Pathosis (A Dark Evolution Book 1)

by Jason LaVelle

  “Two nurses, or doctors, I did not know which, spoke near my small bed. My heart sank as I listened, though it was hard to believe it could sink any lower. Two days ago, they said there had been six hundred thousand infected, and now that number was up to three million. The parasite had caught hold in Florida like wildfire, being passed from person to mosquito to person and back. Now millions were infected and millions more were being killed by those who went mad after being contaminated. The rest of the Florida population, at least in the South, were boarded up in their basements, hoping to outlast the epidemic without starving to death.”

  “I wanted to know why the planes were flying overhead for so long, I wanted to know where I was, I wanted to move. However, my hands were zip-tied to the rails of my bed. I didn’t know why. I blacked out again. The next day I fully woke and spoke with a doctor. I didn’t have any recollection of shooting the FBI agent. Apparently, there was some discussion about whether or not it was an accidental shooting. The next day, they cut the ties from my wrist. I had no idea how itchy they were until I was able to rub them again.”

  “The nurses explained the DDT protocol that had been initiated, hence the planes droning on overhead. I was aghast when they told me, such a blatant raping of the natural world to once again save our sorry asses. The vaccination protocol in Northern Florida was still working at that time, but Southern Florida was overrun. The doctor who had attempted to set up a treatment center in Miami was shot by a crazed civilian. Apparently, the man thought there would not be enough medicine for everyone, so he was planning to rob the doctor. The man was overcome by a mob shortly thereafter.”

  “The military took over, corralling boats that tried to escape and detaining those who attempted to cross the border into Georgia or Alabama. In one horrific incident, a commercial airliner tried to escape to South America. It was flown by a thirty-five year old rogue pilot and carried two hundred passengers, each of which had paid him a hefty price. The plane made it past the Florida Keys and into international waters before it was shot down by a pair of F/A-18 Hornets. It never would have landed anyway; I’m sure Brazil had antiaircraft guns trained on the plane.”

  “So how did it spread then?” a curious voice asked out of the cave’s darkness.

  “I really don’t know, none of us do, not that I’m aware of. Of course, without phones communication is pretty limited.”

  “It seems like they had it all controlled, though.”

  “That’s what they thought, but as Ian Malcom from Jurassic Park said, ‘Life finds a way.’”

  Not even a chuckle. These kids were twelve - thirteen at the oldest and most of them had never seen the 1990s movie.

  “What we know is that after the insecticide bombing of Florida began, things calmed down. Then, a week or so later, cases began popping up all over the country. Then it was happening all over the world. And now, here we are,” she said, holding her hands up.

  “Did you ever see Adrian again?” another small voice asked. It was impossible for Kala to tell them apart.

  Now it was Kala’s turn to let out a low chuckle. “I did. One morning in the hospital, I woke up and he was there next to me, sitting in a chair by the bed. I was pretty confused, and he started talking to me really sweet, acting like we were close.”

  The faces around the room leaned in close, interested in this new twist.

  “Well, he took my hand and kept on smiling and talking, then for some reason, he came over and gently kissed me.”

  A gasp came from a young girl in the cave. “What did you do?” she asked.

  “Did you kiss him back?” someone else asked.

  A grim, hard smile crept over Kala’s face. “I bit his tongue off.”

  There were some gasps, a few giggles, and some nodding heads. Kala had a reputation here. She was a hard-ass, she was a badass, and she was the protector.

  Kala sighed and closed her eyes, thinking back to those days in the hospital. She thought of the nurses arguing over the decision to poison the Floridian ecosystem in an ultimately failed attempt to contain the disease.

  One nurse argued that they had to save the humans at all cost.

  “At all cost? Are you kidding? Why are we the most important? It’s that kind of thinking that’s ruining this planet.”

  “No, it’s the humans that try to protect the planet. We’re the ones that try to protect nature, and to preserve the world. The world would be helpless without us; we’re the smartest creatures on the planet. Besides, we are God’s chosen creatures, created in His image.”

  The other nurse had shaken her head. Her response came slow and clear, and it chilled Kala to the bone in her hospital bed.

  “It was God who set this disease upon us, and who are we to question His motives? We aren’t apart from nature, we are a part of nature, and in the natural world, God uses his own device, natural selection, to decide which species lives or dies. We’ve obviously been selected to die.”

  As Kala looked around the cave at the dirty young faces, she thought about the mutant world they now lived in. One thing was perfectly clear. We are not God’s chosen creatures anymore.

  Epilogue

  The mourning dove was small. She was only maybe ten inches in length. She was a light, beautiful, grey-brown. Her roost was over the top of an outdoor security light, a double floodlight unit with a motion detector attached underneath. She was going to abandon her nest. Her small clutch of eggs had died. She did not know why they died, or how she knew, but her instincts were strong. The rain of strange smelling mist was changing things. There was less and less food. The air smelled bad. The water she drank did not quench her thirst and caused her insides to ache.

  There were also no bugs. There were no caterpillars or spiders, and no snails to eat. There were no mosquitos to bite her, which was a pleasant change, since she had been bitten many times over the last week. The only bugs that seemed to remain were the tiny bird mites that were hidden deep within her oiled feathers. The little arachnids hid and did not emerge, possibly for fear of that acid mist. They bit her and drank her blood, growing plump and reproducing. Their intrusion on her body was tolerable, though. The irritation they brought was mild compared to the pangs of hunger and thirst in her belly.

  Most concerning was the lack of food. Everything around her was … tainted. So, leaving the nest where she had hoped to hatch her young, she took flight. She flew north and as she flew, she encountered many other avian species, all flying north, away from the poisoned land that was once their home. They flew for hours and hours. Many birds perished, actually falling from the sky and dying from exertion. After a time, the air began to smell cleaner, and the mourning dove and many others landed near a lake to drink. Then they took flight again. They passed over scores of people. There were soldiers, cars, and state lines. When the motley flock of mismatched birds could fly no further, they descended, many of them still banded together. It seemed that survival and the strength of great numbers was an unspoken agreement between them all.

  They huddled in tight groups that night by the banks of a cool river. The temperature was colder than they liked, but the air was sweet. There was food. There were fish in the river, fish that were not dead from the poison rain. There were insects here, too, a godsend to most of these winged creatures. There were seeds and other bits of food that did not smell poisonous. The mourning dove ate little, but drank.

  There were mosquitoes here by the water, and they were biting, taking little samples of her Floridian blood. Better to have the mosquitos and clean air, though. Whether or not she could survive in this new colder place she did not know. But then a male mourning dove arrived and she felt hope for a mating, and a new clutch of eggs. There was always hope, wasn’t there?

  About The Author

  J.N. LaVelle is an author and photographer from West Michigan. When he’s
not spending time with his beautiful wife and four children, he’s probably at the dog park with his three pugs: Dragon, Dylan and Mr. Sparkles. After he’s done playing with the pugs and tucking the kids into bed, he explores the strange world inside his head through writing. Jason’s novels include The Cold Room, Delia and Pathosis.

  http://www.jnlavelle.com

  https://www.facebook.com/lavellebooks

  darkhorsestudios@gmail.com