8
I am weary of days and hours,
Blown buds of barren flowers,
Desires and dreams and powers
And everything but sleep.
—“The Garden of Proserpine”
by Algernon Charles Swinburne
January 2020
Adam threw himself into his office chair, and Lincoln followed, lingering just inside the door. The briefing with POTUS hadn’t gone well. Everyone was terrified of Hydra-1 and everything it represented.
“Dr. Kennedy at the CDC is doing her best to develop a vaccine, but they can’t seem to grow a live virus in the lab. It kills the host cells too quickly for them to learn much, and it won’t grow in isolated dormant cells.”
“Adam,” Lincoln said, clearing his throat. “Mr. Vice President. What can I do?” There had to be something, a mission, a race to find the right scientist, something. He couldn’
