The Dying of the Light: Interval (12 page)

“Mary, I’m putting you on speaker,” Kim said, plugging the Bluetooth unit into the phone’s base. There was a slight crackle, and Mary’s voice came on the line.

“Hi, David. Sorry to get you out of bed so early.”

“Not at all. I’m sure it’s important. What’s up?”

I heard her take a deep breath. “It’s about your blood, David.”

I looked up at Kim, who reached out to take my free hand in hers. My other hand was suddenly shaking so bad I had to put down the coffee, which was saying something this early in the morning. I’d been able to put off wondering if I was really infected, telling myself that it didn’t matter, that Gardner had lied—every trick I could use.

But here, now, there was no hiding from the truth. It was what it was, and I was either dead or alive. I moved over to sit next to Kim and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“Go ahead, Mary,” I said, never more anxious about a piece of news in my life than this one.

“As you know, I put your blood samples through every test in the book, and then some. I ran every analysis, looked at every factor—”

“Please, Mary. Just get to the point.”

“Sorry. You’re… you’re infected, David.”

And there it was. The end of everything. My whole world was crashing down, and my life was over. And not just
my
life, either. The hammer I felt slamming into my gut must have weighed twenty pounds.

“I see. And Kim?”

“Her, too.”

We had taken precautions all along, just in case, but obviously we had failed. I hugged my wife tight, but to her credit, she didn’t start crying, or shaking, or yelling. If anything, she was numb. Which was almost worse.

In my dismay, I hardly noticed that Mary was still talking.

“…but I’m not done,” Mary said.

Kim and I looked at each other, but neither of us knew what she was going to say. “Not done with what?” I asked.

“You’re infected, both of you. But I found out that you’re also immune.”

“Wait, what?” I said, unable to process this additional news.

“I’ve done every test I can think of, and as far as I can tell, you’re completely immune to the prion’s effects. Both of you.”

“But how is that even possible?”

“At this point, I’m not exactly sure. I’m not a geneticist, but without going into detail, it has something to do with the way the prion attaches to the DNA. I need help to find out more. Kim, I need you to call around to the other bunkers, see if any of their people has a background in genetics or molecular biology and can help me with this. I don’t want to put the cart before the horse here, but it could—and I stress
could
—be that your immunity might give us something to build on.”

I stood up and began pacing, my mind running over all the medical and genetic information I knew. Which was, admittedly, not that much. “So, we’re basically carriers, then, Mary?”

“Yes.”

“That’s it, then,” said Kim. “We’re locked down, as of this moment. Off the duty rosters, no missions, nothing.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I asked.

“David, if we’re carriers, we could infect
anyone
with this. Right, Mary?”

“I’m not sure, but I don’t think so. I need to do more tests to confirm, but the early work shows that once in your system, the prion mutates somehow into a non-infective strain. I won’t know for sure until I can find someone to help me with this. For the moment, go with the assumption that it’s true, that you can infect others. Think of it as the new AIDS, just much more virulent and aggressive. And quick. Any contact between an uninfected person and any sort of bodily fluids from you two, and they’d be infected. Assuming they also don’t have whatever this immunity is. The strain they get
could
be the mutant one, though.”

“OK,” I said. “So, we’ll be careful. We don’t have to cut ourselves off, we just have to take precautions. Remember how people back in the 90s were scared about AIDS? We can take precautions to avoid exposure to anyone. Mary, will regular cleaning products kill the prions? Like bleach, alcohol, etc.?”

“Yes and no. Bleach does, rubbing alcohol doesn’t. You’ll just have to be careful.”

“Mary…” Kim started to say something, and stopped. Started again, and stopped again.

I sat back down next to her, and held her hand.

That seemed to help, and she began again. “Mary, what about kids?”

Mary sighed. “I don’t know what to tell you, Kim. Without knowing more about this immunity and the way it works, I can’t tell you much of anything for sure. You
might
pass it on to your kids, but maybe not. You need to find that geneticist.”

Kim nodded to herself. “I’ll get on it, you can be sure.”

“David,” said Mary, “you need to help, too. Find someone,
anyone
with a background in genetics or molecular biology. That’s the only way we’ll find out what’s going on here.”

“Thanks, Mary. We’ll let you know if we find anyone.”

“George and I love you both,” she said. “Stay safe and be careful up there. I’ll let you know if I find out any more. Maxwell out.”

The speaker went silent, and I reached over to turn it off, sitting down next to Kim again. She was staring at the floor, and I knew she had been secretly hoping that we weren’t infected, that the world wouldn’t be
that
cruel to us. I took her hands in mine and squeezed. “We’ll get through this, babe. Just like Beoshane, the President, and everything else.”

Kim didn’t even acknowledge my presence, and that’s when I began to get frightened. And more than a little motivated. There had to be a geneticist in one of the bunkers, and we were going to find him.

Chapter Six

Christchurch International Airport
New Zealand

Major Bill Shaw leaned against a bulkhead in the Galaxy, thirty-two thousand feet in the air, lost in thought. He missed his wife, his friends, and all the people he’d gotten to know over the last four years. He could still feel Jennifer’s arms around him, and he wanted nothing more than to turn the plane around and go back, even though he knew that would be signing the death warrants of everyone at McMurdo, himself and his crew included.

If only he knew for sure that coming here wasn’t doing the same thing.

“We’re about a hundred and fifty miles out, sir,” said Fraser, who’d taken the command seat for the last part of the flight. “Starting descent.”

“I’ll take over from here,” said Shaw, coming out of his reverie. He took the seat that Fraser vacated, glancing at the controls. “I want to do a fly-over before we land, get some idea what we’re in for.”

“Roger,” replied Evans. “Sir, have you ever done a non-ILS landing in one of these?” The ILS, or Instrument Landing System, guided pilots into every major and most minor airports in the world, allowing them to land aircraft of all sizes safely and without appreciable danger. Unfortunately, the ILS was a ground-based system, and when power failed across the world, so did the ILS.

“I prefer the other ILS, Mr. Evans,” Shaw replied.

“Other ILS, sir?”

“Eyeball landing system,” he said, and heard a snicker from Lopez in his engineer’s seat. “Lopez knows what I mean.” Shaw could see Evans was getting nervous, and laughed. “Don’t worry so much, Mark. It’s just like anything else with an airplane—point the nose where you want to go, and the rest of the plane follows.”

“If you say so, sir.”

“I do say so. Fraser, go back and let Charlie and Arturo know what’s going on.”

“Yes, sir,” said Fraser, leaving to go pass the news to the loadmaster and chief scientist.

“All right, Mr. Evans, let’s get ready for that flyover.”

“Yes, sir.”

Evans shook his head as they circled Christchurch at one thousand feet. “We can’t keep this up much longer, sir. It’s eating through our fuel,” he said. He glanced over his shoulder at Shaw, who was going over the photos they’d taken on their flyover. “We’re at just about three-quarters, sir.”

“We’re almost done,” Shaw replied. He turned back to the photos and his engineer. “What do you think, Lopez?”

“Not sure, sir. It’s a mess. None of the planes looks salvageable. There’s a mass of people near this building over here…”

“Not people, Lieutenant. I’d bet you a week’s pay those are walkers.”

Lopez nodded. “No bet, sir. I think it’s safe to assume that there are people barricaded inside, though, or were. It looks like they’ve armored some of the buildings, and destroyed others. I think this is the refueling station, over here, and these are the fuel tanks.”

“It looks like a bomb went off over there! And if we can’t get more fuel…”

Lopez just looked at him, already having reached the same conclusion.

“Well, shit,” said Shaw.

“Yes, sir. More to the point, if those people are still around, then they were sure to have noticed us as we flew over.”

“So we might have a welcoming committee.”

“Possibly, sir.”

Shaw sighed and climbed back into the command seat. “It’s not like we have any choice.” He reached over and picked up the intercom microphone. “Good morning, everyone! Thanks again for flying McMurdo Airways. We’ll be landing in about twenty minutes, so please make sure you’re in your seat, with your seatbelt fastened and your articles stowed beneath the seat in front of you, and your seatback is in the upright position. Crew to stations, please.”

Fraser looked up at Shaw with a smirk, and Shaw shrugged. “Just taking a lesson from Mr. Evans, here. Did I do All right, Lieutenant?”

Evans laughed. “Just fine, sir. Just fine.”

“Good. Prepare for landing.”

Though they’d been out of practice for some time, the seasoned crew remembered their duties without difficulty, and Shaw brought the plane around in a gentle turn for the final approach to the airport. With a sure hand and the experience of thousands of hours in the command seat, Shaw brought the plane to a smooth touchdown, or at least what passed for one on the rough runway that hadn’t seen a speck of maintenance in four years.

The ride to the terminal was rough, with potholes and cracks that even the vaunted landing gear of the C-5M Super Galaxy couldn’t entirely overcome, and as they taxied to a stop, there were smiles all around.

Shaw once again spoke over the intercom. “Ladies and gentlemen, please wait until your captain has turned off the nonsmoking and fasten seatbelt signs before moving around the cabin. Also, since there could be walkers out there, you might let the military folks secure the area first.” The laughter he heard coming from the rear compartment was a welcome surprise. There hadn’t been much to laugh about for the last four years.

“Major, I think you should see this,” said Lopez from his post at one of the side windows.

“What is it? Are there wal—” Shaw broke off as he gaped at the scene outside, though only for a moment. He raced for the intercom once more. “Crew, secure all exits and arm yourselves. We’ve got company.”

“Major! They’re headed right for us!” said Evans, pointing out the main cockpit window.

Shaw looked just in time to see the crowd of starving, hysterical people rush the airplane. One younger man wasn’t paying enough attention and stepped a little too close to one of the huge plane’s spinning turbines, and was instantly sucked inside. Shaw turned away, wanting to vomit, when there came a loud clanging from the belly of the plane, and more than a few shouts drifted up.

“All right, everyone, arm yourselves. And Evans, turn off the engines,” he said, moving to the box mounted on the wall and inserting his key. He passed out pistols to the others, and took the last one for himself, then climbed down the ladder into the main cargo area. The scientists were all yelling in the passenger compartment, the clanging kept going on and on, and he finally saw his loadmaster, Charlie Keith, approach him.

“What the hell is going on, Charlie? What’s that noise?”

“The banging, sir? That’s the crowd of folks outside, trying to get in. They’re all screaming for us to take them with us.”

“Take them where? We don’t have any fuel!” Shaw saw Keith flinch, and softened his tone. “Never mind, Charlie. Thanks. Are all the doors secure?”

“Tight as a drum, sir. No one’s getting in here without your say-so.”

“Good man.” Shaw turned to face the volunteers from McMurdo, all fifteen of them, who had come down into the cargo area. Apparently, they’d decided to see what was going on for themselves. “Gentlemen and ladies, please!” he said, trying to quiet them.
I might as well have whispered
, he thought,
for all the good that did. Clearly, it’s going to take a more direct method
.

He climbed up on one of the cargo pallets, grabbing a spare gas canister on the way. He then began beating the metal canister against a support strut, creating a gong-like sound that put everyone’s teeth on edge. It had no effect on the crowd outside, but it did quiet everyone inside the plane. Once they’d stopped yelling, he tossed the canister down to Fraser, who caught the dented can and stowed it away again.

“Thank you for your attention. As you may be aware, that sound is a crowd of starving, crazed refugees pounding on the plane for us to let them in, and take them… well, anywhere, I imagine. Anywhere but here. Clearly, we can’t do that. We’re here on a mission and we need to see it through. I’d rather not kill anyone if I don’t have to, but if it’s us or them, then I choose them. I need your help, though, and this crap is not helping.”

“They’ll tear us to pieces if we go out there!” came a voice from the crowd.

“Maybe, maybe not. But you’re safe in here for the moment, and that’s where we’re all going to stay until I have a better idea of what’s going on. So stretch your legs, look outside if you want, but no one is to open any doors. Understood?”

He waited until everyone was nodding, and then climbed back down, calling his men over and speaking quietly. “Since the plane is surrounded, we’re going to go up top and take a look from there. Keith, Evans, you stay here and secure the hold. Don’t let anyone open those doors. Put them down if you have to.”