Immortality (26 page)

The volume of information from his research was growing. He had a thriving population of millions of thawed COBIC-3.7 to work with; but it was impossible to ignore that this colony had come from the sacrifice of so many lives. The guilt made work very difficult and at times impossible. Mark had seen one of the lab techs cry as she prepped a sample. The woman had reached up to wipe away tears, only to have her hand blocked by the faceplate of her helmet. The image had haunted Mark for days.

Only a small number of the victims in New Jersey had traces of COBIC. After an exhaustive study, tests determined that nine percent of the victims had COBIC infestation. In Anchorage, the figure had been eighty percent. Mark was unable to explain the variations from zero COBIC in Latin America to eighty percent in Alaska.

He had again confirmed his earlier finding that any wavelength of light caused a dramatic effect in this animal. As long as COBIC was kept in lightless metal containers, the population levels remained constant. Exposing a small colony to light caused what could almost be described as mass suicide. In an hour or two after exposure, most of the creatures would be shriveled and dead, with no apparent physiological explanation. Odder still was the fact that the population level could remain constant. When kept in their lightless containers, none died; but even more strangely, none reproduced. He had tried to stimulate reproduction by providing foodstuffs and adjusting alkalinity along with other chemical characteristics of the water. Nothing had worked. As far as he could tell, not a single bacterium had reproduced in captivity. The COBIC breeding colony he’d worked with years ago during his Nobel research had reproduced nicely under identical conditions. Those original COBIC had also not been micro-vampires like these light-adverse specimens. The original COBIC had thrived in light and, in fact, needed light to remain active and healthy.

On his computer screen, Mark opened a particularly good SEM image of a seed. He now had a library of over two hundred images of this object taken at various levels of magnification and dissection. Tests for organic composition had just come back from the lab – all negative. No known organic structures were found in this object: no protein, no DNA, no organic carbons, nothing. The seed was semi-transparent to visible light, much like a bead of glass. As far as the lab could ascertain, this object was a non-organic lump of matter composed of silicon, carbon, and traces of various rare metals such as gallium and silver. It was like a pearl inside the bacterium. He could find no reason for its existence and no apparent effect that it could have, other than being an irritant to the microbe.

Mark was studying at high magnification the semi-transparent structures inside the seed. Because of how SEM microscopes work, optically transparent objects like the fine glass-like structures of this specimen appeared as solid and opaque as a metal surface. The image was a full frame shot of the opening of one of the tubes that Mark had previously discovered. The three microscopic tubes intersected at right angles to each other, forming a three-dimensional axis that was centered inside the seed. Surrounding the tubes, the seed itself was packed with a crystalline silica material that had a dense microscopic structure of rectangular bumps and pits that were interconnected with thread-like channels. The structures looked like the aerial view of a giant chemical factory: the channels were like intersecting pipes while the pits and bumps were like mixers and storage tanks. He wondered what purpose the tiny bumps and pits served. If the seed was some kind of quasi life-form, were these structures organs of some kind, chemical reactors? Millions, possibly even billions of these nano-structures were inside the seed. Mark was also curious about the woven structure of the tube walls which appeared to be constructed from millions of ultra-thin ceramic donuts stacked together to form the tube. Tests had shown it was a complex weave of carbon, hydrogen, silicon, and trace metals.
What are you?
he wondered. He could not get past how man-made this thing looked. He knew that it was just an illusion. When highly magnified, many natural things could take on an appearance of being man-made.

Mark leaned back in his chair and put his foot up on the desk. He took a sip of coffee. Violating all security rules, he had e-mailed some of these images to colleagues. The e-mails contained no explanation or background, just a single sentence:
“Does this look like anything you’ve seen before?”
Mark hoped someone would recognize at least part of this microscopic pearl. He glanced at his in-mail box. There was nothing, not even a piece of spam. Kathy entered Mark’s office and dropped down onto his couch. She looked surprisingly alert. The only clue to her eighteen-hour day was the wrinkles in her lab coat.

“I saw your light,” she said.

“I was studying the seed’s plumbing. I have no idea how this thing functions or even if it functions.”

“Have you read the report on COBIC infestation?” asked Kathy.

“You mean that COBIC was found in only nine percent of the New Jersey victims?” he asked.

“Yeah, that’s in the report; but there’s something else I noticed that could explain why it’s only nine percent. The answer’s freezing temperatures. All the victims with traces of COBIC were found in frozen conditions. All the victims that didn’t have COBIC were in warm conditions. In New Jersey, we found COBIC in all the victims that were outside in the cold. Victims that were in heated rooms had no COBIC. I am betting that COBIC was present in all the victims. We just couldn’t find it because it was already gone.”

“It can’t be that simple,” said Mark.

“I’ve checked every victim we have records on. The pattern holds up one hundred percent.”

“Okay… let’s say the pattern is real. How does this help us?” Mark shook his head. “Every lousy clue we get adds confusion.”

“I’ve been thinking about it,” said Kathy. “The only thing I’ve come up with is that COBIC is getting trapped in frozen layers of skin while exiting the victim’s body. It’s crazy. It’s almost like the microbes are trying to flee the scene of a crime.”

“Now you’re starting to sound like a lunatic,” said Mark. “Welcome to club paranoia. Remember when I said almost the same thing about them trying to escape?”

Outside, the dawn sky was drifting from black to gray. The parking lot lights were still on. Mark knew without looking the lot was over half full. Kathy rose and walked over to stare out the window. Mark saw her reflection in the glass. Discomfort showed on her face as if she were fighting some internal battle.

“I’ve got something that will make you think I’m crazier than you are,” said Mark. “I’ve watched COBIC swimming and, I swear to you, once in awhile they seem to move in a synchronized way like a school of fish. It’s got to have something to do with those seeds.”

CNN Breaking News music came faintly from the television. Several times an hour there was some breaking news story that wasn’t very breaking. Mark glanced at the screen out of habit. His vision was a little fuzzy. The news story was a live-feed from Los Angeles. In the background were palm trees illuminated by floodlights and an entrance to some kind of military base. A female reporter was standing with a microphone. It was still hours from sunrise on the west coast. Mark stared at the image dumbly for several seconds until his brain managed to command his fingers to turn up the volume.

“What is it?” asked Kathy.

Mark didn’t answer. He couldn’t speak. His hands were trembling. Kathy walked over behind his desk to stare at the screen with him. The reporter sounded like she was talking about New Jersey, but the caption read Los Angeles. The reporter was at a military airfield. A group of helicopters was lifting off, their strobe lights flashing as they disappeared into the darkness. Kathy’s pager started beeping.

“
....All power has been lost along with telephone and most radio communications. The military is preparing to deploy in a sixty-mile radius around the city. The deployment line will extend north to Santa Barbara, south to Newport Beach, and as far inland as Pasadena. This includes half of L.A. County. Initial reports are disturbing. By all accounts, this kill zone may exceed New Jersey by two or three times in landmass with a potential of ten times the number of fatalities. Over twenty million people live in the affected area. We have a team of reporters standing by to accompany the Army and Red Cross once they are ready to move in to aid survivors.”

Carl Green wandered into the office wearing a bathrobe. One side of his hair was matted from sleeping on it. His eyes looked haunted.

“I’ve just gotten a call from our San Diego office,” he said. “The unofficial word is that this one’s going to make New Jersey seem like a practice run.”

“Carl – Think!” hissed Kathy. “Mark’s family’s in L.A.”

I’ve failed them,
thought Mark. His eyes were flooded with tears. He thought about his nightmare of a ghost city. He thought about Mary and Julie. He started to dial the phone but stopped halfway. Gracy, what about Gracy? He imagined her body lying in the street. His face tightened into a mask that would prevent any more hurt from getting in. He wondered if this was the moment he would go insane. The CNN reporter was saying something. Mark’s head tipped to one side.

“What?” he mumbled to the screen.

The news had to be a mistake. Maybe he could wake up now? At some odd level of detachment, he watched as his mind grasped, like a small cornered animal, at delusion… at denial… at anything to shut off this incoming reality he could not accept.

Mark tightened the safety harness around him. The Air Force combat cargo jet was jammed with FEMA personnel, soldiers, and Red Cross supplies. Military transport was the only way into or out of the Los Angeles area. All commercial flights had been banned.

The cabin was claustrophobic; there were no windows. Seats were bolted to the floor facing inward with their backs against the fuselage. They had been waiting on the runway for over an hour. A moment ago, the plane had lurched forward. Finally, something was happening. Mark could feel the aircraft jouncing along. They were making some kind of turn. He hated flying. He realized that not being able to look out only made it worse. He glanced at Kathy. She was half asleep. Without warning, the jet throttled to full power and clawed its way into the air. They climbed at a steep angle, metal compartments rattling, engines roaring. There was no attempt at matching the smooth ride of a commercial airliner.

“I hate this,” he muttered. His voice was lost in the drone of engines.

Kathy was asleep. Mark wondered how she could do that. He was just as tired, but there was no chance he would catch up on sleep here. He stared at her face. She looked calm, so out of place amid the military equipment and soldiers.

He looked away. He could feel the unheated cabin growing colder. He thought about where they were heading. He imagined smoldering ruins and mobs of people growing savage. In so short a time, the world had changed. Overnight reports had come in describing in lurid detail over a hundred thousand dead in Los Angeles. The entire world was in shock and mourning and fear of contagion. France had closed its borders; the remainder of Europe was expected to follow. As it stood right now, there had been no word from Japan, or Korea, or China, nothing... international calls were not even getting through.

Mark pulled out a pint bottle of vodka from his coat and took a long drink. The cheap vodka was the only liquor he’d been able to find on his way to the airfield. He twisted the cap back on and put the bottle away. How had things gotten this far out of control so fast?

The world he’d known was gone. The new one reminded him of an old man who’d given up the fight and was waiting to die. The
Los Angeles Event
was now being called the big one. A month ago, who would have guessed that it wasn’t going to be an earthquake that swallowed the Southland alive? He studied the soldiers who were checking their weapons. One had his rifle in pieces and was coating the inner workings with oil. Every face he glanced at had an air of confidence mixed with unasked questions.

Mark tortured himself with how useless he’d been to his family and Gracy. Why hadn’t he done something to get them out of Los Angeles? Working in Atlanta, he’d scarcely thought of them until this had happened and now it was too late. In the past day and a half, he’d tried calling more times than he could count. The lines were scrambled, nothing worked. He had no idea if they were dead or alive.

Mark pulled a secure PDA phone from his pocket. The device had been issued to him just before leaving the CDC. It looked like a normal PDA phone but allowed him to make secure calls and access the Defense Department net and Secure Net as easily as the Internet. He’d been told the dual mode wireless connection worked worldwide at high speed and could also automatically connect to the Defense Department’s higher speed wireless network when the handset was in range of military access points. All that mattered to Mark was that wherever he was in the world, this thing allowed him to stay in touch using e-mail, voice, and web. He looked at a display listing e-mails and phone messages. The LCD was empty except for a “sex with slutty college girls” spam which had snuck through the filters. Disgusted, he deleted it.

Hours ago, he had begun calling friends who lived outside the quarantine line. He’d reached Donna Brooks who had a house in Ventura country. It felt like years ago that she’d introduced him on that rainy day to Commander Jack Harris. It was because of his decision to listen to Harris that Mark hadn’t been there for those he loved. Donna was crying when she answered the phone. She’d lost her son. The call had ended with Mark not knowing how to comfort her.

What kind of god created a world like this?
Mark noticed a soldier staring at him. The soldier looked so young. He could have been a teenager. Mark looked into his eyes. There was no emotion, only a willingness to do what he was told – and questions, so many questions. Mark sensed the young man regarded him as a figure of authority, someone who knew what was going on, someone who knew what they were flying toward. Mark had no answers. The young man finally looked away.