Cover image made with photos bought from Depositphotos. The authors of the photos are dewald@dewaldkirsten, HighwayStarz, and kuban_girl.
Contagion Phase 1: Biosphere
In order to please her father, sixteen-year-old Kenya Winters agrees to go to a summer internship at the biosphere. She thought her being claustrophobic made the situation enough of an ordeal, but the reality is far worse. For outside the biosphere horrible things are happening — an experiment has gone terribly wrong and the consequences from it may just destroy them all.
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The biosphere experiment is all over the world. The biospheres were placed in a variety of climates in order to discover the ideal conditions for them. The hope is that people will opt to live in these self-contained prisons, er … facilities. My dad works at one; his specialty is plants. We are stationed at a biosphere in Manhattan, Kansas. Most of the scientists and their families, including us, came here from larger cities, so it was quite the transition when we first arrived.
My father really wants me to follow in his footsteps. I’m not so interested. I’m more interested in art. Still, when he announced that he wanted me to sign up for the summer internship program, I reluctantly agreed. Truth is, I wanted to make him happy, and I would have felt guilty if I turned him down. It is only for the summer, after all, and I have no other plans. And perhaps if I give this a try, my father will finally accept my pursuit of art. Maybe he’ll even be willing to finance an art degree!
Meanwhile, I am dismayed when I find out that my father won’t be at the biosphere over the summer. He will be working in the field. Apparently, the researchers don’t think they’ll get as much done at the biosphere with us summer students there. We are seemingly considered less serious than those on-site the rest of the year. I don’t know; maybe they’re right. If the others in the summer program are anything like me … I certainly have other interests.
The rotation begins on a Monday morning promptly at 8 a.m. We meet at the park the biosphere donated to the city. I kiss my parents goodbye, hug my sister, and wave to my brother. I try to tell myself it is no big deal really; a lot of people are going. Only not everyone is as afraid as I am. I find I am terrified of that place. When I recently saw the uploaded footage of the facility, rather than awe I felt revulsion — the coldness and sterility of it. I find the place creepy and dark. I find the narrow halls ominous and the labs with their many empty cages disturbing. Even the man in charge strikes me the wrong way. I can’t quite put my finger on the reason that I feel this way … But then again, there was this look in his eyes as he was talking in the video that struck me as odd.
Plus, there is the isolation to consider. It turns out to be as bad as it could get. I know no one who’s going. If only I had taken more of an interest in my father’s work before! If only I had bothered to visit the facility before I agreed to go!
I tried breaching the subject of my dread with my parents. They consoled me. They know Dr. Hostler well. There is no reason for my dread, they assured me. Plus, I’d always been afraid of enclosed spaces. It is probably just that. If I face it down …
“Why does it have to be there?” I had sounded whiny, even to me.
“It’s an invaluable opportunity.” they had easefully responded.
After a few more heartfelt objections, I concluded it was of no use; I was going.
For some reason, they don’t allow you to bring many personal items into the biosphere. Apparently, it’s run a lot like a hospital; they have plenty of supplies for people of all shapes and sizes. I guess I should be glad I can bring anything of my own. I chose to bring mostly clothes, my pillow, and a couple of books. Still, the decision as to what to bring was stressful. I am scheduled to be stationed there for the entire summer, after all. There is also no guarantee, given the desire for an airtight seal at the biosphere, that I will be able to return for a visit. The fact is visits are frowned upon. Having to penetrate the seal at all is considered an almost unacceptable complication to the research.
Yet, I have to admit the interns who returned a month ago didn’t seem all that worse for wear. Then again, maybe they were just happy to be back. I wish I were one of them! I wish someone would volunteer to take my place. As I stand anxiously on the platform waiting for the transport, I spy out of the corner of my eye Dr. Hostler approaching the crowd on foot. I check my watch. I find it strange he’s running late. He seemed to be so exacting in his videos. For him to now be arriving at the last minute, out of breath, and his face flushed seems downright odd. Unfortunately, my staring at him draws his attention onto me. He actually glares at me! I turn away quickly — not wanting to make an enemy of the man in charge of my prison. Still, I can’t resist letting my eyes wander just enough to be able to catch a glimpse of him in my peripheral vision. I see him run up to another man. I look away again. I can hear some wild murmuring coming from that direction. When I finally dare to look back, both men are heading for the disembarking platform. Dr. Hostler seems to be hesitant to do so, however.
“Shoot.” I think to myself. I was really hoping that something had come up that would prevent us from going.
The disembarkment ceremony goes off the same way it has countless times before. There are waves, blown kisses, and the occasional sentimental tear. The same marching band plays the same anthem.
I carry my large duffel bag onto the transport. It is a pleasant vehicle. I bemoan the soft light that is streaming into the space. It seems almost cruel to me. Seeing such a beautiful light filter in will just highlight the contrast when it’s replaced with the artificial alternative. Still, I attempt to soak in the last rays of light.
It is a large complex — massive stone and steel walls — airtight. It reaches up tall into the sky and slinks across the seemingly endless landscape. Beyond the bolt-laden gate are vast plains. The goal is for an artificial atmosphere to contain us all. Now, I … we are trapped. And I wish I could be almost anywhere but here.
Then, the moment is upon me. And it is just as shocking as I had expected it to be. I try shutting my eyes as the transport bores through the opening to the facility — but to go from light to nothing is not something you can completely prepare for. It isn’t like turning off a light switch. There is a coolness, a silence, and an emptiness attached to it as well.
Large mechanical doors close behind us, and there it is — the blanket of nothingness. A cold chill goes up my spine, and I shake. In the months to come, I will not know anything but LED light. That thought sickens me. I try to resign myself to it, but I can’t help but feel frustration building up inside of me. If I were home, I’d probably bury my face in my pillow and scream. Who knows what people would think if I did that here? I sigh and lean back. As I wring my hands, I realize I have to get a grip over my emotions. I have to suppress the panic I feel due to my claustrophobia. Otherwise, I’m not going to make it all summer.
“What have I gotten myself into?” I wonder.
Well, it’s too late to back out now without making my father look bad.
I close my eyes, willing myself to steady my breathing. I am at home in bed, I imagine. I am warm, and the covers are tightly … no, loosely around me. I am safe, I keep repeating in my mind. Finally, I feel my jaw begin to unclench and my shoulders slacken. Finally, I can breathe again. I merely have to keep this up until we are let off the transport. Then, I’ll have to come up with some other way to cope.
You would think we are running a week late by the way they herd us off the transport after it is docked. I know that creepy Dr. Hostler, who stared blankly into space as the lights went out (which was quite the image to carry with you in your mind when you can no longer see I must say), arrived late to the disembarkment. But he wasn’t that late — not to account for this rush now. And yet, I suppose the whole ordeal of being rushed off the transport could be meant to send the message that we are on their schedule now. We are cogs in their wheel. Daydreams or even the occasional slowly released breath won’t be tolerated.
Nothing else springs to mind as to the explanation of what all the rush could be about to be honest. From what I have heard about accomplishments at the biosphere, progress is slow and not always steady. In recent years, I hadn’t heard of any major breakthroughs occurring from this place. Has that changed? I kind of hope that nothing dramatic is happening. I have enough on my plate just trying to stay sane. I don’t need unrealistic expectations of how I could help placed on my shoulders.
“You’ll be given your room assignments then given some time to settle in before dinner.” a woman, who seems to have some authority, tells us.
I wait until she passes by before I roll my eyes. And that’s when I notice that Dr. Hostler is lurking nearby. Did he see me? Honestly, what does it matter? If this regimentation lasts all day, every day for the entire summer, I will probably not make it through the program anyway.
The rooms are as I expected them to be — small and sterile. It seems that my identity as an individual is going to be under attack here. I quickly replace the facility-provided pillow with the pillow I brought from home, and I am instantly glad that I made the sacrifice of wrinkling my clothing in order to stuff my pillow in my suitcase. Their pillow is so stiff that I wouldn’t be surprised if it had been starched. I sigh in relief. A pillow that resembles a rock is the last thing I need. It is bad enough that my room doesn’t have a door. Oddly, the rooms are arranged in suite pods. Each suite has four rooms all facing a central gathering room. Only none of the rooms have a door. So, while I have more privacy than I would if I actually had to share a room, having three suitemates isn’t all that much better — not when there isn’t a door. I am half-tempted to try to affix a blanket or sheet over the threshold, but I’m afraid what message that would send to the others. Maybe I can convince the other three to do it, too. I decide to wait and see how it goes. I’m certainly going to hold on to it as an option just in case my relationships with any of my suitemates turn sour. Then again, a sheet as a boundary will only work if the other people choose to respect it. Chances are that if I need a barrier at all it would be against a person who doesn’t respect boundaries to begin with.
I was fortunate at home. My father had divided up the rooms and added lofts to give us all some semblance of privacy. He has always been, as long as I’ve been alive at least, a very private man. I wonder how he stands staying here when he does. I sigh. That is the one problem with private people, I guess: when you have to ask them something about themselves you can’t.
“Hello!” a cheery voice cries out from behind me.
I cringe instinctively.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” she chirps.
I turn around to see a girl with chestnut brown curls falling to her shoulders. She is wearing a pink sweater and jeans. She is already standing inside the threshold of my room. My first impression isn’t good. I can envision her walking in whenever she pleases and the inevitable conflict that will ensue when I have to tell her I need some space. I hope I am proven wrong; it will certainly be a long summer if I’m not. I don’t need or want that kind of drama. So, I choose to give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she’s just being friendly. Perhaps, she’s even lonely. I decide to be friendly, too, even though at this moment I’m not feeling it.
“Hello.” I return, though my voice sounds guarded even to me.
“Do you think they’ll feed us soon?” she questions nervously. Her eyes dart to the side.
It is a strange question to ask. Yet, it hits home for me that we really are in a prison. I quickly shake that thought off. No, lots of places have set times of day where food is prepared. It simply isn’t practical to feed people whenever they want to eat. Perhaps, it was this girl’s tone that made my mind go to the worst possible scenario. No, it is more likely this place. I hate this place. I have lived in dread of it ever since I saw that video footage of it. I would like to be wrong about it — to have made a much bigger deal of it than is actually warranted. I decide I will make every effort to make my stay here as livable as possible. After all, every day that I complete will be one less day I have to be here, and the closer I will be to returning home.
I decide the first thing to do is try to establish a positive relationship with this girl since we’ll be living in the same suite; it only makes sense.
“My name is Kenya.” I offer her my hand. “Kenya Winters.”
I was named after the country where my mother was born.
The girl takes my hand.
“Cecily Brooks.” she returns with a curt smile — the emotion behind which I can’t quite read.
She then abruptly turns from me and leaves the room. I find this about-face perplexing.
I decide to go looking around the complex and get an idea of where everything is. Only I don’t like the idea of leaving my stuff behind. It seems insecure just lying there. Then again, my belongings are the only visible claim I have to this room. True, the other rooms probably look identical, but I can’t help but feel somewhat territorial over this space — even if that is irrational. I could put my things in the dresser and the closet and leave my bag on the bed to show I am there.
I consider.
“It would be embarrassing to lug my bag around the halls when nobody else has theirs.” I mutter to myself.
I sigh then set to work. I take care to fold everything neatly; my mother would be so proud. I didn’t tend to put this sort of effort in at home, I’m ashamed to say. But now being separated from her, it gives me a sense of consolation. It reminds me of her. This is as homey as this sterile environment is going to look, I eventually conclude. I leave the duffle bag in plain sight of the doorway, so there is no question that this room is occupied … for anyone who bothers to check.
Having succeeded in this endeavor, I retrieve my money purse. Maybe there is a gift shop here somewhere, and I can get something for my family. Or, perhaps, I’ll buy myself a special treat to cheer myself up.
As I head out, I almost walk straight into Cecily. She’s standing next to two other girls, who don’t appear to be thrilled to be here either.
“We thought we’d all go to the cafeteria together.” Cecily announces, speaking for the group.
It may be silly, but it feels as though the two others aren’t with Cecily of their own free will. But who is? Still, Cecily seems to like to bend people to her will.
“I was just going out.” I smile, not wanting to give Cecily the satisfaction of thinking she has cowed all three of us into submission. The effort works better than I thought it would as Cecily’s face instantly falls.
“Oh.” she utters.
“So, are you going to the cafeteria?” one of the other girls asks me with interest.
“Among other places.” I reply with satisfaction.
The other two girls look at each other, their interest suddenly piqued.
“Well, there’ll be plenty of time for that.” Cecily butts in, reasserting her bid for authority over the group.
I shrug then proceed past them towards the outer corridor. I can sense the other two girls are following me. Cecily drags behind. One of the two girls is tiny with pale blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. She has hazel eyes and a warm complexion. Her name is Constance Baker, which seems like a large name for such a small girl. She goes by Connie. The other suitemate has black hair like my own — only I have a much darker complexion than she has. Her eyes are curved ovals and her smile turns out to be infectious. Her name is Song Lee. I instantly like these two other girls. And yet, I know there will be trouble if I can’t incorporate Cecily into our merry band.
Then again, maybe she doesn’t want to be a part of our group if she can’t be in charge. I have a feeling, though, that neither I nor the other girls would particularly relish having to take orders from Cecily. After all, chances are good that we aren’t going to have a lot of autonomy during our working hours. Being micromanaged during our free time seems like an overwhelming burden. But will she back off? As I cast a look back at her and attempt to smile, I can tell she is sulking. Oh well, I conclude, what can I do?
Suddenly, I am distracted away from my thoughts. There is a large gathering of people around a bulletin board in an enclave near the center of the hallway. Cecily suddenly pushes forward. She starts talking to those around the board. She turns to us as we approach.
“They are our class schedules and work assignments.” she announces to our group decisively.
“Already?” I question.
“And without consulting us,” I think but don’t say. The throng around the board is too massive for me to get close enough to see it, so I decide to wait. Cecily manages to snake through to the front of the herd where she requisitions paper and a pen from a nearby intern. I notice it takes her a while to return. It isn’t until later that I find out that she not only got her own schedule but ours as well. Cecily is very satisfied with this; the other two girls seem impressed. When she gets to me, a slight smirk crosses her face.
“Congratulations, Kenya, you’re pulling night shift in the bio lab. Guess we won’t be seeing much of you after all.”
She is right. It isn’t going to take long at all for me to be segregated from my suitemates and relegated to the night-shift schedule. In fact, it will start mere hours from now when I am scheduled for an orientation meeting. There is an orientation meeting for the day shift and one for the night shift.
“Why even have a night shift?” is my first thought.
But someone has to be assigned to it I guess, I tell myself. Plus, this is my new reality for the summer. I might as well make the best of it. And given the artificial lighting, after the adjustment or “jet lag” my experience won’t be any different than the day shift … aside from the isolation. And yet, I can’t help but wonder how I’d gotten to be so fortunate! I shrug. Well, I had wanted my space from Cecily. It seems I have it. Now I just have to figure out what to do with it.
It is a bit awkward as we eat dinner. Cecily begins her efforts to be the leader of the group again. It seems that she figures with me out of the way, the other two will just allow her to be in charge of them. I’m not so sure it’s going to work out that way. It seems to me they are already growing wary of her. What is particularly puzzling to me is Cecily’s need to be in control of a group of strangers. Is insecurity behind it? Or fear? All I know is I find I’m beginning to grow surprisingly grateful to be on the night shift. It is swiftly becoming a blessing in disguise. I don’t think I could stand being harassed by Cecily for an entire summer! The only thing that troubles me is the thought of Cecily becoming bored and rummaging through my things while I’m gone.
Cover image made with a photo bought from Depositphotos. The author of the photo is songbird839.
Contagion Phase 1: Beginnings
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My name is Becca Hastings. I am a junior in high school.
It’s always shocking when things change suddenly. But was it really sudden? Or, were there already signs pointing to an upending of the world I always knew? For many changes were being woven into our society that I barely noticed before it was too late. If only I could go back … if only.
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