𝚍𝚛. 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚍𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ophiocordyceps) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fleetstreet2014-11-24 08:47 pm
ophiocordyceps) wrote in fleetstreet2014-11-24 08:47 pm
there's no running that can hide you now, 'cause i can see in the dark;
[ Nothing much changed, really. In the end, Beacon as it had existed for roughly ten years, didn't last. Radio silence. Then the new head's order. Caroline will eventually cling to the belief that, had she had years inside of Hotel Echo - military base and research facility, the only one of its kind on the entire planet - she could have found the cure. Or at least, a vaccine.
It's not true, of course. Four years or four weeks roughly amount to the same thing.
The facility had been "shut down", as the call had said. There's something about seeing a seasoned military sergeant turning paper white, especially after she had heard him talk about encounters of the closest kind with hungries of insane numbers.
Caldwell had seen a few burn shadows when they had been flown to the base -- the word describes them well. Whatever chemicals is in these bombs, and even her scientific interest doesn't go that far -- burn whatever they touch, and what's left is dead land.
Apparently, that's what "shut down" means.
So they had decided to screw the government and run, but you don't get very far these days. They had humvees, but they had made noise, and weren't made for the kind of trail Jean had sent them on. Nothing humans still had on their side was.
So they had fled on foot.
She's lucky, she only has three hungries on her trail.
She's unlucky, because even three hungries can go on for pretty much all eternity, while she can't. Not even with adrenaline pumping through her veins, she can't. She feels the absurd urge to stand still, look at them, the insane curiosity that must have killed so many of her kind, but her legs keep going, somehow. It feels as if she is removed from her own body, in a way. She's watching the running, she feels the fear, and she feels not a single thing at the same time.
She hopes it stays that way when they get her. She had seen what they had done to Jean Selkirk, who, in falling, had saved her life by being the more eligible meal.
"Saved", in context, might as well be translated as "prolonged by a few minutes that, in the greater scheme of things, weren't of any importance whatsoever".
What she needs is a miracle.
Even if she ever had been a believer of some kind, this seemed like an absurd thing to ask for in the given situation. ]
It's not true, of course. Four years or four weeks roughly amount to the same thing.
The facility had been "shut down", as the call had said. There's something about seeing a seasoned military sergeant turning paper white, especially after she had heard him talk about encounters of the closest kind with hungries of insane numbers.
Caldwell had seen a few burn shadows when they had been flown to the base -- the word describes them well. Whatever chemicals is in these bombs, and even her scientific interest doesn't go that far -- burn whatever they touch, and what's left is dead land.
Apparently, that's what "shut down" means.
So they had decided to screw the government and run, but you don't get very far these days. They had humvees, but they had made noise, and weren't made for the kind of trail Jean had sent them on. Nothing humans still had on their side was.
So they had fled on foot.
She's lucky, she only has three hungries on her trail.
She's unlucky, because even three hungries can go on for pretty much all eternity, while she can't. Not even with adrenaline pumping through her veins, she can't. She feels the absurd urge to stand still, look at them, the insane curiosity that must have killed so many of her kind, but her legs keep going, somehow. It feels as if she is removed from her own body, in a way. She's watching the running, she feels the fear, and she feels not a single thing at the same time.
She hopes it stays that way when they get her. She had seen what they had done to Jean Selkirk, who, in falling, had saved her life by being the more eligible meal.
"Saved", in context, might as well be translated as "prolonged by a few minutes that, in the greater scheme of things, weren't of any importance whatsoever".
What she needs is a miracle.
Even if she ever had been a believer of some kind, this seemed like an absurd thing to ask for in the given situation. ]
no subject
[ Well. Largely improvised med school. She supposes Gretel can read between the lines. ]
Long story short, if I wasn't a skilled surgeon, we still wouldn't know what it is that turns humans into hungries.
[ The hilarious part? She actually thinks the other woman knows who she is, now. When she had discovered the high king of all fungi, she had taken education regarding that wonderful discovery upon herself. Much to the suffering of the Beacon Education System, a high number of military units, and every other doctor in England.
And still, she only came 27th in the Rosie/Charlie project.
Life isn't fair.
... Or well, life is sort of fair, given that none of the 26 scientists ahead of her are still alive.
No, life isn't fair, because Gretel probably still only knows her as "that lady whose ass she just saved and wow why does she smell like a chem lab?" ]
no subject
You figured that out?
no subject
On the other hand, she saved her life, which is against everything the junkers stand for. Too territorial, too focused on keeping what little resources they have to themselves. Can't blame them for that, sharing is a quick way to starvation.
She nods, but it's clear that she's absent now. As if she's taken a mental step to the side and is part here and part elsewhere. ]
I did.
[ She snaps back quickly enough. ]
It's Ophiocordyceps unilaterales. It's a fungus, transmitted - I assume you know this - via blood or other bodily fluids. The pathogen takes over the brain, and what we have aren't people anymore. The white threads you can see breaking through the skin on older specimen is mycelium. Roots, in a sense.
[ Well, not really. And she isn't about to explain the concept of potentially fruiting bodies or spores, mostly because these are theories. ]
no subject
Fungus. So people are basically turning into mushrooms.
[ She starts walking and nods for Caroline to follow her. They shouldn't keep standing around like this. ]
no subject
In the farthest sense, yes. They become hosts to the parasite. The person's own mind is first suppressed and then completely gone while the... mushroom is left in charge. Which is why hungries attack without regard for their own bodies - the fungus doesn't need to sustain the host body, it just exists to infect others.
no subject
[ She used to try to talk to Hansel about things like that but he wouldn't have it. He wasn't the biggest fan of creeping himself out.
Now she wishes that she could stop wondering things like that, because now there might be a hungry out there wearing her brother's face.
She hopes not. She hopes they just fucking ate him. ]
no subject
It is highly unlikely, but not impossible. It depends on what the fungus does, precisely does, once it crosses the blood-brain barrier.
[ She remembers wondering about this when she had gotten the call that her home town was in lockdown -- which is nothing but a military way of saying that her father physically exists, but now focuses on tearing flesh from bones as opposed to quiet research and the discussing physics.
She doesn't wonder whether Gretel lost someone important to the fungus -- everyone under the age of fifteen has. Everyone without age-limit if they haven't grown up in Beacon. ]
Taking my own research into account with what I have witnessed? I don't think consciousness lasts beyond the first few hours. The fungus shows little regard or mercy for the cells it attacks, and the damage a human brain would normally take under such circumstances is severe.
no subject
[ Be a fucking flesh eating mushroom. ]
I guess you haven't figured out how to stop it?
[ She has a feeling even she would have heard about it if a cure showed up, even if her contact with other human being is very, very limited most of the time.
Caroline might notice that their direction is starting to take on a very... steadily upwards type of character the longer they keep walking. ]
no subject
[ Not that she's bitter, not that she's bitter, she thought bitterly. It's as if the world has decided that it doesn't want to be saved, lest of all by Caroline Caldwell. All by itself, that will only lead where it always led: she will triple her efforts and get yet another step closer to the goal - the cure, the vaccine, or at the very least, the answer.
After she picks herself up, that is.
And while their path seems to get steeper and steeper, she feels as if she's falling a little more with every new step. She observes her mood at one remove, as if it wasn't hers at all. It doesn't worry her, as the conclusion she comes to is that pitch black depression would be appropriate, so disappointment is a friendly compromise so far.
She also notes what her own brain would like to hide from her, namely the many, many far too trustful steps she is taking right now. And as much as she would like to protect herself from potentially nasty truths, she is above such measures. ]
Where are we going?
no subject
[ Gretel is still working on remembering how to talk to people who aren't Hansel. People who don't understand her every look or gesture. People who actually need words to get what she wants to say. ]
It's where we... where I keep my stash of supplies. It's a bit of a climb so not many hungries come there.
[ She tries to sound at least a little bit reassuring. Like she knows the first thing about what the fuck they are going to do now. ]
no subject
Caldwell feels a headache crawling in, first behind her eyes and then in a dull, throbbing pain in her temples. Adrenaline has long since left, and her body aches for sleep. And food, though food is secondary, no, tertiary, in these situations. Shelter, water, food.
Or, given Armageddon: shelter, water, something to fend of hungries with, food. Mostly, you aren't even making it to the completion of point one. ]
Good thinking.
[ It's no high and mighty compliment, it's merely a comment. The walk isn't her best friend, and she's conserving energy. Who knows how far they'll have to go. ]
no subject
[ It is good thinking, and it has served her very well for years now. She's still alive after all. ]
There's water there, and some food. I'll keep watch while you sleep.
[ Keep going, is what she's saying here, even if it is not in so many words. You can do it.. ]
no subject
[ Better offer to be useful asap, she cannot count on medical emergencies arising, even less so given the state of her resources. A scalpel and a screwdriver only get you so far.
The fascinating thing about the human body is that it will start sending all the signals - hunger, thirst, fatigue, cold - early on, often hours or even days before they become a true threat. Caldwell knows that, and she has ignored them often enough to gain a certain level of practice. No one can turn them off, but one can very well become accustomed to ignoring them. Especially during the early days of the Breakdown, it was an essential skill. Sleeping before it was absolutely safe, or being too preoccupied with your natural desire for food to ignore the new safety measures, or simply whining at an inopportune time, could get you killed in any number of ways.
So Caldwell learned to shut it and keep going.
... Unless someone brings up Nobel prize winning cellular biologists. ]
no subject
[ But she does appreciate the fact that Caldwell intends to pull her own weight. No that there is any room in the world for freeloaders anymore, they've all been weeded out. ]
no subject
[ No, she trusts her judgment. There is also the part where the best Caldwell can do is shoot - and that, usually, only makes matters worse, given that it draws in even more --
Hungries.
There is one significant fact that she, without any intention whatsoever, came across. ]
They ate her.
[ Which is almost a nice way to put it, but it's also not the point. Ophiocordyceps' primary interest (assuming, for the moment, that a fungus can have an interest in the commonly used sense) is to spread. In other words, a single bite would be enough. Of course, it also needs to sustain itself, and while it always, always feeds on the host, more activity demands more nutrition.
The deal is though, the hungries had far more of Jean than they would have needed. Ophicordyceps doesn't even need a complete body - as long as a good part of the nervous system is intact, the victim will very quickly find itself turned into a host. But what was left of Selkirk was most certainly not very hospitable anymore.
In other words: Ophiocordyceps is not solely relying on its current primary road of transmission.
Conclusion: there has to be another way for it to spread.
She's half thrilled, half terrified, and completely off in her own little Caldwell-world, where everything is fungus and thus hurts a whole lot. ]
no subject
[ Gretel isn't sure what just happened, but quite clearly Caroline decided to skip a few steps in the conversation and decide to assume that Gretel had spontaneously turned into a mind reader.
Had Caroline been Hansel, that migh even have worked. But she isn't, so Gretel is left feeling mostly confusion and annoyance mixed in with just a touch of curiosity. ]