Why does mankind always try to play God? We push boundaries until there's nothing left to push against and only when all hell breaks loose do we regret our actions.
The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) made that fatal mistake. In an attempt to play God, they created something that would alter the fate of the Earth forever.
******
CENTERS FOR DISEASE CONTROL AND PREVENTION. ATLANTA, GEORGIA
MAY 8, 2024
The atmosphere of the small conference room was tense as the eight scientists filed in. They were tasked with the overwhelming job of transporting an extremely important cargo—a cargo that needed drill, care, expertise, and experience to be handled.
The scientists were set to leave in an hour to travel to the continent of Africa, where the cargo was to be further researched and tested in a private underground lab, away from the human population, at least that was their cover.
"Gentlemen, you know the task at hand, and you know how important this mission is," declared Dr. Burke, the head of the CDC.
"Yes, sir!" answered the men in a chorus.
"Good. Now let's go over the details one last time," he asserted as he placed a large envelope on the table. "This envelope contains specific information about this mission. It has a folder and a flash drive which is to be given to Dr. Milton Laul. He will await your arrival. Please ensure that only he gets it. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir." They nodded.
"You all know the protocols that should be followed, so I won't waste any time going over them."
"Sir, I have a question," Dr. Weston, the team leader, enunciated.
"Go ahead, Dr. Weston."
"Sir, if the package becomes compromised, should we destroy and abort the mission?"
"Good question. I would think you already know what to do in such an event, but I was wrong. Let me reinforce this—" Dr. Burke paused, then stepped closer to Dr. Weston. "If you run into trouble, save the package and get it to Dr. Laul by any means necessary. Failure is not an option."
"Okay, sir," Dr. Weston said, with a hint of nervousness in his voice.
"Gentlemen, listen, you are trained professionals and I have no doubt in my mind that you will complete this mission. Your country is counting on you," Dr. Burke declared.
"Sir, you're making it sound as if we are going to war," stated another scientist.
Dr. Burke walked up to him, and they stood face to face. "You will be transporting a very important serum developed to aid in developing new medicines for cancer treatments. We are depending on those research to be better equipped to handle it—" he wavered and looked around at the other men. "This is way more significant than some stupid war."
"Got it," the men chimed.
"Good," Dr. Burke replied as he stepped away. "Gentlemen, I wish you the best of luck. I will see you guys in a month to check up on the progress. The pharmaceutical heads will want detailed documentation of our findings." He finished and handed the envelope to the team leader.
"Thank you, sir," Dr. Weston nodded.
"Now, go finish getting ready. The plane leaves in half an hour," Dr. Burke informed.
The men dispersed as they scampered to get things in order before boarding the plane.
Thirty minutes later, they all entered the plane, some more nervous than others. Dr. Weston sensed the tension that was brewing in the air.
"Look everyone, it's just as Dr. Burke said. We are trained for this. This is our job, this is what we do. We've got this." He gave them a pep talk, but something told him Dr. Burke was hiding a vital part of the details.
"We've got this," they all shouted.
"We're about to take off," the pilot announced over the intercom.
The men settled into their seats and relaxed their minds, and before long, they were soaring over the beautiful state of Georgia.
"Africa, here we come," Dr. Weston exhaled as he gripped the armrests to try to ease his tension.
******
JUNE 14, 2024 — ATLANTA, GEORGIA
He had been lurking by the Levis Executive Airfield for days, waiting in the shadows for a glimpse of the man he sought the most—and there he was, Doctor Alaric Burke, a virologist and also the man who took his place as Director of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC).
Dr. Burke was dressed in corduroy pants with a beige turtleneck top. His brown dress shoes tapped lightly against the concrete pavement as he headed towards the jet. He had a document in his hand—a kind of file. His beady brown eyes roamed over the contents as he strutted toward the plane.
He paused, and the three people following him stopped behind him. They watched and waited for him to make another move. Dr. Burke ran his right palm over his sandy brown hair, then he turned to the only woman in the group and spoke. "Dr. Reid, is this chart accurate? Why are the white blood cells so low?"
"Actually, Dr. Burke, even though they are still lower than the normal range, it has improved significantly over the past few days. The patient suffers from malnutrition, so we have him on an eating regimen that is helping with his white blood cell counts." The young female beamed with pride. Her dark hair rolled in a low bun as her red jumpsuit sat perfectly on her tiny frame.
"Do you take this job for a joke, Dr. Reid?" Dr. Burke snapped.
"No, sir, of course not."
"Do I look as if I read minds?"
"No, sir," she answered.
"Then where is the part of the docket that shows his blood count levels before?"
"I—I, I'm sure I put it in there," she took the file from his hands and searched it frantically, but whatever she was looking for wasn't there. "I guess I overlooked it, sir. It won't happen again."
"Guesses don't save lives, Ms. Reid. You won't be needed here anymore."
"Are you pulling me from the research exhibition, sir?" Dr. Reid gulped.
"No, I am removing you from the exhibition and terminating your employment. Now, please leave my sight." Dr. Burke chucked the docket in her hands. "Give this to Mrs. Flinch before you go. Tell her we'll be back from Africa in a few days."
"Yes, sir," Dr. Reid sniffled as she turned around and walked away from the plane.
This provided the intruder with his chance, his chance to speak to the man in charge. He had been leaving messages at the CDC office for months for Dr. Burke, but he didn't return any of his calls or reply to any of his emails.
He stepped out from behind the crates where he was hiding, startling the three people in front of him.
The two younger gentlemen smiled with admiration as they recognized his face. "Doctor Harvey Royce." One of the young men, probably in his late twenties, ran up to shake the intruder's hand. "I've read your thesis paper, and it was my inspiration to study immunology. I'm Doctor Joseph Edwards."
"Nice to meet you, Dr. Edwards." Harvey shook the man's hand while he kept his eyes on Dr. Burke. "Alaric, I need to talk to you," he spoke harshly.
"How did you pass security, especially looking like a homeless crackhead?" Alaric snickered.
"I still have friends in high places, Alaric. Remember, I was once your boss and mentor."
"Yes. That may be true, but sometimes students surpass their teachers. Now, what do you want, Harvey?"
"It's about the serum. You can't allow the pharmaceutical companies to distribute it. It's not ready. It still needs many tests," Harvey explained. He took a file from his bag and explained his findings and his fears about the effects of the drug, but Alaric wasn't interested.
"Edwards and Scott. Inside the plane, now," he ordered. The two young lads hurried inside the aircraft. "I have research to conduct, Harvey. I don't have time to listen to the ramblings of a mad scientist — that's what they're calling you now; a washed-up mad old fool."