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Season 10, Break Week, Entry #4
Dec. 30th, 2016 10:29 amTopic: Sang-froid
Sangfroid. 1. “Composure or coolness shown in danger or under trying circumstances.” 2. “Mid-18th century: from French sang-froid, literally cold blood.” Oxford Living Dictionary (online)
The view from the boardroom was special, high above the city with the Golden Gate Bridge anchoring a spectacular nighttime light display. The map on the wall behind the chairman, however, was simply ugly, with its red pushpins crowding each other and sprawling across more and more of the United States.
The chairman was definitely old-fashioned. He loved the pushpins, the feel of them rolling in his fingers as he added more and more to the map – east, south, north, and inevitably west. He deliberately pricked his thumb, just to watch the blood ooze out and his skin heal. The sight of blood, even his own, still excited him.
The humans were losing the battle with the zombies. The military was slowing them down, but it was obvious that no matter how many zombies were destroyed, more and more would keep coming. Outbreaks had now been reported all over the globe.
Nosferatu felt safe in his glass-and-steel aerie, far from the nearest zombie. But vampires were safe, no matter where they were. No zombie had yet attacked a vampire. But the Company’s other interests were clearly vulnerable, and the collapsing social order was devastating.
“It’s long past time to do something about this,” thought Nosferatu angrily. Susan James at DrugCo had promised a cure for too long, but she had failed to deliver, so Nosferatu had her fed to the zombies.
“The price of failure’s gone up,” he told Dr. Rivers, her replacement. “There’s no golden parachute. Beat them or join them. You have six months.”
“Fear is a great motivator,” Nosferatu thought. Dr. Rivers would be delivering a progress report today. With only one month until the deadline, Nosferatu needed good news, but Dr. Rivers needed it more. The world did not require additional zombies, but it definitely lacked medical biochemists like Dr. Rivers.
Dr. Rivers would be arriving soon. Nosferatu had sent one of the Company’s private jets for her. Commercial airlines had been closed by Vector Control, and the roads were flooded with refugees.
Canada had had to close its US border, and the cartels -- with their usual brutal efficiency -- had simply used land mines and barbed wire to shut off any southern escape routes. Everyone was headed west, and the National Guard wouldn’t be able to secure the state’s border for long.
For some reason, Dr. Rivers had asked for a representative from the Werewolves’ Consortium to attend. Werewolves weren’t in as much danger as vampires, who had to have fresh blood. Werewolves could exist on artificial products, such as Spam, which was invented during World War II to feed the werewolf soldiers in order to maintain unit cohesion.
With a full moon tomorrow, travel for Peter Stumpp, head of the Consortium, was impossible, so a video link had been established. Nosferatu had required Dr. Rivers to attend in person. He hated video. If the news was bad, he wanted to see Dr. Rivers sweat in person. Human fear was so palpable, Nosferatu could almost taste it. He ran his tongue along his teeth in anticipation. I wouldn't mind a snack.
Nosferatu buzzed for his assistant, who ushered in a meal -- a lovely young woman with long hair and an elegant neck. The PR Department had been right. Recruiting victims had been much easier since the Company commissioned those damned "sexy vampire" books and movies. The victim bared her neck, expecting ecstasy but finding only death.
“We’re not that different from the zombies, but we manage the herd better,” thought Nosferatu. “That’s really it, isn’t it? Resource competition. The zombies are destroying our herd and we can’t feed on zombies!”
In his darker moments, Nosferatu thought of vampires as being little more than fleas, sucking the blood out of their dogs. Zombies were more like Ebola, destroying everything, mindless and soulless – the true undead.
The assistant interrupted Nosferatu’s thoughts. “Time for the meeting, sir.”
Nosferatu escorted Dr. Rivers into the boardroom and switched on the giant video monitor.
“Peter,” said Nosferatu, “It’s good to see you – you’re looking prosperous.”
“Thank you, chairman,” replied Peter Stumpp, head of the Consortium, from Paris. “We’re on vacation for a little hunting trip. From the look of things, we may not return.”
“Well, that’s up to Dr. Rivers,” said Nosferatu, turning to the head of DrugCo’s Anti-Zombie Research Section.
Dr. Rivers' blonde hair fell down to her shoulders. She was wearing a navy blue business suit and her blouse had a high collar.
She doesn’t realize how . . . enticing . . . that is. Strippers know it’s not the end of the show that’s best, with everything on display, but the beginning, when it’s all up to the imagination!
Noseferatu had quite an imagination. He had long thought of turning Ann Rivers, with her confident intelligence. Not now – time for business.
“We have made some real progress,” began Dr. Rivers, “and we believe we may be able to immunize the human race. But you may not like it.”
“The military can eliminate the existing zombies over time, if you can just stop the overwhelming flood of new zombies,” interrupted Peter Stumpp, “It’s not ideal, but what’s the problem?”
“It relates to the source of the vaccine,” began Dr. Rivers. “As you know, zombies have not attacked vampires or werewolves. We have finally discovered the reason. We owe a lot to Dr. McKenzie, the sociologist who lived among the zombies for three weeks to study them. She’s one of yours, Mr. Stumpp, isn’t she?”
“A werewolf? Yes, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything.” Stumpp was visibly confused.
“Everything,” added Dr. Rivers. “It wasn’t her disguise that fooled the zombies, it was her werewolf blood. There is something very special about blood from werewolves and vampires. Humans are warm-blooded, while both of you are cold-blooded-- about 20 degrees colder. Zombies eat only warm-blooded prey. Cold-blooded animals simply don’t register with zombies, and they will not attack them!”
“And without the attacks, they can’t turn more humans into zombies,” said Nosferatu. “Clever approach, but people can’t run around refrigerating their blood.”
“Of course not,” said Dr. Rivers, her voice tightening ever so slightly. Tiny drops of perspiration appeared near her hairline. Nosferatu was utterly entranced.
“We have isolated an enzyme which, when introduced into humans, will lower their blood temperature,” explained Dr. Rivers, before pausing. “The only source for the enzyme, unfortunately, is the blood of vampires and werewolves.” There was a long silence. Nosferatu felt his stomach tighten, but showed nothing. “Can’t you just manufacture it?”
“To some extent,” answered Dr. Rivers, “but we have to begin with organic enzymes from vampires and werewolves. The duplicating process must be refreshed from time to time when the organic enzymes lose their potency.”
“But what does this mean for us?” Peter Stumpp was visibly troubled.
“All werewolves and vampires will need to donate their blood nearly continuously until the zombies are eliminated,” explained Dr. Rivers.
“What you’re asking is . . . difficult,” said Nosferatu. “How will you manage it?”
“The Company already owns most of the blood banks with their mobile collection stations. We’ll start with that. If we can’t manufacture the enzyme . . . .” Dr. Rivers’ voice trailed off.
Noseferatu and Stumpp looked at each other. It was the only solution. It was time for the fleas to save the dogs.
* * * * *
One year later, most of the pushpins were off the map, with only a cluster in West Virginia, where it all started. Society was rebuilding, which offered new opportunities for the Company and the Consortium.
A grateful humanity was finally ready to acknowledge the presence of the vampires and werewolves among it. A steady supply of willing humans was available for the vampires, while Spam production was up for the werewolves. Dr. Rivers no longer wore high-collared blouses, while her staff noticed occasional band-aids on her neck.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Important
My domputer has died. Unfortunately, until I can replace it, I will not have internet access, and so, regretably, I will not be able to thank you for reading my entry. I appreciate your taking the time to read this, and I appreciate any comments.
##########
Links to the other three Break Week entries:
1. “Gone, But Not Fergettin’”
http://rayaso.livejournal.com/21271.html
2. “Zombies Galore!”
http://rayaso.livejournal.com/21515.html
3. “Zombie Studies”
http://rayaso.livejournal.com/22000.html
Sangfroid. 1. “Composure or coolness shown in danger or under trying circumstances.” 2. “Mid-18th century: from French sang-froid, literally cold blood.” Oxford Living Dictionary (online)
SAVING THE HERD
The view from the boardroom was special, high above the city with the Golden Gate Bridge anchoring a spectacular nighttime light display. The map on the wall behind the chairman, however, was simply ugly, with its red pushpins crowding each other and sprawling across more and more of the United States.
The chairman was definitely old-fashioned. He loved the pushpins, the feel of them rolling in his fingers as he added more and more to the map – east, south, north, and inevitably west. He deliberately pricked his thumb, just to watch the blood ooze out and his skin heal. The sight of blood, even his own, still excited him.
The humans were losing the battle with the zombies. The military was slowing them down, but it was obvious that no matter how many zombies were destroyed, more and more would keep coming. Outbreaks had now been reported all over the globe.
Nosferatu felt safe in his glass-and-steel aerie, far from the nearest zombie. But vampires were safe, no matter where they were. No zombie had yet attacked a vampire. But the Company’s other interests were clearly vulnerable, and the collapsing social order was devastating.
“It’s long past time to do something about this,” thought Nosferatu angrily. Susan James at DrugCo had promised a cure for too long, but she had failed to deliver, so Nosferatu had her fed to the zombies.
“The price of failure’s gone up,” he told Dr. Rivers, her replacement. “There’s no golden parachute. Beat them or join them. You have six months.”
“Fear is a great motivator,” Nosferatu thought. Dr. Rivers would be delivering a progress report today. With only one month until the deadline, Nosferatu needed good news, but Dr. Rivers needed it more. The world did not require additional zombies, but it definitely lacked medical biochemists like Dr. Rivers.
Dr. Rivers would be arriving soon. Nosferatu had sent one of the Company’s private jets for her. Commercial airlines had been closed by Vector Control, and the roads were flooded with refugees.
Canada had had to close its US border, and the cartels -- with their usual brutal efficiency -- had simply used land mines and barbed wire to shut off any southern escape routes. Everyone was headed west, and the National Guard wouldn’t be able to secure the state’s border for long.
For some reason, Dr. Rivers had asked for a representative from the Werewolves’ Consortium to attend. Werewolves weren’t in as much danger as vampires, who had to have fresh blood. Werewolves could exist on artificial products, such as Spam, which was invented during World War II to feed the werewolf soldiers in order to maintain unit cohesion.
With a full moon tomorrow, travel for Peter Stumpp, head of the Consortium, was impossible, so a video link had been established. Nosferatu had required Dr. Rivers to attend in person. He hated video. If the news was bad, he wanted to see Dr. Rivers sweat in person. Human fear was so palpable, Nosferatu could almost taste it. He ran his tongue along his teeth in anticipation. I wouldn't mind a snack.
Nosferatu buzzed for his assistant, who ushered in a meal -- a lovely young woman with long hair and an elegant neck. The PR Department had been right. Recruiting victims had been much easier since the Company commissioned those damned "sexy vampire" books and movies. The victim bared her neck, expecting ecstasy but finding only death.
“We’re not that different from the zombies, but we manage the herd better,” thought Nosferatu. “That’s really it, isn’t it? Resource competition. The zombies are destroying our herd and we can’t feed on zombies!”
In his darker moments, Nosferatu thought of vampires as being little more than fleas, sucking the blood out of their dogs. Zombies were more like Ebola, destroying everything, mindless and soulless – the true undead.
The assistant interrupted Nosferatu’s thoughts. “Time for the meeting, sir.”
Nosferatu escorted Dr. Rivers into the boardroom and switched on the giant video monitor.
“Peter,” said Nosferatu, “It’s good to see you – you’re looking prosperous.”
“Thank you, chairman,” replied Peter Stumpp, head of the Consortium, from Paris. “We’re on vacation for a little hunting trip. From the look of things, we may not return.”
“Well, that’s up to Dr. Rivers,” said Nosferatu, turning to the head of DrugCo’s Anti-Zombie Research Section.
Dr. Rivers' blonde hair fell down to her shoulders. She was wearing a navy blue business suit and her blouse had a high collar.
She doesn’t realize how . . . enticing . . . that is. Strippers know it’s not the end of the show that’s best, with everything on display, but the beginning, when it’s all up to the imagination!
Noseferatu had quite an imagination. He had long thought of turning Ann Rivers, with her confident intelligence. Not now – time for business.
“We have made some real progress,” began Dr. Rivers, “and we believe we may be able to immunize the human race. But you may not like it.”
“The military can eliminate the existing zombies over time, if you can just stop the overwhelming flood of new zombies,” interrupted Peter Stumpp, “It’s not ideal, but what’s the problem?”
“It relates to the source of the vaccine,” began Dr. Rivers. “As you know, zombies have not attacked vampires or werewolves. We have finally discovered the reason. We owe a lot to Dr. McKenzie, the sociologist who lived among the zombies for three weeks to study them. She’s one of yours, Mr. Stumpp, isn’t she?”
“A werewolf? Yes, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything.” Stumpp was visibly confused.
“Everything,” added Dr. Rivers. “It wasn’t her disguise that fooled the zombies, it was her werewolf blood. There is something very special about blood from werewolves and vampires. Humans are warm-blooded, while both of you are cold-blooded-- about 20 degrees colder. Zombies eat only warm-blooded prey. Cold-blooded animals simply don’t register with zombies, and they will not attack them!”
“And without the attacks, they can’t turn more humans into zombies,” said Nosferatu. “Clever approach, but people can’t run around refrigerating their blood.”
“Of course not,” said Dr. Rivers, her voice tightening ever so slightly. Tiny drops of perspiration appeared near her hairline. Nosferatu was utterly entranced.
“We have isolated an enzyme which, when introduced into humans, will lower their blood temperature,” explained Dr. Rivers, before pausing. “The only source for the enzyme, unfortunately, is the blood of vampires and werewolves.” There was a long silence. Nosferatu felt his stomach tighten, but showed nothing. “Can’t you just manufacture it?”
“To some extent,” answered Dr. Rivers, “but we have to begin with organic enzymes from vampires and werewolves. The duplicating process must be refreshed from time to time when the organic enzymes lose their potency.”
“But what does this mean for us?” Peter Stumpp was visibly troubled.
“All werewolves and vampires will need to donate their blood nearly continuously until the zombies are eliminated,” explained Dr. Rivers.
“What you’re asking is . . . difficult,” said Nosferatu. “How will you manage it?”
“The Company already owns most of the blood banks with their mobile collection stations. We’ll start with that. If we can’t manufacture the enzyme . . . .” Dr. Rivers’ voice trailed off.
Noseferatu and Stumpp looked at each other. It was the only solution. It was time for the fleas to save the dogs.
* * * * *
One year later, most of the pushpins were off the map, with only a cluster in West Virginia, where it all started. Society was rebuilding, which offered new opportunities for the Company and the Consortium.
A grateful humanity was finally ready to acknowledge the presence of the vampires and werewolves among it. A steady supply of willing humans was available for the vampires, while Spam production was up for the werewolves. Dr. Rivers no longer wore high-collared blouses, while her staff noticed occasional band-aids on her neck.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Important
My domputer has died. Unfortunately, until I can replace it, I will not have internet access, and so, regretably, I will not be able to thank you for reading my entry. I appreciate your taking the time to read this, and I appreciate any comments.
##########
Links to the other three Break Week entries:
1. “Gone, But Not Fergettin’”
http://rayaso.livejournal.com/21271.html
2. “Zombies Galore!”
http://rayaso.livejournal.com/21515.html
3. “Zombie Studies”
http://rayaso.livejournal.com/22000.html
