Jack broke Clayton’s quiet reverie by opening the door and sitting beside him.
“Choices, choices, and more choices,” Jack whispered. His voice echoed against the vastness of the sparse surroundings.
“And what choices are you referring to, Jack?” Clayton asked with slight annoyance.
“We need to make our decision concerning the serum and our inability to coax an enzyme into reproducing our blood type and using it as leverage against Maryl.”
Clayton turned to Jack. “I was under the distinct impression you vehemently opposed Desiree’s options some time ago.”
“I most assuredly did!”
“What made you change your mind?”
Jack threw up his hands. “We’re not getting anywhere! The best-case scenario is to alter the serum to make it ineffective, but only marginally so as not to arouse suspicion.”
“Again, that is what Desiree suggested.”
Jack looked at Clayton. “Is there something going on between you and Desiree?”
“What? Of course not! And in the unlikely event there was, our blood types are incompatible for anything beyond… you know… that.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Let’s get back on topic, shall we? How long will it take to modify the serum slightly?”
“I do have some good news in that regard. We’ve successfully modified it.”
Clayton was stunned. “When?”
“A few hours ago. We had to run the test several times before I wanted to tell you,” Jack said with no hint of sarcasm.
“How?”
“I extracted stem cells from one of the few bags of AB positive blood we have left. * I have never tried that before. I don’t know why. Anyway, when I introduced the stem cells of our AB positive blood type into the serum, something happened,” Jack said with excitement. “It didn’t turn the serum into our blood type as I had hoped, but it did alter the DNA structure of the enzyme just enough to neutralize one of the vital components of the antigen, which renders Maryl’s concoction useless. Under a general microscope without much magnification, the change isn’t noticeable. When you put it under a powerful microscope such as an electron microscope, the change is more visible.”
“Observable to the point of detection?” Clayton asked.
“It would depend on the scientist and their area of expertise.”
“We have to take the chance. How long will the process take to do that to all of the samples we have?”
“Several days.”
“Does that mean during the day and not the night?”
“Yes.”
“Start first thing in the morning!”
Jack stood up. “Was planning on it,” he said as he walked up the steps and entered the vast lobby.
Clayton watched him go inside. As soon as Jack had finished his job, he would call Maryl. She was clever. He had to come up with some good reasons to give her back the tainted serum.
He stayed outside a little while longer to view the skyline. He knew the wind had picked up from the tree leaves swaying while their attached limbs bent in protest. He couldn’t feel the wind. No vampire could, with their invulnerable skin. His hair would blow with the direction of the wind, but he did not feel it.
Sometimes, in rare instances, he wanted to feel something physically, be it a partner’s touch, hunkering down in front of the fireplace, or feel the snow in the palm of his hands. But that was not to be.
Clayton walked toward the bevy of trees when he heard Jack rush down the stair, past the lobby, and went outside.
“Clayton! Where are you going?”
“I was going to take a walk. Why?”
“Come inside and come upstairs with me and the others. We have to show you something!”
Clayton and Jack rushed upstairs. The other scientists were looking at a laptop, and their expressions were a mixture of stunned merged with horror.
“What’s going on?” Clayton asked.
“Tiberius! Rewind the video so Clayton can see it!”
Tiberius’s thin nimble fingers went to work as Jack led Clayton to the front of the monitor.
“Watch, but prepare yourself!” Jack hissed.
Tiberius pressed play. The screen was divided into two vertical halves with one side that had a news reporter standing by with a microphone in her hand. On the other side, another newswoman was ready to report the news with a microphone in her hand.
The camera panned to the news anchor in the studio. Even sitting down, the man was tall. His crisp white shirt with a red tie gave him an air of allure and superiority. He looked at the camera and nodded.
“This is Glenn Stuart with CVB news live in Indianapolis. There have been two separate reports of gruesome and hideous attacks. We have Cheryl Otterman, and Sarah Picks at the crime scenes. Describe to me what is going on where you are, Cheryl.”
There was a slight pause until Cheryl heard Glenn through her earpiece. Her long blond hair whipped in the wind, causing her to brush back her hair with her free hand.
“Glenn, I can tell you this. I spoke to detective Jay Washburn with the Indianapolis police a while ago. A huge celebratory gathering took place sometime yesterday afternoon on Lynhurst Drive. The owner of the place, which we have since learned was Octavus Brooder, was celebrating his birthday with a large congregation of friends and family…”
“What the?” Clayton said as he leaned further inward.
“Mister Brooder was a respected businessman who employed several hundred workers at his four vineyards spread across Indiana. His wine shops would attract thousands of people yearly for a sampling of his brands.”
“What happened to him?” Clayton asked impatiently.
“She’s coming to the part that we should be concerned with,” Tiberius said in a deep voice.
“The scene was incredible, Glenn. At last count, over four thousand bodies have been discovered, and they’re still working the crime scene.”
The camera went to Glenn. “Cheryl, do we know the cause of death?”
Cheryl’s side came back. “No, and that’s what’s so unusual about the crime scene, Glenn. All the police are
