able to shed any light on that possible connection.”
“I’m afraid I can’t, Melissa. I can share that the individual was found in a room belonging to the missing receptionist and cleaner for the Desert Light Motel, Steven Ray. Uh, She was found in a similar condition to our other Jane Doe. Dehydrated and emaciated. Unfortunately anything else I say would be purely speculation at this point, but we are checking to see whether there’s any indications that uh, she was infected.” She pauses for a moment, clearly trying to decide whether to say any more before scrapping whatever she was thinking of. In a flat tone she finally ends, “I believe the Sheriff’s office has a press conference coming up later today though.”
“Well, thank you for joining us Ariel — and I hope you continue to feel better. And now to further details on that second half of the double whammy that’s affected Red Dust. Officers investigating the disappearance of Deputy Saint James have located the bodies of three women buried in what were described as shallow graves on the edges of his property. As yet their cause of death is undetermined, and in a statement from Chief Robberts, head of the Woolsey County Sheriff’s Office, he stated the bodies were in an advanced state of decomposition, and there may be significant challenges identifying them. We’re now waiting to see if this afternoon’s press conference links those deaths with that of the individual found in the Desert Sky Motel.
“Joining us now is—”
Shit.
Shit shit shit shit shit.
Heart racing I drop my phone, twist round and vomit the remains of my poptarts into the toilet.
Okay Erika.
Okay Erika.
It’s okay, Erika.
My brain helpfully enumerates the problem list. After I get to about problem seven hundred I drop onto the floor of the stall.
Yeah, no, not okay Erika.
Not okay.
#
“….Kennedy Junior, in a brief press conference this morning, stated that the Department of Health and Human Services had contracted for the supply of colloidal silver for affected residents. This will be stocked at the field hospital set up at the quarantine border. He urged occupants of Red Dust to maintain a carnivorous diet to protect themselves from the virus, advice which has drawn some skepticism from some in the medical community.
“Representatives of the Red Dust community had expressed hope that the quarantine would come to an end this week. Those hopes were dashed this morning when the Nevada Department of Human Services and the CDC released a joint statement continuing the quarantine and extending it for a further two weeks. No one has been in or out of the town, but thankfully, as of this afternoon no one else has fallen ill…”
KSLV is still on. I’ve had it playing through my headphones, or on my phone, or someplace else pretty much constantly since they announced the quarantine. The new background for my new life. At least I could tell people at work that I’ve got a friend in the town, that way it looks less like I’m pruriently interested in a serial killer, unfolding disaster and viral horror. Instead I’m just the lab weirdo obsessed with some minor viral outbreak.
On the other hand this is clearly the biggest news event KSLV’s had in years, possibly ever, and they’re desperately trying to bring the thing that resembles their A-game. Presumably it’s working because day one the ad breaks were all third rate companies — today I’ve seen actual brands filling the gaps between segments. And they’ve broken out all the mothballed outside broadcast gear with their best Y2K infographic software — all things they’ve clearly been dying to use. So now I’m upsettingly familiar with their tiny selection of bush-league news anchors, as well as Cindy the weather presenter — and her dachshund Joey. Because even in the face of crisis, Joey’s antics are there to take the edge off. At least that’s their theory, I guess.
Mostly it’s the standard twenty four hour news thing — sounds like they’ll be doing analysis but it’s really just the same stuff recycled and rephrased over and over. I learn more from Mary-Anne a lot of the time. Doesn’t stop me watching though.
:::MA: The worst thing about this isn’t the danger, it’s the boredom.
:::MA: Hell, it’s not like I went anywhere but Masonville before this.
:::MA: But I’m really going stir crazy knowing I can’t get out
:::ES: I’m so sorry!
:::MA: It’s not like it’s your fault!
It is, though Mary-Anne. It really fucking is.
:::MA: Anyway, enough of my boring life. How’re you doing? You making friends?
:::ES: New job’s better than the old one…
:::ES: I’ve been working a lot tho
:::ES: Not had much chance to get out and meet people.
Understatement of the year. Of the lifetime, I guess. I’ve been doing my best to keep it together at work — harder to do while Brandon flirted with the idea of us working on some nebulous project related to the virus. He’d seen the virus news on some Reddit forum, gone searching and eventually discovered that there’s at least some money being thrown around. So a treatment, a vaccine, or at least the appearance of working on that for the sake of some delicious federal dollars got him jumping around like fucking Joey the Dachshund. He put in an application but I’m hoping we’re too small and not good enough at grifting or paying off the right people to get picked. Fingers fucking crossed nothing comes our way.
It’s not really work that’s keeping me busy, though.
I’ve been over and over my notes. At least, I’ve tried to go over and over them. Some are fine. Some make perfect sense. Exons I might want to use clearly noted with sources along with the odd open reading frame from this or that virus to improve transcription reliability or viral entry or whatever. Nice and neat.
But what’s really worrying is some of the notes don’t seem to make any sense. Whole sections are… well I’m sure I could work out what I meant but it’s not obvious. There’s chunks of notes I don’t even really remember making. Half finished thoughts. Comments about genes — but without the genes identified. It’s like I was distracted and stopped half way through a thought. Even worse, there’re notes about open reading frames from seemingly random viruses I’m worried I incorporated and I can’t remember why, and more comments about genetic sequences I barely remember scrawled in the margins.
Which…
Well.
Um. That’s bad.
What the fuck was I thinking? My brain feels so much clearer now, at least, I think it does. But clearly I thought this made sense back then, so who the fuck knows.
At least I’ve been able to go back to my digital data. Back through the saved models. Re-run the simulations and check the test data and double check the assays from every…patient. I’ve done every analysis I can think of and it’s still showing up as barely transmissible. There’s a couple of outliers. But I don’t see anything abnormal in the rest of the data about infection trajectory and maybe someone just fucked up entering the data on the spreadsheets. Even with them you’d still have to have prolonged contact or like huff virions.
The contact we had, Deputy Saint James and me…
It’s not like he—
No, Erika. You need to stay here.
You can’t go away again.
Breathe.
Breathe.
In-two-three-four.
Hold-two-three-four.
Out-two-three-four.
Hold-two-three-four.
It’s okay.
You’re okay.
It’s not like there was anything more than skin to skin contact.
He just—
His fingers pinning me. Trapping and binding me. Holding me there — although what did I do to stop him? What did I do to fight? Nothing. Fucking nothing. I let him just—
NO. Breathe, Erika. Breathe. IN-TWO-THREE-FOUR. Hold-two-three-four. Out-two-three-four. Hold-two-three-four.
Do it slower.
No, slower.
Keep breathing.
It was just skin to skin.
Bruises. Plenty of those. Didn’t break the skin though. Just a scattering of darkness written like an inverted night sky across my arms. Blackening rings of damage around my wrists from the cuffs. No fight. No escape. Him grabbing me and dragging me and throwing me against the tacky vinyl, the scents from previous occupants — of sweat, vomit, shit and piss — mingling in my throat. His hand pulling my shorts down. Sliding his fucking fingers across my ass…
Goddamn you Erika, breathe.
…it shouldn’t have been enough for him to catch it.
Focus on the fucking problem, Erika.
I pulled up my Benchling history. And now, after I pulled me together enough to get through the rest of the day, and the next day, and the next day, I’m slogging through every edit. Every change. Rechecking every single damn thing. I’ve tried to tie together the edits I made with my notes and again — some of them make sense — and others might make sense, but I don’t remember where the hell they’re from.
And then there’s this one…It’s bugging me because I’ve definitely seen it before, and it’s in the right place for—
“…aking news today in the investigation into the disappearance of Deputy Saint James,” Oh fuck. I snap out of my work and focus back on the stream again. “This morning we reported on evidence of prior allegations of sexual assaults by the missing deputy from a group of seven women. Alongside those allegations several of the women additionally claimed to have evidence he had used date-rape drugs on them. Evidence which, it seems, was omitted from police disciplinary proceedings. The reports were filed during the Deputy’s period of service at Nye County, but the investigation was put on hold after he transferred out of the department.
“Claire Cook, one of the lawyers who represented the complainants at the time, stated that Deputy Saint James has a pattern of harassment towards women escalating to episodes of physical violence against women he would locate online. She alleges that this behavior has been covered up by multiple police departments. She also cited further complaints relating to the deputy’s alleged use of excessive force, and the deputy appearing to work while under the influence of both drugs and alcohol. We contacted gym owner Mark Greenstock, of Greenstock Gym in Tonopah, who was named in one complaint. He confirmed Saint James was a member and also that he filed a complaint after banning Saint James from the gym. That complaint was about the deputy using and distributing steroids. The complaints add weight to the concern deputy Saint James may have disappeared fearing repercussions after he was revealed again engaging in excessive use of force.”
“This video, obtained through a freedom of information request, was sent to Woolsey County Sheriff’s office shortly before he was suspended. Viewers should note they may find the following scenes disturbing, and viewer discretion is advised. The footage appears to show the deputy assaulting an as yet unidentified woman during a traffic stop. According to Woolsey County Sheriff’s Office, the deputy did not have a body worn camera active at the time, and recording equipment in his cruiser failed to start for reasons which remain under investigation. Authorities are encouraging the woman in the…”
:::MA: I’m so sorry. Jen didn’t know about you when she sent it.
:::MA: I mean, she still doesn’t know.
:::ES: It’s okay. I don’t blame her.
I stuff my hand in my mouth to keep from screaming the panic out. I don’t want the new neighbors to worry — or worse, call 911. Although if a night goes by without the cops around the apartment complex banging on doors and being assholes, does it really count as a night?
:::MA: Are you safe?
Hold yourself for a second. Think.What could they actually see?
:::ES: I’m… I think it’s okay?
:::ES: you can’t see my face
:::ES: I don’t even have that car. Thank Skye again. Please.
:::ES: IG it’s only if they find me somehow on some like gas station or store camera?
The phone clatters to the table as I keep shaking. God damn it. I was meant to be safe.
“…information released in today’s initial reports from the Washoe County Regional Medical Examiner’s Office suggests that the victims found in both the motel and in the abandoned Deputy’s pickup appear to have been intersex, adding further support to the suggestion of a link between the disappearance of the motel clerk, Steven Ray and Deputy Christian Saint Ja…”
Oh God. Oh fuck.
The floor seems nice. The carpet doesn’t look like it’ll taste like cockroach. Perhaps if I make myself small enough no one will notice me.
How could I fuck this up so badly?
:::MA: What should I say if they ask?
:::ES: Tell them the truth. You saved my life, you don’t need to risk yours.
:::ES: You don’t know where I am, anyway.
:::MA: Okay, if you’re sure.
:::MA: Skye won’t say anything.
:::ES: ❤️
Phone back on the floor. It keeps buzzing with occasional messages… I can’t look.
It’s already a big enough story it’s started to leak out of Nevada. The intersex piece? Along with the timing? Is that enough to really make it national news? Is it enough to make anyone at Neuragene see it and think the timing’s hinky?
What if someone—
What if Oaklen—