Broussard held a finger up, keeping her at bay until the last of the men left the lab. “CRISPR was designed to rewrite genetics using bacteria. The virus infects the bacterium, then we rewrite the genetic code using Cas9, a specific enzyme used just for CRISPR.”
“So we’re not actually rewriting the primordial virus itself?”
Broussard shook his head. “Far too difficult. Consider that the virus is basically just DNA or RNA plus a physical delivery method which injects it into a living cell. Once the foreign DNA interacts with the organism’s primary DNA, infection occurs.” He exhaled loudly. “We have to use all of the variants that we know of, rewrite the codes that are common to all of them, and then use that genetic information to infect a bacteria which can then be used to infect a person.”
“But that won’t neuter the virus…” she shook her head at him.
“No, but we will be neutering the future effect of the virus by introducing this to the host. Think of it as an inoculation against future infections.”
Carol sat down hard. “This sounds even less hopeful that rewriting the original virus.”
He patted her shoulder. “Trust me. If we can use this method to cure cancers and treat blindness, we can use it to short-out this virus.”
Carol nodded slowly as she came to her feet. “You’re the lead on this. Where do we start?”
Simon stared at the giant yellow monstrosity. “Could you drive that thing?”
Shooter shook his head. “It can’t be too hard. Have you seen the people that operate this stuff?”
Simon groaned. “I never thought I’d ever say this, but you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.” He sighed heavily then climbed onto the wide metal tracks. He stepped around the numerous levers and fell into the black vinyl seat.
“How do you start it?”
Shooter shrugged. “Turn the key?”
Simon searched and came up empty. “Can they be hotwired?”
Shooter snapped his fingers. “I bet they kept the keys inside so folks couldn’t steal them.”
“How the hell do you steal a bulldozer?”
Shooter grinned. “By turning the key.” He held a finger up. “Be right back.”
Simon groaned and leaned back in the seat. He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out the small pint bottle of hooch, unscrewed the cap and tilted it back, draining the remains.
He tossed the bottle aside and watched as Shooter came jogging back. “I found some. Can’t be sure what key goes to what, though.”
He climbed aboard the dozer and handed the keys to Simon. “C-1134? C-1135? What the hell is this?” He held the tags up.
Shooter looked around the bulldozer and found black numbers stenciled in spray paint on the back. “Look for D-887.”
Simon sifted through the keys and held up a red one; he slipped it into the key slot and turned it. A loud buzzer sounded and he jumped. “What the hell is that?” he yelled.
“Turn it all the way over.” Shooter pointed to the red plastic key and Simon reached for it again. He turned it farther to the right and the diesel engine roared to life.
“Nice.” He looked to Shooter. “Now what?”
Shooter shrugged. “We figure out how to work it.” He climbed up into the cab with Simon and looked around. “This says F-N-R, so I’m guessing that’s forward, neutral, and reverse.” His eyes scanned the rest of the buttons, switches and levers. “I have no idea about the rest.”
Simon sighed heavily and shook his head. “I’m not stoned enough for this shit.” He patted his pockets and wished he had more of Sinner’s Lortabs.
“Just play with it, man. Surely it’s a quick learning curve.”
Simon leaned forward and tapped the fuel gage. “Says it’s nearly full.” He sat back. “I could sit here all day pulling levers and pushing buttons. That ain’t gonna help me learn to drive the damned thing.”
Shooter gave him a quizzical look. “Unless you know somebody to call, it’s our best option.”
Simon hung his head. “Why can’t we use a semi truck? Surely that could do the same thing and I think I could drive one. It has a clutch and gears and a gas pedal.”
Shooter shook his head. “You saw how thick that wall was. Semi might crack it, but you need something like this to knock it down.” He pointed to the broad blade across the front. “And that thing right there is your bullet proof shield while you’re doing it.”
Simon nodded slowly. “Fine” He pushed Shooter aside. “We’re burning daylight. Let’s figure this bitch out. If it takes us all day then we go knocking tomorrow.”
Trevor rolled over in the recliner and jerked awake. He glanced around the room; it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the pale light of the LED lantern. He had to gather his bearings to realize where he was.
He lowered the foot rest on the chair and leaned forward, turning towards the couch where Patricia was still sleeping. He came to his feet and stepped over to the desk. He glanced down at his list and picked up the paper. “As soon as it’s dark we can—”
He froze when he heard the sound; it took him a moment to realize it was Patricia climbing off of the couch. He let the breath out he had been holding and turned to face her. “I found us a…what’s wrong?”
Her face was twisted as if in pain and Trevor felt a spike of fear as she nearly doubled over. “Peanut, talk to me! What’s wrong?”
She slapped his hands away and began tugging at the electrical cord around her waist. He reached in and quickly untied the plastic coated copper wire, thinking that it was somehow hurting her.
She quickly jerked her pants down and squatted in the floor. Before Trevor’s mind could register what was happening, her bowels blew black liquid across the small office.
When the stench hit Trevor’s nose he gagged and nearly threw up. “Oh, my go…urk…oh, my god!” He turned and stepped out of the office,
