BacterioStatic

By Pablo Zaragoza

In this science fiction drama, Dr. Maxwell Silverman, a university-based microbiologist, makes a dreadful discovery in a small Florida lake. During a field trip to research bio-luminescent life forms, he notices an eerie green glow coming off the water and decides to take a small specimen of the organism back to his lab. Max has no idea what he's found and what is about to be unleashed on the world.

 

Max and his graduate student assistant, Sandra Sanders, test the slime sample and quickly realize it is like nothing they had ever seen before. Their first tests clearly indicate the organism feeds off any available source of energy – including other lifeforms. As it feeds, it grows and develops small tentacles and filaments. It evolves into a hydra-like creature, the first of many shapes it will assume.

 

After weeks of testing with limited lab resources and budget restrictions, Max approaches William Fordyce, the department chairman, to request additional funding to continue studying the organism. Fordyce reviews the data Max has collected, but rather than granting Max's request, he orders the transfer of the organism to a secret military installation.

 

Now morphed into a starfish-like creature, the organism escapes its holding tank enroute to the military site. On the loose and with an unlimited source of available energy, it grows into an uncontrollable bat-like monster, wreaking havoc in search of more energy. It continues to morph into different creatures – a giant rat the size of a Great Dane, a crab-like creature as big as a car, and an enormous bat – each with long tentacles for feeding on all sources of energy from animals to airplanes. The terror mounts when the monster approaches a nuclear power plant, and it becomes a race against time for the team to find a means to destroy the creature and stop its frightening reign of destruction.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pablo Zaragoza
• Release date: Aug 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223653868

Book preview

Pablo Zaragoza

Table of Contents

Title Page

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

About The Author

Also By Pablo Zaragoza

Copyright

Acknowledgments

To my family—my children, father, mother, brother, uncles, and cousins—whose stories inspire me to write.

To Susan Giffin my editor, partner, friend, and lover who without her none of this would be possible.

To esteemed authors worldwide for providing me with creative works that tickled my imagination since I was a child.

Pablo Zaragoza

Chapter One

Gainesville is not a sleepy college town. The home of Florida’s premier university, the University of Florida, it claims to be number one in the state, and its graduates boast it is Number One in the country. Its Fall semester is usually the busiest on campus, filled with students backpacking their books to class and grumbling about how professor so-and-so brutally gave them an impossible assignment. Others talk about the upcoming Gator Growl, the homecoming game against rival Florida State, or grab lunch at the Rathskeller.

As they walk across the main plaza, they drift toward a modern building, where students are sitting on the steps near the front doors, chatting and sharing notes. Above the entrance in shiny metal letters are the words JOHN FRANCIS BAXTER BUILDING honoring a dreaded professor who had taught chemistry in the 1970s and who thankfully no longer plagued students. The freshly washed glass doors reflected the afternoon sun that filtered through the trees.

Sandra Sanders, a beautiful twenty-six-year-old wearing a white lab coat, adjusts her horn-rimmed glasses in the door’s reflection. Her lab coat is unbuttoned, and underneath is a pair of khaki shorts and a blue pullover. Her shorts leave nothing to the imagination as they hug her body, giving the impression that she is wearing little else.

Some of the male students on the steps of the building take a good look at Sandra as she goes up the steps, moving her hips rhythmically. She smiles because she knows she looks good, but that’s not the reason she’s in the graduate program in microbiology. She made it this far on brain power, her 4.0 grade point average, and her off-the-charts test scores.

Her father had wanted her to go to medical school, but the stubborn young woman wanted a life of research and academia. Maybe later she’d go to medical school, but right now the university’s microbiology program was sufficient.

She opened the doors and entered the foyer. On the marble floor was the university’s seal, and above it, the words Department of Chemistry and Biochemistry.

As Sandra started to climb the stairs, she sensed eyes were on her. When she reached the second floor, she turned to the left and wove her way through the crowd of faculty and students, some deliberately bumping into her to cop a feel.

She climbed a second set of stairs. When she passed a male student talking to a female student, he fixed his eyes on Sandra. The woman with him became angry and started giving him grief. You’re dating me and not that trashy whore pig! she yelled at her boyfriend.

Sandra turned around and faced the two. I’m Sandra Sanders, Dr. Max Silverman’s graduate student, not some trashy whore, young lady. Your boyfriend, I believe, is in Dr. Greenberg’s bacterial physiology class, so I suggest he keep his eyes to himself and work on the magic spot assignment, which is due tomorrow, and not on my ass. She watched the blood drain from the student’s face. His girlfriend briefly held her breath, trying to find a response but coming up short.

At the top of the stairs, students waited for the bell to start the third-period molecular genetics class taught by Dr. Ingram, an obese misogynist. Across the hall, Sandra peeked into an auditorium through a small glass window on one of the double doors. She watched her mentor writing on the blackboard toward the end of his lecture. As she entered the auditorium, Max looked up and saw her. He smiled at her in acknowledgment.

Dr. Max Silverman, thirtyish with black hair and beard, wore thick glasses with black frames. The dust from yellow chalk was smudged on his white lab coat that stretched over the beginnings of a beer belly, an almost mandatory feature of a microbiologist.

Sandra noticed it and smiled. ‘He needs to get on the treadmill for a while each day,’ she thought.

On the blackboard, Dr. Silverman had written the Krebs Cycle, showing how the breakdown of simple sugars causes cells to produce energy. He turned to face the students. His arms were folded, and his voice was strong and firm. He was animated and energetic, leaning forward to indicate his enthusiasm for the subject matter. The first row of students had nodded off, and a few students in the back row were snoring.

Note that carbon flows into the tricarboxylic acid cycle via p-Enol pyruvate and pyruvate... He paused for effect. With each transformation, the molecules release, absorb, and share electrons. In certain critical steps, this movement generates energy. This same process is seen in prokaryotes like Staphylococcus and eukaryotes man.

The bell rang, and the students started to get up and gather their things to leave. Max yelled over the noise of shuffling feet, Read pages 93-103 and the journals held on reserve for you. Quiz on these readings next Monday.

Moans and groans of his students drown out his voice. They left the auditorium, grumbling about the workload when they preferred to concentrate on the first home football game this weekend.

One of his disgruntled students stopped at the podium and said, Thanks, Doc. I’m sure your fungus will keep you warm all weekend.

My concentration is on bioluminescence, and, yes, some fungi do possess that quality.

Thanks, Doc. Really thanks. You have a nice weekend, the student said sarcastically.

Another student, wearing thick, red-rimmed glasses and the first three buttons of her blouse undone, came up to the desk. Dr. Maxwell, I’m interested in noncarbon-based energy production in bacteria. She grinned as she said that.

That’s a fascinating subject, how methanogenic bacteria in a symbiotic relationship with hydrogen producers capture hydrogen to produce methane, like the Acinetobacter woodii. Then there are those who use sulfates, sulfites, and thiosulfates as their metabolic substrates to produce hydrogen sulfide.

The girl moved over the desktop, squeezing her breasts to the point where they were about to jump out of her blouse.

Sandra walked down the aisle toward Max. A male student eyed her as she navigated through the crowd. She made a beeline toward the front of the auditorium and tapped the young woman who by this time was halfway on the desk.

Excuse me, young lady. I’m Dr. Silverman’s graduate assistant, and I need to have a word with him.

The student was startled by the tapping on her butt cheek. She looked back and saw the angry face of Sandra Sanders.

Sandra continued, Dr. Silverman, I need the assignment for the weekend.

Dr. Silverman, her student advisor in the graduate program, knew that she needed her assignment, but he was glad that she had showed up as the young woman looked like she was about to pounce on him.

He picked up his briefcase and placed it between him and the student. The brown valise was stuffed with papers, which he rifled through looking for the weekend’s assignment.

The young woman climbed off the table, when another student stopped and asked about the Monday quiz.

Trevor, why don’t you come over during office hours? I’m sure we can clear up the concept of electron transfer then, Max said, dismissing the student.

But, Dr. Silverman, the quiz you might...

Don’t worry, Trevor. It will be all right.

Sandra stood by the podium, this time rescuing Max from Trevor’s nagging. Dr. Silverman, could I have a minute? I need to get some things straight before the weekend starts, she said.

Trevor stepped away from the podium and walked toward the front doors. Max called out to him, Come to the office in about 30 minutes, and we’ll clear up any doubts you might have.

I wish you’d reconsider going to Stevens Lake tonight, Sandra said.

There’s no moon tonight, and any bioluminescent life forms there will be easy to identify, he said.

I understand.

She looked worried. But all the stories about that lake worry me, Doc.

That’s all urban legend and nonsense, Sandra.

Cows and other farm animals disappear, and one of the local farmers that went missing begs the question about what’s going on out there.

Animals get too close to the water, fall in, and drown. The farmer probably went on a bender. He’ll turn up in a couple of days.

It’s creepy out there, even during the day, and you’re going in the middle of the night, Sandra said, grimacing at the thought.

Don’t worry so much. Besides, the worst that can happen to me will be a mosquito bite.

They carry diseases, too: yellow fever, dengue, and malaria.

It is very unlikely that Anopheles gambiae or Aedes aegypti will find itself in the cool autumn breeze tonight, carrying a little Zika virus for me or a malaria plasmodium to infect little old me, Max said.

Well, at least take me along to help with your investigation of the lake.

No. I’ve got papers to grade, and I won’t have time. Please do them for me.

I love to grade undergraduate assignments, Sandra said.

Remember you were once an undergrad not too long ago.

I’ll go back to the lab and prepare your kit with bug repellent, a flashlight, and enough specimen containers. I’ll even pack you a sandwich and a cola.

I couldn’t ask for a better student.

Max looked at a card and checked his schedule. He had a graduate seminar to teach at 2:00 and Journal Club meeting at 3:00. It was already 1:25. He barely had time to scarf down a burger at the Student Union before his next assignment.

Max walked to the agriculture building for the graduate seminar. He planned to lecture about bacteria that generates electricity as a by-product of respiration. Dr. Qianru Wang from MIT had written papers on how these organisms can release electrons via extramembrane electron transfer. He hoped to inspire discussion on how this discovery could help the production of clean energy by harvesting the electrons that bleed off the bacteria.

At the door to the classroom stood Dr. Dean Fordyce in his white pullover shirt and khaki pants. He sauntered toward Max. This was his day to visit the troops to see what they were doing.

Max, how are you, my boy? he said, as if he really cared about Max. He was always like that before he laid the hammer down. What is your lecture for our graduate students today?

I’m speaking on biochemistry of extramembrane electron transfer and possible applications. We’ll talk about how biofilms can be engineered to produce power cells by placing certain bacteria under harsh conditions and making them produce this extra-membrane transfer.

Sounds like a class in biomedical engineering, my boy. Fordyce put his arm over Max’s shoulders and asked, How are your grant proposals coming along?

I’m trying to get some preliminary data, so they can see the direction of the research.

Do you have an idea how soon I can review your proposal?

By the end of the month, sir.

Fordyce looked a little disappointed, My boy, remember universities run on money – mostly government money – and to keep things moving, we have to acquire grants. I suggest that you apply yourself and get going.

Fordyce turned around and left Max in the hall, feeling empty. He’d spent a lot of hours on his research but still hadn’t come up with enough information to propose a viable paper. He didn’t want to teach at a junior college. He preferred to be a researcher involved with great ideas, and the only place where great ideas were hatched and nurtured was here at the university. He opened the door to his classroom and waited for his students.

Chapter Two

Max finished his graduate seminar and held a meeting of the Journal Club right after it in the same room. Sandra came in and handed him his backpack filled with all the things he would need tonight.

He smiled at her. Thanks, Mom. I’ll make sure to be extra careful on the lake.

She looked at him. You have a windbreaker in the car, don’t you?

Yes, and the boat is on the trailer attached to my car.

I still don’t like the idea of you being out there alone on the lake.

The lake provides the ideal environment for bacteria which could produce trans-membranous electron transfer. If I could get a sample and figure out a means to grow them easily, we could create a system of unlimited electrical power, enough to run a city. Think of it: no more burning of coal, no more nuclear power, but large vats with biofilms generating electricity for all.

I guess that’s why I wanted you as my graduate advisor.

She smiled at him, reached out, and tapped his hand. Maxwell blushed, as graduate students filed into the room.

By the time the Journal Club meeting had ended, it was late afternoon. Sandra walked him to his car and made sure he had his windbreaker.

There are many lakes between Gainesville and Jacksonville to the north and Ocala to the south, but the one he had chosen was not on the map. It was in Micanopy, off Lake Warburg, a small tributary running from the larger lake to the smaller one. He called it Lake X because no one had given it a proper name. He would have to boat toward the tributary and fight the outflow current to reach Lake X, which was surrounded by farms and woodlands. He could sit in his boat, look up, and see all the stars in the galaxy from there. There was no city glare to obscure even the smallest star from his view.

He took his boat to the ramp and backed it into the lake. He unhitched her and, with his guide rope, he took her to the dock. Then he drove his car to the parking lot and took out his backpack and windbreaker.

‘Sandra does mother me a great deal, doesn’t she?’ He thought to himself and smiled.

A state ranger came over to Max before he set out. It’s kinda a late for a boat ride, isn’t it? He paused and recognized the professor. Sorry, Professor, didn’t know you were coming out here tonight.

Hey, Jerry, got to do my job.

Jerry, the state park ranger, always patrolled the dock and beach areas, especially at night, making sure that any campers were safe from the unexpected.

Well, you won’t have a moon to help you navigate. Got your GPS with you? Jerry asked.

Max put his hand in his left coat pocket and pulled it out, Never leave home without it. I have my cellphone with me in case I need help, and I have your phone programmed into her.

Good, Doc.

Jerry walked to the dock with Max and helped hold the boat in place to allow Maxwell to get on board.

There isn’t any bad weather forecasted, so you should be all right. But if you get stuck out there, give a yell.

Will do, Jerry, and thanks.

It is already night when he turned the motor on and set out across the lake toward the tributary. The light from the dock grew smaller and smaller, and the darkness of the night seemed to swallow him up. He occasionally heard the hoot of an owl, the rushing of leaves, and the glint of eyes looking at him from shore. These things didn’t alarm him. He had spent most of his youth in the woods with his momma and dad, hiking and exploring. Their idea of a vacation was to explore the most remote places they could reach.

They were in their sixties now and in the Puntarenas with the Boruca people in the south of Costa Rica, lost in some jungle with people they had never seen before. They were missionary/ scientists, mostly cataloging birds and reptiles of the Central American jungles. They had instilled in Max a love of science and learning what made animals, bacteria, and fungi work that would help man do better on this fragile planet.

He came close to the tributary and realized the boat was having trouble moving forward because of the current coming from the effluent. He turned on the power as he got closer.

He turned the light on, saw the entrance, and navigated toward it. The channel was narrow but deep enough for him to pass. The boat slowly skimmed the water’s surface. The only sound he heard was the hum of a small outboard motor and the muttering of her captain, Dr. Silverman.

He turned the light toward the shore and saw a few deer, where there was little vegetation. Max appreciated that Sandra had made him wear his jacket because it was cool. Neatly arranged on the floor of the dingy were notebooks, instruments, and specimen containers, giving him easy access to them.

Max was at the rudder with a sandwich in hand. He muttered to himself, "Why didn’t I listen to Mom? I could have been a lawyer, a doctor, but, no, I wanted to be a microbiologist interested in an obscure corner of investigating bioluminescence and electron generation. Who gives a shit about bacteria, algae, or fungi that glow in the dark or make electricity?’

After bobbing in the darkness for a long time, he noticed in the distance an eerie green glow coming off the water. He maneuvered his boat in its direction. As he got closer, the engine flickered. He turned it off and skimmed forward. He grabbed a specimen jar and dipped it in the water.

What the f...?

The instruments started to fail. He placed the jar into the water and brought up a sample, then something started engulfing him in the green glow. The water bubbled around him. The glow started to dim, and the bubbling decreased until it stopped. The momentum of the boat moved him past the glow. The engine would not turn over.

He yelled at the motor, Motherfucking shit, come on, come on! He didn’t want to panic out here. He pulled out his cell phone which showed almost no power. He remembered arriving with it at full power.

The glow came back and appeared to get closer. He grabbed the oars and began to row as fast as he could.

Underneath his breath, he prayed, Our Father, Who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name; Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation…

He didn’t know what was beneath the water’s surface, but he didn’t want to find out now in the middle of the night by himself. He kept rowing as fast as he could. The small sample he had with him was next to the motor. He drew it closer to him, wanting to protect it in case whatever was down there tipped the boat over.

All of a sudden, the motor turned over, and he put it on full blast to get some distance between himself and whatever was lurking in the water.

He pulled the specimen jar toward his face and saw a collection of what looked like slime come toward his face. It swam around the specimen container, looking like it wanted to get out but couldn’t.

Odd little guy, aren’t you? Max said aloud.

He placed the jar on the floor of the boat, and the motor started to sputter. He pulled the jar away. He started to do that again, and the motor began to sputter and again went out.

That’s odd, he muttered to himself.

He looked at the electrical gauge which read almost zero. I swear the battery was okay when I checked it before coming out here.

He stood up and started pulling on the starter cord 1-2-3 times, but it would not start.

Looks like a no-go this time.

Max found the oars and began to paddle. He looked at the container on the floor of the boat. The slime glowed brightly.

Let’s get you home, little guy, and see what makes you tick, he said audibly.

Max was on Lake Warburg now, huffing and puffing.

Mom, you were right...huff-puff...Bioluminescence, why not cardiology... Neurology...huff-puff...Microbiology, don’t know how to make beer, but I know the details of chemiluminescence.

His voice trailed off, and only the creatures of the night could hear him as he tried to get to shore. At the effluent of Lake X into Lake Wauburg, a black mass raised up out of the water. It had no eyes or no ears, but water around it began to vibrate.

Out of the water’s depth came the shriek of a wounded animal. A deer came close to the water for a nighttime drink. The black mass darted toward the unsuspecting deer, extending part of itself to grab the deer by its head. The animal struggled violently, and Max heard her faint cries. Small black extensions started to penetrate the deer’s head