1st 5 Pages June Workshop- Stryker

Name: Elisa Stryker
Genre: Young Adult Science Fantasy
Title: KONADAI

“If it can be created, it can be destroyed,” I mutter, staring at the data filling the holographic panel. Then again, I’m sure the gods said the same thing about us.

The intercom emits a loud beep, snapping me from my thoughts. A calm, almost robotic voice pages one of the many doctors. My lab is isolated on the sixth floor, away from the coughing patients and scurrying medical staff. I prefer it this way. Cultivating a cure for the virus ravaging our island city allows me to tuck away the reality of the disease’s horror in my mind, rather than watching people die from it—especially those I know.

The door swings open and in strolls Anette, focused on the tablet she’s carrying, with a manila folder tucked under her arm.

As I straighten myself in my chair, she drops the file onto my desk; another unwelcome addition to the ever-growing mountain of assigned labor. My chest tightens as I glance down at the stack of pages.

“Here are some paper files since you refuse to use tablets.” Anette’s unbuttoned lab coat reveals a red silk blouse, its color in stark contrast to her dark skin.

Paper doesn’t require power to operate.

I didn’t sign up to be buried under mundane work. I’m here to be a virologist, not a secretary.

Blowing my bangs out of my face, I shove the papers aside and grab my notebook from the drawer. I tap a pen against my lips as I let out a long breath, none of my stress exhaled with it.

“Five patients diagnosed with the Konadai Virus were pronounced dead by the time I left the cafeteria.” Anette slides into her chair and pulls on a pair of gloves before filing through a box of microscope slides. “The families didn’t bother to show up,” she mumbles as if an afterthought.

Most families don’t.

The time from infection to death is an average of four hours. Family members would rather stay at home than watch their loved ones suffer. I’m not sure why paramedics continue to bring people here to die. We haven’t even made a hint of progress in synthesizing a vaccine in the five months since I became an intern.

The new deaths bring the toll to over four hundred and thirty this year, and it’s only June. The virus itself is mutating, raising the death toll each year, and that’s only the reported numbers.

“Are you going over last week’s notes?” Anette asks, staring into the microscope.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Excellent. Now tell me, what you’ve learned so far?”

“Nothing I didn’t already know,” I mumble.

Anette glares at me. She must’ve heard what I said.

I clear my throat and read off my current findings.

“Since scientists accidentally created the virus sixty years ago, none of the researchers have discovered a cure. So far, we’ve learned the virus is transmitted through bites from the reanimated corpses we call Konadai. The pathogens attack the cardiovascular system which sends the victim into organ failure.”

Anette nods, relaxing her brows. “Good. So you managed to pay attention to the files I gave you. Did you also study the other transmission possibilities?”

I let out a sigh. She’s only doing this to make sure I’m paying attention, even though I learned all of this at the academy before joining the internship program. Not wanting to lose my job, I continue rattling off a few lines from my notebook.

“A weaker strain of the virus is air-borne which mainly affects those with less-than-perfect immune systems including infants and the elderly. A good filtration system, medical-issued nose plugs, and bi-weekly checkups can help with that.”

Anette nods once again and turns back to the microscope. “These are all the things we need to keep in mind when experimenting with the infected tissue samples.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

It’s hard not to keep it in mind. Out of everything I learned, mahou plus experiments leads to flesh-hungry mutants—at least in this case. We were created with mahou running through our veins—the gift of psychic abilities or the ability to produce fire, lightning, or energy waves from our fingertips. Yet the gods failed to give scientists the intelligence to not mix mahou with science.

I scribble a few lines of data into my notebook, underlining humans are idiots.

The analyzer beeps, flashing little sparks of light over the small screen. A cutesy melody plays to get our attention. Some of the other researchers think it’s a nice way to brighten the outcome. To me, it’s the tune of defeat.

A list of results riddled with red marks shoots out of the front of the machine.

While sitting in her desk chair, Anette glides over to the glass-topped table. One of the plastic wheels clicks as it spins. She groans through clenched teeth, and looks over her shoulder at me, shaking her head.

Another failed test.

“Do we have any more virus samples?” Before I can speak, Anette pushes away from the analyzer toward the two-foot-tall, sterilized refrigerator. She swings open the door and a cold fog swirls out, dissipating into the warm air as she leans down.

“No, that was the last batch we had. We should have some of the first and second stage samples left over.”

Anette closes the refrigerator door, tapping her fingers on the side. She removes the blue latex gloves from her hands and scratches at the hairnet covering her short dark hair.

“No, Hiromi.” She says my name like I’m the one who burned through all the samples. “I need full-blown Konadai infection samples. We’ll work on the first stage next week.”

“Right, sorry.” I bite my lip to keep from saying anything more, but we should work on the first stage now. If we can slow down the virus’ progression, we might save lives—or at least allow people to live a bit longer than four hours. But what do I know? I’m just an intern, not a doctor who wasted all the samples we had. Pay attention to the calendar, she’ll say if I utter a word against her schedule. I’m the professional here. You’re my intern. I roll my eyes at the thought of it. She kindly reminds me of who I am so much, I can recite her little speech word for word. I’d rather gouge my eyes out with forceps.

“I need you to transfer the papers in the folder I handed you into digital format,” Anette says.

I nod, knowing she’s not looking at me. She has only said please once, maybe twice, in the several months I've worked by her side. Mainly, she treats me as if I'm some insubordinate volunteer. Do this. Do that. It never ends.

One thing I’ve learned from Anette is to stay in my place. According to her, that place is following her around with a notebook and a smile. If she’d listen to me then maybe we could’ve found something useful by now. I’m proficient in the common viruses, such as the flu, unlike the other teens in training who are only now learning the cure for the common cold. I’ve studied since I was a little girl playing with microscopes.

Someone knocks on the door.

Anette, without looking up, motions for me to answer it.

I move away from the desk and walk to the entrance. Another researcher stands in the sterile hallway.