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
[ 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. ]