Rachel Connors

The blinking cursor on the screen in front of her mocked her, reminding her that she had a stack of work still to wade through and not enough caffeine in her system to do it. A yawn chose that moment to escape her lips, playing its part in the conspiracy until she finally pulled her glasses off and rubbed at her eyes. “That’s it,” she announced to no one other than herself. “No more work without at least another shot or two of espresso.”

Work could wait for a little while. It wasn’t going anywhere, after all.

She slid from her chair and stretched once her heels clacked on the tile floor beneath her, a hand instinctively reaching for her purse before she started off toward the exit. One foot moved in front of the other past lab tables and microscopes, Rachel only giving them and her co-workers a glance and even then, ignoring the hiss of one of the doors as it swung open in front of her. Two figures emerged from the other side, both just as bent to ignore her as she was them.

“Well, we’re going to have to delay our one test now,” said the one on the left. Rachel recognized his voice despite the obstruction of the biohazard mask he wore; Dr. James McIntire, her boss and their project coordinator. He pulled it off, revealing a full head of salt-and-pepper hair and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses on his face.

The man on the left was only five years her senior. She stepped around him without making eye contact, but even then she could have etched his face in her sleep. Deep, brown-colored hair that bordered on black. A smaller stature and a perpetual scowl as his expression. Joseph Ito sighed in response to McIntire. “This is going to set back the last phase of testing,” he noted.

“Granted. Let’s hope that’s the least of our problems.” Rachel had made it to the stairs and ascended the first two when she felt the weight of someone’s stare settle on her back. “Miss Connors? Taking an early lunch.”

She winced and stopped in her tracks. Turning, she made eye contact with Dr. McIntire as he plucked his glasses from his face and unzipped the bright orange suit he wore. He produced a handkerchief from the pocket of his trousers, but remained silent while waiting for her response.

Rachel cocked a thumb toward the top of the stairs. “Just running out for a coffee,” she said. A small fidget threatened to disrupt the spark of confidence she had managed to summon. “Promise I’m back to the grindstone when I return. I’ll even pick up a sandwich so I don’t have to leave again.”

McIntire raised an eyebrow, following the action with a sigh and a glance at Ito. The latter seemed less-than-impressed. “I don’t think I need to stress how important it is that we have minimal interruptions to our work,” McIntire finally said. He slid his glasses back into place. “I need the data I gave you to compile by mid-afternoon.”

“It’ll be done, sir.” She flashed an agreeable smile and turned her back, taking the first few steps cautiously and finally picking up the pace to the top. A short corridor led to a set of sealed double doors and as she reached in her pocket for her security card, she finally sighed with relief. Nobody stopped her as she swiped the card and nobody said anything to her as she entered the main vestibule and headed to the door. Rachel waved timidly at the security guard stationed by the entrance, but didn’t pause to see if he waved back.

Instead, she righted her shoulders and straightened her back, blinders put on firmly to avoid her noticing the state of the neighborhood surrounding the research facility. Mercifully, she didn’t fumble her keys as she took them out of her purse and once inside the confines of her car, she switched on the automatic locks and took a deep breath. “Sometimes, I really miss Scranton,” she murmured to herself as she started the ignition. Her windshield wipers flickered on and her radio sprang to life and for a few minutes, she felt a lot more at peace with the world.

Not even the hustle and bustle could interrupt that mood once it had the chance to blossom into life. The closest café made her favorite drink and convinced her to upsize it to a large, because there was still a lot of work left to be done. She hummed the song that had been playing on the radio and swung her hips while glancing around at the newspapers on sale, finally putting down a copy of the Inquirer when the story about a washed up dead body made her wrinkle her nose.

“Large latte, two extra shots?” the barista called out toward her.

“Yep, that’s me,” she said, making up the difference between them and taking the cup in hand. Rachel nodded at the college-age kid, her smile brightening when he mirrored it and a small blush crossing the tops of her cheeks, thoughts of him distracting her all the way back to the car. An extra spring settled into her step and when the trek back to her desk was devoid of any further confrontations with McIntire, she felt the tension from earlier melt away. Placing both the coffee and a sandwich acquired at a nearby shop next to her computer, Rachel settled into work.

Lab reports after lab reports filled the next few hours of her life. She sighed and spread them out across her desk, entering data and allowing the computer to do its work while she stole a bite of food here and a sip of coffee there. The sandwich had been fully consumed before she donned a biosuit of her own and another sheet of statistics had been placed into her hands as she left the room full of lab mice. Only a quick glance stolen at a door on the opposite side of the room managed to break her stride just for a few moments.

Rachel frowned and turned her back to it in favor of wandering back out into the main research area.

Her computer blinked to life when she jostled the mouse. The sheets in her hands were placed atop their corresponding stacks and Rachel flipped back to the empty document that had been taunting her before she left. Dr. McIntire had asked for a report and she knew she was cutting that deadline close, but as she glanced around to find the other people hard at work, she rolled her shoulders and nodded to herself.

Both hands settled on her keyboard and she began to write.

Date: November 12, 2014; Time: 1:13 PM.

I just collected the data on the mice I’ve been assigned to watch and the findings are amazing. As of right now, this grouping is doing much better than peers who have only received the MB-003 and MB-012 inoculations and I think we might be onto something with pairing them up for increased efficacy. As it stands, their dosage levels aren’t high enough to cause permanent effects, but the temporary boosts from each one provide definite results. Once the report for MB-003 is filed for Dr. McIntire, I intend to attempt the combination 003, 012, and 008 booster shot, to see what effect that has in extending the life of the physiological enhancements.

As it stands, though, I don’t think we’re anywhere near ready to increase the dosage. One attempt at trying to bump from .03 ml to .06 ml caused near-fatal side effects in each batch of mice we tried this on. This includes the entire 000-020 series. The mice developed high fevers, chills, and convulsions and an eventual loss of two dozen units when they failed to make a full recovery from the trauma. I have four or five of this collection set aside for testing the counteractive booster shot, but until we have that stabilized, we’ve been advised not to increase the dosage any more than in .01 increments. All findings suggest that should be the case.

But the good news is we received a fresh shipment of livers last week! That seems to be the crux to graduating our research from lab mice to eventual human trials. Our partnership with Jefferson Hospital and the University of Penn medical school has given us a lot better access to tissue samples, or at least ones that have been better preserved from decomposition. The reaction timing in this last batch especially produced near-live results, according to the data, and I think I might be able to free a few to start experimentation of the EM-776 counteractive booster on human tissue. Dr. McIntire doesn’t seem as sure of the viability of EM-776, but hasn’t told me to discontinue testing yet either.

I might be a sucker for the mice, but if there’s some way to ease their suffering when our doses don’t measure out, then maybe it’ll have some use if we run into a pickle during human trials. Until then, the furry little guys and our new batch of livers will be giving themselves to a good cause.

– End of Report for 11/12/14

***

Dr. McIntire was tied up on the phone when Rachel handed him the much less personal, much more data-centric version of her report. He waved her away for the night without any further discussion, and as he addressed the person on the other line, his tone of voice seemed to say it all. Headquarters. Rachel winced and snuck out of his office, only barely able to imagine the sort of pressure they were resting on his shoulders for deadlines that struck her as arbitrary. ‘Well, if it gets me home before dark, then oh well,’ she thought as she strode to her car and began the drive toward the small apartment she occupied on the west side of Philadelphia.

Rachel locked the door behind her and kicked off her shoes. A cat wandered over to her feet, rubbing at her ankles and spurring her to heft it up and laugh as she settled him into her arms. “You are getting very heavy, Mr. Tumnus,” she said, stroking the tabby’s head and scratching his ears while wandering further inside. She placed him down on her couch and soon joined him, once she had changed from her work clothes into yoga pants and a t-shirt.

Nobody on the news was discussing the dead body by the Schuylkill. The lead story involved the vampire monarch meeting with the Governor-Elect and beginning talks after the latter’s gubernatorial victory. Rachel scrunched her nose and reached for her phone, dialing the pizzeria’s number from memory and hesitating before hitting send. Mr. Tumnus sauntered onto her lap, and the sight of the vampire on the television screen made her sigh and resume stroking her cat.

“You see that?” she asked. “Complete biological anomalies… I mean, how do you walk around as a reanimated corpse that drinks people’s blood and think you’re still people, too?” The cat mewed and she nodded at him, leaning close and giving his furry head a quick peck before bringing the phone back to her ear. “That’s right, Mr. Tumnus. They aren’t,” she added, and said no more as he curled on her lap. The accusation levied by her rang in her thoughts while she waited for someone to answer on the other line.

Biological anomalies. Who couldn’t eat or drink real food or even walk around in the sunlight like everyone else could. The more she thought about it, the more she began to wonder about what sort of draw that life had held for the people who allowed themselves to be turned into one themselves.

Who would trade being human for turning into a monster like that?