Jacob's Odyssey (The Berne Project Book 1) (11 page)

According to the information in the virus subfolder, the virus had been in the works off and on for more than three decades. Its initial development began during the Cold War when both the United States and the Soviet Union were working on biological weapons to temporarily debilitate military ground troops along with the local citizenry. Initial studies were focused on Parkinson's disease which impairs neurons in the brain and inhibits dopamine production, slows people down and over time compromises motor skills and muscles movements. The original goal was to develop a biological weapon that would mimic some of the effects of Parkinson's disease but on a limited-time basis. I suppose they were trying to make the weapon more humane. But somewhere along the way, the goals of the program morphed into something different. And as the emphasis of the program changed, Rabies and Alzheimer's were included in the studies. While the effects of Parkinson's Disease still served as a model for the prospective virus, a shift toward inhibiting memory and increasing aggressive behavior in subjects began to take root. Eventually, the virus took shape in the late '90s as a collaborative effort between scientists in various countries, though the countries and the respective scientists remained nameless. Then, sometime after the turn of the century, experiments with human subjects began.

The experiments went on for ten years with 124 human test subjects. They began by assigning numbers to the test subjects. Subjects were infected in a variety of ways. Infections were facilitated through airborne contact, tactile transference, injections into the bloodstream, contaminated water, and also through bites from those already infected. The incubation period for those infected through airborne contact, tactile transference, and contaminated water were approximately the same, but for those bitten by the infected or injected directly into the bloodstream, the incubation period and second stage symptoms were greatly accelerated.

As I listened to the recording, I couldn't help but notice the whistle blower's delivery of information seemed a little flat yet pedantic at the same time. Even with the altered tinny voice, he still came off like a teacher who had recited the same information a thousand times before. He came off as knowledgeable and unemotional. Almost scientific.

Subjects were also tested for longevity, again, under a variety of conditions. The lifespan of test subjects seemed to be an important aspect of the project. The lifespan of those given no sustenance whatsoever was a fairly remarkable two to three months. Subjects also exhibited a decided preference for human meat over animal sustenance, but would eat either. Younger, healthier subjects tended to last longer than their older, more infirm counterparts. The longevity studies apparently served as the basis for computer models which projected survivor rates for the human race, each dependent on a specific set of variables. Worldwide survivor rates ranged from twenty percent to forty percent. Not exactly a rosy picture.

Three generations of test subjects were rigorously tested under various conditions. Each generation had perfectly parroted the previous generation with one glaring exception. This is where the subject who resembled the Swimmer came in. She was a third-generation subject markedly different than the other subjects. She had managed to retain a semblance of rudimentary cognitive abilities along with some memory—more functional than personal. And rather than deteriorating, her motor skills—running, jumping, etc.—had actually shown improvement, as did her sensory abilities. While the other test subjects showed enhanced sensory abilities, her sensory aptitude was off the charts. She quickly became the darling of the project. The scientists broke protocol and gave her a name—Eve. And Eve wowed them with a display of guile and cunningness. She even exhibited some organizational skills where the other test subjects were concerned. They classified Eve as an alpha, the only one of her kind. It was clear to the scientists that the virus' effect on Eve had been altered in a very significant way. But the scientists were never able to determine why or how. They wondered if the virus had mutated, but there was no evidence the virus had mutated in any of the other third-generation subjects. They explored the possibility that Eve had a partial immunity which might have altered the virus' effect on her. But in the end, they never knew for sure.

They constructed a predictor model for the occurrence of alphas within a projected population of infected. And while they knew the accuracy of the predictor model would be wildly speculative at best, they included it in some of the computer models for human survival. And when alphas were included in the computer survival models, the survival rates dropped dramatically.

As far as the Media folder went, the only thing the whistle blower mentioned was the planners' need to secure internet communications for the purpose of controlling the flow of information during and after the apocalypse period. They secured internet infrastructure in several underground bunkers located in remote areas around the country. The conspirators had discretely purchased several web hosting companies over the years to help form their own series of interconnected networks.

The whistle blower concluded with an impassioned plea for human beings to finally put aside their differences and come together as one family in order for the human race to survive. He claimed it was our only chance to survive the apocalyptic nightmare we'd found ourselves in. And for the first time, his metallic voice had an edge of emotion in it. Then he quoted from the bible, Romans 12:5: "so in Christ we, though many, form one body, and each member belongs to all the others." And he followed that up with a final, emotional plea, "We're all human beings, we all share this planet, and it's time for us to come together as one family, one people."

I wasn't sure what to think. Registering the domain six months prior to the attack had to lend some credence to the whistle blower having foreknowledge of the attack. But why wouldn't he have released the information before the attack? Was he afraid? And why release it now? Wouldn't he risk the same kind of blowback from the conspirators as he would have if he'd released the information before the attack? And just who were these "conspirators" anyway? He never went into any detail about any of them. His only mention of a possible conspirator was Francis Copeland. And he never exactly named Copeland as a conspirator. He merely said that he had found the information about the attack on Francis Copeland's computer at Homeland. Copeland was the only person mentioned in relationship to the project, and he was dead now. But did Francis Copeland actually have the connections to direct a global conspiracy? Could he have developed those connections in his years with the CIA? And was Homeland Security, or some secret black ops department within it, actually involved in the attack? The scope and breadth of the conspiracy described in the recording was difficult to imagine. And I wondered if it was even possible.

There were too many questions. And as usual, my analytical self wanted to fit the square pegs and the round pegs into their corresponding holes in order to make sense of it all. But in the end, what difference would any of it make? While the information might qualify as grist for conspiracy theorists, even if they were right, it wouldn't save a single life. It wouldn't change anything. What I needed to focus on were the details regarding the alpha. The information on Eve helped me understand the Swimmer's potential abilities a little better. And it confirmed to me that the Swimmer wasn't the only alpha in existence. There could be others out there.

Listening to the whistle blower describe Eve's cunning and guile along with her exceptional sensory abilities and motor skills, I couldn't help but marvel at how incredibly lucky I'd been. I needed to avoid a second encounter with the Swimmer at all costs.

Then a disturbing thought crossed my mind. With his enhanced sensory skills, could the Swimmer track me? I had no idea. But I began to second guess my decision to stay an extra day at the Josephsons' home. I realized I should have been putting as much distance between myself and the Swimmer as was humanly possible.

I spent the afternoon plotting my itinerary for the following day. I wanted to get as close to the 39th South underpass as I could. It was just ten blocks away now. Surprisingly close. And though I didn't like the idea of traveling that far in a single day, I felt an overwhelming need  to get as far away from the Swimmer as was possible. Ever since I'd listened to the recording, I'd felt a lingering uneasiness. I knew I needed to lighten up. Planning the itinerary and reminding myself how close I was to the underpass helped me relax. I checked Google Maps to find the most direct route. I decided to parallel Lisa Drive, about a block to the west of the Josephsons', which would take me to 39th South after a final short jog on Olympic Way. The route would take me to within two blocks of the underpass. The thought of possibly being at the underpass sometime tomorrow excited me and helped me to calm down.

I noted to myself that the Swimmer hadn't found me in the two days I'd been staying at the Josephsons' home, and he might not even be looking for me. The idea of him pursuing me was likely nothing more than the fruit of my own paranoia. I knew there were times I was prone to fearful thinking. But the idea that the Swimmer might be tracking me had no real basis in reality.

I just needed to be patient and cautious. Come morning, I would move quickly and carefully, and I wouldn't take any chances. Nothing would stop me from getting to the cabin. That's when I realized I was having a conversation with myself, murmuring out loud. And it wasn't the first time either. I'd been talking to myself more and more as the weeks had passed by, albeit quietly.

I felt antsy and wanted to get going. I thought about leaving right away, getting out of the house and as close to the underpass as possible, but I knew it was a bad idea. This late in the afternoon the temperature would likely still be in the upper 90s. I wouldn't make it far in the heat. And besides, I could make much better time in the morning when it was cool. I decided I'd leave earlier than usual and give myself a chance to get all the way to the underpass.

I felt a sudden surge of nervous energy, and I rolled off the couch and began doing pushups. I'd come a long way with the pushups. In the early days, I couldn't muster more than fifteen or eighteen and it was a struggle to get to eighteen. But now I could ease my way through the first fifty or sixty before I began to feel the strain in my shoulders. And these days whenever I would look in the mirror, I could actually see a subtle definition in my pecs and upper arms that weren't there before. A strange but welcome sight.

The carpet felt soft and spongy under the palms of my hands and I could feel my muscles working. Pecs, deltoids, triceps. I synchronized my breathing, breathing in as my chest touched the carpet and exhaling as I pushed myself back up. My pushups record was eighty-five and I had no doubt I would shatter that record. I had a lot of pent up energy. My mind wandered a bit and then I wondered if the house was actually secure. I'd been so out of it the first day after my encounter with the Swimmer, I wondered if I'd missed something. I stopped my pushups at seventy and grabbed the bat.

I double checked all the windows in the basement first. They were all locked except for the escape window I'd chosen. It was above one of the arm chairs in the game room. I usually left the basement escape window unlocked to allow for a fast exit, but locking it suddenly seemed like a good idea. It would only take a few seconds to unlock it if the need arose.

I headed upstairs to the main floor and made sure all the windows and doors were locked and secure. And then I went into the garage and checked to see where the switch was to open the garage doors just in case I had to use the car. There were two switches right next to the door. I figured one of them had to be the garage door switch. The Josephsons had an oversized two-car garage with lots of storage space and shelves. The shelves were filled with all kinds of food storage, maybe six months worth, along with a half-dozen five-gallon bottles of water. A clean drinking water bonanza. A big freezer stood between two sections of shelves. And while I didn't open the freezer, I took for granted it was stocked with meat.

The car they'd left behind was an immaculate black Cadillac ATS. And even in the dust-filled garage, the car still glistened under a light sheath of dust. I'd found the key fob to the Cadillac in a valet tray in Mr. Josephsons' chest of drawers that first day. I assumed the Cadillac was his, and judging from its spotless condition, he no doubt took great pride in maintaining it. When I found the key fob that morning, I placed it on the roof of the car as I always did.

I leaned my forehead against the driver side window and peeked through. I could see a clip on the visor which I assumed belonged to the garage door opener. That was a plus. Much better than having to use the switch at the door. And I felt confident the battery would start the car if needed. Even without being driven anywhere, a battery to a late model car should last at least a couple months.

I headed downstairs feeling much better. I felt certain the house was as secure as it could be. I was just being thorough. I made sure to pack everything in my backpack except for my sunglasses and cap, the bat, the Glock, and my iPad. I wanted to be ready to leave at a moment's notice.

I couldn't help but wonder what had happened to the Josephsons. For once, the house didn't offer up any real clues as to what might have happened to them. Not a hint. They hadn't taken any food with them when they'd left, and the house appeared completely undisturbed. There was no sign of any cold medicine or Ibuprofen on a nightstand or coffee table. The house was every bit as immaculate as the car. Not a dust mote out of place. It was the kind of home that could make people feel uncomfortable because it was too perfect. There was a flawless, spatial symmetry to everything—the furniture, the rugs, the knickknacks, books, pictures. Everything fit perfectly. Everything was precisely in its place. There was a meticulousness about the Josephsons' home that felt cold and emotionally antiseptic despite all the smiling faces in the photos upstairs. I sensed there would be no room here for any kind of imperfection. And I couldn't help but wonder what it would have been like to have grown up in a home like this. At first glance, it seemed like a slice of paradise. Beautiful home, nice things, spectacular views, lots of smiling faces. But a part of me wasn't buying it.