Paradeisia: The Complete Trilogy: Origin of Paradise, Violation of Paradise, Fall of Paradise

by B. C. CHASE

  Gonzales nodded. With that, they tore through the jungle at breakneck speed.

  They broke out of the trees and onto a tall grass plain dotted with acacia trees. The long necks of a herd of giraffes were silhouetted against the sky. Far in the distance toward the right was a brightly illuminated building. Gonzales pointed toward it and said, “That’s where Adriaan’s suite is: the Savannah Lodge.”

  “Perfect. How do we get there quickly enough not to be eaten?”

  Suddenly, there was a purr from the grass to the left. The grass parted in a straight line toward them as something moved through it. The tall shoulders of the giant orange tiger were barely visible through the top.

  “Run!” Gonzales shouted, and darted off to the right where a pile of boulders loomed in the distance. Henry followed in a blind terror. Behind him he could hear the gallop of paws in pursuit. He glanced back to see the orange tiger, its mouth stained red, bounding at breakneck speed. They neared the boulders, which Henry could see were engineered and had a steel door built into them. Reaching the door, Gonzales pressed his finger on a reader.

  Nothing happened.

  Screaming, “C’mon!” and pounding the door with his palm, Gonzales tried again. The door clicked unlocked and they opened it and slipped into darkness. Henry slammed the door in the tiger’s face.

  “That was close,” Gonzales panted. He switched on a light.

  Sleepily, a pride of lions raised their heads to stare at them from where they were scattered all over the concrete shelter which was open to the savannah on the other side.

  “Did you have a plan B?” Henry said, eyeing the lions warily.

  “We don’t need a plan B,” Gonzales said, leading the way toward a garage door. “Plan A will still work fine.” He pushed a button to open it, revealing a downward ramp. “This is a maintenance tunnel that leads all the way to the lodge.” They entered and Gonzales pushed a button to close the door behind them. They trotted down the ramp to the tunnel which went in both directions. “There are tunnels like these all over the island.” An electric cart with maintenance gear was parked at the end of the ramp. They hopped in and Gonzales silently eased it out and started down the tunnel.

  Towson Perimeter

  Staring at the signs and yellow tape that were draped across the two-lane road, Wesley said, “You could get infected.”

  “I think,” Wiggins replied, “you could be right. I’ll wait here while you guys go in.”

  Looking down at Karen, who sat on her haunches, Wesley said, “What about you? Were you exposed before?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then you shouldn’t go in, either.”

  Karen sighed in resignation.

  “I guess it’s just you and me,” Kelle said, looking up at Wesley apprehensively.

  Sensing that she needed some reassurance, he tried to smile, “Yeah. Again.” He pushed down the tape for her to walk over it and then started to follow, but was stopped by Wiggins’ voice.

  “Wesley, take this.” He was holding out his handgun.

  “Thanks,” Wesley said, accepting the weapon.

  Majestic trees, luxuriously green grass, and affluent residences were on either side of the road, but not a single person. After some time, Wesley started to relax to the echo of chirping birds.

  As they neared the town, the homes became more frequent. Then they spotted a heap in the middle of the road guarded by a large, stately-looking bird.

  When they approached, the ugly face of the bird unveiled its true identity as a vulture. It hopped away, eyeing them impatiently, stringy flesh dangling from its beak. The heap was a human body with a gaping hole in the neck and swollen, blue appendages. Kelle covered her nose and mouth; the odor of decomposition was overpowering. They hurried past and came upon a stopped car. Inside was another cadaver, this one slumped over the steering wheel.

  The road rose up a shallow hill, which they quickly ascended but when they reached the top the scene below forced them to stop and stare in utter disbelief.

  The road widened to four lanes in a quaint neighborhood of townhomes, apartment buildings, and charming colonial houses. The traffic lights blinked red and green although the streets were motionless. On both sides, lines of mature elm trees stood watch over sidewalks. Innumerable corpses littered the ground and there were stopped or crashed cars all over the place. The only movement was from crows and vultures that idly pecked at cadavers. Beyond was the wider view of the town centered around a dominating stadium from which wispy smoke was rising.

  Wesley had driven this road countless times before. It was surreal to be looking at it now, this way.

  “I don’t want to go down there,” Kelle said.

  “Look, you can see the hospital from here,” he encouraged. “And besides, there’s something else I want to see down there.”

  The old, hardwood floor creaked under his feet as he neared the doorway. Light streamed out from the room, leafy shadows dancing on the hallway wall. He swallowed, entered the room.

  The white crib was there, with blue and white bedding. And, inside, all kinds of baby paraphernalia: a baby bag, baby bottles, baby rattles, baby wipes, baby powder, a baby bouncer. Diapers.

  “This is going to be one spoiled baby!”

  With a sudden flash of wrath, he cried out as he gripped the crib firmly and overturned it, spilling the contents everywhere.

  “Wesley?” Kelle exclaimed, rushing into the room.

  Feeling foolish, he looked wistfully at her. “I thought you said you would wait outside.”

  “I, uh…got scared.”

  “I don’t think there’s anything to be scared of out there,” he reassured.

  She just stared directly into his eyes.

  He said, “You don’t need to be scared of that, either.” And he thought, Because I haven’t killed the man who did this yet.

  “Well,” she said, “It’s a good thing a baby wasn’t in that crib.”

  He couldn’t help but grin.

  The interior of St. Joseph’s hospital was devoid of life. Medical supplies littered the floors. Machines beeped incessantly. Flies swarmed around bloated bodies on gurneys in the hallways.

  They quickly found masks, but they did little to filter air, heavy with the stench of death and decay. Wesley was barely able to suppress a ceaseless urge to vomit.

  They walked through an area marked “Neonatal Unit.” A room with glass windows housed a row of little beds. On the beds lay the tiny corpses of lanugo-covered infants. One of them was barely bigger than a hand.

  Some movement caught Wesley’s eye. A snake was consuming an infant, adjusting its stretched jaws around the corpse’s chest. Its elliptical eyes seemed to stare back at Wesley as it fed.

  Kelle covered her mouth, and as she rushed for a sink, knocked a gurney. Maggots spilled onto the floor from a ballooned corpse that had burst out of its clothing.

  Wesley turned away and went to Kelle, who was leaning over the sink, her shoulders shaking. He asked, “Are you okay?”

  She turned around, her eyes red with tears, “This is a nightmare.”

  A strange voice made them jump. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

  The speaker was a man with an untamed beard, dirty scrubs, bloodshot eyes. The barrel of the shotgun he held was leveled at them. “Put your gun down,” he said.

  “Are you a doctor?” Wesley asked, raising his handgun toward the man.

  “I said put your gun down!” the man replied. “Then we’ll talk.”

  “We’re here looking for answers,” Wesley said. “If you don’t like that, then shoot us.”

  “I wanted answers, too,” he said. He tightened his grip on the shotgun. “Some things you regret you wished for.”

  Wesley lowered his weapon. “My name is Wesley Peterson. My wife was the first victim of the virus. She was brought here.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. He said, “Peterson, you said?”

  “Yes.”

  �
��Was your wife’s name Sienna?”

  Wesley’s heart skipped a beat. “Yes.”

  The man lowered the shotgun, “I remember it because it was an unusual name.” Without extending a hand, he said, “I’m John. Doctor John Burwell. I’m one of the pathologists here. I …” he swallowed. “I performed the autopsy on your wife before she was handed to the CDC. And I can tell you without the shadow of a doubt: They killed her.”

  “Who killed her?”

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said, looking nervously around at the death that surrounded them. “Talk somewhere else.”

  Wesley nodded agreement.

  “So you’ve been watching the hospital from here the whole time?” Wesley asked. They were in a small apartment across from St. Joseph’s. The sun was setting, casting a yellow rays through the smoke that was ceaselessly rising from beyond the hospital.

  “Most of the time. And the stadium. I assumed anyone who might go there was up to no good. So I wanted to see if anyone did.”

  “That’s how you saw us, then.”

  “Yes.”

  Kelle asked, “Why do you care so much? Isn’t this dangerous?”

  Doctor Burwell looked down, “I lost someone. My technician. I was in love with her. I want to know who is behind this.”

  “What do you know?” Wesley questioned.

  “Well, the virus takes four or five days to kill. Like you said, your wife was the first to contract it. She died exactly four days after her maternity checkup with Richard Kingsley, who just happened to be at the hospital the night she died. He was my senior mentor at the hospital, treated me very well, my friend. But something wasn’t right. He was very upset that I contacted the CDC and he insisted the problem had been a miscarriage even though I found no evidence of a miscarriage at all. When I did the autopsy, I noted that her thyroid gland was missing. At first I assumed it was a genetic condition from birth. But later I realized that it had been done on purpose. Doctor Kinglsey removed it the same night she came in. This made things more difficult for everyone trying to understand the virus and allowed it to spread uninhibited while they struggled to make sense of it. I believe Richard didn’t know why he was doing what he did: he was just a useful idiot with a cash flow problem. I don’t think he even knew he was starting a pandemic. What a fool. Of course, when his wife rolled into the hospital on a gurney, the dots connected for him. The serum he had injected into your wife ultimately killed his. And he drove his brand new car into the Lock Raven Reservoir. When I heard he did that is when I started to realize something wasn’t right. What I don’t know yet is who is behind all this.”

  “I think I can tell you who is behind it,” Wesley said.

  Kelle interrupted, “We don’t know everything, yet.”

  Wesley shot back, “We know enough.” Then to Doctor Burwell, “The President’s chief of staff is behind it.”

  “The President is dead.”

  Kelle said incredulously, “The President of the United States is dead?”

  “Yes. Along with his entire cabinet.”

  “Not his entire cabinet,” Wesley said. “Karen Harrington survived.”

  Doctor Burwell’s eyebrows raised in surprise.

  Wesley said, “Do you have any idea why they have done all this? Why release a virus that kills so many people?”

  “I want you to see that for yourselves. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I would not have believed it.”

  The college sports arena adjacent to the hospital was a sleek structure of glass, brick, and steel. Doctor Burwell handed Kelle and Wesley surgical masks before they entered, passing biohazard signs and yellow tape.

  The atrium was expansive with a restaurant and sports shop. But the air was stifling. Doctor Burwell led them down a short hallway toward the arena.

  There was seating for thousands. Moonlight streamed in from open windows at the high side of the tapered roof, and giant screens hung from the center. Their shoes squeaked as they stepped onto the court. Kelle put a hand over her mouth as they stopped to stare.

  A massive pile of clothing rose from one corner of the arena. Unclothed bodies were everywhere. Some lay face-up on a cluster of tables arranged in the middle of the court, some were sprawled out all over the shiny floor, a pickup truck was filled with them, but most were heaped in two enormous piles on the far end of the court. They were all female: women and girls.

  Doctor Burwell began to walk toward the tables. “They were processing them here.”

  Kelle didn’t move, “No, I don’t want to see anymore.”

  Doctor Burwell turned around, “Look, people are not going to believe that this happened. If I survive this, there is no possible way I could convince the world that this was real. I can’t be the only witness. You have to see it.”

  Wesley knew Doctor Burwell was right. He could hardly believe what he was seeing himself. Even if they could take pictures, that wouldn’t be enough. There had to be witnesses. Resolutely, he said, “Okay.”

  They approached the tables. Wesley recoiled at what he saw. The bodies had been supinely positioned, their jaundiced eyes gaping open at the ceiling. The lower abdomen under the navel of each had been split both vertically and horizontally, with sallow, globular tissue lining the edges of the opening. Inside was a mess of bloody red tissues and something that looked like a big intestine.

  Kelle, seeming to be emboldened with anger at what she saw, asked firmly, “Why were they doing this?”

  Doctor Burwell asked, “Isn’t it obvious? These are all women and girls. They were harvesting the ovaries.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  “I can only think of one possible reason. Girls are born with between one and two million eggs. They are immature and cannot be fertilized. The process of ovulation matures them and enables fertilization. But a technique was developed many years ago to mature eggs in the lab. The last I had heard, there were twenty-four thousand female fatalities from the virus. That was before it took off in Baltimore. But even with that number, they could have harvested over eight billion eggs. That’s over eight billion potential people. We are looking at kidnapping on an unimaginable scale. Now, I did some research. The Baltimore area has the most genetic diversity of any place on earth.” Doctor Burwell looked Wesley in the eye, “This is the wholesale abduction of the human race.”

  They stood on the turf of the immense outdoor football stadium. Thirty-foot tall mountains of smoldering remains released wispy smoke into the air. It seemed the fire had consumed the interior of the pile, as the outside exposed a myriad of untouched limbs, torsos, hair and faces: a mass of indistinguishable humanity.

  Kelle touched Wesley’s arm, “I have to get out of here.”

  Wesley nodded. He was experiencing the same feeling. He had not even wanted to see the stadium, but Doctor Burwell had insisted, reminding them once again that there must be additional witnesses, otherwise no one would believe him.

  “Come,” Doctor Burwell encouraged, stepping ahead toward the first mass.

  “We’ve seen enough. We need to go back,” Wesley countered.

  But Doctor Burwell charged ahead. “Come!” he called. “We have to keep looking!”

  Wesley and Kelle exchanged an uncertain glance.

  Doctor Burwell was standing at the base of the first mound, and he was beginning to pull on appendages. He was pulling bodies out. Some of them were stiff.

  “Doctor Burwell!” Wesley shouted.

  But the man made no indication he even heard Wesley, crying, “We have to find her! We have to keep looking!” He had dislodged one figure only to cause an avalanche of others tumbling down the slope. He cursed. “Sarah!” he screamed. “Sarah help me find you!”

  Wesley stepped after him, quietly calling, “Doctor Burwell, we need to get out of here.” He was worried about how much noise Doctor Burwell was making. If there was anyone else in this town, he did not want to attract their attention.

  “Sarah!” Burwell scream
ed at the top of his lungs.

  Wesley came upon him, lost his balance as his foot rolled off a cadaver’s abdomen. He caught himself by gripping Doctor Burwell’s arm. “John,” he said, nearly choking in the smoldering stench. “We need to get out of here. This is not a safe place.”

  Doctor Burwell threw off his hand, shouted, “We have to find her! We can’t just leave her here!”

  Wesley pulled on him, “Come with us. We’re leaving this God-forsaken place.”

  Doctor Burwell swung himself free, “I’m not leaving Towson until I find her.”

  Suddenly Wesley didn’t care about Doctor Burwell. Kelle was gone.

  Paradeisia Under the Earth

  Aubrey wished she hadn’t done it. It had been incredible—until it was over. Then dread overcame her. Would she use him as she had planned to do, or would she tell the truth?

  The two of them worked in silence as they disassembled the tents and packed up the gear. Then they faced the daunting, vertical cliff above them. The most experienced climber on the team led the way, followed by a spotter who passed him a drill so he could plant anchors and hook carabiners with rope through them. After the line was secure, they took turns ascending the rope using clamps. Adriaan was able to use a single clamp by bracing his feet on the rope, though it was clear this was extremely straining.

  It took them eleven hours, but they finally reached the top, the plateau.

  It was totally flat and draped with a dense fog punctuated by sparse trees. Some of the trees were alive, but most were dead. All of them were no taller than fifteen feet.

  Despite searching in a wide arc from the edge, Adriaan was not able to find any tracks or anything to follow.

  Bridges suggested they head straight out. After about a mile's walk, the trees thinned to none and the ground was covered in jagged, black rocks of all shapes and sizes.

  Bridges said, “Well no wonder you can't find any tracks. This is hard stuff.”