If Tomorrow Dawns

May 15, 1993

Viruses — submicroscopic agents barely considered alive. On their own, they are nothing. But give them a living cell, and they become the doom of humankind. Like the alien invaders in War of the Worlds, they seize control, establish empires, and drain the life from their hosts. Such vile agents they are, such power they wield. They have a formidable disposition of being difficult to eradicate, the reason they hold humanity in a stranglehold of fear.

My name is Dr. Robin Chantey. I am a microbiologist.

I lost my mother to a viral disease that wiped out nearly a hundred people in Whale Cove, our small town, before it was finally contained. Her death was the catalyst for my lifelong pursuit of virology, the driving force behind my mission to defeat viruses.

But the deeper I delved, the more I discovered something far more terrifying than the pathogens themselves: us. The window I have opened sees into the deepest, darkest souls of humans, the very beings waging such ferocious war against the two-faced aliens. Our ruthless, resilient, ravenous nature we don’t even try to hide is mirrored with clarity. How do we not see ourselves when we stand opposite them? If I had known my life-saving creation would become crucible to reveal what we truly are... I would never have started this journey.

His hand trembled. The grease on his palm made it difficult to get a firmer grip on the pen, and it skittered across the page like a cockroach on a hot hob. Tears dripped from the tip of his nose, landing in fat blotches that spread the ink into unreadable blue blooms. His final words to a world that would soon brand him a villain. His last attempt to explain, to be heard, was dissolving like watercolors on a rain-soaked canvas.

He sniffled, wiping his nose on the back of his hand, and tried, rather hopelessly, to steady his grip.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor outside — heavy, purposeful, and more than just a pair. The boss was coming for him.

Soon, he’d be dragged off to a high-walled concrete facility, ringed with electrified fences and gates that wouldn’t yield to a hurricane. He wouldn’t survive in there — of that, he was certain. But if by some cruel chance he did, the boss would make sure a noose was strung around his neck on whatever day the great District of Columbia deemed fit for his end. And they’d all watch — as he kicked, as he struggled — until the last breath left his body.

While he swung, WTTG would air a somber documentary about the brilliant scientist he once was and the world would shake its collective head and wonder what went so horribly wrong with him. CNN would spend hours debating how immigrants like him posed a threat to national security. And the BBC would turn him into what they needed him to be: a terrorist.

He didn’t deny what he’d done was gruesome. He hadn’t believed himself capable of it. But if they heard his side of the story… would they understand?

No.

He dropped the pen onto the paper with a hollow clatter. They wouldn’t care about his reasons. His motive would be erased, and all that would remain would be the verdict: guilty.

Well then. Let the boss have his way. He bared his teeth in defiance. He could be silenced, but no one, not even the boss, could alter the course of what was already in motion. No matter how hard he tried, his minions would never find Abalone.

He was ready for the cost of his defiance. He braced himself.

A searing, orange-hot ball tore through the door. The force lifted him off his feet and slammed him against the biosafety cabinet. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs in a puff.

He hadn’t seen it coming. This wasn’t the boss’s usual method for disposing of problems, as he had become. But perhaps, this was an improvement. It wouldn’t rewrite his story, but at least he wouldn’t suffer the humiliation of dangling at the end of a rope.

He closed his eyes, surrendering to the heat blistering his flesh, scorching his lungs, boiling his eyeballs, agony wrapping around him like a second skin. But in the end would be the transition he desired.

The curtains were falling. He could almost hear them whispering shut beneath the furious hiss and crackle of the flames.

But the show wasn’t over...