Read Online War of the Undead (Day One): The Apocalypse Crusade (A Zombie Tale) by Peter Meredith - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Peter Meredith
Tags: Zombies
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were passive agents, little more than "friends" in these other companies. They had been wined and dined, and "gifted" with small wads of cash. There was also the promise of more to come, simply for keeping an ear out. What they were supposed to be listening for had been and was still, frustratingly vague. Scientists, even the ones he was supposed to be helping, were as secretive as CIA agents.
All Deck had to go on was the type of cancer they were trying to cure and the words: Com-cell or Combination Cell Therapy . He figured he would be just spinning his wheels, however there was such a uniformity of thought in the field that the term Com-cell had stood out.
Understandably, Kip had freaked when he heard Deck’s report that a French company was kicking around a new concept involving a combination of mutated cells. It meant someone at R & K had given away or sold vital information. The next thing Deck knew he was on a plane to Canada to have a chat with one of his "operatives." Jean Basteau, a sweaty, little man, who tried to impress Deck with his spy chops by keeping his back to the door and jumping at every sound, had come by the information third hand. That had been two weeks before and Deck was still trying to chase down leads, but that too was turning out to be a bitch.
He simply didn't know enough about the Com-cells to ask the right sorts of questions; in effect he was basically clueless about what he was guarding. He found the one authority on Com-cells on the fourth floor of the Walton facility. When the elevator doors opened Dr. Lee was standing halfway down the central hall, staring at what were going to be "her" labs for the duration of the clinical trials. She was visualizing just as Deck had been doing, though in her case she needed quite the imagination. The fourth floor was in such a chaotic state that it could either have been halfway to being completed or halfway to being utterly destroyed.
Without turning she said, "They're working in the back on the left, in the BSL-4 labs."
The irritation in her voice was too obvious to miss. "And you don't think they should be?" he asked.
Thuy turned and when she saw Deck, her eyes widened just the slightest. "No. Most of our work will be done in the BSL-3 labs and that is more of a precaution than because of any real danger." Biosafety levels or BSLs, range in containment practices and are designated a level based on the toxicity or the communicability of the pathogen under study. Deck, who had read up on the CDC safety standards, had already made it a promise to himself to steer clear of the category four labs if at all possible. He had no desire to see what the bubonic plague looked like first hand.
"So why don't you tell them to switch their attention to the other lab?" he asked.
"No, it's going to be alright," she said. "Mr. Kingman said he'll have it all completed in time." By the slight shrug and the tilting of her head, Deck knew she wasn't convinced of the architect's sincerity. After his earlier talk with Hal Kingman, Deck certainly wasn't convinced.
"Give me a minute, will you?" he asked and yanked out his cell phone. As he reamed out the architect he walked past Dr. Lee and did a quick tour of the half-completed labs. Most of the rooms were without walls and one was without a floor. Deck found himself staring down at an electrician having lunch in the third floor cafeteria. It made little sense, but the cafeteria was as whole and complete as anyone could ask for while the far more important labs looked to have been ignored until only recently. In his ear Kingman was making all sorts of promises, but Deck didn’t want to hear it and tore the man a new one.
"Mr. Kingman will refocus on the category three labs this afternoon," Deck said as he came back to Dr. Lee. "You just have to know how to speak his language.”
"That's a language? I certainly don’t curse as fluently as you, Mr. Deckard, but if things continue the way they are, I might just have
All Deck had to go on was the type of cancer they were trying to cure and the words: Com-cell or Combination Cell Therapy . He figured he would be just spinning his wheels, however there was such a uniformity of thought in the field that the term Com-cell had stood out.
Understandably, Kip had freaked when he heard Deck’s report that a French company was kicking around a new concept involving a combination of mutated cells. It meant someone at R & K had given away or sold vital information. The next thing Deck knew he was on a plane to Canada to have a chat with one of his "operatives." Jean Basteau, a sweaty, little man, who tried to impress Deck with his spy chops by keeping his back to the door and jumping at every sound, had come by the information third hand. That had been two weeks before and Deck was still trying to chase down leads, but that too was turning out to be a bitch.
He simply didn't know enough about the Com-cells to ask the right sorts of questions; in effect he was basically clueless about what he was guarding. He found the one authority on Com-cells on the fourth floor of the Walton facility. When the elevator doors opened Dr. Lee was standing halfway down the central hall, staring at what were going to be "her" labs for the duration of the clinical trials. She was visualizing just as Deck had been doing, though in her case she needed quite the imagination. The fourth floor was in such a chaotic state that it could either have been halfway to being completed or halfway to being utterly destroyed.
Without turning she said, "They're working in the back on the left, in the BSL-4 labs."
The irritation in her voice was too obvious to miss. "And you don't think they should be?" he asked.
Thuy turned and when she saw Deck, her eyes widened just the slightest. "No. Most of our work will be done in the BSL-3 labs and that is more of a precaution than because of any real danger." Biosafety levels or BSLs, range in containment practices and are designated a level based on the toxicity or the communicability of the pathogen under study. Deck, who had read up on the CDC safety standards, had already made it a promise to himself to steer clear of the category four labs if at all possible. He had no desire to see what the bubonic plague looked like first hand.
"So why don't you tell them to switch their attention to the other lab?" he asked.
"No, it's going to be alright," she said. "Mr. Kingman said he'll have it all completed in time." By the slight shrug and the tilting of her head, Deck knew she wasn't convinced of the architect's sincerity. After his earlier talk with Hal Kingman, Deck certainly wasn't convinced.
"Give me a minute, will you?" he asked and yanked out his cell phone. As he reamed out the architect he walked past Dr. Lee and did a quick tour of the half-completed labs. Most of the rooms were without walls and one was without a floor. Deck found himself staring down at an electrician having lunch in the third floor cafeteria. It made little sense, but the cafeteria was as whole and complete as anyone could ask for while the far more important labs looked to have been ignored until only recently. In his ear Kingman was making all sorts of promises, but Deck didn’t want to hear it and tore the man a new one.
"Mr. Kingman will refocus on the category three labs this afternoon," Deck said as he came back to Dr. Lee. "You just have to know how to speak his language.”
"That's a language? I certainly don’t curse as fluently as you, Mr. Deckard, but if things continue the way they are, I might just have
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