Smells Like Strawberries

Orla O’Hara dabs at her swollen, red eyes with a tear-soaked handkerchief, choking back her grief.

“Please, let me see her.”

Since joining the Golden Dawn four years ago, Hugh Livengood, Director of the Eternal Peace Funeral Home, has denied dozens of relatives the same request in the name of science and national security.

“It’s like I told you, Orla, Katie died from the plague. So far, Alberti’s Plague has only struck youngsters between the ages of four and ten. No one knows the effect it has on adults. There’s a possibility that if you’re exposed to the plague for just a few seconds, you could die too.”

Orla drops to her knees, wailing.

“Katie…My sweet Katie! She was only six years old. She was an angel!”

Hugh pulls Orla to her feet. She collapses in his arms.

“You still have two boys,” Hugh reminds her.

“They both take after their father. They’re criminals who prey on the poor in their own community.”

Taking in Orla’s sullen expression, Hugh tries not to let the moment get the best of him.

“Your boys are still young. There’s plenty of time for them to turn their lives around. Yes, their father died in a back alley, trying to run away with the costume jewelry he stole. One day, instead of idolizing his act, they’ll realize that a life of crime is a dead end. With Utica under quarantine, we’re all facing hardships. Talk to your sons. Let them know how much you need them. You might be surprised to find out that they need you, too.”

Sniffing, Orla wipes away her tears.

“I’ll have everything set up in time for the wake.”

Orla shuffles toward the door.

“Thank you, Hugh.” She says softly. “Your words have given me strength.”

Hugh sighs, wishing someone could return the favor.

***

Hugh waits until he hears the door close to go into the preparation room.

Christopher Lee, a Child Reclamation Agent for the Golden Dawn, is standing next to Katie O’Hara’s body.

Chris has been a member of the Golden Dawn for less than a month. The dark-haired agent with the cowl of sandy hair and sad brown eyes knows that the Golden Dawn hired him because he’s inconspicuous, even-tempered, and willing to take orders without questioning them. But he’s unsure of the Golden Dawn's power or its influence on the government.

His sole human contact in the organization’s hierarchy is Nicolaus Lovelace, a weaselly-looking man with a nervous tick, who administered his written test in an austere, grey conference room. Instead of a wall facing him, Simon looked into a long mirror, certain his potential employers were studying him on the other side.

“How long has she been dead?” he asks Hugh.

“Less than six hours, per Golden Dawn requirements. My papers will say she died from the Alberti Plague.”

“You mean she didn’t? What was the actual cause?”

“Pneumonia,” Hugh replies. “I’m sure you don’t want people panicking because there’s a second epidemic killing children, so keep that to yourself.”

“Was Mrs. O’Hara told that it has to be a closed casket ceremony?”

“Yes. I’ll make sure there’s enough weight in the casket so that it appears Katie is in it.”

“Good. I was wondering…Why does Katie have to be packed in dry ice? She’s not a rack of lamb.”

“It’s what your researchers want,” Hugh answers. “Since she hasn’t been embalmed, I assume they’re worried about decomposition.”

“Oh. In addition to Katie O’Hara, I have a requisition for the bodies of Liam McKenna and Robbie Fitzroy.”

“There are some complications with the boys…”

Hugh opens Liam’s casket.

Seven-year-old Liam is a picture of boyhood innocence, dressed in a monogrammed blue blazer, crisp white shirt, silk tie, and cuffed grey pants. He lies stiffly at attention, his features pinched together as if he’s holding his breath.

A rope is wrapped around his neck.

“Suicide,” Hugh says. “Six days after his mother had a fatal heart attack, his father hanged himself. Like father, like son.”

“So, you left the rope around his neck?” Chris asks.

“I thought you might not believe me.”

Remembering a passage from the Golden Dawn’s Child Reclamation Manual, Chris says, “We can’t take suicides. Oxygen to the brain and blood vessels gets cut off more quickly than in a natural death, rendering the body useless.”

“The third child, Robbie, was killed in an explosion. His mother lit the gas stove and passed out in the living room from too many cocktails. He was eating a bowl of cereal in the kitchen when his stepfather came in and lit a cigarette. His stepparents survived. He’s nothing but… parts.”

“That’s sad, but I have a requisition for him. One of the Golden Dawn’s most steadfast rules is that you can’t disobey their rules. Put his parts in a cooler if you have to, but what’s left of him comes with me.”

Blood drains from the balding funeral director’s pale, distressed expression. “Sometimes I worry about my soul. I know we’re trying to find a cure for the plague, but don’t you think experimenting with dead children is over the line? And altering records…”

“If I were you, I’d worry more about how the Golden Dawn is going to react to your being one body short.”

***

Hugh cries out Kate O’Hara’s name in his sleep.

Katie glides toward him out of the darkness.

“What do you want?”

“Peace,” Katie replies.

Liam McKenna steps into view.

“…Peace…”

Robbie Fitzroy materializes.

“…Peace…”

Hugh is surrounded by the bodies of the dozens of children he’s stolen from families and sent to the Golden Dawn.

They close in around him.

Screaming as he wakes, Hugh reaches for the revolver he keeps in his nightstand.

***

The following week, while heading to the Eternal Peace Funeral Home, Chris spots a young woman and a boy dragging their belongings behind them in a cart.

He pulls the van over. The pair freezes at the sight of the Golden Dawn logo emblazoned along the side of the van.

“There’s a quarantine, ma’am. Essential personnel only. You shouldn’t be out on the street.”

The boy bravely steps in front of his sheepish mother, his features scrunching together like a tightened fist. “We gotta get to Aunt Sophie in Larchmont. She’s sick.”

“Cancer,” the woman says, tearing up. “She’s only got a few days.”

“No one’s supposed to leave Utica by order of the Golden Dawn and the Health Department. Go home before the police grab you.”

“…I have money…” She awkwardly bats her eyes at Chris, whispering regrettably, “Or anything else you want. Please, she’s the only family I have left besides Billy.”

The boy defiantly steps forward. “And I’m Billy. Mama says the bad people have control of things. Are you one’a them?”

“No. I’m a good guy.”

“Then prove it.”

***

Chris stops the van at the checkpoint leading out of Utica.

Golden Dawn security guard Ash Workman leans his pug-like features in the window.

“You just went in. Quick trip?”

“Yeah. I have a delivery in Larchmont. But I’ll be back.”

“Two trips in one day? That’s unusual.”

“No rest for the wicked,” Chris jokes.

Workman hears a thump.

“Engine knock,” Chris offers.

“That wasn’t no piston misfiring.”

Workman heads to the back of the van.

Pointing a beefy digit at the door, he says, “Open.”

Workman climbs into the back of the van. He glances suspiciously at the cart, which is covered by a blanket.

He flinches at the sight of two coffins.

“I don’t wanna do this, but…”

He opens the larger coffin.

“Poor woman. What got her?”

“A brain hemorrhage. They told me it was quick.”

Workman sniffles, rubbing his nose. “Shame. She’s so young.”

He replaces the lid, moving to the second coffin.

“I wouldn’t open that one. The kid had Alberti’s disease.”

“The plague?”

Workman backs away. Jumping from the van, he says, “Git.”

***

Chris arrives at the Eternal Peace Funeral Home an hour late. He’s surprised to see a Golden Dawn van already parked by the loading bay.

Chris recognizes fellow agent Bundrick “Buddy” Lugosi talking with a tall brunette. She heads inside as Simon parks.

Chris doesn’t know what to expect from Lugosi, who, despite his welcoming nickname, is known to adhere to the Golden Dawn’s rules to the point of annoyance.

Buddy puts his hands on his hips as if to tell Chris he’s in charge, but he’s willing to be cordial.

“You’re late.”

“Flat tire.”

“No surprise, they give the rookies the vans that are on their last legs,” the redheaded agent replies. “Research doubled the number of bodies they want picked up for testing. So, Nicolaus Lovelace assigned me to this route as well.”

“Our researchers must be close to a breakthrough on whatever they’re working on,” Chris replies. “So, who was that you were talking to? I’ve never seen her before.”

“Luciana Petruzzi, the new coroner.”

“What happened to Hugh Livengood?”

“Stress. He won’t be working with us anymore.”

“Where is he?” Chris asks.

“Royal Oak Cemetery.”

“Heart attack?”

“Lead poisoning.”

A red vehicle resembling a fire truck slowly moves up the street toward them. Two men wearing biohazard suits stand on top of the truck, spraying the area.

“What’s that about?” Chris asks.

“Right, you’re new. You don’t have clearance for sensitive information yet. We’re spraying Utica with an airborne antidote to eradicate the Alberti Plague.”

Chris takes a deep breath.

“Mmm. Smells like strawberries.”

“We want the immunization process to be as pleasant as possible.”

***

Chris and Buddy wheel the corpses of two dead children to the supply entrance of the Golden Dawn’s laboratory.

A portly, scarred guard with a nametag marked LOPEZ checks Buddy’s manifest.

Chris and Buddy crane their necks, hoping to see something through the small window in the lab’s thick door.

“Interested in what goes on inside?” Lopez asks.

“Just a tad,” Buddy replies.

“Well, this is your lucky day, Curious George. Our attendant is out sick. You get to wheel the little stiffs into the lab yourselves.”

Golden Dawn’s laboratory is a mass of white desks, computers, and researchers and technicians ricocheting around the room, ignoring the horror and gore surrounding them. Children’s arms and legs sit in pans like rump roasts ready for the oven. A child’s headless body lies on a slab, its fists clenched. Its head is on the next table, a macabre grin plastered across its lips.

Chris nearly crashes his gurney into Buddy when he stops to look at the rows of children's bodies lying in see-through glass coffins. Tubes attached to their arms, legs, and chest drain a clear, white liquid from their corpses into receptacles the size of fish tanks. A skull cap with dozens of wires attached to a computer monitors any readings.

A group of researchers has gathered around a chart and is arguing vociferously with one another. Spotting Chris and Buddy wheeling the two corpses toward them, a tense, blonde-haired researcher, his jaw clenched in frustration, points to an area of the room where they can leave the bodies.

Chris looks around the lab, counting twenty-two children’s corpses in the coffins.

Buddy gives Chris a side glance, noting his expression of disgust.

“This is work that has to be done if we’re going to eradicate Alberti’s Plague.”

The researchers congregate around one of the coffins.

Chris shudders.

“What’s the matter?”

“That girl… I know her. It’s Katie O’Hara.”

The researchers turn a series of dials on the monitor.

“Increasing electrical drainage,” one says.

“Don’t exceed twelve thousand volts,” another says. “We don’t want the Fondrin to evaporate or burn.”

A petite woman wearing round glasses with the name Dr. June Casanova stitched to her lab coat begins a countdown.

At zero, thousands of volts of electricity shoot into Katie’s body. The fluid draining from her glows white hot.

“IT’S BURNING! CUT THE POWER!” Dr. Casanova yells.

Kate’s corpse begins to shake. Her eyes open, and she thrashes about violently, her arms banging against the side of the coffin.

It explodes, hurling shards of glass and a mucus-like solution at the researchers.

Her body glowing iridescently, Katie casts an enraged stare at the researchers.

“Peace! Give me peace!”

Katie screams, her body exploding.

Picking glass and pieces of flesh out of her hair, Dr. Casanova stomps toward Chris and Buddy.

“This experiment is classified, understood!”

“Yes, of course. I pledge my loyalty to the Golden Dawn,” Buddy replies.

“How about you, wide eyes?”

“…. How could you?” Chris snaps. “You’re not developing a cure for the plague! You’re torturing dead children! Why?”

“There’s no such thing as the Alberti Plague,” Dr. Casanova replies. “The young children in Utica have been dying from pneumonia.”

“But that’s curable. You’re letting them die so you can mistreat their corpses. You’re sanctioning murder!”

“In the name of progress. We are developing a nerve gas that can knock a person out without harming them.”

“Why?” Chris asks. “We’re not at war.”

“But we could be by tomorrow, next week, or next year. Our intelligence tells us that the Chinese and the Russians have developed weapons that can render thousands of people unconscious at a time.”

“Don’t you have any sense of decency?” Chris asks.

“When my daughter was dying, her last words were that she wanted her body donated to science.”

“If she were my child, I would hope her last words were ‘I love you.’ Why are you torturing dead children?”

“Children between four and ten who contract pneumonia produce Fordrin. Our computer models indicate that once it’s synthesized into a gas, Fondrin can render anything that breathes oxygen unconscious for up to ten miles.”

“Then create a fake a vaccination program and drain the Fondrin out of living children. You don’t need to let them die before you take it from them!”

“Unfortunately, we do. When a child dies from pneumonia, their lungs fill with fluid, and they literally drown. A small percentage of Fondrin is mixed in with that fluid. We separate the Fondrin from the other fluids by heating it with an electrical charge. It has to be extracted from their bodies within six hours of death. After that, it begins to deteriorate along with the rest of their body. Each child is different, so the amount of electricity required to remove the Fondrin varies. What you saw with the girl is what happens when the charge is too high.”

Chris lets out an uproarious, side-splitting stream of laughter. “You’re awfully dumb for scientists. You brought a girl back from the dead. Surely the Golden Dawn would be more interested in that than some knockout gas.”

Dr. Casanova lets out a bemused laugh of her own. “The Golden Dawn has been able to resurrect the dead for a decade.”

“Thousands of people die every day. You mean to tell me that they don’t have to? When will you step in and keep people from dying?”

Dr. Casanova’s eyes narrow. “When the Golden Dawn is certain that people are ready. Or if we go to war.”

“If there’s no such thing as the Alberti Plague, why were you spraying Utica?”

“That was a test of the gas. It failed.”

Chris nearly spits out his words. “So that’s the truth behind all of this. You’re using the people of Utica as lab rats. The Golden Dawn isn’t a social benefactor or scientific organization; it’s a military one, intent on creating indestructible dead soldiers.”

“Do you vow that you will never utter a word of what you’ve seen?” Dr. Casanova asks.

“Are you kidding me? People have the right to know.”

“You signed a non-disclosure agreement.” Buddy reminds him.

“So, sue me.”

The researchers crowd around Chris.

“We haven’t confined our work to experimenting on children,” Dr. Casanova says.

***

Lopez pushes Chris and Buddy into the hallway.

“You had to know, didn’t you?” he says, slamming the door with the force of an axe cutting through someone’s neck.

“I notice you didn’t say much while we were in there, Buddy. Did you know about this?”

“No. Only that the plague was a cover. I didn’t know what they were doing with those kids’ bodies… I didn’t want to know…”

“We have to let the people in Utica know.”

“What are you going to do, Christopher? Stand on a soapbox in downtown Pretoria and preach like a madman? The Golden Dawn will kill you. We swore an oath to them.”

“What about our oath to humanity?”

***

Chris heads into Utica to meet Buddy at the Eternal Peace Funeral Home. He hasn’t been in Pretoria for ten days.

He passes a corpse hanging by a rope from a telephone pole. Then another. Then another. He stops counting after six.

He spots Buddy’s van on the side of the road. Buddy is sitting on the curb wearing a gas mask, holding his head between his hands.

The heavy scent of strawberries hangs in the air. Chris puts on his gas mask.

As Chris approaches Buddy, he can hear him sobbing to himself.

“What’s happened here, Buddy?”

Buddy points up the street.

Bodies line the sidewalks.

“We sprayed Utica again,” Buddy sobs. “It didn’t work. Instead of knocking people out, it drove them insane. The townspeople hung themselves.”

“How did you manage to survive?”

“I was ordered to stay outside of town, out of range of the gas, so that I could observe their reactions. I’ve dedicated my life to the Golden Dawn, believing that they protect us, but they were controlling us, using us. I watched hundreds of people hang themselves with ropes, belts, wires, or whatever they could find to end their pain. I’m supposed to believe this was done for the good of the people… How can that be when there are no people left?”

Standing, Buddy takes off his mask. He moves past Chris, walking into the haze hanging over Utica.