CHANGING OF THE GUARD

JULY 2009
LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

        Colors.

        Lights.

        Bodies moving to the pulsing beats of techno and synth. Brian crossed the threshold between hot, visceral nightclub and hot desert air. He stepped into the smoky streets of Vegas, his companion in toe. She giggled drunkenly and slung herself against him.

        "Chloe, off!" he said, his command breaking away into a laugh.

        "No, no, no," she slurred, her normally pale face flushed. She ran her fingers through her long, silky hair. "Carry me back to the hotel."

        "Are you kidding?"

        "Nooooo," she whined. The sound of her heels clicked loudly against the cement. All around them, scantily dressed pedestrians, most of whom were under some sort of influence, flowed up and down The Strip. Brian did his best to weave his way around the ones he passed. Chloe struggled to match his pace. "Slow down!" she said.

        "Why don't you keep up?" he asked.

        "Soooooo rude," she slurred.

        It wasn't long before they'd arrived at the Bellagio fountains. It was still quite crowded around the viewing platform, but Brian managed to find a spot at the marble banister. The pillars of water currently jettisoning into the air were giving off a refreshing mist. It was nearly midnight. Probably one of the last shows of the evening, Brian thought. He leaned over the railing and stared down at his reflection in the water.

        It was like something out of a Picasso painting.

        "You good?" asked Chloe. She approached from behind him and rested her forehead on his shoulder. She moaned. "Man, we can't do this like we used to."

        Brian offered her a small smile, but without turning to face her, it went unseen. The truth was, despite the dancing and the drinking, he was not okay. He had not been able to "let loose," like Chloe had urged him. He was still thinking about his father.

        Chloe must have sensed this--she knew him so well. "He's gonna be okay," she said, now standing directly beside him. She looked out at the dancing waters.

        Brian nodded. "I know."

        "It was just a bit of fatigue from the heat."

        "Sure." Brian kept flashing back to the conference a few days ago. The pallor of his father's skin, the way he'd kept twitching. Even his colleagues had expressed their concerns. The multitude of men and women with whom Dr. Stevens had shaken hands and exchanged pleasantries -- following his presentation on astrobiology -- had yielded many a concerned face or puzzled look as the state of his health deteriorated.

        "I'm fine, really," Dr. Stevens had assured his son, but Brian had not been convinced.

        "You're going home and seeing your doctor," he said. After all, he knew he wouldn't be able to enjoy the rest of the conference with his father being unwell. Fortunately, there had been no argument. On the second day of the West Coast Medical Research Conference, Brian saw his father off and even though he'd received a message signaling a safe arrival and, two days later, a phone call from his father relaying that he was in "perfect health," Brian couldn't stop himself from worrying.

        "Good thing we're staying through the weekend," Chloe said, growing impatient with his moping in their hotel room. "We're going to the clubs."

        And now, here they were -- drunk and reeling, standing in front of the famous Bellagio fountains, and really, in no better spot mentally than before their many rounds of vodka shots and dance-floor escapades.

        "We can call him first-thing in the morning," Chloe said, leaning on him again.

        "I will." Brian nodded. 

        "We still got one more day. What do you wanna do tomorrow?"

        Brian shrugged. "Depends how we feel."

        "That's true." Chloe squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed her head. After a moment, her eyes shot open again and she turned to him, expression bright. "Did you get that guy's number?"

        "What?"

        "That hottie who kept ogling you from the bar."

        Brian chuckled. "Ogling?"

        "Yes!"

        Brian shook his head. "No, I did not."

        "I saw him come up and talk to you."

        "Yeah, he did."

        "And...?"

        Brian sighed. "I...wasn't into him."

        Chloe tossed her head back and moaned. "Brian Stevens! He was gorgeous."

        Brian shrugged. "Looks aren't everything."

        Chloe tsked. "No man's ever going to be good enough." She placed her forearms on the banister and arched an eyebrow as she looked over at him.

        Brian felt a strike of heat flash across his face -- he couldn't tell if this was a result of his drunkenness, or some sort of emotional trigger. As he tried to sort this out, he started to say, "You know that's not true," but only managed to get a few words out before he was interrupted.

        A clamor of shouts erupted to their left. A few cuss words and surprised, angry protests. Brian and Chloe turned to see a few people engaged in what looked like a scuffle. A man in a suit fell back hard against the cement, another man climbing on top of him. 

        "That doesn't look good," said Chloe. "Probably drunk."

        Brian watched the men a moment longer. The man on the ground began to writhe and yelp as his attacker stuck his hands beneath his jacket. Then--laughter. The man on the ground was laughing and cussing and yelling. From this angle, it looked almost like...

        "What is he doing?" Chloe asked.

        "I don't know," answered Brian, though he had a pretty good idea. He had a...sense for what he was witnessing.

        Tickling. 

        Brian was almost 100% certain that he was witnessing a man tickling another man, in public. Now, Chloe was right -- it was most likely two drunk friends being stupid, but bearing witness to such a thing was not only bizarre, but so....so....

        Brian felt something react down below.

        "Get off of him!" a woman shouted, approaching the scuffle. Another man tried to get the attacker off of his victim, but this only caused said attacker to shout out wildly. He wretched the bystander from him and seemed to be overcome with some sort of fit. He started to shake and shout out.

        "C'mon," said Chloe, and Brian felt her hands close around his arm. "Let's...go."

        "S-sure," said Brian, eyes still locked on the spectacle. The sound of Chloe's concern, however, was strong enough to pull him away, and they began to make their way back to the hotel.

        "That was...weird," said Chloe once they were well out of the area.

        "Yeah, it was." Brian kept reliving the scene over and over in his head. 

        The city was still pulsing with life around them. He looked up into the sky, heavily diluted with lights, and his thoughts began to drift back to his father. Chloe began to talk about her grandmother coming to visit from Japan -- something for which she was excited -- and Brian did his best to sound interested and supportive, but his swimming head made it difficult to concentrate. Another five minutes passed before he found himself arriving at the station for the Deuce bus line. He and Chloe were still about twenty minutes from Mandalay Bay.

        "Ugh, I just can't wait to take a hot shower," said Chloe as soon as she spotted the next bus pulling up from the nearest intersection. Its backdrop was a wide avenue of headlights and taillights, billboards on either side, lush palm trees running down the middle. 

        "You're telling me," said Brian. As he watched the gray double-decker bus approaching at a speed than seemed a bit faster than normal, he frowned.

        "That's our line, right?" asked Chloe. The tone in her voice indicated that she noticed it too.

        "I think so."

        A few mumbles were stirred up among the other patrons waiting around them at the stop. The bus was not slowing down. And it looked like it was swerving a bit.

        "Is the driver drunk?" a woman asked from beside them.

        "Whoa! Get back!' shouted someone else. The bus was approaching the curb, its speed consistent.

        "Shit," said Brian and he pulled Chloe 

​

​​​

PRESENT
november 2009
ANAHEIM, CALIFORNIA

          Brian walked hastily down the hall, through the double doors at the end of the corridor, and out into the early morning. The sky was still dark, but it was tinged with the first signs of dawn. The winter air bit through his thin lab coat, the fabric of his dark slacks, and he shivered. He passed several chain-link cages with writhing human forms concealed within. As he stepped by each cage, he heard them -- the twisting groans and moans of the Infected.

        Grrrrraaaaaaaoorrrrrrr...

        Huurrrrraaaaaaggghh...

        Arrraacckkk!

        A particularly aggressive young woman slammed herself into the nearest wall of mesh beside him, but Brian gave her no satisfaction, no reaction. His brown dress shoes crunched against the worn asphalt beneath him as he pressed onward. A G.U.A.R.D. soldier saluted him as he approached the steps of the next building. He slipped his hands into his pockets as he ascended to the next set of doors, leaving the commotion of the afflicted behind him.

        "Dr. Stevens."

        "Hello, sir. Good morning."

        "We've got a few more rounded up. I'm sure you saw."

        "Did you hear about the latest batch of Sound Spheres from R&D? Expanded range."

        Brian left one storm of sounds for another -- various colleagues said things to him as he encountered them. He provided them with a few affirmations or nods as appropriate, but he did not stop. 

        Step.

        Step.

        Step.

        Step.

        He kept walking. He made it to the elevator where he called for the sublevel below him -- B1. It took only a moment for him to arrive at his destination. He stepped into a large room, adorned with drafting tables, laboratory equipment, and an assortment of glass containers. His eyes flashed to the far wall, where a withered map of the West Coast had been hung, crudely adorned with red thumbtacks and yarn: