“She finishes her shift or she becomes one of my private projects. Make it both of you. Understand?”
Maritza nodded, her face blanching to the same shade of white as her hair. She kneeled down and sprinkled water into the other vampire’s face to revive her. Juliet started to mutter gibberish, her eyes fluttering weakly, her mouth a gaping hole. Metcalf watched disinterestedly. From his own experimentation he knew how painful unprotected exposure to the sun could be, but he also knew it caused no lasting damage. At one time he had taken several of his experiments to a remote area of the Mojave Desert where he chained them spread eagle between cactuses. While Metcalf spent twelve hours shielded by a tent, his experiments were left to wither under the full exposure of the desert sun. Over those twelve hours they all dried up like prunes, but feeding them an ounce of blood restored them back to their previous state. Throughout the twelve hours they howled as if their skin were being peeled off, but they survived it.
If it had been any of the other vampires than Juliet giving him lip, he would’ve made them one of his private experiments. In her case, he’d give her this warning. She was well-liked among the other vampires, and it would cause more problems than it was worth if he acted too hastily with her. Besides, it never hurts to occasionally show one’s benevolent side.
“I was in a good mood before she started her shit,” Metcalf complained peevishly.
“She was out of line,” Maritza agreed under her breath.
The bitch was humoring him. He stood silently tracing the outline of his scar before deciding to let it slide. The morning had been eventful enough.
“The next time I see you I want you to be a brunette again,” he told her. “You tell her she better damn well be a blonde. And I want to see makeup on both of you. For both your sakes I’d better start seeing some effort.”
She nodded, stone-faced.
“And for Chrissakes, just give her some blood,” he said, not bothering to hide his disgust. He left her and headed to the research lab that was located past the housing quarters. A corridor had been built that ran past the kitchen to the lab so he didn’t have to cut through the housing quarters, which was just as well. He wasn’t up to any more bullshit.
He stopped outside the lab, collected himself, and when he felt like he could breathe normally again, entered. The scientists that he had cherry picked over the past two years were all at work, either bent over research equipment or studying simulation results on their computer screens. These included several of the leading AIDS researchers in the country, along with top immunologists and experts in bioengineering and computer modeling. Metcalf had bought them all of the equipment they’d asked for. All of it state of the art, all of it damn expensive. After two years of them working sixteen-hour days they were still no closer to understanding the vampire virus than when they started-which was a source of constant irritation to Metcalf. He damn well wanted results, and if not an outright cure for the virus at least a way to mutate it so that an infected person could eat normal food and not be affected so severely by sunlight. Was that so fucking much to ask for?
Dr. George Chabot led the team. In his previous life he had been a Nobel Prize-winning immunologist. Before becoming infected he was a good-natured roly-poly man in his early fifties who wore thick soda bottle-type glasses and had long sideburns that blended into an old-fashioned style of whiskers-almost as if he were a playing a doctor in a 1950’s Three Stooges short. Like all other vampires he had since lost his body fat. He was now a stick figure compared to what he had been. Also, consistent with the virus his facial hair had fallen out and his skin was now smooth, although in his case his complexion had a waxy unnatural quality to it. The infection did nothing to improve his eyesight and he still wore the same soda bottle glasses as before. With his changed appearance he gave the impression of a turtle that had been removed from its shell.
Metcalf walked behind Dr. Chabot, who continued to sit hunched over a computer screen, trying hard to pretend he didn’t notice his visitor. Tremors shook through Chabot’s body, and after a minute of this he gave an act of looking startled.
“Oh, it’s you,” Chabot said.
Metcalf didn’t bother responding. His eyes narrowed as he squinted at the scientific data Chabot had been studying.
“I thought I heard a commotion earlier?” Chabot asked.
Again, Metcalf didn’t bother to answer his lead scientist. Chabot and the other scientists, as well as the rest of his staff, probably already knew about his incident with Juliet. They were like old women the way they spread gossip. Chabot in particular had to be nervous. For months he’d been dropping hints how he’d like to spend a few hours on the outside so he could visit his wife and children.
“Any progress yet?” Metcalf asked dryly.
“It’s only been three days since you asked me that last.”
“I’m asking again.”
Chabot shrugged. “This virus…it’s unlike anything ever seen before. It defies scientific explanation.”
“That’s not good enough.”
Chabot shrugged again, his neck disappearing. “We’re working as diligently as we can.”
“Again, not good enough.”
“What can I tell you. This virus…the effect it has on the skeletal structure and muscle tissue…its regenerative properties…this is a whole new area for us. At the moment we’re only children groping stupidly in the dark.”
“I want results.”
“We all do, sir. We all do.”
Metcalf stopped for a moment to run his thumb along the full length of his scar.
“Maybe I’ve been working you too hard,” he said. “Maybe all of you need a break. Some rest and relaxation.”
“That would be helpful,” Dr. Chabot conceded cautiously.
“It would give all of you a chance to clear your heads.”
“Sometimes that is what is most important in solving this type of problem,” Dr. Chabot agreed, nodding. “Yes, a chance to take a step back, to catch one’s breath. Many times that leads to fresh, innovative thinking.”
“In your case why don’t we arrange a visit with your family.”
Dr. Chabot licked his lips, his head involuntarily nodding up and down as if he were a bobble-head doll.
“Then it’s settled,” Metcalf said. “I’ll bring them here for you. Their accommodations will be up front. There should be several openings in the cattle pens soon.”
Dr. Chabot’s mouth dropped.
“Please no…”
“Isn’t this what you’ve been asking for?”
“Please not that. Please, no…”
“I thought this is what you’ve been sniveling about for the last six months.”
“Please, I beg of you. Not that. Not my family.”
“But you keep asking for it…”
“Not another word from me. I promise.”
A shadow fell over Metcalf’s eyes leaving them deader than they were.
“I’ve given you and your team everything you’ve asked for.”
“You have,” Dr. Chabot agreed.
“Computers, centrifuges, fluorescent microscopes-”
“True, true.”
“Incubators, cell harvesters… I can’t even pronounce the names of half the shit you’ve had me buy. But everything you’ve asked for I bought.”