By Bill Whitten
Scene I: Duluth
Entomologist Vann Maguire, age forty-eight, powerfully built with salt and pepper beard and hair paces behind a lectern in front of an auditorium half-filled with undergraduates. He writes two words on the blackboard: Cimex lectularius.
“Of all the biting, blood sucking bugs of the world, this little fellow – the common bedbug – has made an incredible, headline grabbing comeback. A persistent problem since antiquity – can you imagine historical figures from Plato to Winston Churchill were covered at some point in their lives in bedbug bites? Until well into the twentieth century most people were on familiar terms with Cimex lectularius.”
He removes a remote control from his jacket pocket and presses a button. A photograph of Cimex lectularius flashes on a screen behind him.
“For all his evolutionary brilliance he remains an exceedingly ugly little devil. Note his stylet fascile – the two fang-like mandibular protuberances which he uses to chew through the flesh of his victim.”
He points the remote. On the screen appears an image of a naked torso covered in red bite-marks the size of quarters.
A collective ewwww from the students.
“And we all know what they do…”
Again he waves the remote and this time a stock photo of a generic baseboard and wall fills the screen. ”…and we know where they like to make their homes. Not in tiny coffins which would seem appropriate but in our walls, woodwork and baseboards.”
He throws the remote control on the lectern. Hands in his pockets, he faces the students.
“So for millennia we are at the mercy of this relentless creature until”, his voice booms, “science to the rescue! With the discovery of powerful insecticides we put Cimex lectularius on the ropes. DDT and other, similar chemical treatments more or less wiped him out. But thanks to supposedly well-meaning environmentalists – cue the eerie horror movie music – the twenty-first century rolls around, DDT is banned and suddenly we look in the New York Times and find intractable infestations reported in Amsterdam, Paris, London, Madrid and finally – this is when it begins to penetrate the consciousness of the average American – New York City. And these babies are a new breed. Tough does not begin to describe the contemporary Cimex lectularius”.
Maguire lets his body fall against the podium. He rests his head on his hand, as his dark eyes search the auditorium. When he speaks it’s in a voice that rises and falls dramatically, theatrically. He seems on the verge of tears or roaring rage.
“A colleague and I discovered – well let’s just say my protégé stole most of my research and published it as his own – we discovered, I discovered that if one introduces the AIDS virus, the Hepatitis viruses A, B or C into the body of Cimex lectularius, why our little friend kills these otherwise indestructible pathogens almost immediately. Truly remarkable. What accounts for this eleventh hour comeback and this new, almost immortal durability?”
He begins pacing again.
“Corporate lobbyists in the pay of Dow Chemicals will tell you it was caused by the needless ban on Zyklon-B and DDT. While conspiracy theorists maintain the vampiric superbug crept out of biowarfare labs in Russia or Red China or perhaps our very own Plum Island. The fact is an arcology made in heaven for Cimex lectularius has been created. i.e. a highly mobile managerial class deprived of job security and any sense of permanence now flits from city to city and thanks to inexpensive transcontinental air travel has the option of going to sleep in San Francisco and waking up in Vladivostok. A truly footloose international bourgeoisie. Once upon a time it invented high culture”, he lowers his voice to a whisper, “now it spreads contagion.”
He stops pacing and pulls an old-fashioned pocket watch from the vest of his three-piece black suit. “I’ll have to leave it there. Time is short and I know you’re all eager to begin studying for your midterms. Heaven forbid I keep you.”
As he gathers his papers and throws a blue, cape-like loden coat over his shoulders, a pair of female students approach the podium. A brunette in black turtleneck, jean-jacket with a backpack slung over a shoulder smiles at him. “Will you be going to Cicero’s Tavern after class, professor? This might be our last chance to pick your brain before midterms.”
The professor grins, white teeth flashing through his beard. As he addresses the two young women his eyes fix on a third, a redhead, who remains seated in the front row and observes him with a wry smile.
“As much as I’d like to, Sarah,” he nods at the blonde “and Chelsea. A mole that I have managed to place deep within the Administration – come to think of it not unlike Cimex lectularius – has warned me that certain powerful members of the board of trustees have been keeping a close watch on my activities. We all know about my troubles at Columbia. I have no inclination to tempt fate, repeat history and jeopardize in any way my position here. If you had the sizable alimony payments that I have, perhaps you girls might understand. Why don’t you come see me during office hours.”
Scene II: Lower Stratosphere
Geneticist Ludlow Swift – British, navy suit, open collared white shirt – runs a hand through his blonde hair and pushes on the bridge of his horn-rimmed glasses. Pursing his lips he looks out the window from his first class seat aboard China Airlines. The sun is like an interrogating eye above a sea of clouds. He turns away from the window, brow furrowed by an expression of worry.
“Would you like another Glenfiddich sir?” A stewardess hovers over him.
He looks up at the smiling young woman. “I couldn’t possibly…”
She moves her cart down the aisle.
He turns his attention to his laptop. His fingers fly over the keys. The words Message Encrypted flash across the screen. He begins to type.
Ian
Before I boarded my flight I was given confirmation that Dr. Tsien received the ‘package’. It certainly pays to have friends in the diplomatic corp. Who would have imagined delivering the potential AIDS cure to our putative enemies in Beijing would be so easy? Trials of Red Factor IV will be underway within a fortnight. It goes without saying I couldn’t have done it without you, Ian. I have to admit however that my excitement is tinged with a bit of anxiety – Dr. Tsien’s methods are extremely unorthodox to say the least. Bioethics is not a concept the good doctor seems to be familiar with. He almost seemed to imply that the prisoners – the Red Factor IV test subjects – were deliberately infected with HIV in order to provide suitable candidates for the trials. If this is true, well…My god, I’ve never heard anything so monstrous…
Hopefully I’m just being my usual paranoid self. But this will be one of the first things I bring up when I meet with Tsien.
Talk soon,
Ludlow
Scene II: New York
In a dark office, Ian Martinez’ gaunt yet strikingly handsome face is lit by the screen of his desktop computer. Behind him windows look out onto a dark city street. In front of him, on the other side of a clear Plexiglas wall is a lab filled with medical equipment and closed circuit TVs.
Images of a dozen caged rhesus macaques are visible on the screens of the TVs. On most of the screens the monkeys appear to shriek and violently leap about.
Ian’s eyes skim Dr. Swift’s email.
“A fortnight?” Under his breath he mutters, “I can’t wait fourteen fucking days for the trials to begin. At this rate it will take months before we have any results…”
His colleague Maurelle sticks her head in the door of his office. He looks up. “Yes?“
“That’s it for me, Martinez. I’ve had enough. I don’t know how you do it. I need sleep. See you tomorrow.”
Distractedly “Yes, tomorrow, Maurelle, always tomorrow…”
She closes the door behind her.
“For some of us that is…”
He pulls open a drawer, removes a syringe, an ampule labeled with the word Morphine Sulfate and a length of yellow rubber tubing. He fastens a tourniquet above his elbow, draws a portion of the drug into the syringe and injects himself. For a moment an expression of pure, almost religious ecstasy lights his face. He unrolls his sleeve then like a roulette dealer raking chips from a table, brushes the drug and his paraphernalia into a drawer. He locks his desk, stands up and walks out of the office.
Sliding a keycard through a lock he passes into a section of the lab filled with caged animals. After traversing row after row he stops in front of a tiered set of cages. A piece of masking tape imprinted with the word Willie is affixed to the door of the top cage. Ian reaches a hand out and shakes the cage door.
“You’re doing great, aren’t you Willie? Your T-cell count is back to normal, your weight has stabilized and the PCP pneumonia that had you on death’s door is completely gone. The only thing is…you sleep all day, you react negatively to light and only become active some time after midnight…”
Ian rests his head against the cage. “Except for our T-cell counts, you and I have a lot in common, buddy.”
From somewhere in the back of the cage, the unseen macaque coos in response.
“I wish I could share this with you, Willie. It might perk you up.”
He reaches into the pocket of his lab-coat and removes a clear vial of white powder. He shakes a pile onto his fist and snorts it. He throws his head back and begins grunting madly like a chimpanzee.
“What is something all primates have in common Willie? We’re all risk-takers. We like to live on the edge. You and me buddy. Risk takers par excellence. And what does one do when protease inhibitors no longer do a damn thing? Where do I turn Willie? I’m so tired. It’s like I’m carrying a great weight on my shoulders. I guess dying makes you tired.”
He dumps more of the drug onto his fist. He snorts it.
“I think we both know the answer don’t we Willie? We know what must be done…”
Ian turns and walks away. Over his shoulder, “See you soon buddy.”
As Ian leaves the animal lab, Willie appears from the dark recesses of the cage and grips the bars. He returns to his dark corner and begins shrieking as if in incredible pain.
On the closed circuit TVs Ian can be seen sliding his key card through an electric lock and then entering a lab door marked Bioreactors – Authorized Personnel Only. On another CCTV he can be seen exiting with an IV bag filled with a ruby liquid. Back in his office he pulls on a black leather jacket and places the IV bag in a Styrofoam cooler.
As he enters an elevator he lights a cigarette. The doors close.
Scene IV: Shanghai
Pale, stocky, middle-aged, clad in a white lab-coat, hands clasped behind his back, Dr. Dingxiang Tsien whistles as he walks down a long hallway of a dungeon-like prison. Outside a cell-door medical staff wait next to a cart filled with surgical instruments and transparent IV bags filled with a red liquid hang from portable IV stands.
Dr. Tsien sidesteps the staff and walks into the cell. A woman, in her early thirties, lies in a hospital bed. Her body is confined by restraints. Dr. Tsien picks up the chart at the foot of the bed. He turns pages.
“Chenguang, how are we today? Are you in the mood to make history?”
Her half-shut eyes attempt to focus on Dr. Tsien. It’s clear she has been drugged.
He shakes his head sadly. “Would you believe that I managed to find one of your loathsome books of poetry?”
In a singsong voice he recites:
Just as the newspaper yellows
and the white spider’s filaments catches no flies
And the riverman’s boat lies still in pathless waters
It is my destiny to lift Oblivion’s veil.
“When I first read these lines I thought to myself; what rubbish! Were my parents needlessly slaughtered in the Cultural Revolution so subversive bourgeois scum like you could write such filth? But then, Chenguang, I began to see the genius of your verse. It fits the task we will undertake today. The lifting of oblivion’s veil at last. This is our work. Yours and mine.”
He turns and motions to the medical staff in the hallway. In moments a red IV bag drips into the young woman’s veins. She remains motionless, inert. And then a tremor passes through her body. A red flash tints the retina of each eye. The doctor and the staff are unaware as they move on down the hall to the next cell.
Tsien unlocks the door and speaks softly:
“Mr. Huang do we feel like making history this morning? Be honest with me. You would like that wouldn’t you? To be a part of something special?”
Scene V: Duluth
Sheet pulled to his waist Vann leans against the headboard of a king-size bed, hair mussed, breathing hard. A tumbler half-filled with an amber liquid rests on his stomach. The redhead from the classroom lies next to him.
Sweat dampens her hair. A look of astonishment on both of their faces. Vann lifts a bottle from the floor next to the bed and freshens his drink. The redhead stirs.
“What was that business about your protégé stealing your work? You’ve never mentioned that before…”
Vann sips his drink and sighs.
“I don’t know why I brought it up, Tanya. It’s something I usually can’t even bear to think about…” He finishes his drink in one gulp. Voice rising “It fills me with…” He hurls his empty glass across the room into the fireplace. The fire burns on undisturbed. “It fills me with…incalculable rage, baby.” Whipping the sheet off he rises and begins pacing around the room.
“Ian Martinez. My sycophantic protégé. A whizz kid, an interdisciplinary genius. An entomologist, a geneticist, a medical doctor…I’ve never met anyone like him…thankfully. When I discovered the surprising immunological responses of the common bedbug, why we were both starry-eyed with the possibilities. Cures for AIDS, Hepatitis C, Leukemia all within sight…Blinded by my own optimism – I’ll never make that mistake again – I failed to miss all the little warning signs that would have tipped me off to the fact that my bright young assistant had developed a serious drug problem. When he wasn’t in the lab with me he was on the nod in some god-awful shooting gallery in Harlem, the proverbial needle sticking out of his arm.”
Vann sits down on the edge of the bed and drinks straight from the bottle.
“Then what happened?”
“What do you think happened? I get an email from a colleague. ‘Hey Vann have you seen the latest issue of The Lancet? Your boy Ian just published a rather shocking paper.’”
He begins pacing again. “Of course I did what anyone would do. I found him and beat him nearly to death. Little shit that he was, he managed to video the beating with his iPhone – it may well have been his plan all along. And before you can say Fuck Me, I was locked up in the Tombs awaiting arraignment on felonious assault charges…The DA cut me a break and knocked it down from attempted murder. This, Tanya, was just the beginning of my troubles. How else could I have ended up in this backwater? The so-called University of Duluth?”
Tanya pulls him back into bed. “Well if you hadn’t left New York, Professor, we would have never met.”
“I suppose there are consolations to be had in even the bleakest of circumstances…”
Scene VI: Hell, Precisely
“Please follow me Professor Swift.”
Ludlow Swift is led by Samantha Xiuying along a glass enclosed walkway through the Omaha wing of TLS Biologics brand new Beijing Campus.
“Omaha Wing?”
“Yes, we’ve named each of the twenty segments of the campus after great international cities.”
“I see.”
Professor Swift stops at a window and looks out onto the sprawling grounds TLS Biologics.
“I thought time was of the essence Professor Swift?”
“Yes, yes of course…” He pulls himself away from the window and follows her.
After what seems like a disorienting twenty minute walk through gleaming maze-like hallways, past dozens of workers clad either in ‘clean suits’ or Western business-wear they arrive at a bank of elevators.
They step in together. Samantha removes a key, unlocks a panel and presses the glowing button for Sub-Basement level −4.
“Dr. Tsien has been relegated to the basement?”
“The Experimental Sector is a state of the art laboratory and is located for security purposes one hundred and fifty feet below ground”.
“Security purposes?”
“The Biotech field is highly competitive. Industrial espionage is far more common than the layman imagines.”
The elevator jerks to a halt.
“We take every precaution imaginable.”
The doors open.
From behind a glass enclosure an armed security guard smiles at Samantha and presses a button. Electronic doors swing open.
They walk down another hallway and Samantha stands before a wall mounted security cam and announces herself: “It’s Sam and Professor Swift.”
There is a buzz as the door unlocks. The pair enters into darkness. They stop almost immediately, each raising a hand to their face.
“My god, what is that smell….It’s like rotting fruit or…”
A voice calls out from the shadows. “There seems to be a ventilation issue in my office.” A desk light snaps on and Dr. Tsien is visible behind a large glass desk. He leans back in his leather chair, eyes covered by sunglasses, a white bandage beneath his right cheekbone.
As Professor Swift crosses the room to shake hands with Dr. Tsien he realizes he recognizes the smell. It is the pheromone of Cimex lectularius. He’s never encountered it in such overwhelming concentration. Tsien’s office must be completely infested.
“Dr. Tsien I believe I have an idea about what it is that’s responsible for the smell…You may not want to hear this.”
“The smell is the least of my worries, Professor Swift. As you may have ascertained I’ve been injured…by one of the test subjects no less. I’ve tested myself for HIV, Hepatitis A, B and C and my results have come back negative. Yet I feel very…unwell…”
“Test subjects? It was my understanding that the trials weren’t scheduled to take place until…”
Dr. Tsien places his elbows on his desk. With his eyes covered by his dark glasses he appears as something of a cipher. “I have the most remarkable toothache, Professor Swift, I’ve never been in such pain. As to why to the trials began so soon…well let’s just say that I’ve been feeling a bit of pressure from those”, he points at the ceiling, “above me. They are very eager to see if your gene therapy is successful…Ms. Xiuying why don’t you escort the doctor to his accommodations. Hopefully the guest house will be to your liking…”
“Tsien, I want to see the test subjects. Immediately.”
“Well in that case Dr. Swift might I suggest”, he points at a cart filled with liquor bottles beneath a large flat screen TV, “you fix yourself a drink before we pay a visit to those unfortunate creatures.”
“Creatures?”
“I suggest a water-glass full of Reyka vodka and then perhaps a bar of Xanax while you’re at it. Let me see if I have any in my drawer.” He violently rummages through the contents of his desk drawer.
Dr. Swift is outraged. He steps to Tsien’s desk and leans across it, index finger pointing at the preoccupied Doctor. “What in God’s name are you talking about, Tsien?”
Tsien looks past Dr. Swift. “Sam would you be so kind as to leave us alone?
“Yes Dr. Tsien.”
“In the parlance of our American colleagues; shit is so fucked up with the test-subjects, that your mind is about to be permanently blown. Trust me, Swift. Have a drink.”
“Take me to them at once, Tsien. If things are as ‘fucked up’ as you say, it will be the last time you see them. I’ll have you relieved of your duties at once.”
Tsien lights a cigarette and walks to the liquor cart. Swift can’t help but notice Tsien’s strange gait; his shoulders are hunched, arms almost touching the floor – and strangest of all – he moves in rapid bursts. First from the desk then to a six-foot tall Ficus tree then to the liquor cabinet. He pulls a bottle of Reyka from the cart and takes a long drink. “Let’s go, old chap.”
He raises a hand to his jaw. Swift noticed his nails are incredibly long and yellowish.
“My jaw. My jaw. So much pain. It’s unbearable.” He let out a strange cry.
“Enough Tsien. Take me to the subjects.”
There is a door to the left of Tsien’s desk. The doctor removes a card from his pocket and runs it through the lock. A light above the doorknob flashes green. He holds the door for Swift.
They walk through a lengthy white hallway, their heels clicking on the spotless tile floor. At intervals of roughly one city block, security doors block their path. After they’ve passed through the third such checkpoint. They are confronted by a guard sitting behind a Plexiglas window. Like Tsien he wears sunglasses and both of his hands, along with the left side of his neck, are bandaged. The stench of Cimex lectularius pheromone is overwhelming.
The doctor presses an intercom button and addressed the guard.
“Any new incidents Haolin?
The man turns his head in the doctor’s direction looking as if he is about to speak into the intercom microphone but remains silent. His arm moves and the security door buzzes open.
“An interesting side note, Ludlow – may I call you Ludlow? I feel familiar terms are called for considering what you are about to witness. All the test subjects exist in a kind of erotic frenzy. Their only interests seem to be feeding, sleeping and….”, he grunted in what Swift assumed was laughter, “and fucking.”
They passed through another door and the modern, hi-tech atmosphere of TLS Biologics vanishes and they are in the bowels of a prison or medieval dungeon. It is dank and cold. A guard is visible across from an iron-barred cell. Purple light emanating from the interior of the cell bathes the guard.
“Chenguang meet Dr. Ludlow Swift.”
A woman, or what once was a woman, lifts her head and a long – there can be no other word to describe it – fang protrudes from the center of her mouth. It’s a stylet, Swift realizes. She has taken on an ovular shape and fine dark hair covers her entire body. He notices with disgust she’s thrusting her hips – apparently in his direction.
“She seems to fancy you Swift.”
“She must be taken from here at once, Tsien. She needs treatment. Her suffering must be inconceivable…”
“Oh yes treatment. Definitely treatment.” He laughs – it is hopeless laughter. “We all need treatment…Perhaps a shotgun blast to the face. Something along those lines. But actually the guards and I – my brothers – we are going to take…” He was interrupted by the screams of a male voice coming from somewhere further down the hall. “We are going to do what’s necessary. Torch the entire underground wing of TLS Biologics…and martyr ourselves before our little friends escape and wreak the sort of havoc that the world has never seen. You will be the last non-infected scientist to witness the abomination that we – you and I – have created.”
There is a popping noise, like the crack of a whip. Then another.
“Oh, dear. Xiang instruct Haolin to implement emergency lock down procedure. I think, alas, it’s time we initiate Operation Inferno.”
Tsien walks down the hall toward the screams.
The woman, Chenguang, has torn off her restraints and is sitting up in her cell. As if by magic the restraints that hold her podomeres in place pop in unison. Then she stands or more likely crouches next to the bed. Swift, repulsed as he is, can’t help but feel a strong attraction to the woman; the fine hairs cover the still supple flesh of her body. Her breasts are large and the nipples erect. The stylet, dripping with saliva, holds a strange fascination. He could never have imagined in his wildest dreams such a thing…
And then with amazing speed she is at the bars facing him and the stench of pheromones is so pronounced he places a handkerchief over his nose and mouth. Inexplicably, as if a voice has instructed him to do so, he takes it away. He inhales and feels strangely calm.
Tsien is once again at his side.
“The thing about our new hybrid creatures is that they retain Cimex lectularius’ ability to flatten themselves. They can fit through almost any opening…combine that with their almost eternal lifespans, their adaptability to any habitat, their ability to fight off every pathogen, their single-minded desire to feed and of course their surprising strength… Well, let’s just say that if they were unleashed upon the planet, such a creature would be impossible to stop.”
A vision, for which he’d waited his whole life, forms in Swift’s head: And wreak the sort of havoc that the world has never seen.
He would have to find a way to free Chenguang from the Experimental Sector. The first thing he must do, he understands, is kill Tsien…
Scene VII
Ian Martinez begins sleeping all day beneath his bed and then rising at midnight to wander the streets in search of something other than dope…
Scene VIII
As exsanguinated corpses appear on the streets of the Lower East Side, reports of strange, malformed men wearing dark glasses accosting young women on the streets in the early hours of the morning become a daily occurrence…
Scene IX
After his girlfriend disappears, Vann Maguire undertakes what can only be described as a war…
Bill Whitten is a rock musician, a writer and a reader. His latest album is Dédoublement. His first book BRUTES came out in 2022.
His second collection: I NEVER STOP ARRIVING is in need of a publisher. He is currently reading with great pleasure The Adventures and Misadventures of Maqroll by Alvaro Mutis.
