The Zombie Fever Series (Books 1-3)

By B.M. Hodges

This is a collection of the first three titles of The Zombie Fever Series, which are stories of zombie horror mayhem. (Approx. 150,000 words total.)

Books included:
1. Zombie Fever 1: Origins
2. Zombie Fever 2: Outbreak
3. Zombie Fever 3: Evolution
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Zombie Fever 1: Origins
After working a graveyard shift at Vitura Pharmaceuticals, Tomas' father disappears without a trace. Eager for answers, Tomas confronts Supervisor Bertrand, division head of the secretive corporation. Tomas gets answers all right; and it's those answers that put him on a course with destiny, international intrigue and...ZOMBIES.

What happened to his father?

What are Vitura's plans?

Are Zombies real?

(Novella Length: 20,000 words/80 pages)
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Zombie Fever 2: Outbreak
It's a dream come true when Abigail and her best friend are cast in a new reality show. But it's a dream that turns into a nightmare, when Sebastian, the show's producer, decides to use the most recent zombie outbreak as the backdrop for the production. Mayhem and horror ensue as the show's cast is sent further and further into the quarantine zone.

Meanwhile, Vitura is behind the outbreak and Tomas is doing his best to put a stop to their diabolical plans. But is he to late to save Abigail from the viral menace?

Who will become infected with zombie fever?

Who gets eaten by the zombie horde?

And most importantly, who wins the million-dollar prize?

(Novel Approx Length: 360 pages/90,000 words)

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Zombie Fever 3: Evolution
The zombie virus has spread to Singapore and is out of control, creating zombies that are faster, smarter and hungrier than ever!

After helping Abigail and her teammates escape the quarantine zone, Tomas realizes that sending them into Singapore has inadvertently caused the worst zombie outbreak to date. To make matters worse, Tomas discovers that Abigail and her best friend are the only two people in the world inoculated with the cure. Tomas makes it his mission to rescue her, regardless of the millions of flesh-eating psychopaths rioting in the streets.

However, Vitura is on to him. Supervisor Bertrand sends Jayden, a ruthless mercenary, to track down Abigail and Tomas and capture them...dead or alive.

(Approx. Length 160 pages/ 41,600 words)

• Language: English
• Publisher: B.M. Hodges
• Release date: Apr 14, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301247981

B.M. Hodges

B.M. Hodges studied in the United States and Singapore where he was awarded a Master's Degree in Literary Studies. He began his writing career in 2008 with Buddy the Rat. In 2012, he published Zombie Fever 1: Origins and Zombie Fever 2: Outbreak and, most recently, Zombie Fever 3: Evolution. He is currently living in South East Asia and working on the fourth instalment of the Zombie Fever series that will be released in 2013.

Book preview

Chapter One

And it begins…

AS the plane touched down at Lindbergh Field, Tomas brushed his black locks from his face and leaned forward, looking up and over the ample breasts of the morbidly obese man crammed into the adjoining center and window seat. Glimpses of palm trees and sunbaked stucco buildings whipped past. Shimmering San Diego came into focus as the Air Canada ERJ-190 braked on the runway tarmac.

Snippets of the conversation he’d had with his mother and stepfather at their last get together flicked through his consciousness as the plane taxied toward the gate.

There were obvious signs during those last few days that some sort of parental, for-your-own-good speech was in the works. There had been an escalation in the hushed conversations and closed door arguments between his mother and stepfather. He’d sensed that it would come at tonight’s dinner, which was why he was cruising on a couple blues prescribed by the therapist his parental units insisted he visit twice a week.

He’d found himself yet again having to justify his life, The situation between me and Jan is a bit tense, but we’ll work it out. We always do.

We just don’t want to see you get hurt, again. His mother countered, her eyes darting back and forth between her son and his stepfather, Stuart.

He sat back calmly in the creaky wooden chair and half-listened as they began their planned and well-rehearsed lecture. A tune flitted around in the back of his thoughts and he couldn’t put his finger on the name of the song. It had been bothering him all day.

Stuart cleared his throat, Look Tomas, graduating university is a big deal. It’s an event in your life that you should have been preparing for long before now. In two weeks, you’re finished with your finals. Then what? We’d hoped by now that you’d have a job lined up or at least an internship. Living in our basement without a job, savings, steady girlfriend, heck, without a long-term plan for your life isn’t where we hoped you’d be when you finished your degree. Since their marriage ten years ago, Stuart had heroically assumed a fatherly role with Tomas but always at a distance, taking his cue from Bev’s mothering style.

Let’s face it, Stuart continued. Bev stared at Stuart as he talked. I could see her mouth move as Stuart spoke the words she’d put in there earlier, now is the time for you to grow up and take some responsibility over your life. There’s no reason you should be in this predicament. You have so much going for you. What with the scholarship and your flair for science. You’ve been given a gift that most people would give anything for…anything. To be able to complete uni before your twentieth birthday; well, let’s just say you have a major leg up on the competition. Then to blow off applying for graduate school and having no plan in the works is… There was a pause the parental units gathered the courage to meddle in his love life, You’re squandering the most formidable years of your life on a girl who doesn’t seem to have your best interests at heart. She repeatedly dumps you, ‘dates’ a bunch of men for two or three months then makes nice when she is lonely. You need to end it. Now is the time, Tomas. We want you to try to see it from our perspective.

There was that ‘we’ again. It annoyed Tomas to no end that they spoke in tandem whenever they had anything serious to say. It had been years since his mother had actually spoken to him in the subjective I when it came to anything important.

Tomas focused on the speck of thyme sticking to the lip of his empty water glass. Outwardly, the pills kept him calm and serene, but inwardly his stomach twisted in knots as he listened to their critique of his intensely personal relationship with Jan.

He wanted to jump across the dining table and knock their heads together.

If one thing was certain, it was that he loved Jan and would do anything for her. He’d loved her since they met at breakfast after a long night of partying during the summer between high school and university. She was wearing a dark blue cotton dress, he remembered, she was so casual and charming, beautiful really. They fell into a rapport, ignoring the rest of the group and made love for the first time that night. Their love-making was electric, sensual and addictive.

Don’t take this the wrong way, dear. We think some time away to clear your head is what you need. Bev reached across the table and took Tomas’ hand, covering up the ‘J’ he’d tattooed on his ring finger his freshman year at UBC right before Jan dumped him the first time. His body was so relaxed that he didn’t even flinch at the unusual physical contact from his mother. She must be serious he thought. A summer in San Diego with your father may be just the thing to put your life in perspective. He’d love to have you. Imagine the possibilities. You could try surfing. I know you’ve always wanted to give it a go. Besides, you know what it will be like here in Vancouver, pleasant but the same old, same old.

He glanced up and noticed an airline ticket stuck on the fridge with a Ski Whistler magnet.

But what about flight school? I’m two lessons away from my first solo flight, Mom.

She looked at her husband for encouragement and said, We’ve decided to stop paying for your lessons for now. Getting your pilot’s license when you have no plans to become a commercial pilot is an indulgence you can’t afford at this critical point in your life, Tommy.

Stuart piped in, Listen, Tomas. If you take this summer seriously and come up with a solid five-year plan, when you get back in September, you can pick up on your lessons right where you left off.

We only want what’s best for you, they said in unison.

His dreams of whisking Jan away on a private plane to romantic destinations unknown evaporated when he realized they’d boxed him in a corner. He had no choice but to go. Getting a summer temp job in retail wouldn’t cover the remaining costs of his private pilot’s license. His plan to impress Jan and win her back with promises of high flying adventure would never come into fruition if they didn’t pay for it.

The seatbelt sign switched off.

Eager to escape the cramped stuffy cabin, Tomas squeezed into the aisle with the rest of the passengers. As he exited the plane, a flight attendant he had flirted with shook his hand and slipped him a note and a wink. Her tag said, Ginger and she had hair to match. The note said, Drinks? followed by her telephone number. He took out his wallet and shoved the note into the back fold, adding to the other numbers he’d forgotten.

Tomas strode through the terminal, ego stoked, feeling invincible.

Against the advice of his stepfather, Tomas had packed his forager steel-framed backpack instead of a standard carry-on. Now he wished he’d taken that advice as he was on the ground and eager to get on with the day. At least having to go to baggage claim made it easier to rendezvous with his father, he thought.

Tomas spotted Andy right away.

It wasn’t difficult.

Just look for the person in the room the least self-aware.

Andy was standing next to the baggage carousel but facing the juice bar off to the right, no doubt drawn to the two Nordic stewardesses sitting on high stools drinking smoothies at one of the tables. His father had a habit of wearing sunglasses indoors and openly gawking at people behind the darkened lenses, as if they didn’t instinctually sense his predatory stare. He stood there with his legs spread apart and arms folded across his chest, his authoritative stance comical compared to his slight frame. It was one of those things a child notices about a parent, one of the many sources of unrelenting embarrassment.

Tomas could see a toothpick darting back and forth between Andy’s thin lips. His father was wearing khaki pants and a shirt that looked like he stole from a rent-a-cop. But he is a rent-a-cop, Tomas remembered. Andy worked as a security guard somewhere near La Jolla.

For a laugh, Tomas crept up behind Andy and grabbed him roughly by the shoulder.

His father jumped about a foot off the ground, the toothpick flying out of his mouth and into the fluffy white hair of an elderly woman cruising by on a scooter. Andy flipped around, yanking off his aviators, red with anger at this unexpected physical intrusion. But his demeanor changed when he saw his son.

Tommy, my boy! Andy hollered too loudly as usual, drawing the attention of the surrounding travelers. He grabbed his son in a bear hug, tears welling up in his eyes.

Hi, Andy, Tomas muttered, uncomfortable with the public display of affection. Tomas had always called his father by his first name. Even as a child when his parents were still together. It wasn’t a sign of disrespect, just habit. He pulled away and grunted, You’re looking healthy.

His smiled and ran a hand through his thick black mane, Still have all my hair if that’s what you mean. But these are fake, he leaned up close to Tomas’ face and clicked his bright white teeth together. One good thing about working for a pharmaceutical company, they have excellent dental. These are drilled right into my jaw bone with steel posts, better than the real ones.

Tomas nodded and threw some flattery his way, Well, you look half your age with that tan. How many hearts have you broken down here in So Cal?

Andy drank it in then lightly punched Tomas in the arm when he realized he was being pandered to. He rubbed his hands together and looked towards the carousel, How many bags you got? We need to hurry. I have to drop you off and get to the office. I’m on the night shift these days. You’re going to be on your own quite a bit while you’re here. Something important is going down at the facility and everyone’s pulling overtime. But I’m sure you won’t mind. It’ll give you some time to chase the foxy ladies.

They waited a while until the carousel began to turn. Tomas’ backpack was the second piece of luggage through.

Andy drove a fifteen-year-old pearl white Roadmaster. It was a behemoth, one of those automobiles built for the WWII generation who coveted the styling of tank-like autos from the nineteen fifties. Andy was in his late fifties, but driving a car meant for his parent’s generation made him look that much older. They cruised along I-5 towards La Jolla at a brisk ninety miles per hour, a rate dictated by the speeding traffic around them, the dynaride suspension making it feel as though they were riding on giant marshmallows.

The vehicle reeked of stale cigarettes and Tomas had to lean against his open window to catch outside air streaming through so he wouldn’t gag. Andy had this peculiar habit of smoking two or three drags off a cigarette then snubbing it out and lighting another. In the ashtray below the climate controls, reeking half-smoked menthols were stuffed tightly together like candles on a centenarian’s birthday cake. And there were half-empty packs strewn across the floor and half-empty forgotten cartons strewn across the backseat amid checked ties, gym shoes and fast food wrappers. Tomas noticed a couple butts from ladies slims with smears of lipstick on the tip in the ashtray of the passenger side armrest. Andy’s been randy, Tomas thought.

Smoking wasn’t the only bad habit that Andy had. Andy had been living alone for two decades and had developed unconscious behaviors and ticks extremely irritating to anyone sitting with him in confined quarters. Tomas listened as Andy sucked air through his teeth repeatedly like a high pressure toothpick, then murmur and cackle, glance over at Tomas when he realized that he’d made a noise, then grab the arm of his aviator sunglasses and bob them up and down on his nose. Truth be told, Tomas loved his father, but these annoying ticks were a significant factor why Tomas always found an excuse to say ‘no’ when his father invited him to stay down in San Diego. He hadn’t been down to visit for eight years. The guilt of his selfishness bubbled to the surface for a moment when Tomas thought about how lonely Andy’s life must be.

Remember when you used to think that was Disneyland? Andy asked, nodding towards the gaudy Mormon temple looming menacingly over the side of the San Diego freeway.

Now I think it looks like Superman’s fortress of solitude, Tomas replied, knowing it would please his father. Andy slapped his leg and laughed his crazy hee-haw laugh.

Traffic began to grow thicker. Andy shifted lanes to the far right one and when the rest of the cars slowed to a crawl, he eased onto the shoulder and kept driving, oblivious of the fist shaking and obscene gestures from the drivers stuck in the masses too law-abiding and sane to try such a maneuver.

His father was the most reckless driver he’d ever know. Tomas gripped the armrest and leaned forward slightly to check the tension of his seatbelt. It was a miracle Andy had held onto his license all this time. He knew if he popped open the glove compartment there would be a stack of tickets ranging from minor traffic violations to reckless driving.

The Sorrento Valley exit appeared and the Roadmaster glided off the freeway. Instead of turning right towards I-805 and Mira Mesa as Tomas remembered, Andy went left, explaining as he turned, May as well show you where I work.

It only took a minute or two until they were thick inside an industrial park. Tomas watched as they drove past nondescript buildings made for car wholesalers and chemical plants, plastic furniture manufacturers and auto collision specialists. Andy turned onto a side street. The road was empty until they reached the end. Hunkered down at the bottom of the cul-de-sac was an imposing red brick wall topped with razor wire and an iron wrought gate in the center. There were no guards, but there were two poles positioned on each side of the gate with three industrial-strength security cameras mounted on the top and sides. Through the gate, the road disappeared down a hill. All Tomas could see were four identical rooftops bunched together, their style similar to the non-descript buildings back along Sorrento Valley Road. To the right of the gate there was a small bronze sign that said, Vitura Pharmaceuticals, Inc.

There it is, one head of an enigmatic and powerful beast, Andy chuckled conspiratorially as he turned the Roadmaster around the cul-de-sac and back towards the main road. He pantomimed zipping his lips together, If I had a nickel for every time they remind me about the company’s confidentiality clause…

Why, what’s the big deal? Tomas asked. What do they do in there? Have they discovered the cure for cancer or are they creating bio-weapons for the government?

Something along those lines is definitely in the works, Andy replied mysteriously. So, want to grab a burger before we get home? We can hit the IN-N-OUT drive up near the apartment.

Sure. Tomas hadn’t eaten since his breakfast with Jan that morning. He’d begged her to meet at their favorite café in Stanley Park. ‘The least you could do is see me before I go,’ he’d said knowing she’d feel guilty if she didn’t. She’d reluctantly agreed though they were still on the outs at the conclusion of the meal. The breakfast was uneventful and bland. Jan had sat there stone-faced, eating a dry blueberry muffin then insisting on splitting the bill before she sped off in her jeep.

With a sack of burgers in hand, Tomas sat patiently while Andy navigated through the maze of apartments that were Majestic Estates. When Tomas used to visit his father as a child, he used to think of Majestic Estates as a sunny paradise of endless cobalt skies and swim parties. These days, however, the two story apartments were showing their age; web-like cracks spidering up the blue-tinted walls, the rusted rain gutters hanging limply along the roofline. Andy read his expression, Management doesn’t give a damn about the condition of the place, just collecting rent checks and enforcing eviction notices. You remember Belle from 8B? They threw her out on her ear when she got behind after emergency hip surgery. Real shame. She was a couple months away from qualifying for Medicare when she fell. A real shame.

They passed the central swimming pool, once the jewel of the complex and now empty, the bottom coated in a brownish slime.

Tomas prodded his father, So why don’t you move? You have to be making enough to afford better than this place. You could be nearer the coast, away from the constant roar of those insufferable military planes. Yeah, I remember the planes.

But Andy was very sensitive about his financial affairs. Back in the day he was making six figures as an engineer. That was before computers and the internet took over and ol’Andy had failed to keep up. Pagers and XP were the height of his technological savvy. Let’s just say that my money is tied up in investments, he replied.

They pulled up next to Andy’s block. He shut off the engine, pulled the keys out of the ignition and took the apartment key off the oversized key ring, I’m running late, Tommy. Go ahead and make yourself at home. Probably want to stay in for the night. This area has gotten dangerous after dark. There’s a six pack in the fridge. Have a few, I won’t tell your mom. I’ll see you in the morning.

Tomas took the key, hesitating for a moment, It’s good to see you again, Andy.

Andy’s face softened and he smiled warmly with those big artificial teeth, You too, son. I’ll try to get back around eight and we’ll have breakfast on O. B. Pier like we used to. Run along now.

A musty smell of bachelor living mixed with household cleaning supplies wafted out the door as Tomas entered the two-bedroom flat. It was obvious from the hint of ammonia and bleach that Andy had spent most the afternoon cleaning up for his arrival.

Tomas tossed the sack of burgers onto the circular glass dining table and walked down the short hallway to his former weekend bedroom from back when his parents shared custody. He opened the door and was stunned to discover that everything was in the same place he’d left it after his last visit eight years ago. The new boogie board still in its cellophane was leaning against the mirror beside the junior-sized chest of drawers. Posters of surfers and the ’98 Padres World Series still hung on the wall, the corners curling from age. On the card table, his advanced Kem5500 chemistry set with its professional grade test tubes, alcohol burner and highly dangerous chemicals was set up just as he’d left it. He remembered the pride he felt when he got it as a Christmas present at ten, knowing that the label on the side said, For Teens 14+.

He set his backpack on the bed and removed his bathroom kit. The two prescription bottles for his diagnosed, yet non-existent anxiety prescribed by the family shrink had been filled the day before his flight. He took out two blues and a green, went to the kitchen, opened a beer and swallowed them with a swig of micro-brewed lager.

˜˜˜˜˜˜˜

Chapter Two

Disappearance

THE deafening roar of a KC-130 Hercules thundering overhead from Miramar jerked Tomas out of his drug-induced sleep. He was half-lying, half-sitting on the couch in front of a muted infomercial wearing yesterday’s clothes and still gripping half a bottle of beer in his right hand.

Must have dozed off right after eating those burgers, he thought, stretching and checking his watch.

11:13 am.

Tomas crept to his father’s bedroom door, opened it a crack and peered inside. The bed was empty, still made up from the day before. Probably had things to do after work, Tomas reasoned. He wasn’t worried considering he had no idea what his father’s daily route was like these days. Maybe he went out to breakfast with some chippy, he mused.

He took a shower and called Jan, but she wasn’t answering. So he got on his laptop to see whether he could find her online. He saw she was logged in, but when he sent her a message to chat, she went offline. So he scanned her latest posts, looking for indications of who she was currently ‘dating.’

One hour passed, then two - and still no Andy. In his haste to get to work, his father had failed to give Tomas a contact number and now he felt stranded without a car or plan.

By seven o’clock that evening, Tomas was royally pissed and slightly worried. Why would Andy leave me with nothing in the fridge but a six pack of beer and expired bologna?

He contemplated phoning his mother but knew she would give little sympathy and it would only reinforce her negativity towards his father. Instead, Tomas ordered a pizza, took a green pill and spent the evening watching college basketball on the tube.

*****

Again he woke on the couch the next morning and Andy still hadn’t come home.

Now he was worried. It’s been two days. Should I call the police? Maybe he’d pulled a triple shift. Could he still be at work? Tomas spent the next few hours searching online for a phone number to Vitura Pharmaceuticals. He found a few numbers with the right area code, but when he called, all he got was an automated answering service.

Tomas jumped in the shower, pulled on a pair of wrinkled cargo pants and his favorite Canucks hockey jersey. He had a couple twenties in his pocket, so he decided to call a cab to his father’s workplace down on Sorrento Valley Road. He walked down to the clubhouse to make it easier for the driver to pick him up, munching on a cold slice of pepperoni pie.

The cab driver was friendly and talkative. But Tomas didn’t hear a thing the driver said. His mind was on his father. As they drove into the cul-de-sac in front of the iron gate, Tomas recalled his father saying the company was an ‘enigmatic and powerful beast.’

He had an uneasy feeling as he watched the cab pull away.

Tomas turned to the gate and looked for an intercom or a guard to let him in. The entire place looked deserted and the slope of the road made it impossible to see twenty yards of the road beyond the gate. So he took a step back and began waving and shouting at the cameras on the poles above. After ten minutes, he gave up.

Faced with a long walk back to the apartment, Tomas sat on the curb to try to think of a new plan. Just as he was about to get up and leave, he heard the hum of an electric motor behind the gate. He turned and pressed his face against the iron bars. The hum got closer, then a golf cart came zipping up the hill towards the fence. Tomas made out the uniform of a security guard and aviator sunglasses so he called out, Dad!

However, when the cart pulled up he realized it was a much younger man in that khaki uniform.

This is private property! No trespassing! Get away from the gate or we’ll notify the authorities! the guard barked, expecting to frighten the young man off with the threat of police action.

I’m looking for Andy Overstreet. He works here as a security guard. He’s my father. Do you know if he’s here? Tomas asked.

Andy? The guard looked surprised, Sure, I know Andy. He’s my boss. Hell, I didn’t know he had a son. Look, the guard paused, it was evident the grimace that appeared on his face that he was conflicted about how to respond, something’s happened. Wait here.

The golf cart zipped back down the hill and Tomas was worried.

Five minutes later the guard was back. He raised his security badge towards the cameras above. There was a click and the gates opened just enough for Tomas to squeeze through.

As the golf cart zipped down the hillside, Tomas got his first glimpse of Vitura Pharmaceuticals and he was unimpressed. The buildings were reminiscent of fascist architecture: symmetrical and simple, with no ornateness whatsoever. The buildings were four windowless gray cubes, each about the size of Tomas’ high school auditorium. They were lumped together in a square pattern. There were covered walkways between the cubes but absolutely no vegetation near the buildings for aesthetics, shade or otherwise. In the exact center of each of the two front buildings there was one set of double doors painted a darker gray, again with no windows. The parking lot surrounding the compound was empty except for several non-descript cargo vans, the occasional white shipping container and a couple forklifts. Encircling the parking lot were clumps of eucalyptus trees planted close for shade and to limit the view of the compound from the outside.

The guard climbed off the golf cart and Tomas followed. They walked up to the double doors of the first building and the guard flashed his badge toward the doors. There was a click and the doors slid open revealing a spectacular circular foyer in stark contrast to the dull exterior. Granite floors and balsa wood panels lined the walls. A crystal chandelier in the form of stalactites - or giant teeth - hung from the entire ceiling. The guard motioned him to enter, then turned back to his cart and sped off.

An androgynous receptionist in a slick charcoal suit with a bleach blonde flat top came strolling up, hard soled two-tones clacking on the floor like a woman’s stilettos. He stuck out a gloved hand and said, How do you do. Mr. Overstreet? Please come with me. We’ve contacted Mr. Bertrand. He was on his way to Los Angeles, but when he heard that Andy Overstreet’s son was knocking at the door, he turned back and will arrive post-haste. I’ve been instructed to make you as comfortable as possible. He turned and Tomas followed him through an alcove opposite the front door and down a long corridor. The corridor was dimly lit. However, as they walked down the hall, the lights noticeably brightened around them, then faded behind. It was very sci-fi. Tomas would have been distracted by the gaudy display if it weren’t for the gnawing concern for his father.

As if reading his mind, the receptionist said sympathetically, Real sorry about your father. Mr. Bertrand will answer all your questions. Here we are. He held up his badge and a door slid open on the right, Can I get you something to drink? Tea or something cold, perhaps?

Uh, tea, Tomas replied, afraid to ask what he meant about being sorry about Andy.

The conference room was nearly as stunning as the foyer. It was a standard meeting room with an oblong table made of a crystalline substance positioned in the center with twelve high-back leather chairs. The walls were made entirely from what looked to be oleophbic-coated glass. When the receptionist pulled off a glove and pressed his palm against the surface, the entire room turned into a live scene from a nearby beach, complete with the sounds of the surf, the sun high over head and surfers in the distance waiting for the perfect wave. It was as if they were sitting on the Torrey Pines shore facing the Pacific.

The receptionist saw the look of wonder on Tomas’ face, smiled and said, Trust me. This is much more soothing than the local news or a football game. But I could change the channel to a normal television screen if the viewer is too much for you. Some people can’t take the shift in perspective for very long.

No, this is fine, Tomas said as he slipped into one of the supple leather chairs.

The receptionist brought his tea then left him with his thoughts. What happened to my father? What is this place? Was he okay? Why did this have to happen when I just got here? Should I call Mom or Jan? Tomas took out his mobile phone, but there wasn’t a signal. He’d felt a couple of loose pills in his pocket when he reached inside for his phone. He brought them out and swallowed them dry, forgetting the cup of tea in front of him.

A pair of lovers walked hand in hand across the beach in front of the conference table, holding their sandals, laughing and enjoying the ocean breeze.

The pills kicked in.

After dozing for an hour to the sounds of the surf, Tomas heard voices in the hallway. The ocean scene disappeared, the lights brightened overhead and the door slid open behind him. An impeccably dressed gentleman entered the room. Trailing him was a middle-aged woman in a lab coat carrying a tablet, her black hair streaked with white.

Tomas stood and held out his hand and was about to say, ‘Hello,’ but they looked straight ahead, ignoring him as though he were invisible. They walked around to the other side of the conference table and sat next to each other.

Tomas sat back down, wondering how to react.

The woman leaned over and pointed at the tablet display. The man nodded and whispered something in her ear. Then he brushed his hand across hers and Tomas noticed the woman stiffening and then cautiously pulling away.

Anger began to well up inside Tomas.

Where is Andy?

He cleared his throat, Excuse me.

The woman held up a finger to silence him. They sat there consulting the tablet and murmuring inaudibly.

Frustrated, Tomas slammed his open palms on the table and yelled, Hey!

The tablet nearly bounced out of the lady’s hand.

Finally, looking directly at Tomas, the impeccably dressed man said in a South African accent, That’s very rude, son. Mind your manners around your elders.

Rude? This is ridiculous. Where’s my father? Tomas growled, the pills only making his anger and his overreaction easier for him to accept.

The woman glanced at her companion, got a nod of approval, and then replied mechanically, Your father is dead.

Tomas could feel the blood drain from his face. He swooned back into his chair, feeling the room swirl around him.

Son, if you would be so kind as to give us a moment, we’ll answer all your questions. We must complete this teleconference with the board first. The man said in a soothing voice, pointing to his ear. Tomas hadn’t noticed that both were wearing translucent earpieces, which would account for the odd disjointed conversation between them.

So Andy was dead.

Tomas had avoided visiting his father for so long. All those missed chances to catch up and build a true father and son relationship. His guilt was overwhelming. Tomas put his head in his hands and began to sob.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. It was the woman in the lab coat. She seemed genuinely sympathetic. She took Tomas in her arms and consoled him in a motherly embrace while the man with the South African accent finished his private teleconference.

Once Tomas began to calm, the woman slipped away and sat back down.

Son, my name is Karl Bertrand and this is Dr. Greer. I’m in charge of the San Diego biological research and development division of Vitura Pharmaceuticals and my lovely companion is our senior scientist in residence. He took a deep breath, Let me begin by saying that I knew your father well. I worked with him for years. He was a good man. Courageous. And his death was not in vain. He swiveled around and tapped out a code on the wall, However, before we discuss the circumstances of your father’s unfortunate death, I think it’s best to show you his heroism first.

The room went dark and a screen made from light appeared as though floating above the center of the conference table, suspended in the air between Tomas and the two Vitura representatives, a logo with Vitura Pharma turned slowly on the display.

The screen went blank, and then there was Andy walking down a hallway, his aviator glasses hanging from his lapel. He was fishing out a cigarette from a crumpled soft pack pulled out of his shirt pocket. At the bottom right of the screen the date and time read the day before yesterday at 3:23 am. He almost made it to the exit when, suddenly, the hallways lights began to flash yellow in an emergency fashion. Andy dropped his cigarettes, turned and ran down the hall shouting silently.

The camera changed to another view inside a large antechamber that dipped towards the center. And in the center was a sealed glass laboratory complete with its own system of air locks. Inside the glass laboratory, three scientists in powder blue bio-safety positive-pressure suits were milling around a large malfunctioning device spraying a fine greenish mist into the air.

Andy could be seen bursting through the doors and leaping down the stairs of the auditorium style room towards the enclosed laboratory.

Inside, the three scientists were fading out of view as the green mist enveloped the clean room.

Andy ran to a control panel against one of the walls. He flashed his badge against the panel and punched in a code.

The mist began to clear as vents in the clean room floor began to suck out the contaminant. Then there was a flash as the camera overloaded for a second as an explosion of flames began to incinerate everything inside the glass laboratory, including the three scientists.

The heat must have been tremendous as Andy had to back away to the far corner of the room and shield his eyes while the interior of the clean room was sanitized by fire.

When it was over, there was nothing left in the container but steel tables and instruments, a lumpy mess where the spewing device previously stood, ash and bones.

The screen split in two and Tomas watched as several more guards appeared in the hallway outside the main room locking the thick metal and hardened glass doors; locking his father inside. They remained behind the door, looking through the windows watching as Andy took stock of what he’d done.

There must have been a ring or a buzz because Andy looked towards the control panel, walked over, picked up a receiver and began speaking to one of the men outside holding another receiver he’d pulled from a concealed panel in the wall.

Andy began shouting and cursing into the receiver. He threw it down and ran to a first aid closet against the opposite wall next to a rack of powder blue pressure suits. Tomas watched as Andy pulled out an indecently large syringe from a plastic case and inject himself in the neck. Then he slumped down beside the rack of bio suits, his head falling slack against his chest. He slunk to the ground, lying there unconscious.

The screen vanished the way it had appeared.

Mr. Bertrand and Dr. Greer patiently waited for Tomas to collect himself.

Tomas took out a pizza napkin he’d stuffed in there earlier and dabbed at his eyes.

Your father is a hero, Dr. Greer started.

What your father did was stop a potential biological disaster that could have wiped out the entire population of California and the adjoining western states, Mr. Bertrand added.

Tomas didn’t understand what they were talking about. The video he witnessed and what they were saying only confused him. It was if they thought he had prior knowledge that wasn’t there. He killed those men. How does that make him a hero? I don’t understand.

Mr. Bertrand smiled empathetically, Perhaps we need to slow things down. He pressed an unseen button and Tomas waited while the receptionist came in with his tea service, topping Tomas’ empty cup and pouring two more for Mr. Bertrand and Dr. Greer.

Bertrand sipped his tea for a moment then said, What do you know about Vitura Pharmaceuticals, Tomas?

Tomas let out a deep breath and after a long pause said, Nada.

But surely your dad talked about his work. Everyone needs to blow off steam after a long day. Surely you discussed Vitura over dinner on occasion?

Was this guy interrogating me? Shouldn’t I be asking the questions?

Look, Mister, I came to San Diego two days ago and my father drove me by the front of gate then dropped me off to go to work. That was the last I heard from him. I looked for a telephone number on the web, saw your global website and watched a couple clips about genetically modified wheat and a potential cure for malaria. When my father didn’t come home for two days, I took a cab here to find him. Like I said, I know n-o-t-h-i-n-g.

Bertrand and Dr. Greer looked at each other in satisfaction and Bertrand murmured to her, See, I knew Andy was a company man.

Mr. Bertrand turned back to Tomas, Then let me fill you in on some details. It will put your father’s death in perspective. Vitura Pharmaceuticals is a global conglomerate that strives to be on the cutting edge of biological ‘enhancements’, if you will. Our research and development facilities are located in eighteen countries and are second to none in advanced bio-nanotech and genetic research. From heartier strains of wheat, as you saw in our propaganda material, to eradication of virulent disease, Vitura strives to make the world a better place through the manipulation of god given hereditary traits so often taken for granted. He sipped more of his tea, "However, some of our research is … controversial. We therefore strive to maintain a small informational footprint in the media and public at large. This is why you may have not heard of us prior to your arrival in San Diego.

"Two nights ago, our technicians were recalibrating an aerosol dispersal unit. What you saw in that laboratory was a malfunctioning canister of a genetically engineered bio-agent developed at Vitura called IHS. IHS is a chimeric virus engineered from Zaire ebola, rabies and influenza and given super powers, if you will. It is highly contagious through human-to-human contact. It has a fatality rate of 100%. There is no treatment or cure. When the contagion is deployed, the aggressive strain infects a host body then seeks other hosts. It provokes an autonomic response in its victims, an urging if you will, to spread the virus.

Our IHS research is in the final stages and for the last two months, Vitura’s San Diego campus has been working day and night to fulfill an order for a military organization that shall go unnamed at this time. IHS is our crown jewel, an achievement twenty-five years ahead of its time. No other genetic research facility has come close to its magnificence.

A chill crept into his core as Tomas listened to the frank, matter-of-fact way this man was speaking about manipulating genetic abominations. To him, this man sounded like a megalomaniacal opportunist sowing the seeds of world destruction. Was he actually boasting about creating a biological weapon that turns people into human dispersal units?

Dr. Greer sensed that Tomas was growing agitated as he listened to Mr. Bertrand. She leaned forward and gently interrupted, turning the conversation back to his father. IHS, while not an airborne contagion, if released into the general public has the potential to devastate the world’s population. For obvious reasons, we haven’t been able to conduct human trials; our research with primates has given rise to emergency protocols that may seem harsh to an outsider. When Andy died, he was following Vitura protocols to the letter. He knew exactly what he was doing in those final minutes. You see, all employees at Vitura are vetted through rigorous background checks, testing, and in-house conditioning. This company is on the cutting edge and its research is dangerous. But we don’t hide this hazardous side from our employees. From the CEO to the janitors and security guards, every one of them knows the risks of working at Vitura as well as the rewards. Your father was no exception. Andy Overstreet’s quick actions saved potentially millions of lives.

So what killed him then? Was it that syringe he stuck in his neck? Tomas asked.

Dear, Dr. Greer explained, when your father decontaminated the clean room, the aerosol spray ignited inside. That minor explosion you saw on the screen before the flames wasn’t supposed to occur. There was too great a chance that the pressure on the container may have been too much, causing a release of the bio-agent into the main chamber. Your father did the only thing he could do that would raise the odds of his survival. He injected himself with a cocktail of drugs intended to induce a form of hibernation, slowing the heart and, more importantly, respiration. Unfortunately, the hibernating solution has a three to five percent fatality rate and your father was one of those fatalities. She pause to let him absorb the information, then said in a sincere tone, I’m so sorry, Tomas. But you must understand that if your father hadn’t followed protocol, purging the contaminant and administering the required injection, it is possible that the world would already be a very different place.

The two of them consulted for a moment and then Bertrand taped his earpiece and said, There’s no point dragging this out. Bring him in.

Two men with solemn expressions entered the conference room, one ceremonially carrying a large crystal cylindrical container similar in design to the chandelier in the hallway, the other a stack of files. The man with the container came up next to Tomas, whispered, My condolences, set the container on the table and left quietly. The other man sat next to Dr. Greer and quietly began sifting through the paperwork.

The crystal vase is an urn that holds the remains of your father, Mr. Bertrand said in a matter of fact tone. Once we were able to enter the main laboratory where your father passed, we immediately took his remains to the onsite crematorium and disposed of them in accordance with bio-hazard protocols. We had to take every precaution to avoid an outbreak. I assure you that we took great care to respect and dignify the process. But please understand that the potential for contamination weighed far greater on the scales than the need for a proper funeral and burial. Though, he did have one request for the disposition of his remains: that his ashes be scattered at Sunset Cliffs off Point Loma. The request was for Vitura to carry out the directive. But I think, considering that he now has family present, that it should be done by you.

Tomas stared at the crystal urn. He could make out through the translucent material a dark spot in the center that must have been his father’s ashes.

Mr. Bertrand stood, straightened his jacket, squeezed Dr. Greer’s shoulder and said, While I am sensitive to your situation, you must understand that I’m a busy man. You will have to excuse me. Mr. Louis has some formalities for your attention having to do with the no-fault settlement and the assets in your father’s retirement account and his company life insurance policy.

Without a handshake or farewell, Mr. Bertrand marched out the door.

Dr. Greer looked as though she wanted to say something but clamped her mouth shut and followed.

Mr. Louis took his cue, I trust that you know you are Andy Overstreet’s sole beneficiary. Part of my job as in-house counsel is to advise and assist Vitura employees with estate planning issues. He picked up a postcard-sized paper and slid it across the table towards Tomas, This is Mr. Overstreet’s death certificate. As you can see, the cause of death is stated as a heart attack, which is technically true as his heart seized the moment he injected the dose of hibernating serum. It was signed off by the county coroner and everything is in order with the state.

The attorney paused to let Tomas take it in, then continued, "If you look on the bright side, Vitura’s no nonsense approach to decedent’s affairs saves families the bother of planning a funeral or deal with time consuming probate courts, allowing them time to grieve. Now, before you start to think about filing a wrongful death suit, please examine