Copyright 2018 Steven Spellman
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The Virus II: The New Assault
by Steven Spellman
Over half the population of the planet had been wiped from existence, many by the Virus itself, but many more by the ensuing chaos…
SAM HAD ONLY just been born when this had been the world’s reality. The Virus had been a first strike by an alien civilization looking to rid the earth of its human population. It had been the first strike, but it had not been the first attempt; most of history’s great plagues had really been assaults on mankind. It was an alien civilization that, as yet, no one had ever laid eyes upon. They had been plaguing mankind from the safety of their own planet, far, far away, for centuries. It was only in the twenty first century that they decided to send the Virus that would wipe out the humans, not with sickness, but by making it impossible for women to have children. Where all manner of disease had failed, the alien intelligences thought to eradicate the progeny of the planet before they could ever be born. It had almost worked.
Sam was the only reason it hadn’t. He had still been in his mother’s womb when The Virus spread, and she had been upon a NASA rocket bound for the International Space Station. It had been his blood that had provided the cure for The Virus. He had been earth’s only hope. Now, he was universally heralded as a modern-day messiah. It was an extremely unusual life, but it was the only one he’d ever known. Sam knew what it was to be harassed by throngs of fanatically dedicated people who wanted nothing more than to sit at his feet, to hear whatever word he might chose to speak, to be able but to touch the hem of his garment. There were also many who wanted more, some to kidnap him even, thinking that if they could just bath in his blood they’d be cleansed completely from the alien influence. What Sam didn’t know was what it was like to lead a normal life, not as a normal child, not a normal teenager, not a normal young adult. ‘Normal’ didn’t exist in Sam’s world. It was one of the very few things he had in common with what was left of the rest of the world.
The chaos that followed the Virus claimed many lives, but it also destroyed a great deal of property. People had panicked, and in their panic they had nearly toppled and burned everything to smoldering rubble. Even after twenty years the scars of yesterday were still visible everywhere in the land. So many lives had been extinguished. There weren’t very many people left; progress was spirited but slow. Twenty years, long as it was, was still just not enough time for humanity to digest so much death and destruction. Sam’s mother, Delilah, had seen that destruction first hand, and though death hadn’t claimed her—at least not back then—she had not escaped unscathed. Holed up inside a military installation and guarded day and night until Sam was born, she had been released back into the world only to find that she had lost her entire family. Many of the people she knew and loved had died in the panic. The rest had simply died of natural causes during Delilah’s long stay.
It had taken a toll upon her. Until she herself died shortly after Sam’s thirteenth birthday he remembered her being soft spoken, docile, broken. Sam’s father, Geoffrey Simmons, had assured him that she had been many things—selfish, loud, rash; but not docile—before the Virus. According to him, she had also been exceptionally beautiful, constantly made up like a Hollywood starlet. Sam’s father still remembered the days, so very long ago now, when Delilah would not think of donning an outfit unless it was specifically tailored and bore an expensive, difficult to pronounce designer label. There had even been a time when Sam’s father had resorted to personally giving her manicures, pedicures, tanning sessions, massages—any and everything he could that he thought might win her favor. Back then he had been a young intern to a noteworthy scientist; spa services were not exactly his field of expertise. Geoffrey had always claimed that he’d enjoyed every moment of it. By the way he smiled, by the unmistakable sparkle in his eyes on the few occasions when he’d spoken freely of that time in his life, Sam believed him. Sam had always thought that his mother was gorgeous as well, inside and out. It had been seven years since her death now, but he still missed her every moment of every day. Even now he risked tears to think on her too often. It didn’t matter, he cried those tears. He cried them late into the night when he lay alone on his bed, where no one could see. Or so he thought.
Sam and his father lived near the summit of a small mountain in a large luxurious home that had been painstakingly built directly into the mountain’s face. It had taken years of literally back breaking labor to complete the home but there was never a shortage of volunteers. Men and woman had died building the five-bedroom structure and those that survived had all been willing to make the same sacrifice. The Simmons’ name was synonymous with salvation. To die for one of them, even for something as commonplace as building a home, was an honor not to be matched. For some it was even a guarantee of a favorable afterlife. Ironically, it was just this kind of fanatical devotion that made a house built into a mountain face necessary for the Simmons. There was nowhere else they’d be safe, no number of armed guards that could resist the flood of people willing to give their lives for a stretch of fabric or a lock of hair off one of the Simmons. To many, just the chance to come into physical contact with Sam himself was worth being riddled with every bullet in every gun his guards might possess. It was madness really, a kind of mass hysteria, and Sam loathed to be at the center of it. Thankfully, as the years wore on, more people seemed to understand that the Simmons were just like them, human beings struggling to figure out which way to go one day to the next. As far as Sam was concerned, he and his father—the only remaining Simmons now that Delilah was dead—were simple people, completely void of any special powers worthy of worship. Or so he thought …
CHAPTER 2
Sam and Geoffrey’s home was opulent to the point of distastefulness. It certainly felt that way to the both of them. Geoffrey would’ve never built a home like this for himself. The ceilings were unnecessarily high and vaulted, the hardwood floors were of much higher grade than Geoffrey had any use for, the rooms were far too large, and the furniture was far too expensive. Or perhaps it was the fact that Geoffrey knew not only the money, but the human lives this house had cost. There was one thing about the house that both Geoffrey and his son enjoyed very much. The huge wrap-around porch that spanned the entire front of the home. It was a beautiful reinforced wooden porch with thick polished pillars and custom-made steel handrails. Standing on the porch, Geoffrey could enjoy a view of the mountainside and the recovering city far below, that, thanks to the nearly constant wind blowing up the mountain face, was literally breathtaking. From here he could look out and take in the entire landscape for dozens of miles in a single glance. From here he could also experience the thoughts and passions of the people down below.
It had been back during the time of the Virus when Geoffrey had first began hearing voices in his head. It was with a great shock that he discovered that those voices were not figments of his imagination but other people’s thoughts. It was more shocking when he eventually learned to project his own thoughts into other people’s minds. It had also nearly gotten him killed when he’d tried it out upon a hardened army lieutenant that had been tasked with protecting him and Delilah. Lieutenant Dan, as the lieutenant was known, had thought he was going mad when he’d heard Geoffrey’s voice in
side his skull. He beat Geoffrey savagely, to within an inch of his life. Geoffrey had been confined to a motorized wheelchair ever since. He retained only the power of speech and some use of his arms. Before long that too began to fade.
He manipulated the small joystick-like mechanism at the end of the chair’s right armrest so that the chair rolled him to his favorite place on the porch, now. Geoffrey was already there, gazing out across the horizon thinking thoughts that only he—and his father—could hear.
Geoffrey stopped the chair upon the threshold of the huge double door leading out onto the porch and watched his son. After a moment, he sighed; what he had come to do, what he had to do, was also something that he would’ve given anything not to do. Sam looked up when he heard the soft tale-tell creek of his father’s chair upon the porch’s thick hardwood decking. “Hello, dad.” He said. He sounded more jovial than he felt.
“What’s the matter, son?” The concern in Geoffrey’s voice was genuine.
Even with his back turned, Sam knew that his father somehow knew what he was thinking. He always seemed to, anyway. “I don’t know, dad…I feel like a storm or something is coming.” He lifted his eyes to the skies above. All was blue and crystal clear.
“Unfortunately, my son, you’re right.”
Sam turned and gazed into his father’s eyes. It was clear that Geoffrey had come out here to say something. Sam sat in one of the porch’s oversized, heavily cushioned chairs. Geoffrey moved his chair close to his son but instead of saying anything he only sighed again. He looked into his son’s eyes for a long time, upon his face, at his entire person, as if he were seeing him for the first time. “O.k. dad, you’re making me nervous.” Sam said, seriously.
“If I could, I would protect you from the world, my child.” He covered his face with his hands “But even I can’t protect you from what is to come.”
“What are you talking about, dad?”
“Son, I want you to pull your chair over there…” Geoffrey struggled to raise a frail arm until he could point a bony finger toward the railing at the edge of the porch. Sam slid the heavy chair toward the railing. “Don’t be afraid, my son.” Geoffrey said as Sam sat back down. But Sam was afraid. He was very afraid. His father’s behavior seemed foreboding. He heard the creek of his father’s wheelchair moving up behind him and he stiffened. He couldn’t help it.
“Please, son, don’t be afraid.” He heard Geoffrey repeat. Only this time his father’s voice was different. Perhaps it was the wind or the fact that he was so near to the edge of the porch where sound could simply dissipate out into the cool open air beyond the mountain like a whisper in the night. Whatever it was, it was difficult for Sam to tell what direction his father’s voice was coming from. He knew Geoffrey was behind him but suddenly his voice seemed to come from everywhere at once. It was no longer the voice of an old wheelchair bound man, either, but crisp, clear, like a young man’s voice, only clearer. “I understand, son” Sam heard Geoffrey say even though he hadn’t said anything himself “and you, too, will understand as well.” There was silence for what felt to Sam like a long time, but in the midst of that silence Sam could feel…something inside his head. Not a physical sensation, but something else, like flesh-less fingers, probing.
“Not probing. Preparing...” Geoffrey answered from everywhere and nowhere. Then, suddenly, like a typhoon that had been building for years and was only now making landfall, a rush of images and sensations crashed upon Sam’s mind. He saw his mother, not as a child would see her, but as a man desperately in love would see her. He felt pain like he had never felt it before, searing, crushing, tearing at his insides. Somehow, he realized that it was the pain of the loss of that woman that had been his mother, but it was much greater than the pain he’d always felt. He felt sorrow, this time not for his mother, but for things to come. He felt it, like the entire planet ruined and destroyed, sitting upon his chest, crushing him into oblivion. He saw joy, images of himself as a child, as a boy, as an adolescent, as a young adult, all in a single moment of time. He could barely recognize himself. His face, his person, was not what he saw in the mirror when he looked upon himself, but something like a glowing caricature of himself. He looked not as he thought he appeared but as if an artist with uncommon ability had drawn him in perpetual perfection. Beneath everything, there was a sensation of overwhelming affection. It was a rapturous love that was more powerful than the crushing pain.
Sam saw all this. He heard it. He felt it all in a single moment and for an eternity. From deep in the recesses of his own mind he heard a tiny scream, like someone yelling at the top of their lungs but from very far away. Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it all ended. Only the screaming remained. With nothing to compete against, the scream was instantly amplified, deafening even. With a jolt, Sam realized that it was his own anguished screams he heard. When they died away, he opened his eyes and saw that his smooth brown hands were pale from gripping the sides of his chair. He forced his clenched fists open and felt the pain shoot up his arms from the effort. His breath came in quick heavy bursts and now that the foreign thoughts and images were no longer in his head, his own thoughts raced on violently.
Sam was just about to bolt from his seat when he heard his father’s voice, soothing, calming. Thankfully, it was just the voice coming clearly from behind him without the confusing images and sensations, saying, “Don’t be afraid, my son.”
“What’s happening, dad?” Sam’s voice trembled.
“Stay where you are.” Geoffrey said quietly. His voice sounded disembodied again. Sam struggled to obey over his mounting fear. He remained in his chair, face forward. “I promise I will explain everything, but first I need you to listen to the sound of my voice.” How could he do anything else! Sam thought, but said nothing. Then, despite his unease, he chuckled nervously; obviously he didn’t need to say anything; his father was somehow literally inside his head. It was a moment of levity that helped ease the tension. “That’s good son, release your fear…” Geoffrey said with his disembodied voice “Do not be afraid. I am your father. I love you, you know this. I will not harm you.” Of course, Sam did know this, but after what he’d just experienced it was still helpful to be reminded of the fact. His breath was nearly back to normal now.
“I know that what you have experienced is jarring. You have done exceptionally well.” Sam smiled. “If would’ve been easier had I begun preparing you earlier but the last time I overextended myself into someone else’s mind the man was nearly driven mad … and I was nearly killed.” Subtly, slowly, like a movie gradually coming into focus, Sam saw in his head a great monster of a man, like a man with the size and strength of a bear. The man was brutally pummeling a younger Geoffrey as a crazed adult might savagely pummel a child. Geoffrey looked so young, so small, against this beast of a person. Sam desperately wanted to rush to his aid, to find something and break the beast’s skull to get him off his father. Then, in a second the movie was gone. “Thank you, my son” Geoffrey said “but Lieutenant Dan was only scared, just as you were just now. He didn’t understand what was happening. He thought that I was driving him insane.” Reluctantly, Sam nodded. He understood. Had it not been his own father, had someone else somehow caused him to experience what he’d experienced he would’ve likely tried to beat them out of his head as well.
A thought crossed Sam’s mind and Geoffrey answered, “I don’t know what became of Lieutenant Dan. After that he left to be as far away from me as he could. Either he has died or he is too far away for me to touch his mind.”
Sam swallowed, hard. “How?” he asked, but not with his mouth, with his thoughts. He was trying to communicate as his father was doing.
“Great, son!” Geoffrey answered into Sam’s head with real joy. He had been prepared for this to be a lengthy and difficult process. It was a good sign that Sam was already attempting to make some forays of his own. “As to how, the alien civilization that sent the Virus sent it upon a fragment of their planet. Whe
n the scientist who first discovered that fragment touched it, it endowed him with a remnant of their collective intelligence. He was knocked out for quite a while, but when he awoke he had the power of telepathy. It was he who taught me.”
“Telepathy can be taught?” Sam asked with his mind.
“Telepathy is a language of the mind. It can be taught just as children are taught to speak any other language. But in the same way, it’s harder to teach the older the child gets. I have waited so long to teach you because I was trying to protect you … but there is no protection from what is to come.”
Sam had sensed a storm coming. Now his father confirmed that. But the world had seen storms before. You rebuilt after the desolation and, in time, you learned to move on. The world was moving on right now from the horror of an alien invasion like nothing any sci-fi writer had ever thought of. Nothing would ever be the same. So, what manner of storm could be on the approach of which the world could not recover? Sam looked down upon the city at the bottom of the mountain. It spread out for miles upon the land like a concrete plague. The aliens saw humans as a plague upon the earth and they had intended to send a plague to stop the plague. But the plague had made man stronger, or at the very least, different, as Sam’s father had just proved. But perhaps it would not be a plague but man’s own strength, along with his lack of ability to control it, that would be his ultimate undoing.
CHAPTER 3
In the weeks that followed, Geoffrey and Sam practiced at telepathy. For days straight, hours on end, Sam sat in the chair near the rails of the porch, his face peering out upon the bright horizon but his mind completely focused on the things his father was showing him inside his head. Geoffrey claimed that telepathy was a language of the mind, only much purer because it was unfettered by the limits of human speech. It certainly was more efficient. It could take forever to explain a new and foreign idea to a close friend, much more to a stranger. There was just no end to the opportunities for miscommunication but that wasn’t the case when a person could project not only their own words but their emotions, their very cognitive being, into another person’s mind. It was said that a picture was worth a thousand words. Well, this new means of direct communication was worth a million pictures. The first days passed with Sam and his father simply having telepathic conversations, but when Sam was ready Geoffrey began showing him his memories, his feelings, his self.
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