This wasn’t the right place to talk. After loading the infected patient into her car, Shermaine drove to the quarantine zone with Bruce.
It turned out to be an old clinic on the edge of town. Bruce had it stocked with top–tier medical equipment and supplies, and had even brought in some
of the best doctors and nurses to staff it.
Leaving the patient in Bruce’s care was Shermaine’s way of showing that she trusted him. Shermaine asked, “What did the patient infected with the
mutated virus look like?”
Bruce replied, “There’s a video, but her face isn’t visible.”
Shermaine said, “Let me take a look.”
Bruce pulled out his phone and handed it to Shermaine.
The video was actually surveillance footage from last night. It showed a woman in a white outfit–her hair a tangled mess, her face grimy–ravenously devouring food in the convenience store, as if she hadn’t eaten in days.
Shermaine didn’t recognize Natalie in the footage. She requested, “Send me a copy.”
“I’ll send it to you on WhatsApp. Give me your phone number,” Bruce said.
“Alright,” Shermaine replied.
After exchanging phone numbers, Bruce sent the video and said, “If you get any leads on that woman, contact me. I’ll handle the arrest.”
“Got it,” Shermaine replied. This way, she could focus most of her time on breaking down the virus strain and pushing forward with the development of a
working serum to help stabilize the infected group.
Bruce glanced at his watch. “It’s almost noon. Want to grab lunch together?”
She replied, “Another time.”
“Alright,” Bruce said without pressing further.
It was an overcast day, and a biting wind sent shivers down everyone’s spine. The gloomy weather did nothing to lift anyone’s spirits. Before long, a fine drizzle began to fall.
Shermaine drove off, taking the samples back to her research lab.
Instead of rushing to study the virus, she took out her laptop, powered it on, and launched GPS–an advanced tracking program she seldom used.
It was already geo–locked onto Horington. She uploaded the footage from the convenience store, hit run, then shut the laptop. If the system found a
match, it would ping her phone with a notification.
Time flew by, and a week had passed in the blink of an eye.
The tracking program, GPS, had scanned every surveillance–covered area in the city, yet there was still no sign of Natalie.
Shermaine had been holed up in the lab most of the time. Three days ago, she’d already formulated a prototype serum–one that could suppress the virus, at least temporarily,
It wasn’t a full cure, but it kept the infection under control and delayed symptoms without any side effects.
But what weighed on her mind wasn’t the patients under quarantine–it was the one still missing, the woman with the mutated strain.
Miles away, buried beneath scrap cars in a landfill, there was an old basement no one had set foot in for years. From within, muffled growls echoed now
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Chapter 395
and then.
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Natalie’s lower body was now completely covered in black scales, emitting a putrid, fish–like stench. She jolted awake from a fitful sleep, and upon seeing her grotesque appearance, burst into hysterical screams. “How did I become like this? This is disgusting?”
She looked neither like a human, nor a monster. The thought alone made her sick. She couldn’t accept what she’d become.
Up above, one of the landfill workers suddenly paused, having heard a strange noise. He turned to his colleague and asked, “Hey, did you just hear something?”
“Nope,” the other worker said.
“Sounds like it’s coming from the basement.”
“Really?”
“Let’s go check it out.”
Outside, the rain had started again, soaking everything in a steady drizzle.
Shermaine took off her lab coat and stepped out of the lab.
“We’re getting close,” Shermaine said.
“Glad to hear it,” he said, visibly relieved. Everyone had placed their hopes on Shermaine. The rest of them could only assist where they could, but the real work was hers alone.
The original virus wasn’t all that complex to manage, but the mutated strain inside that one patient changed everything.
Thankfully, the officers who had been injured by her didn’t show signs of mutation. At least, not yet. After all, the virus still had its incubation period. No one could say for sure what might happen down the line.
“Dr. Jean,” a calm voice called out. It was Steve Xavier, the assistant Joshua had sent. Right on cue, he showed up to remind her it was almost lunchtime.
The two picked a random restaurant and were about to order when Bruce called. “Shermaine, you need to come here now. The virus in those police officers seems to have mutated.”
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