Vapor (4 page)

“Good morning, Mr. Briggs.” A raven-haired beauty of youthful age and tall stature stepped forward, her heels clicking against the epoxy concrete floor coating. “It’s great to finally meet you in person.”

“Yes, yes.” Alan Briggs yawned as he climbed out of the small business jet. He avoided the helping hands of several crewmembers and instead, jumped to the ground. He landed awkwardly and flayed about for a moment, trying to regain his balance.

Tessie Perkins reached out a dainty hand and managed to steady Briggs before he could fall on his face. “How was your flight?”

“Adequate, I suppose.” Shrugging her off, he lowered his briefcase to the ground. He took a few moments to straighten out his dark slacks, non-pressed shirt, and threadbare sport coat. After adjusting the slightly off-center Windsor knot on his gaudy tie, he picked up the briefcase again. “Where’s Simona?”

“Still sleeping.” Tessie smiled. “It’s early morning here.”

“That’s unacceptable.”

“I see.” Tessie swallowed. “She, uh, said to get you settled and she’d meet with you when she woke up.”

Briggs hid a sly smile. He could see that he terrified Tessie. He liked that, liked knowing he could make her whimper. Girls like Tessie, beautiful goddesses, needed a little scare every now and then. They needed to be reminded the world didn’t revolve around their pretty little heads.

“When can I see the model?” he asked.

“We have a private room waiting for you. It’s equipped with a computer terminal. Simona told me to remind you that—”

“Yes, yes. The data is constantly fluctuating, meaning the model is constantly fluctuating as well. Christ, Tessie. I’ve been briefed, you know.”

Tessie stood absolutely still, a look of profound fear etched across her pretty face.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Briggs said in a dismissive tone. “Take me to my room.”

She twisted around. Heels clacking more loudly now, she strode across the large hangar. Briggs followed her at a reasonable distance, listening to the hissing pipes, the clanking gears, and the whirring mechanical tools. He did his best not to gawk at the bizarre machines surrounding him. But it was impossible.

They were unlike anything he’d ever seen in his life.

Tessie opened a door and led him into the facility. They walked through several corridors, freshly painted. After ascending a staircase, they arrived at a metal door. It was marked
Conference Room G
.

Tessie opened the door and flicked the light switch. Annoyingly soft light from overhead eco-friendly fixtures filled the space. “Here we are.” Her voice gained a little strength. “The terminal is connected to the model. You just need to turn it on. Can I get you anything, Mr. Briggs?”

Briggs peered at the room through thick spectacles. “That depends. Where’s the fridge?”

“Over there.” She pointed to the corner. A small fridge was tucked behind a locked filing cabinet. “Stocked with cans of Crisp Cola and plenty of ice cubes, as per your request.”

“Then I have all I need.”

Tessie stared at him.

“In other words, go away.”

She didn’t linger, heading straight for the hallway. The door closed behind her.

Briggs set his briefcase on a long table. Pulling out a chair, he sat down in front of the terminal. Without fanfare, he booted it up.

A dendroclimatologist by profession, Briggs had spent most of his thirties studying tree ring data. Once upon a time, the field was fairly simple. Wider tree rings indicated a period of favorable growing conditions. Narrower rings meant the exact opposite. But much had changed over the last few decades and scientists like Briggs were now able to tease out far more specific information from ancient tree rings, including temperature, moisture, cloudiness, and the presence of catastrophic events.

His extensive work in the field had enabled him to build models showing regional and global climate conditions for hundreds of thousands of years. In the process, he’d become something of a modeling expert. So, when an old friend had needed someone to vet Simona Wolcott’s model, Briggs was an easy choice for the job.

The screen grew bright and he found himself staring at a blue background entitled,
Eco-Trek PKGCM: Version 4.5
. Folding his hands backward, he cracked his fingers. Then he lowered them to a wireless keyboard.

He pressed a few keys. The screen changed abruptly. There were no images or frills. Just endless amounts of data.

From what he’d been told, Simona’s model received a constant flow of data from thousands of sources. The information was added to a massive database.

Relaxing his fingers, Briggs stared at the screen. The image shifted constantly as numbers and words poured down the monitor, an endless waterfall of information.

His eyes blurred, but he didn’t blink. Immediately, he knew there was far too much data for his mind—for any mind—to process. But Simona’s incredible system handled it with ease.

Having seen enough of the data stream, his fingers flew across the keyboard. The data vanished. A fast-paced feed of complex calculations took its place.

Utilizing the data inputs, the model proposed and ran endless amounts of unique equations. The results were fed into still other equations and compared to previously calculated results as well as raw data inputs. In short, the model, the very heart of Eco-Trek’s ambitious project, was a phenomenon of self-organizing predictive knowledge-mining.

More information swept across the screen as the system instantaneously evaluated its own results. It didn’t require oversight from Simona or anyone else. That was what made it so amazing. It observed its own work in real-time, made adjustments to its inner mechanisms, and marched forward. While competing models assumed a stagnant world of constants, Simona’s
Eco-Trek PKGCM: Version 4.5
was built for a vibrant world of ever-changing realities.

But while Briggs felt a degree of reverence for the model, he didn’t let that influence his work. He continued to peck away at the keyboard, diving deeper into the model’s extremely complicated inner mechanisms. His employer required one simple piece of information, namely whether the model was flawed in any way.

If not, nothing would happen. Briggs would return to his comfortable Florida home, a much richer man. But if it was flawed, the ramifications would go well beyond the tiny South Pacific island on which Eco-Trek conducted operations.

They would extend across Earth itself.

Dirt shot into the air. Smoke stretched outward. Flames appeared and shot across the parched earth, streaking like bolts of lightning.

A giant fireball rose out of the excavation pit, nearly blinding me. The gantry exploded. Metal and chunks of rock flew in all directions, smashing into the barn, the farmhouse, and everything else within reach.

Beverly dropped to the ground, pulling me with her. I shifted my goggles into place. The smoke was thick. But I managed to catch a glimpse of the gaunt man. He was lying on top of the woman who’d walked next to him, evidently shielding her from the blast.

God’s Judges were murderers. But the man’s act of self-sacrifice indicated they weren’t beyond redemption. There was still hope. Maybe not now, but in the future.

Unfortunately, we couldn’t wait that long.

Heavy winds swept dust over the excavation site, extinguishing the flames. Evidence of the massive explosion—a large hole, smoldering metal, chunks of rock, and endless smoke—was everywhere.

Beverly frowned. “I should’ve used more C-4.”

“If you had, we’d be dead.” I stood up. A hot breeze, completely lacking in moisture, swept past me.

“Hey.” She held up a hand. “Do you hear that?”

My ears perked. A high-pitched screeching noise sounded out from the east. It grew louder and louder, like a train bearing down on us. Only it wasn’t a train.

What the …?

Peering upward, I saw a plane. It was heading straight for us at an altitude of several hundred feet. Two long columns of smoke trailed the plane. They looked like contrails, or artificial clouds of vapor created by engine exhaust. However, the grayish smoke dissipated at an incredibly rapid rate.

“Oh, my God.” Lila appeared at my side. Her face was taut. Her eyes looked hollow. “She knows I’m here.”

“That’s not a civilian aircraft.” Beverly glanced at her. “Who’s flying it? The Israeli Air Force?”

“If only.” Lila wandered forward, as if magnetically drawn to the flying object.

I grabbed her arm. Whipped her around to face me. “What’s going on?”

“It’s not my fault.” Her eyes turned wild. “I tried to destroy it.”

Shouts and yells rang out. Shifting my gaze, I saw the militia members leap to their feet. They retrieved their weapons and spun toward the plane. Deafening booms rang out as hundreds of projectiles shot into the sky.

Tires rumbled as the truck drove past us. Graham slammed the brakes and honked the horn a few times. But Beverly, Lila, and I, paralyzed by the strange scene before us, didn’t move.

More blasts rang out. New projectiles, far too large to be bullets, soared into the dust-choked sky.

A loud boom filled the air. Two more followed it. Wisps of black smoke materialized.

“Those were missiles.” My jaw tightened. Shifting the dial on my goggles, I zoomed in for a closer look. Black smoke engulfed the aircraft, twisting and curling in all directions. “The plane … it’s been hit. It’s going to crash.”

This is insane.

Helplessly, I watched the sky. Smoke surrounded the plane, making it impossible to see details.

Questions popped into my head. How many people were inside the plane? Were they young? Old? Did they know they were about to crash? Were they praying for deliverance? Or had they accepted the cold, hard reality of their situation?

The plane dipped, straightened out, and then dipped again.

A small part of me knew it was time to jump into the truck, to drive as far away as possible. But my feet were rooted to the ground.

The plane dipped again and then gained a little altitude. I caught glimpses of scorched metal between wisps of black smoke. More smoke, the grayish contrails, continued to trail the aircraft, dissipating rapidly.

The plane shot overhead. It was so low I felt like I could reach up and touch its belly. The shrieking noise grew louder. It sounded like giant nails scratching a massive chalkboard.

Covering my ears, I spun around. The plane teetered overhead, miraculously maintaining altitude.

“Come on.” Beverly grabbed my arm. “We’ll—”

A coarse cheer sounded to the heavens, drowning her out. Rotating my waist, I looked at God’s Judges. They stood close together, their fists raised to the sky, hollering and yelling like they’d just won a massive battle.

“You go ahead,” I said. “I’ll get Lila.”

As Beverly darted to the truck, I hurried to Lila’s side. Every breath I took tasted foul and bitter in my mouth.

“I should’ve known she’d find me.” Lila knelt on the soil. Her eyes, wide as saucers, were aimed at some point in the distance. “This is my fault. All my fault.”

“Time to go.” I tried to lift her to her feet, but she just sagged back to the ground. Then her eyes widened even further.

Following her gaze, I glanced at God’s Judges. A bolt of electricity shot through me.

The militia members lay on the ground, flailing like dying fish against the soft dirt. Some people grasped their throats. Others clawed at their eyes.

Guess that ends the victory celebration.

I turned my gaze skyward. The plane’s contrails descended upon us. They were thick, yet almost invisible to the eye.

A distant booming noise rang out from the west, signaling the plane’s demise. But I barely noticed it.

My gaze remained locked on the contrails. I watched them twist back and forth, licking at the air like a pack of writhing snakes. The first few contrails settled on us. I could barely see them, but I sensed their presence.

“We need to—” The words caught in my throat as more contrails barreled into me. I felt their weight, their substance. I struggled to say something, anything. But my jaw just hung from its hinges.

The contrails touched my neck, my face. They filled my mouth, leaving me choking for air. They surrounded me, engulfed me.

My vision blurred up. I itched my eyes, but it didn’t help.

My lungs started to ache. Needing to breathe, I inhaled the contrails. They were odorless, tasteless. I inhaled again. This time, I couldn’t smell anything. Not dirt, not wood from the barn, or decayed vegetation. Not even exhaust from the truck.

“We’ve … got …” The words seemed to stick in my throat. I spun toward Lila. “Are … what?”

Her eyes bulged. Her hands flew to her throat. A soft gurgle escaped her lips.

Glancing back, I saw Graham emerge from the cab. Almost immediately, he crouched down, gasping for air.

Shifting my gaze, I saw Beverly. She knelt next to the truck, her head jerking spastically.

Haziness swept through my brain. My balance vanished and I stumbled to my knees. My head felt woozy and light as a beach ball. I tried to stand up, but my body tipped over. My face thudded against the dirt.

My eyes started to sting. My throat closed up. I couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe.

The contrails … they’re killing us.