by David Meyer
“What’s that?” Graham asked.
“Air.” She read a few notes. “Apparently, Lila used to work for Simona. Simona had tasked her, along with several other archaeologists, with finding samples of extremely ancient air from the fourteenth century. So, they researched old documents to look for evidence of boxes, reliquaries, and other sealable items.”
I recalled the skeletons we’d seen in the nook. “Like coffins?”
She nodded. “I’m not sure why Lila turned on Simona. But it looks like the reliquary was exactly what Simona wanted. After bringing it here, she submitted it to extensive testing via ultrasound and other techniques. There were no leaks, no soft spots.”
Jolts of electricity raced through me. The oldest sample of atmospheric air ever taken only dated back a few decades. That made the reliquary’s ancient air truly extraordinary. If Simona’s team had extracted it correctly, it could be used as a benchmark to compare with modern air. It could provide fresh insight into how the rise of industrialization had impacted air quality and the ozone layer.
My heart burned deep inside my chest. The reliquary had been an ancient time capsule, a glimpse into the air quality of the long-forgotten past. It could shed valuable light on the fourteenth century. Everything about it seemed positive.
So, why had Lila been scared of Simona taking it?
Graham looked up from a machine. “Didn’t Carrie say Simona’s compound was called CN-46?”
I nodded.
“According to this, her scientists have been developing something called Miasma.”
I recalled the basement and production facilities. The twin reservoirs rising high into the air. The swirling substance.
“So, they changed their aerosols,” Beverly said slowly. “But why?”
“CN-46 was supposed to block sunlight,” I said, deep in thought. “But what if Simona has something else in mind? What if she has another reason for wanting to put aerosols into the atmosphere?”
Graham arched an eyebrow.
A chill ran through me. At last, I understood the truth. I didn’t know how it worked. But I knew what Simona was trying to do.
“It’s the air.” I glanced at the reliquary. “Something was inside that air sample. Something that’s been preserved since the fourteenth century. Something that Simona has replicated and is now feeding to her drones.”
“What?” Beverly asked.
I walked to one of the tables. Picking up a notebook labeled Project Miasma, I began to leaf through it. My brain raced as I scanned the pages. “We have to stop her. We have to—”
The air rushed, so softly I barely heard it. Spinning to a window, I saw the three guards, now outfitted with body armor, rush into the cavern. They quickly surrounded the laboratory. Then a stylish, middle-aged woman strode into view. I’d never seen her before. Yet, I knew her name.
Simona Wolcott.
Beverly and Graham raised their guns.
The guards raised their guns as well.
Shots rang out on both sides.
I ducked my head. Graham and Beverly followed suit.
I waited a few seconds before standing up again. Looking outside, I saw the guards. They gave us confused looks.
I glanced at the oval windows. They were still intact.
Bulletproof glass.
“We have to destroy this place,” I whispered. “This lab, the production facility, the reservoirs … everything.”
“Why?” Graham’s mouth twitched. “What the hell was in that old air anyway?”
“The secret to the most infamous plague in history.” Simona stopped short of the laboratory. Her voice sounded slightly muffled behind the partition. “The Black Death.”
Chapter 79
“The Black Death?” Beverly gaped at Simona. “Are you insane?”
“I was hired to save the world.” Simona smiled sweetly. “And that’s exactly what I’m doing.”
Graham arched an eyebrow. “Not one for humility, are you?”
“I prefer honesty.”
“So, the whole geoengineering thing is just a scam?” Beverly asked.
“You know about that?” Simona looked thoughtful. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. As to your question, I wouldn’t call it a scam. Rather it was a means to an end. A way to get resources and unobstructed access to the sky.”
I glanced at Beverly. “You’re right. She is insane.”
Simona regarded me carefully. “I’ve done a little research on you, Mr. Reed. We’re very much alike, you and I.”
“Don’t insult me.”
“Do you know how we’re alike? We’ve both dedicated our lives to paying for the sins of our fathers.”
My gaze hardened.
“At first, your arrival here confused me. Why would some salvage jockey travel halfway around the world to retrieve a stolen artifact? It didn’t make sense. That is, until I read about your dad, about all the history he destroyed when you were a kid.”
My lips tightened.
“My dad was a developer too. A real greedy one who ripped up a bunch of forests just to get his hands on the timber. I hated him for it. But initially, my focus was limited. I just wanted to do some good, to make up for his destruction. It seemed simple enough. I’d build the world’s most sophisticated computer model and use it to engineer the climate. That way, I could undo his damage.” She sighed. “But over time, I realized it wasn’t enough. My dad wasn’t the source of the problem but rather, a tiny offshoot of it. So, geoengineering, even if it worked, would never address the real issue.”
“And what issue is that?”
“Industrialization, of course.”
I frowned.
“Geoengineering might slow climate change, but it won’t stop businesses and so-called progress from hurting the environment. Just like you might save some artifacts, but you won’t stop people from destroying the past. You see, it’s not enough to paper over historical sins. The sin itself—industrialization in both our cases—has to be removed.”
I couldn’t help but marvel at her easy manner. “And you think killing people will do that?”
“Most environmentalists—including the ones who helped me build this place—are brilliant, but shortsighted. Rather than make the tough choices, they want to use climate engineering as a way to buy humanity a little time. Time to turn the wheels of government, to bring about lasting change. Unfortunately, that’s just a pipe dream.” She looked into my eyes. “The only way to save this planet is by weeding out the very thing that’s hurting it. That is, industrialization. Consider my version of the Black Death a sort of high-tech cleansing, a major disruption that will bring modern society to its knees.”
“You really think a disease—?”
“Who said anything about a disease?” she said, interrupting me.
“But you said—”
“I said the Black Death.”
I frowned.
“From 1347 to 1350, the Black Death ravaged Europe, reducing its population by somewhere between thirty and sixty percent.” Simona adopted a mask of solemnity. “It’s considered one of the most lethal pandemics in history.”
My mind raced. If the Black Death wasn’t a disease, then what was it? And what did it have to do with the ancient air she’d secured from the reliquary?
“The Black Death was caused by bubonic plague,” Graham said. “Everyone knows that. It’s considered the third great outbreak, following the Plague of Athens and the Justinian Plague.”
She smiled. “That’s what the experts say. But they’re wrong.”
Slowly, the guards spread across the room. I shifted my gaze, trying to keep them all in view.
In the process, I snuck a glance at the far northeastern tube. I saw two shadows—Benigno and Carrie—near a wall. I couldn’t imagine how Benigno felt. He’d lost his wife and son. Now, the woman most responsible for their deaths was within striking distance.
Unfortunately, he was unarmed. If he tried to attack Simona, h
e’d go down in a hail of gunfire. His best bet was to stay in the shadows.
Easier said than done.
“Let me back up a second.” Simona took a breath. “The conventional wisdom, of course, is that the Black Death was caused by bubonic plague, spread by rats and fleas. It’s assumed that infected rodents in Central Asia, or perhaps Africa, brought the disease to the Black Sea region and the Central Mediterranean via trade routes. By late 1347, the plague had arrived in Europe, striking at a severely weakened population.”
Beverly arched an eyebrow. “Weakened population?”
“That’s where the conventional theory begins to show holes. The dirty little secret is that a weakened population is the only way the plague theory makes even the remotest bit of sense. You see, the Black Death killed people at an extraordinary rate, far higher than that of a typical bubonic plague outbreak.”
Sweat poured down my fingertips. “So, that’s your argument? The Black Death was too efficient to be bubonic plague?”
Her smile widened. I could see she was enjoying the opportunity to share knowledge, to debate. “It’s a good argument,” she retorted. “In the 1900s, a confirmed bubonic plague outbreak spread through India and China. The kill rate was just three percent.”
Graham shook his head. “That’s five hundred and fifty years later. By then, doctors would’ve known how to treat it, how to isolate it.”
“Actually, doctors of the time observed bubonic plague didn’t spread very easily. Relatives visited patients without getting sick. Few nurses or doctors contracted the disease.”
“That doesn’t prove anything.” He crossed his arms. “Maybe the population had somehow gained immunity by that time.”
“Maybe. But here’s the odd thing. Those same doctors still wrote that the bubonic plague was highly contagious.” She paused to let the implications sink in. “In other words, they observed a disease that didn’t spread very easily, yet still told others it was extremely contagious.”
“Why would they do that?” Beverly asked.
“I believe the so-called truth about bubonic plague, namely that it was highly contagious, had been beaten into their heads during medical school. It was so engrained in them that they couldn’t see the real truth.”
Simona had snagged my curiosity. I knew our lives were in danger. And yet, I couldn’t stop trying to figure out the mystery of the Black Death.
“So, the population was weakened somehow,” I said slowly. “That’s the only explanation.”
“It was weakened,” she replied. “But the Black Death still wasn’t caused by bubonic plague. Consider the transfer mechanism. Supposedly, great masses of infected rodents spread north across Europe. As they died, their fleas—now infected—searched for new hosts, eventually deciding on people. However, the disease spread far too fast to be carried by rats and fleas alone. Plus, there are no written documents from that time describing the vast legions of dead rats which would’ve been required to carry the plague.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Graham retorted. “Maybe dead rats in the streets were commonplace back then. Or maybe they died indoors.”
“Perhaps. But the conventional theory has other problems. First, the Black Death killed over half of Iceland’s population. But rats didn’t actually reach Iceland until the nineteenth century. Second, it moved in almost magical ways. For example, it leapt over Constantinople on its way across the Mediterranean. Third, it continued to kill people during the winter months in northern Europe. However, the plague requires relatively warm temperatures to survive.”
“Maybe there were no rats,” Beverly said. “Isn’t there a pneumonic form of the disease?”
“Yes, but the symptoms don’t match the famous descriptions of Black Death victims. The reason bubonic plague was suspected in the first place was because some of the victims displayed buboes, or swellings around the armpits and groin. That’s common in the conventional form of the plague. But they don’t occur in the pneumonic form.”
I searched my brain for an answer to the mystery. But I came up empty. “I give up. What caused the Black Death?”
She lifted her chin to the ceiling. “‘There have been masses of dead fish, animals, and other things along the sea shore and in many places covered in dust,’” she said in a haunting tone. “‘And all these things seem to have come from the great corruption of the air and earth.’”
I recalled the death and arid land I’d seen in Jerusalem and on Pagan. An uncomfortable feeling spread through me.
Simona lowered her gaze. Her tone normalized. “That’s a description provided by a contemporary of the Black Death. And it’s not an isolated one. Documents of the time speak of earthquakes, tidal waves, rains of fire, foul odors, strange colors in the sky, mists, even dragons.” Her gaze shot to the dragon statue before returning to me. “Most historians lack the imagination to understand these accounts. They chalk them up to colorful imagery or the ravings of religious fanatics. But they’re actually something else. They’re accurate accounts of what was happening at the time, as people tried to put into words the startling things they saw all around them.”
“You’re talking about metaphors,” I said.
She nodded. “Metaphors for a corrupted atmosphere, to be specific. You see, the ancients didn’t know about germs. Instead, they believed in something called the miasma theory. To put it simply, they thought rotting corpses and other dead things decomposed into poisonous, foul-smelling vapors. Those vapors supposedly spread epidemics among populations. And in the case of the Black Death, they were right.”
I recalled the notebook. Its title blazed its way into my brain.
Project Miasma.
“Air pollution might not be the healthiest thing in the world,” Graham said. “But it doesn’t just kill everything it touches.”
“This was no ordinary air pollution. The miasma that killed half of Europe’s population originated from the sky.” She smiled. “In other words, the Black Death was really death by comet.”
Chapter 80
“A comet?” Despite our predicament, I couldn’t help but chuckle. “That’s crazy.”
Graham laughed. “Just so you know, major space impacts are rare. We’re talking one every ten thousand years or so.”
Simona smiled condescendingly. “Obviously, you’re only familiar with the American school.”
His laughter died away. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“There are two schools of thought on near-Earth objects. American astronomers believe the main threat to Earth lies in Apollo asteroids, which are solid bodies of rock crossing our orbit. They want to map the Apollos and keep an eye on them. Like you, they believe no large objects from space have struck this planet for many thousands of years.”
“You mentioned two schools.” I kept a close eye on the guards, but they kept their distance from us. “What’s the other one?”
“It’s based out of Britain,” she replied. “Unlike the Americans, its proponents believe comets pose the biggest threat to our planet. Comets contain a greater variety of materials, including ice, frozen gas, carbons, and rock. They’re often colored black and thus, are far harder to see in the sky. In addition, since most of their materials break away in mid-air, they don’t leave craters in the same manner as asteroids. The British school believes close encounters with comet fragments occur far more frequently than is commonly thought, perhaps in the neighborhood of one every couple hundred years or so.”
“So, you think a comet hit Earth way back in the 1340s?” Graham looked doubtful. “How can you be so sure without a crater?”
“We don’t have to trust the words of our predecessors alone,” Simona said. “Tree-ring data from Europe and the Americas indicates there was a global environmental downturn during the years of the Black Death. Also, ice core data suggests there were increased amounts of carbon dioxide and ammonia in the air at the time, suggesting ocean turnover. All of this points to a corruption in the a
tmosphere.”
“Let’s say you’re right,” Graham said. “How in the world does a comet corrupt the atmosphere?”
“The same way a volcano does.” My eyes tightened. “By stuffing it with dust and chemicals.”
“Very good.” Simona nodded. “Multiple sources indicate there was a significant earthquake on January 25, 1348. Other earthquakes soon followed. I believe fragments from Comet Negra, which passed by Earth in 1347, caused those quakes. In other words, our planet was subjected to a comet shower. Now, most of the fragments exploded in the atmosphere, producing ammonium, nitrate, and a whole host of other chemicals. Others collided with the ocean or in remote areas, setting off earthquakes in the process. In any event, the fragments injected large amounts of dust as well as a variety of chemicals into the stratosphere. The chemicals drifted downward, poisoning the breathing air and infecting the drinking water.”
A few uncomfortable moments passed. My brain reeled as I connected the dots between the Black Death and Project Miasma.
Graham glanced at her. “You said the Black Death had symptoms. Buboes, right?”
“That’s right.” My gaze turned to Simona. “How could a corrupted atmosphere cause buboes?”
“First-hand descriptions of the Black Death are far from similar. Symptoms varied from case to case, which is exactly what you’d expect in a corrupted atmosphere.” She rested her hands on her hips. “The corrupted air killed some people. But most importantly, it weakened many others, which made them easy prey for a whole host of diseases. Some of the victims probably did fall prey to bubonic plague. Others succumbed to anthrax. Still others fell to far simpler diseases.”
I tried to find the flaw in her logic. But her theory made a whole lot of sense. A severe corruption of the atmosphere had weakened people. Diseases had run rampant. Writers of the past and present had grouped them together, turning many ailments into the Black Death.
“A comet shower would explain the geographical spread,” I said slowly. “As material descended from the sky, it must’ve first fallen on the northern Mediterranean Sea. Then it branched outward, hitting some areas more than others.”