by C A Bird
Humanity Abides – Book One
Shelter
By Carol A. Bird
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright 2013 by Carol A. Bird
All rights reserved
ISBN -13: 978-1482054095
Cover art Copyright 2013 by David Bird
Special Thanks to:
Lori A. Bird – Editor
David A. Bird – Illustrator
Bob Dean - Contributor
This book is dedicated to my mother, Julia Margaret Adams.
One of my fondest childhood memories is of our weekly trips to the Lemon Grove Library.
www.carolannbird.com
Table of contents:
PART ONE
PROLOGUE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
PART TWO
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
PART ONE
“Every death even the cruellest death drowns in the total indifference of Nature/Nature herself would watch unmoved if we destroyed the entire human race.”
Peter Weiss (1964)
PROLOGUE
The twisted coil of DNA - representing the code of life - splits down the middle of the tightly wound helix like rungs of a spiral ladder breaking under the weight of a heavy body. Base pairs are ripped apart. The cell writhes and contorts with the exposed and isolated DNA strands awash in the primordial soup of the cell's nucleus. RNA attaches to the DNA as lonely strands find their opposite partners and base pairs link in an ecstasy of reunion. The genetic information is copied to the RNA which then separates from the DNA and races off to carry out its function of protein synthesis. In this manner the genetic information contained in DNA is copied and utilized to form proteins, enzymes, organs and tissue.
During meiosis, or sexual reproduction, DNA forms distinct chromosomes within the cell’s nucleus. As the cell divides to become an ova or sperm, one half of each chromosome pair ends up in a daughter cell. With the haploid number, or one-half the usual number of chromosomes, each cell has all the information required to create a new being when combined with a sex cell from another individual of the same species. Only then can the miracle continue.
At the moment the sperm penetrates the ovum the resulting zygote again contains the full complement of chromosomes. The DNA begins a dance of life. Chromosome pairs match up, bringing together characteristics from each parent to create a new and absolutely unique individual.
Mitosis, or non-sexual division of the nucleus that produces daughter cells identical to the parent, results in growth and regeneration of cells in a body.
During these fragile times, when cells are dividing sexually or somatically, the cell is the most vulnerable. Mutations can alter the form or function of the cell, or of the proteins coded for by the DNA. Slow, orderly mutation causes minor changes that alter the organism very slightly. If the mutation is beneficial, the organism flourishes and by natural selection passes the change onto its offspring. If not, the organism is not successful, either in living or reproducing. This evolution has proceeded for millions of years, changing and improving the life forms that inhabit the Earth.
These mutations are caused by many factors, natural and unnatural. Natural causes include cosmic radiation or genetic accidents. In modern life, more frequent or serious mutations can occur; caused by drugs, environmental pollution, chemicals in food or water, or strong radiation.
Sometimes these mutations can lead to deadly malignancies. And if the mutagen is strong enough, may sometimes lead to something worse… something much worse… something monstrous.
ONE
August 18, 10:30 a.m.
Society Islands, South Pacific Ocean
Sleek and beautiful, and gleaming white against the azure ocean, the Sea Witch sliced through an early morning glassy sea at forty knots. Spray arced from her bow, glittering with an untold number of tiny rainbow spectrums. In contrast to the beauty of the tranquil sea, turmoil reigned on the yacht’s bridge as her darkly handsome skipper paced nervously, running his fingers through his black, wavy hair. Apprehensive about yesterday’s unexpected encounter with a Chinese gunboat, he checked the GPS to ensure they were on course, and for the twentieth time glanced fearfully at the radar screen, searching for any evidence that the Chinese ship was still in the area.
It remained clear.
Alphonse Carelli was an excitable, hot-tempered Italian and was easily rattled by unexpected events. Yesterday’s experience with the gunboat had left him frantic. He had tossed and turned all night, worried he might be prevented from delivering his valuable cargo to its final destination. The Chinese vessel, which had been detected by the yacht’s radar while still several miles away, had no authority in these waters and absolutely no fathomable reason for being here.
“What the hell is he doing down here? We’re thousands of miles from China, for Christ’s sake!” Alphonse complained to his first mate Paul Jeter. A man of few words, Jeter had just shrugged his massive shoulders and headed below.
After picking up the load of drugs in the Philippines the Sea Witch had traveled east along the equator and then turned southeast toward French Polynesia. Carelli’s plan was to spend leisure time in Bora Bora and Tahiti to divert suspicion. He loved powerboats, this one in particular. This was his second smuggling run using this craft and he was taking full advantage of these trips to live a life of luxury while sailing the South Seas. This latest assignment, smuggling the largest shipment of heroin his boss had ever imported into the United States was going to make him a rich man. Ricky Wong, after many years as a small time crook, was quickly becoming one of the most powerful Asian Mafia bosses on the west coast and Carelli was hoping to rise right along with him.
After two weeks of sailing between the islands, with Alphonse and his wife diving and snorkeling in the blue-green waters around Moorea and lounging on pristine white beaches, the Witch had left the Society Islands sailing east. They avoided normal shipping lanes and were planning on swinging north to approach the west coast of the United States from the South. Yesterday, just as lunch was being served, and while still in an uninhabited portion of the South Pacific they had encountered the Chinese ship. The yacht’s captain, Cecil Jameson, notified Alphonse they had picked up the vessel on the radar. It was traveling toward them at high speed. From the ship’s fly bridge Alphonse and Jeter watched with dread as the gunmetal gray military vessel approached, bouncing over the waves, until it began to slow off their port bow. “You don’t think he’s been tracking us, do you?” Carelli asked Jeter.
“How the fuck would I know?” He replied in his deep, gravelly voice. “You want me to break out the heat?” Jeter was six and a half feet of bulging muscle, with greasy, black hair protruding from under a filthy baseball cap. It hung down in front of his eyes and covered his ears. He wore dirty overalls with no shirt underneath, much to the chagrin of Captain Jameson and the rest of the immaculately attired crew. Jeter was always itching for a fight, and the thought of a battle - with weapons blazing, had caused his eyes to shine with excitement in the intense, early afternoon sunshine.
“No! Are you an idiot? Look at the size of the guns on that baby!” Carelli had been unable to drag his gaze away from the rapidly approaching vessel. He spoke as if to a child, “Remember, we’re just a pleasure boat cruising the South Seas for recreation. Go tell the captain and crew that everybody’s to stay cool and look casual.” He ordered Jeter away with a flip of his hand. “What the hell’s a Chinese ship doing down here, anyway?” he repeated. In v
ery real danger of pissing his pants, he anxiously awaited the ship’s arrival.
Jeter went below. He preferred the dark recesses of the lower decks and the engine room to the bright upper levels. He was prepared, if necessary, to break open the hidden, highly illegal stash of automatic weapons. Jeter couldn’t care less what Carelli thought. There was no way he was going to rot in a Chinese prison, and he didn’t care if he and everyone else had to die in a hail of bullets to prevent it.
The yacht’s crew came on deck ready to prepare her for boarding, but the military ship drew alongside, and to Alphonse’s immense relief, didn’t demand either to board or to search her. The Chinese captain, speaking perfect English with almost no accent, warned Alphonse to leave the vicinity immediately.
“Yes sir, is there some kind of a problem we should know about?” Alphonse asked deferentially.
The captain wouldn’t elaborate, but indicated that Alphonse and his vessel would be at extreme risk if he didn’t comply. Apparently in a hurry themselves, they swung their ship away from the Witch, gunned their engines and departed at high speed, their ship producing a wake that caused the massive yacht to roll sickeningly.
Alphonse’s trembling legs had given out and he’d slumped into a deck chair, relieved that the huge shipment of heroin, concealed in the space between a false hull and the real one, had not been discovered. This smuggling run from Southeast Asia to the United States was going to bail him out of debt and make him an extremely wealthy man. His concealed cargo was worth over fifty million dollars and after cutting would be worth even more on the street. Providing this trip was successful, and the heroin delivered to the various dealers, Ricky would sell him the Witch and make him a partner, and there would be many more lucrative ocean crossings in his future.
If it wasn’t successful, the Federal government would confiscate the yacht, his wife would leave him, and if the government didn’t kill him, Ricky would. This job, a joint venture between him and Ricky Wong, was his last chance and he paled at the thought that he came so close to blowing it.
Arrangements had already been made to divide the goods prior to reaching domestic waters. Smaller vessels would rendezvous with the Sea Witch off the coast of Mexico, and taking separate routes, would deliver their expensive cargo to various west coast ports. The shipment was of very high quality and was promised to drug lords in three major cities. Money laundering had already been arranged and Alphonse Carelli would soon be a rich businessman living in luxury in San Francisco.
Unfortunately, soon after the gunboat disappeared over the horizon, a malfunction of one of their turbine engines brought them to a halt, and they’d drifted overnight while Jeter and the mechanical crew made repairs. This morning found them only a few miles from the location where they’d encountered the Chinese gunboat the previous day.
It probably wouldn’t have mattered.
***
An Intercontinental Ballistic missile screamed through the upper atmosphere, having reached the highest point of its trajectory in a matter of minutes. Eight thousand miles down range it bloomed like a deadly flower, sending out five blossoms, each with independent propulsion and guidance systems, and each independently targeted for a predetermined atoll, or tiny uninhabited island in the Pacific Ocean.
As Carelli continued his pacing, the sea had become restless, with winds kicking up and previously gentle swells becoming whitecaps. The captain reduced speed slightly and with no indication of the gunboat on the radar, and much to the captain’s relief, Alphonse left the bridge around eleven a.m. to find his wife.
Marci Carelli, tall, tanned and beautiful, turned over on her chaise lounge, exposing her shapely nude backside to the sun as the brilliant orb showered her with golden rays from almost directly overhead.
“Alphonse, honey, put some lotion on my back.” Her voice was deep, sensuous.
He came over and sat beside her on the edge of her chaise, leaning down and kissing the back of her neck, breathing in the lotion’s sweet coconut aroma. They looked good together. His handsome Italian features, and dark hair and eyes, contrasted with her pale blue eyes and long blonde hair that cascaded over the chaise’s edge and spilled onto the deck. He squirted lotion into his hand and applied it to her back, working his way down to her buttocks where his hand lingered, caressing.
He gently pulled aside her hair and kissed behind her ear, speaking softly, feeling his own arousal, “You’re going to be the wife of a very rich man, my sweet. In another month we’ll have everything we’ve ever wanted.” He continued to rub the slippery oil on her tanned back. “You know that exquisite white Mediterranean mansion on the hill? I’m going to buy it for you.”
“Oh Alphonse, I love that house! Can you really afford it?” She flipped over, tossing back her hair and squinting in the bright sunlight as she grinned up at him excitedly.
Suddenly the daylight became infinitely brighter. Marci threw her arm across her face as the fierce light stabbed her eyes, temporarily blinding her.
“What the fuck?” Alphonse jumped up and ran to the rail, his arm held aloft, shielding his eyes from the brilliance. Within seconds the dazzling light faded and Alphonse stood in awe, his mouth hanging open, as he saw a gigantic explosion in the distance. An incredibly huge waterspout was climbing skyward as the ocean vaporized, was superheated, and was sucked upward into a billowing, incandescent fireball; a radiant orange, yellow and angry purple inferno surrounded by roiling gray and white clouds of steam and gases. The column of water grew, an impossible amount of water traveling upward, spreading out into a churning mushroom-shaped cloud that quickly blotted out the sunlight and plunged the day into night. He gripped the rail with all his strength.
“Oh God! Full speed ahead!” he screamed stupidly. His ears popped from the gigantic overpressure created by the blast.
He never heard the explosion.
The sound trailed far behind the light, heat, and radiation. Vacuum created by the rapidly rising and expanding gases jerked the yacht forward, drawing it downward into an enormous trough created in the sea, and then forward toward the growing maelstrom, nearly tearing his grip from the rail.
“No, no, stop!” he screamed, leaning backward, pulling on the rail as if, with his feeble strength, he could keep the yacht from the blast.
Within seconds, as though struck by a giant’s backhand, the Witch slammed to a stop.
He heard Marci’s terrified screams as she, her chair, and everything that wasn’t tied down flew past him, sucked toward the spreading column. He was smashed against the railing, hanging on for his life . . . when something on the surface caught his eye.
“Sweet mother of God!” he whimpered. A wall was racing toward him with blinding speed, a looming tsunami of water and steam, cerulean blue capped with frothing white.
Searing thermal radiation from the rapidly expanding fireball reached Alphonse. His clothing melted and fused to his flesh. His hair disintegrated, and flash burns blistered, bubbled and blackened his exposed skin. The leading edge of the concussion wave, traveling unbelievably fast, blasted him and the entire yacht to molecules as the firestorm continued to spread outward from the blast, obliterating everything in its path.
The vacuum above continued to fill with water, gases and steam, until gravity reasserted itself and millions of tons of radioactive water came crashing back to earth, sending shock waves through the ocean, wave after wave, spreading out in pursuit of the retreating concussion front.
The target atoll was gone.
August 19, 4:00 a.m.
Newport Beach, California
“The blood of Christ…” Mark Teller murmured softly, as he tossed restlessly in his bed. He flipped over and tangled the sheets around his naked, sweaty body. “The blood of Christ,” he moaned louder, his spine suddenly cold with fear as he ran…ran through darkness, darker than he had ever known or had ever thought possible, as though light had been forever extinguished from his world. He sprinted, gasping for breath, through e
ndless corridors, around blind corners and across inky intersections, searching, seeking someone - with something unspeakable in pursuit. He could hear it coming closer and could feel its hot, foul breath on the nape of his neck.
Turning over violently and flailing his arms, he tried to escape the grasp of the unclean thing in his nightmare, crying out in abject terror as fear overwhelmed him; not for himself, but for someone he thought he knew but couldn’t quite recognize in the turmoil of the horrid dream.
Suddenly chilling water was all around him, in a tide that climbed up his legs, his hips, swirling by him on all sides, coming from nowhere and everywhere at once. The water trapped him, and he slogged forward in slow motion, as though his legs were embedded in concrete - the thing behind him continuing to gain ground. He heard a plaintive sob, someone in the darkness crying out his name, the panic in the young voice tearing at Mark’s heart, terrifying him beyond comprehension. Who was it? He couldn’t remember, no matter how hard he tried, but he yearned desperately to locate the child who seemed to believe that only Mark could save him from the hellish demons lurking in the darkness.
He bolted upright in bed, gasping unevenly, choking for breath as he jerked awake in the early dawn. The nightmare was still stuck in his mind, stubbornly refusing to fade completely. The strident ringing of the alarm clock intruded on his mental terror and he automatically reached over and hit the snooze button. His heart continued to pound as though he’d been running for his very life, and he shook his head, trying to come awake in the predawn darkness.
“The blood of Christ.” He shook his head and frowned in concentration. The thought frightened him but he had no idea why, or what the term represented.