Z2012SITEFTHEINFIRMARY

The Kill Serum

Dr. Thompson strolled out of the Infirmary as he did every evening. That is, since the Frei Fever began contaminating innocent people in the area. The Infected were easy to spot. Their eyes were yellowed, and they walked with a slow, insecure gait, as if they might drop dead at any moment. Unfortunately, that was a very real possibility. Some had even been reported to have experienced psychotic symptoms, killing their own pets or even thinking they were two different people, before receiving the antidote.

The doctor was elated. He had successfully healed fifty-seven of the Infected that day, giving each of them a shot of the thick, green anecdote. Crunching the brittle autumn leaves on the parking lot while walking to his car, Dr. Thompson decided that it was time. Time to propose to his girlfriend. Determined to finally pop the question after three years, he quickly got in his car, tires squealing as he started driving towards the jewelry store.

The doctor spent an hour in the store, trying to find the perfect ring. Then he saw it. A gold band, embedded with tiny diamonds, and a larger jewel poking out of one side. Carefully, he placed it back on the shelf, wanting to examine each ring for the satisfaction of picking the very best. After meticulously inspecting each piece of jewelry, he eagerly made his way back to the ring he first thought was perfect. As he approached the shelf it was displayed on, he noticed something quite unsettling. A man was looking at the ring with great interest. He glanced up and saw the doctor.

“Dr. Thompson!” He put the ring down and turned toward the doctor. “I just want to thank you again for healing my wife of the Frei Fever!”

“Well, it’s my job!” the doctor replied, shrugging his shoulders as if it wasn’t a big deal that he had saved someone’s life. He recognized him now. The man’s wife was his second-to-last patient that day. The doctor remembered watching her eyes turn from sickly yellow, to bright sea blue as the serum made its way through her veins.

“Oh, isn’t this ring just beautiful?” he asked, picking up the same piece of jewelry Dr. Thompson had planned to purchase.

“It sure is,” he said.

“Ya know what? I think I’m going to get this for my wife. She’s had a rough couple of days, being infected with the fever. This is just the thing to lift her spirits!” The man held the ring up proudly as he made his way over to the register. Dr. Thompson was rooted to the floor in shock. The ring, //his// ring, was gone. He should have bought it on the spot, before someone else took it. How could he have been so stupid? Preparing to leave the store, he remembered something. A few years ago, he had wanted to get a ring for his mother for her birthday, but they didn’t have the one she wanted in stock. Luckily, the store was getting a new shipment of jewelry that week.

Full of hope, the doctor walked up to the cashier, a middle-aged lady with brown shoulder-length hair, just as the other man was leaving.

“Excuse me ma’am, but do you have any more of that ring in stock?” he inquired.

“I’m sorry sir, that nice young man just bought the last one,” she replied.

“Well, is there going to be a new shipment soon?” the doctor persisted.

“Hmm, let me check,” she started clacking away at the white box computer situated in front of her. “Okay, here it is, it says the next shipment of piece #576 will be on February 20th.”

“February 20th! That’s four months from now!” Dr. Thompson exclaimed in frustration.

“Yep that’s what it says. Sorry, sir.”

The doctor said nothing, but stalked out of the store, not even noticing the frigid air as it whipped across his face. He was beyond the point of being mad. He hated, no, //loathed// his life, his bad luck, the cashier, and the Frei Fever, but most importantly, the man who stole his ring. He arrived at his car. Angrily, he ripped open the door, sat down, and then slammed it shut. He jabbed his seatbelt into the buckle then thrust the keys into the ignition, speeding away from the jewelry store.

Dr. Thompson could not remember another time he had been so frustrated. He had been waiting for the perfect time to propose for months, and now he would have to wait even longer because that idiot bought it. The perfect ring. The doctor knew it was the one right when he saw it, but he just had to go look at the rest of the rings. That guy wasn’t even proposing or even giving the ring to someone important. It was for his wife. His //wife//. The one who already had a ring, but “needed something to lift her spirits.” What a bunch of—

The doctor noticed that something was wrong. He didn’t see it at first, but a split second later, it became clear. A car was on the wrong side of the road and coming toward him, extremely fast. Dr. Thompson jerked the wheel to the side, so he wouldn’t hit the vehicle. He stuck up his middle finger to the reckless driver, but then realized it was dark, so he put his hand back on the steering wheel just as he spotted another car approaching him at a high rate of speed. But this time, the car was too close for him to get out of the way. The doctor only had time to turn the wheel a slight bit, but in that moment, he understood why there were so many people driving on the wrong side of the road.

It was he, Dr. Thompson realized, who was driving on the incorrect side of the road. He must’ve gone the wrong way when he was engrossed in his thoughts of frustration.

It’s strange, he thought later, how clear the memories of a near-death experience are. In the second before the two vehicles collided, his headlights revealed that the other car was a blue minivan. He could distantly hear the roar of the other automobiles on the highway, a melodic hum that never seemed to cease. To his right lie a collection of trees, mostly oaks and pines. The other lanes of the highway, with another car in each, occupied the space on his left. His radio, he had thought was turned off, but the doctor could faintly hear the song he categorized into disco.

Time sped up again. //CRASH!// The cars hit each other. A horrible sound, like a nails on a chalkboard, the squeak of a fork on a ceramic plate, and microphone feedback all combined, erupted next to the doctor. The icy air intruded into the vehicle as the door was ripped off, and the car flipped over, tumbling into the line of trees. He had no idea which way was up or which way was down, if he was still alive or if he had already been killed, or if the time since he first saw the car had been hours or mere seconds. He realized he had stopped. The doctor was upside down in his seat, the only thing keeping him from falling to the floor was his seatbelt, which was cutting into his neck. Slowly, he put a foot on the seat and braced himself as he lifted a hand to free his body. He unbuckled the belt, and landed in a crouch under the seat. The driver side door was gone, so he crawled out of the hole and surveyed the damage.

His car was totaled, that was certain. The back was smashed in where he hit a tree, and the four windows were shattered. The front of the car was the worst. The left side, where the other car made contact, was completely missing. The doctor spotted it a few feet away, lying against a tree. Wait. The other car. He looked around for it, then saw it in the grass of the median. A man was getting out of it. Once there was a break in the late night traffic, the driver of the blue minivan raced across the four lanes toward Dr. Thompson. Under the faint light of the moon, the doctor could see he was wearing jeans and a gray sweatshirt adorned with the name of a college on the front. As the driver approached him, his face became one that Dr. Thompson recognized. //Oh no//, he thought. //Not another one.//

“Hey man, are you okay? I didn’t even see you—,” he stopped a few feet away and looked at the doctor thoughtfully. “Dr. Thompson? Is that you?”

“Sure is. Hello, Jack.” Jack was the first patient he had healed that day. He still couldn’t fathom the pain each Infected had to go through when the serum entered their blood. Apparently it was excruciating, having a virus stronger than the Frei Fever latch on and attack the disease. Jack had even passed out a few times.

“Oh Doc, I am //so// sorry I hit you.” Jack spoke the words as if he had just murdered someone’s puppy. “You’re not hurt, right?”

“No, no, I’m fine. Just a few scratches and bruises. And there is no need for you to apologize, it was my fault. I just didn’t even notice I got on the wrong side of the highway,” the doctor laughed nervously.

“Yeah man, it’s cool. Hey, your car looks a little… broken. How about we don’t report this little incident, and I’ll drive you home?” Jack asked him, putting his arm around him.

“Is your car okay to drive?”

“Yeah, it just got a little dent in the front. I guess your car took all of the damage, huh?” He eyed the doctor’s destroyed car with contempt. Dr. Thompson tried to smile and say something nice, but the words burned like acid in his throat.

“Yep, I guess so,” he said, starting to walk away from the smoking wreck. They waited until the coast was clear, then ran across the highway to Jack’s car. As they got in, the doctor could think of infinitely more places he would rather be.

After an excruciatingly awkward car ride home, Dr. Thompson slammed the car door shut, then jogged to his house, eager to get away from the second over-enthusiastic guy who ruined his day. He stepped into his warm, familiar home, expecting the lights to be on and his girlfriend to be waiting for him, but the doctor was met with darkness. A note was on the counter.

==== Hey Honey, sorry I missed you, had to stay late at the office. Hope you had a great day! I should be home by 11! ====

Love, Melissa
He threw his key in the bowl beside the door, and placed his coat on the back of the bar stool in the kitchen. He stomped into the living room and irritably pressed the power button on the TV remote. Sitting down on the couch, he wondered why he was so furious at the world. He recalled the earlier incidents of that day: the man taking the ring, and the other man’s car crashing into his on the highway. They were both patients that he had healed.

It was just not right. People’s lives who //he// had saved were taking the things he wanted. It was not fair. It was his serum and highly advanced brain that had saved their lives! If it weren’t for the doctor, they would be dead, and he could propose to his beloved girlfriend and still have a car! Pressing the power button once more on the remote, he realized something. The more people he saved from the Frei Fever, the more resources were being used up.

Dr. Thompson knew what had to be done. He jabbed his finger on the remote again, turning the TV off, and he ran straight to his laboratory a few blocks away. He arrived at his underground lab in the Annex. Pulling on his white coat, the doctor got to work. He mixed chemicals all night, making things explode, smoke, and bubble until finally, just before sunrise, it was done. The new serum. For extra precautions, he had made it look exactly like the antidote for the fever. It was the same color, had the same density, and even smelled just as the healing serum did. Only this serum was most definitely not the healing serum. The doctor had added a dangerous ingredient, gryanide hydronym, to make the serum deadly. It was the opposite of the antidote serum, which attacked and destroyed the Frei Fever virus in the bloodstream. The new serum latched on to the virus, and caused it to //multiply//, resulting in the quick death of anyone injected with it.

Dr. Thompson carefully fit the thousand vials of the Kill Serum in a box, which he cautiously picked up. Satisfied with himself, he started to walk home, hoping to get a few hours of sleep before his ten o’clock shift at the Infirmary. But no, he couldn’t wait that long. What if another healed patient stole something else from him, or destroyed another one of his things? The doctor could not risk it. He turned around and made his way to the Infirmary. Upon arriving there, he found that there were already a few people being prepped for the serum. Hoping to look inconspicuous, he hauled the box of vials into the building, and set it down in his office.

After stuffing a few vials in the inside pocket of his coat, Dr. Thompson walked into his first patient’s room.

“Hello, young lady. How are you today?” he asked the small girl lying in the bed. Not answering the question, she replied, her voice scratchy.

“I just wanna be healthy again.”

“Well, soon you will be,” the doctor told her, emptying the vial into one of the needles he found on the metal cart next to the bed. “Now, I just need you to relax your arm for me. There you go, perfect. I’m going to count to three, then give you the shot, okay?”

“Okay,” she said and looked away.

“One…two…three.” The doctor pushed the needle into her arm, and she gasped. “See, that wasn’t too bad, right?”

“No..." she said, a confused expression on her small face. "But... I don’t...feel g—.” Her words were cut off by a cough and blood dripped out of her mouth. It dribbled down her chin as the doctor watched her eyes, slowly glazing over.

She was dead in less than a minute. Not wanting anyone to see her, he threw her limp body under the Infirmary. He went back to upstairs. That day, each infected person he saw, he gave them the Kill Serum. Soon, the number of patients began to dwindle, after not a single person was spared. Dr. Thompson then started injecting people even without the disease. He was not going to take any chances.

After about a month, there were no more people at the Navy Base, except for the doctor. He had even killed his girlfriend, thinking she was infected with Frei Fever. The silence wasn’t unsettling, like most people thought it would be, but more like unusual to the doctor. He wasn’t used to waking up in the morning with no birds singing outside, no children playing during his lunch break, the squeals of happiness echoing off the buildings. Instead of compete silence, though, he heard something, he wasn’t sure what. It was a vibration, foreign, yet familiar. It bounced off of every surface, returning to the doctor’s ears as noise. It was, the doctor concluded, all of the people who were now dead. They made the noise to thank him for what he has done. They did not want to live anymore, and Dr. Thompson saved them.

Pleased with his work, Dr. Thompson began packing away all of the extra vials of the serum in the darkness of one of the empty rooms of the Infirmary. He had just closed the box when he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. It was a man, staring quizzically at him as he opened the box once more. He grabbed a vial and emptied its contents into a syringe. Something nagged in the back of the doctor’s mind, that he shouldn’t kill the man. But he knew he had to. Everyone had to be killed if the doctor were to live a peaceful life. As Dr. Thompson approached the man, the stranger walked toward him too. //Odd//, thought the doctor, //perhaps he has the fever and desperately wants to be healed.// He looked into the man’s eyes and noted their yellowish tinge. Yes, the man was infected. In one swift motion, Dr. Thompson plunged the needle into the man’s arm. As he crumpled to the floor, the doctor noticed a stinging sensation just above his elbow, but it gradually ceased to exist.