Calista shook her head. "No. Maybe the whole idea behind the walker repellent is wrong. We shouldn't be trying to 'order' the walkers to do anything.
Making them leave or making them stop are still attempts to control their behavior."
She walked over to the petri dish and stared at the mass of gray-green tissue. "What we should be doing isn't controlling them. It's disrupting them. Instead of making them 'not attack,' we should make them 'unable to find a target to attack.'"
Milton looked up, his attention sharpening again.
"Disrupt them?"
"How do walkers track living people?" Calista asked, then answered her own question. "Sound and the scent of living humans. Mutants may rely on some kind of collective bioelectric sensing that we still don't understand."
She turned to Milton.
"So what if we develop a compound that acts not on the walkers' nervous systems, but on us?
Something that temporarily masks the human biological scent. Or better yet, something that emits false signals and makes the walkers think there are living people somewhere else."
All three of them immediately perked up.
"Camouflage... instead of repelling them," Milton murmured. "That could work.
It might even be technically easier. We wouldn't need to precisely simulate complex neural signals. We'd only have to interfere with the limited ways walkers perceive their surroundings."
Calista nodded. "Exactly. Something like our sentinel walkers, something that gives us cover.
Of course, peeling their hides off and wearing them also works. It's just disgusting and a pain to deal with.
You'd have to keep replacing the rotting hides, and the moment a person makes noise or starts bleeding, it still won't keep the walkers away."
Milton and the others grew increasingly excited. Dr. Jenner had already turned the computer back on and started organizing their ideas.
Calista watched their enthusiasm return, but remained calm.
She knew the disruptor project could fail just as easily.
But in the apocalypse, you couldn't refuse to try something simply because it might fail. You could only choose the direction with a lower cost of failure and a greater potential payoff.
If the disruptor worked, even if all it could do was let one squad slip through a walker-infested area without being noticed, it would already be far more valuable than the walker repellent.
She waited until their initial excitement settled before asking, "How confident are you about this new direction?"
Dr. Jenner stopped what he was doing, his expression turning serious. "In the short term, we can formulate a batch of powerful corpse-odor agent. Essentially, it would be a highly concentrated mixture of humic acid and cadaverine that mimics the smell of a severely decomposed corpse.
Sprayed onto the body, it could make walkers mistake the wearer for 'rotting remains of their own kind' instead of 'fresh prey.'
But the substance is harmful to humans. Prolonged exposure can damage the respiratory tract, so anyone using it would have to wear a proper mask at all times.
As for false-signal decoys..."
He thought for a few seconds. "First, we need to figure out exactly how the walkers' group sensing works. Which brings us right back to the data from the Black Fire Project."
"Then we'll do it in stages," Calista said. "Phase One will be developing the basic corpse-odor agent."
"And Phase Two?"
"We'll talk about that once Phase One produces some preliminary results."
The laboratory door closed behind Calista.
Milton remained where he was, once again holding the finely made spray can in his hands.
He thought about the team working day and night over the past several weeks. About the complicated molecular designs. About the excitement he had felt the first time he saw a walker retreat.
Then Milton walked over to the waste disposal tank, unscrewed the cap, and poured all of the pale blue liquid inside.
The liquid mixed with the disinfectant, hissing softly as tiny bubbles rose to the surface before disappearing.
He stared at the empty can for a few seconds, then threw it hard into the metal recycling bin.
Failure was failure.
...
On the day Phase One of the geothermal project began, good news came from the prison.
The two doctors Rick had mentioned earlier, Caleb and Bob, had completed their quarantine observation period.
Caleb was a general surgeon. Bob had been a military doctor and had served for eight years, giving him more experience with trauma care.
What was bound to happen had finally happened.
Calista asked, "How did they do?"
"They both did well during the observation period," Rick replied. "Caleb is more cautious and keeps detailed medication records. Bob is faster at handling emergency wounds.
To be honest, if I could, I'd like to keep both of them.
But I know you have more people over there, so you need doctors more than we do. Besides, Lori is there and needs medical care."
"I need to think about it," Calista said without ceremony. "I'll get back to you later."
Rick ended the call. Calista remained seated at the radio console, tapping her fingers against the desk.
She couldn't exactly say, "I'm choosing Caleb because Bob is a drunk, and he's going to end up with Sasha later."
She had no source for that information and no way to explain it.
As far as Rick was concerned, Bob was an experienced military doctor and a valuable resource.
Rejecting Bob outright would damage Rick's trust in her and might even make him think she was being paranoid.
But she couldn't let Bob come to Rock Fortress either.
Rock Fortress had no need for a doctor who couldn't control himself.
Besides, she needed to warn Rick somehow and make sure he paid closer attention, so Bob's drinking wouldn't cause trouble later.
When the agreed time for their next communication arrived, Calista called the prison herself.
"Rick, I've given some thought to which doctor we should take."
"Go ahead."
"I want Dr. Caleb," Calista said directly. "Our Dr. Evans is already a retired military doctor, so his skill set overlaps with Bob's. A general surgeon would be a better fit for us."
She paused before continuing. "As for Dr. Bob, his military medical background is definitely valuable, especially when it comes to treating trauma.
But there's one thing I should mention. This is only based on something we've seen here, and it may not apply to Dr. Bob at all."
"What did you see?" Rick asked.
Calista carefully chose her words. "We've taken in survivors with military backgrounds before. One of them had some symptoms of post-traumatic stress, and later we discovered that he had become dependent on alcohol.
Most of the time, he acted completely normal. He even performed extremely well during field operations.
But after things settled down, his teammates started noticing that he would occasionally lose focus. Then he began making mistakes..."
She deliberately left it there, letting Rick draw his own conclusions.
Because she had made the whole thing up.
The radio remained silent for so long that Calista almost thought they had lost the signal.
"I understand what you're getting at." Rick let out a long breath. "We'll keep observing him. I don't think there'll be any major problem.
Dr. Caleb can be ready for transfer anytime. When can you come pick him up?"
"Within three days," Calista said. "I'll send someone over. We've also prepared some supplies for the exchange. I'll send you the list later."
"Copy that. Thank you!"
The call ended.
Calista set down the receiver, rolled her neck, and lazily leaned back in her chair.
Rick was a smart man. He understood what she had been implying and would keep Bob under observation for longer.
As for what would happen to Bob in the future, she had no idea.
Maybe, with Rick keeping a closer eye on him, Bob would manage to control himself and truly put his abilities to good use.
Maybe he wouldn't.
....
I've been working on a new The Walking Dead fanfic lately, and honestly, I'm having a lot of fun with it. If you enjoy this fanfic, I think you'll feel right at home with The Walking Dead: Saving Merle First. Check it out and let me know what you think!
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