Monica: Part I

"Come on," Monica muttered, pressing her head against the microscope, determined to make sense of this virus. "What am I missing?"

Taylor hadn't accessed the stolen files yet, leaving Monica on her own to study the enigmatic disease. So far, she'd learned birds, fish, and reptiles were immune to it. The  agent couldn't survive longer than seven days without a living host, and each cell contained a specific enzyme designed to immediately attack the body's vital organs.

Jeannie's prognosis so far was excellent, but without samples taken before the bite, Monica couldn't determine whether the amputation stopped the infection or if genetics played a factor in her immunity. Each new test showed the body fighting the disease, and by the month's end, Monica expected Jeannie's blood to be free of the contagion.

If only the facility would stop draining her like a leech. Jeannie deserved freedom as much as everyone else in this god-forsaken compound.

Monica leaned back with a sigh, removing her elastic. Curls cascaded down her back, and she ran her fingers through her hair, massaging her throbbing scalp. Closing her eyes, she contemplated the situation.

Whatever caused the virus hadn't been a natural agent. Something like this was grown in a lab; of that much, she was certain. The question was why? And where did the source originate?

A knock on the door, followed by Doctor Amari entering. "Hello, Doctor Wainwright. Am I interrupting anything?"

Spinning in her chair, Monica shook her head and offered him a tired smile. "No. And please, call me Monica. Doctor makes me feel so much older than I am."

A dimple appeared on his left cheek as his mouth curved upward at the corners. Even in the apocalypse, he somehow managed to keep his beard neatly trimmed. Slivers of gray streaked his hair, despite his age being somewhere in his early thirties. Like everyone else, the stress of the apocolypse had taken its toll.

"Trust me; you have nothing to worry about. You're a beautiful woman, regardless of age, though I'd place you in your mid-twenties if I didn't know you."

Heat bloomed across her cheeks, and she dipped her head at the compliment. His words were kind, but after everything she'd been through; not to mention the way things had ended between her and Jayson, the timing was too soon. That, and she didn't trust him to end up missing like Freddie--something she strongly suspected had to do with Benson.

She cleared her throat and rubbed her palms over her thighs. "Thank you. You should probably be careful though. People seem to disappear after showing interest in me."

The wry lift of his brows and downturn of his lips said it all. "Hm. I did wonder if Sheldon had been pursuing you."

The mention of that vile man's name brought bile to her throat. He was nothing but bad news. Also, she couldn't decide yet if Amari had Benson's ear or if his statement came from a genuine place of concern.

Changing the subject, she asked, "What brings you here? Did you need something?"

"Only to ask if you've had lunch." His smile returned—almost sheepish and shy as he watched her with expectant, light brown eyes. "This is a small facility, and people gossip. They say you haven't been eating much."

He wasn't wrong. Monica had buried herself in her research, leaving no time to worry about meals. She also didn't like men's constant attention or their lust-filled gazes every time she walked into a room. Besides, she had plenty of food in her pantry—a perk of being essential staff.

"I eat in my quarters," she replied, purposely remaining vague. "Until I find a source and a cure for this virus, I'll probably be here or up all night in bed, checking data and seeking solutions."

He sighed and claimed a stool a respectable distance away. The troughs beneath his eyes sagged as if he, too, suffered from a lack of sleep. "Overworking yourself like this isn't healthy. I should know."

If he looked like a wilted flower, Monica probably resembled death incarnate. She hadn't slept more than two hours at a time since the apocalypse had broken out.

Tying her hair in a messy bun, she sighed and dug the heels of her hands in her eyes. With a shrug, she said, "It doesn't matter. The world has ended, more people die each day, and..." Monica paused and blew out a breath. Articulating her thoughts seemed impossible when nothing made sense. "I dunno. I guess I should give up because part of me knows it's futile, but if I don't keep busy, I'll lose my mind."

Amari stroked his chin, keeping his gaze down as if he considered her words. When he looked up again, several emotions swarmed behind his eyes: hope, compassion, and fear. "I became a doctor to heal the sick. Sometimes, I reflect on my life, wondering what the point was to any of it. Everything I worked for; all the toils my parents endured when they immigrated to the United States--it is all meaningless now in the sense that the future we hoped for is gone. But that doesn't mean it's the end."

Dropping his hands to his lap, he hunched forward and released a humorless laugh. "I thought by now, I'd find a nice wife and have a home where we could build a family. Never did I imagine I'd be stuck in some government facility, experimenting on people as if their lives are worthless. It goes against everything I believe in."

Why was he telling her this? And what secrets lay behind his omissions between the lines? Monica ran her bottom lip through her teeth, wondering if she should press him for more. "Doctor Amari--"

"Viraj," he interjected. "If we are to use first names, then you should know mine."

Again, Monica cleared her throat, confused as to whether he was hitting on her or simply being nice. On the upside, she appreciated he didn't invade her space. "All right. Um, I'm just wondering... uh, forgive me if this is intrusive, but I'm trying to understand if you're insinuating something."

She didn't elaborate, hoping he'd fill in the blanks on his own.

Silence stretched between them as he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's so shameful," he whispered.

Oh?

Scooting forward, Monica clasped her hands and stared him down, desparate for anything that would shed light on their predicament. "What is it? You can tell me. I don't speak to anyone."

Which was true enough; Jayson was gone, Eric was dead, Jeannie had been locked away, leaving Taylor, who struggled with his own issues. She didn't know Diego well enough to confide in him, and she hadn't missed the jealousy in his features when she and Taylor had left her room together. The world hadn't just ended; it had taken everything from her and left her on her own.

Viraj shook his head and swallowed. Then he sniffed and leaned back, fixing his gaze on the ceiling. "There is so much you don't know."

Sheesh, just spit it out already!

"Were you responsible for creating the virus?" she asked, deciding to get the worst scenario out of the way first.

Straightening in his chair, he sighed. "No, but I might as well be."

What did that mean?

Monica motioned for him to continue. "Okay?"

He picked at a loose thread on his jacket and tugged. When it snapped, Monica imagined the string as her sanity, severed by the strain of the apocalypse.

"I treated Mrs. Whitaker when she was brought stateside," he confessed, flicking the thread away and facing Monica. "I was tasked by the CDC to research the disease and contain it, and I promise I tried."

"So, what went wrong?" Monica asked, wondering how he was complicit in the outbreak. If he'd done everything by the book and the disease had somehow escaped containment anyway, that wasn't his fault.

Anguish reflected from his glossy eyes as moisture threatened to spill from the rims. "Benson happened. The government called him out of retirement to come here, and the next thing I knew, people started disappearing. First, we were told people relocated to other facilities. That's normal in the military."

Again, Monica didn't understand how this involved him. "Alright, but if you didn't create the virus, why are you blaming yourself? It doesn't make sense."

Tears splashed onto his cheeks in fat droplets, soaking his beard. He stood and placed his hands on his head as he paced back and forth. "I knew something wasn't right. As command shifted, other soldiers rapidly relocated here. Right before the outbreak, I came across a file embedded in another patient's charts. They had all the same symptoms, but this case originated here at the facility. I asked the head of the medical department about it, and he promised to look into it. Two days later, he was gone too. Benson took over right after that, and everything went downhill from there. Within a week, the world fell, and Benson threatened everyone to work with him or risk the consequences."

As he bared his soul, Monica drew her legs into her chair, resting her heels on the edge of her seat. The story was engrossing, capturing her attention like any low budget horror film she'd lived for when life was still normal. The only things missing were a bucket of popcorn, beer, and bad lighting.

"Then what happened?"

He uttered a breathless laugh. "The day John flew you all here, he ordered me to experiment on Doctor Adams. He's an idiot, fueled by a desire to find a cure for his wife. I foolishly went along with it, fantasizing about the glory of being humanity's savior. But just like him, I was fooled."

Geez, this was becoming infuriating. What the hell was he hiding and why was it taking him so long to get to the point? And pissed as she was he'd used Jeannie as a lab experiment, the information didn't surprise her. Any scientist in an official capacity would have treated her like a specimen and the Holy Grail in that situation.

Biting back her annoyance, Monica kept her tone mild. "Okay, so you made a bad call. We've all trusted the wrong person at some point or another."

"Benson isn't looking for an antidote out of altruism," Viraj interjected, pinning her beneath his tormented features. Gesticulating wildly, he resembled a mad scientist after eight cups of espressos. "He stole a sample of the virus and purposely sent it with a courier two weeks before the outbreak. He infected everyone, and I didn't catch it until it was too late. With the world governments in chaos, there was no one to stop him from achieving his agenda."

Monica's feet slipped from the chair, sending her toppling to the hard tiled floor. Pain jolted her knees, and she swallowed a curse. Sitting up, she asked, "Say what now? Why would he want to do that? What does he get from this?"

"He's using our research to modify the virus, Monica. Benson also knows someone hacked the system recently. I wouldn't be surprised if he suspects you or someone in your group, but unless you can get through twenty-seven layers of encryption, all that information is useless."

Oh, shit.

If Benson knew about that, he probably had a contingency in place to catch them the moment she and Taylor acted.

Pulse pounding in her throat and heart threatening to fall through her ass, Monica drew a shaky breath. "Why are you telling me this? How are you even privy to this information?"

"Because he suspects me," he snapped, making Monica flinch. Viraj closed his eyes and drew a slow breath before releasing it. His eyes softened, and he retreated back a step. "Sorry. Benson blamed me, and he's freaking out like a wounded animal in a corner."

Of, course he was, which made Benson ten times more dangerous. "Alright, but what am I supposed to do with this information? I don't know anything about what's going on behind the scenes."

A lie, but Monica wasn't about to trust him. Viraj could be leading her into a trap by giving away information to see how she responded.

Extending his hand to her, he said, "Come with me. I need to show you something."

Oh, hell no. Monica wasn't going anywhere unless it was the nearest exit to this compound. She'd probably die within a day, but she'd take her chances.

Viraj deflated and dropped his hand to his side. "Please. Everything will make sense, but I need you to trust me."

"And why would I do that?" she demanded. Any avid horror fan knew the moment someone begged for trust, the bastard or bimbo on the receiving end met a violent end.

Uttering a guttural cry, he yanked on his hair. "Why are you so stubborn? Recklaw's life depends on this. If we don't bring an end to this, your boyfriend and everyone here will suffer a fate so much worse than death. I can prove it, but I need you to cast aside your doubt long enough to trust me."

Monica's chest clenched as everything clicked into place. Jayson's spiral from his meds, his ejection from the facility, and Benson's fixation on him. Freddie's disappearance and draining Jeannie dry. Orson's hatred for the man and his distrust for the scientists.

The whole situation was surreal, making Monica wonder if she'd somehow left her body.

Casting caution to the wind, Monica clambered to her feet and took the doctor's hand, following him to the answers she both wanted and dreaded.

Hiiiiii!

It's been a bit, but THANK YOU for staying with me. I've had a HELL of a crazy year between my husband and daughter being in the hospital. Had a huge mental breakdown in between it all, relapsed into drinking, etc, but y'all don't need those ugly details. The family is fine and recovering, and I'm still here.

Anyway, how's the story for you guys thus far? Does it still make sense? I considered pulling it at one point because of my insecurity, but I'm genuinely interested in any constructive feedback or opinions on how you feel about the story's progression. I always welcome dialogue and questions, and I'll be happy to answer anything to the best of my ability without giving away major spoilers.

Again, thank you all so much for reading and sticking with me. I hope you're all well! 💕