by Dirk Patton
“What do these monitoring stations do?” The Admiral asked.
“The basics, of course. Environmental data, such as air temp, water temp if they’re close to the ocean, rainfall, humidity, CO2 levels, and so much more. But, Mr. Final took it a big step farther. Each station also houses multiple drones that routinely collect and analyze environmental samples within a five-hundred-meter radius.
“What that means is that there is a drone that digs into the soil, not unlike the rovers we sent to Mars. Another drone will obtain a physical sample of the surrounding vegetation. Part of the leaf from a tree, a blade of grass or a flower bloom. This allows us to see what damage, if any, is being done to the plant life. There is yet another drone that locates and captures insects for study. And, finally, the last drone performs a routine survey of animal life. No capture, only information about their presence.”
“Doctor,” Packard interrupted. “This is all very fascinating, but I must ask you to get to the point.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I needed to preface what I’m about to say. To dramatically shorten the discussion, the planet is dying. At least the part that I am monitoring.”
There was a stunned silence in the room. After a moment, Packard looked at his aide.
“I’ve verified she is who she claims to be, and the existence of the project, sir,” Captain West said.
“Excuse me?” Dr. Hironata blurted, clearly offended.
“Forgive us, Doctor,” Packard said smoothly. “We may not be scientists, but we do know a little about the necessity of validating data.”
“I understand,” she said stiffly, clearly not mollified.
“Doctor, perhaps you’d better fill in the blanks for me,” the Admiral said, ignoring her angst at having her background verified.
Tugging the hem of her skirt, she looked at him for a long moment before nodding.
19
“Exactly what do you mean by your statement?” The Admiral asked. “How is the planet dying?”
“Insect and animal life has decreased by over eighty percent in the past five months. Let me correct that. Not all animal life. Only birds and mammals. Amphibian and reptilian communities appear to remain healthy, other than the impact on the populations that depend heavily upon the previously mentioned animals for survival. We have seen a correlating decline in these populations as their food source has become more and more scarce.
“Plant life is suffering equally. We are beginning to see the early stages of the loss of entire ecosystems. This is directly attributable to the disappearance of nearly all the bacteria, molds and fungi in the soil. In essence, the dirt is becoming sterile, as is the ocean.”
“I don’t understand,” Admiral Packard said, shocked. “How does the absence of bacteria harm the plants?”
“Scavengers do the heavy lifting when an animal dies. Bacteria, mold and fungi then go to work, completing the decomposition of whatever is not consumed by a scavenger. That scavenger can be bird, mammal or insect. Typically, all three.
“In the absence of scavengers, as well as the bacteria, mold and fungi, nothing is being broken down to replenish the nutrients in the soil that are required for the vegetation to survive. Even animal waste, what little there still is and which is normally a boon for plants, is not being broken down. It is the cycle of life, gentlemen. And it appears to have been broken.”
“Doctor,” Captain West interjected. “Please tell the Admiral about your concerns for the oceans.”
She nodded and paused a moment to gather her thoughts.
“The same principle applies to the Earth’s oceans. There is a cycle of life that depends on many different species playing their part. I have no data on the presence, or lack thereof, of sea life. However, ocean water samples from all around the Pacific Rim are yielding the same results. The presence of bacteria and other microorganisms has dropped to nearly undetectable levels. Based on this evidence, I am comfortable in predicting that if we were to perform a survey, we would find that the presence of higher life forms has plummeted.”
“Admiral, this is supported by reports I am receiving from the commercial fishing fleet. If you recall, I briefed you on this last week.”
“What reports?” Dr. Hironata asked, sitting up attentively.
“The catch has dropped off alarmingly over the past few weeks,” Captain West said. “The boats are having to go farther and farther out, fishing in the deepest parts of the ocean to catch even a fraction of what was previously being brought in. Even then, so they tell me, most of what they find in their nets appears diseased, and they are throwing it back.”
“That fits with what I was describing,” the doctor exclaimed. “Fish and mammals are dying. The deeper the water, the colder, and it’s taking longer for the sterilization effect to occur, but it is happening. Very soon, there may be no life remaining in our oceans.”
“Wait,” Admiral Packard held up a hand to stop the conversation. “How do we know this is happening everywhere? And how do we even know it? There are no global communications that aren’t going through a couple of our satellites!”
“The monitoring stations, sir,” Dr. Hironata said. “They are completely autonomous. Solar powered and operate on a shortwave frequency, using each other to pass that signal along to my laboratory here in Hawaii. A radio mesh, as it was explained to me.”
“But how can we know this is widespread and not a few isolated locations?”
The doctor took a deep breath before answering.
“There are forty-four nations on the Pacific Rim. I have eight hundred and eleven monitoring stations located in thirty-nine of those countries. There is no data for anywhere else on the planet, but it is worth noting that my network provides coverage for nearly forty-five percent of the globe. It is difficult to imagine that the rest of the Earth is not experiencing the same changes.”
The Admiral rocked back in his chair, concern creasing his already lined face.
“Should I detail the impacts of this?” Dr. Hironata asked after a long silence.
“Everyone dies,” Packard said in a quiet voice. “With no plants or animals, there’s no food. No fresh air. Nothing. We simply cease to exist. Am I right?”
The doctor slowly nodded.
“You are correct, Admiral.”
“How did this happen?” Captain West asked.
“The virus. It was genetically engineered. From what I’ve learned, it was originally based on simian rabies. At least that’s the predominant theory. But, when it was weaponized, there was a change made to its genetic code. Apparently, there was no concern over the risk of it jumping species and, as it mutated, that is exactly what it has done.”
“But, insects? Bacteria?” West asked.
“Any living organism is susceptible to a virus, Captain. Even bacteria.”
“Other than the fishing reports, are we seeing any sign of it here?” Packard asked.
“Yes, sir. We are,” Dr. Hironata said. “Four of the monitoring stations are local. Here in the islands. Each of them is providing similar data. Some locations around the Rim are farther along than others, but every station that is still in operation is detecting the effects I’ve outlined. I cannot say for sure why there is a discrepancy, but I’ve spoken with several virologists who assure me this is a normal pattern. There are many variables that go into why one region may be affected first or faster, but the fact is that all regions are experiencing the same thing, to different degrees.”
“How long?” The Admiral asked.
“Until all life is eradicated?”
Packard nodded.
“Rough modeling, with the assumption that this is not isolated to the Pacific Rim, indicates that there will be no remaining life on Earth within eighteen months.”
“So, we have a year and a half,” West said, almost sounding optimistic.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “In a year and a half, the Earth will be nothing but a barren wasteland with dead oceans.
Long before that, humans will cease to exist, barring those few who may have access to significant food stocks. For the rest of us, the model indicates we will begin dying of starvation within seven to eight months, even accounting for existing food stores. Only very hardy plants will continue to struggle for the remainder of that time, finally succumbing to the virus or a complete lack of nutrients.”
“Have you shared this information with anyone else?” The Admiral asked.
“No!” The doctor exclaimed, a look of concern on her face. “Can you imagine the reaction if this were to become public?”
“Yes, Doctor. I can,” Packard said. “So, why are you telling me this?”
“I don’t understand your question.”
“Yes, you do. You’re not here to deliver a warning. At least, that’s not your sole purpose. What is your agenda, Doctor? Do you have a plan?”
She looked away, an embarrassed smile flickering across her face despite the gravity of the conversation.
“Yes, sir. I have an idea if it’s not already too late.”
20
Igor made it back faster than I expected, running up and puffing like a freight train. He must have sprinted both directions. A heavy canvas bag was slung over his shoulder, and he thrust it at me as he skidded to a stop. While Gonzales and I had been waiting, the noises from within the pile of rubble had continued as the militia kept digging. It was hard to tell for sure, but it didn’t sound like it would be long before they made it through.
“You know that Willie Pete is gonna set all this shit on fire, right?” Gonzales asked as, bag in hand, I hurried towards the debris blocking the corridor.
“That’s what I’m counting on,” I said, pulling out the first WP grenade.
It only took a couple of seconds to find the right spot. Working the thick bodied munition in between two pieces of shattered concrete, I made sure the spoon was tightly wedged and wouldn’t release unless the rubble shifted. When they saw what I was doing, the Master Chief and Igor each grabbed a grenade and began helping.
“Shouldn’t have underestimated you, sir,” Gonzales said, slipping a grenade deep inside a warped ceiling panel. “These fuckers are gonna get a hell of a surprise when they break through.”
“That’s OK, Master Chief,” I said, placing the final device. “There’d be something wrong if a SEAL didn’t think I was doing something stupid.”
He grinned as we stepped back to survey our handiwork.
“But it doesn’t change my point,” he said. “The fire might stop them, but it’s going to spread. Unless…”
He turned and aimed his light down the corridor behind us at a heavy steel door that, when closed, would isolate this area of the facility. I’d noted it as we ran past earlier.
“It still might spread,” I said. “Got no way of knowing, but it’s the best idea I’ve got at the moment.”
Moving back to the debris, I carefully began pulling pins out of the White Phosphorous grenades. It only took a couple of minutes, and when I was done, the only thing keeping them from detonating was the surrounding rubble that was pinning the spoon. As soon as the militia caused a shift in the pile, the spoons would release and ignite the fuse.
White Phosphorous is nasty. Combusting at five thousand degrees when ignited, it sticks to pretty much anything it touches and will continue to burn until it is completely consumed, or deprived of oxygen. About the only way to stop it is to submerge it in water. And, if it touches clothing or skin, it will quickly melt all the way through to bone. If any of the militia came into contact with it, they’d immediately lose all desire to keep digging.
But, in an enclosed space like the corridor, being burned wasn’t the only consideration. WP produces a dense, white smoke that is toxic. It’s been used for decades by the military to create smoke screens. Just one of those grenades would generate enough choking smoke in the tight confines to send the militia running for fresh air.
“It isn’t going to stop them forever,” I said, tossing a handful of grenade pins aside. “But it’ll sure as hell slow them down and buy us some time.”
We both looked at Igor when he chuckled. He met our eyes, grinned and shrugged his shoulders. I had to agree with him. The intruders were going to get one hell of a surprise. But, we still had people missing.
“Let’s go,” I said, leading the way deeper into the facility. “We’ve got to find Johnson.”
The two men followed, Igor closing and securing the steel hatch after we passed through. Gonzales tried the radio a couple more times, but we didn’t get any response from our missing people. He checked with Vance who verified that his group had made it to the hangar without any issues.
“Where do we start?” I asked, hoping the Master Chief had an idea.
“He was two levels down, yesterday,” Gonzales said. “That’s the last location I know of for sure. Unless you’ve got a better idea, we should start there.”
“Lead the way,” I said.
Without another word, the SEAL took off at a jog. I fell in behind him, hoping I wouldn’t trip over something that I couldn’t judge the distance to or height of. Igor brought up the rear. After a moment, I realized he was keeping the light on his rifle focused on the floor a few feet in front of me.
I appreciated his unsolicited concern, but inside I silently seethed. I’ve always been the one to take care of others. I didn’t like being the one who needed assistance. It just went against the grain for me.
We ran down a long hall, passing seemingly endless doors, then burst into a stairwell and descended. Gonzales quickly pulled away as I slowed to make sure I didn’t miss a step. These were industrial type stairs, made of poured concrete with iron caps on the front edge of each tread. A tumble here would be bad news.
He realized I’d fallen behind when he rounded the first landing, pausing to allow me to catch up. My already bad mood worsened as I caused us to waste valuable time. Pushing harder, I started to catch up, and promptly missed a step. If I hadn’t been moving with a hand on the steel railing, I would have gone ass over teakettle. The Master Chief did his best to ignore my struggles, and thankfully didn’t comment or ask if I was OK.
We made it to the sublevel without any more near-mishaps, bursting into a broad corridor. Our lights swept across the stygian darkness, revealing several high-security doors standing open. Gonzales tried the radio, still receiving no response.
“That way,” he pointed, turning and heading to the left.
We moved farther into the facility, every door we passed standing ajar. The electronics that controlled the locking mechanisms were hanging at the ends of wires that disappeared into the walls. Johnson had apparently been very busy.
“Hold up,” I said softly.
We had reached a four-way junction and the cross corridor extended in either direction beyond the limit of the lights we carried.
“Just how fucking big is this place?” I asked.
“Can’t even begin to guess,” Gonzales said. “I found a schematic in the Security office that showed all the tunnels and rooms, but it didn’t have any scale markings on it. But, there are well over fifteen hundred rooms, just in the sublevels.”
I turned a slow circle, shining my light into the darkness that stretched in every direction. Johnson could well be on this level, in a room he’d opened, examining something. The place was so big, unless we walked right past him we’d never even know he was there.
Taking a deep breath, I shouted his name at the top of my lungs. Getting the idea, Igor and Gonzales quickly joined in. We kept this up for a few seconds, then paused to listen. The silence was deafening.
“More loud,” Igor said, stepping forward and raising his rifle.
I looked at him a moment, then nodded my head at the ceiling. Gonzales and I moved away and brought our hands up to cover our ears. When Igor saw we were ready, he fired a long burst of full auto.
Even with my hands over my ears, the noise was brutally loud in the enclosed space
. Other than the acoustic ceiling tiles, which shredded under the assault and rained foam down to the floor, every surface was flat and hard. The blast of sound bounced back at us, adding to the hammer-drill that was already pounding inside my skull. But, it was a great idea. If there was anyone on this level, I didn’t see how they could fail to hear the gunfire.
We gave it a moment for the echoes to subside, then all three of us began shouting again. I wasn’t hopeful that Johnson was close, but there was no reason to not try. Voices growing rough, we stopped and listened. Tomblike silence descended upon us once again.
“Any more ideas, Master Chief?”
My voice was startlingly loud after nearly a minute of a complete absence of sound.
“I think we go deep. The lowest level,” he said after a brief pause to think. “Igor’s got the right idea. Unless we spooked him with the rifle fire and he’s hunkered down.”
“What’s down there?” I asked.
I hoped he wasn’t right about Johnson having heard the gunfire and, not knowing who was shooting, or why, had decided to keep his presence unknown.
“Don’t know. Never made it down that far. But Johnson’s been on a mission. The few times I saw him come in for some chow, he kept saying he was convinced there would be something here that could turn the tide in fighting the infected. From what I know, he was working his way down, and I haven’t seen a door on this level that isn’t open.”
I considered that for a moment before nodding my head.
“Good a place as any, I suppose,” I said, not sure I really agreed. “But when the militia finally breaks through, if we’re down there, we’re stuck. Right? No other way out?”
“Air…”
We turned to look at Igor, frustration with the English language obvious on his face. When he couldn’t come up with the word he wanted, he cursed in Russian and pointed at the ceiling. Through the hole he’d blasted in the tiles, his light reflected off the metallic surface of heavy gauge ductwork.