The First Bird: Omnibus Edition

by Greig Beck

  Reed growled in his chest, his disgust and anger peaking. He hated them, all of them. These weren’t people anymore. The parasite had taken more than their skin. It had taken every last scrap of their humanity.

  He pushed on, covering the final few hundred feet and approaching the last barrier. A ring of large men surrounded the truck. He needed to get through them, to get inside, closer to Dillon. The men were insignificant, but the Patriot Missile launcher had enough shielding to protect Dillon from what he had planned.

  Reed paused for only a second or two, a plan forming in his mind. He walked to the vehicle’s front and fell to his knees. From his coat pocket he withdrew a jewel-encrusted crucifix. Major Bennings had given it to him, ripped from the CDC chapel. At the time, he thought it was simply intended as a talisman to strengthen his resolve; now he knew different.

  Reed held the cross high and yelled up at the truck, his eyes on the heavens. “Father of fathers. You have once again sent your son to us. Praise be to you.”

  Dillon’s head came around, the words obviously resonating with him. He craned forward to peer down at Reed.

  “He has sent Dillon to us – the All-Father’s son. I have proof that the blessing is upon us.”

  Dillon waved, nodding.

  Reed continued, warming to his role. “Bless me. For you truly are He … Jesus Christ!”

  Dillon nodded some more, clapping now. He opened his arms wide. The crowd had stopped and turned. Reed stood and approached the truck’s huge door, holding out the crucifix before him. The men went to stop him, but Dillon impatiently waved them aside.

  “The son of God is amongst us. I know it.” Reed swallowed, easier now, a calm coming over him as the huge door swung open. He climbed up. The atmosphere inside was fetid and warm. Beside Dillon, the soldiers watched with dead eyes, already resigned to their fate. Reed sat down. Dillon was a big man, and swathed in bandages, he seemed even bigger. He dominated the truck’s cabin.

  “You called me a name – I feel it is right. I have often wondered whether …” Dillon momentarily closed his eyes and crossed his arms over his bandaged chest. “No, no, I don’t wonder, I know. It is truly who I am. His son, come to save the world once again.”

  Reed pulled the truck door closed behind him and quietly locked it. He looked at the console, noting that the launch screens were working, but unable to tell if the codes had been entered, turning it from a dead, multi-ton structure of steel, electronics, and chemicals into four massive bombs. He looked across to the soldiers – their eyes were defeated, their spirits extinguished. He needed them.

  Dillon took the crucifix from Reed and held it up before his face. “Once, I died on the cross for you.” He looked at Reed, and the bandages around his mouth folding into the semblance of a smile. “I will not make that mistake again. This time, I will live to rule a world changed forever. Now, you said you had proof of who I truly am. Tell me.”

  Reed leaned around Dillon. “Soldiers, are the MIM-104s armed?”

  Both young men swung around at the military authority in his voice. Dillon lowered the crucifix, looking from Reed to the soldiers.

  “What?”

  Reed raised his voice. “Soldiers, do the Patriots have proximity detonation capability?”

  The younger soldier’s head came up, his back erect. “Sir, yes sir, we have full detonation capabilities. What are your orders?”

  Dillon lowered the cross. “Who are you?” He grabbed at Reed, pulling him forward. Reed’s coat tore open and Dillon sucked in a breath. His popping eyes seemed about to leave his skull. Reed’s entire torso was strung with M67 grenades. The dull green spherical balls each contained six-and-a-half ounces of composition-B explosive.

  Reed now knew that the missiles were armed to detonate if they suffered an impact. The grenades would deliver that impact. Dillon, along with every one of his foul creatures, would be obliterated.

  Reed grinned at him. “What would Jesus do?” He pulled on a single wire looping across all the firing mechanisms. It slid free. They had three seconds.

  Dillon leapt for the opposite door, but the soldiers blocked his exit, their faces alive and split with grins of triumph.

  “Time to go,” the younger one said.

  Dillon turned back to Reed, his fist flying. Reed grabbed him, held on, and pulled Dillon’s eye-popping face close to his own.

  “Back to hell, asshole.”

  *****

  The explosion was so powerful it blew in the windows of buildings for several miles. Anything within half a mile was left in ruins. Where Dillon and his corrupt army had gathered, there was nothing left but a huge, smoking crater.

  Major Bennings lowered his binoculars. “What we sacrifice today, we earn back tomorrow. God bless you, son.”

  He turned to Cohen, who stuck out his hand. Bennings gripped it, but shook his head. “We were lucky.”

  Cohen nodded. “I’ll send out a stand-down order, and take some teams out for mop-up.”

  Bennings brushed the plaster dust off his jacket. “And now, it’s all up to the boffins.”

  CHAPTER 26

  Matt sipped his coffee and held Megan’s hand. He squeezed it. “You okay?”

  She was staring off into the distance, her coffee untouched. She smiled and squeezed back. “Yeah, sure; just thinking.”

  “Penny for them?”

  She looked dazed. “It’s like I’m trying to wake up from a nightmare. I went to sleep one day, and when I woke, everyone was dead or dying horribly. Brenner, Steinberg, John, Joop, Jian … and we have no idea whether Kurt made it.” She looked at him. “Do you think he made it home?”

  Matt smiled. “I’m sure he did. The one thing I know about that guy is that he’s a survivor.”

  She nodded, not looking convinced.

  He let go of her hand. “I bet he’s looking at his gold right now – big as hell, and full of life.”

  *****

  The small golden idol sat on the edge of the table, its squat form and leering face seeming to cast judgment over the pile of humanity that lay burst open, like an overripe fruit, on the ground before it.

  Human life had long since left the flesh, but the bulb-like protrusions continued to grow and pop, releasing millions and millions of larval spore into the air.

  Kurt was dead, but full of life.

  *****

  “Amazing.” Hew scrolled through pages of scientific data. “It acts like a super-inhibiter – the polygodial read is off the chart.”

  Carla watched as he scrolled to another page, read briefly, and then moved sideways to peer down into a microscope. “I love it – it not only inhibits feeding and growth, but even reproduction. It’s no wonder it kept the little bastards under control.”

  Hew lifted his head from the microscope and grinned. “Our botanists have performed a regression analysis on the DNA and determined that it is, in effect, an ancient form of chrysanthemum – they say they always suspected that the common form started its life as a vine.”

  He looked back into the small scope again. “Makes sense – chrysanthemums give us most of the truly effective insect control compounds we have today.” He scrolled some more. Carla sat beside him, looking at the long chemical compound strings on her screen. She straightened, frowning, confused by the strange chemical composition.

  “Nicotine, permethrin, cypermethrin, and deltamethrin … and a chemical that looks like it could be transfluthrin, but the molecular formula is hybridized – C15-H12-Cl2-F4-O2-‘X2’. The X2 is something unknown – the computer hasn’t ever seen it before.” She looked perplexed.

  Dr. Francis Hewson talked without turning. “It’s probably another of the axonic poison class – causes paralysis in the mite by keeping the sodium channels open in the neuronal membranes, effectively creating microscopic perforations in its armor plating. Sodium ions flood in, trigger an action potential, and then our little monster’s nerves cannot de-excite; they effectively become paralyzed.”

&nbs
p; “Hew, is it safe to use?” Carla asked quietly.

  “Safe?” He bobbed his head. “Probably. These compounds usually have an extremely low toxicity to mammalian life. Should be okay.”

  “But long term? We’re talking about introducing an unknown chemical into the environment, possibly on an unprecedented scale. I’d like to see some alpha testing done.”

  Hew folded his arms and looked at a digital clock on the wall – it was five in the afternoon. “Carla, time is against us; it’s two minutes to midnight for the world. Indecision is what will kill us all now – they’re your words. We’ll do testing, but will proceed on the basis that it’s going to work.” He shrugged, looking resigned. “Do we have a choice?”

  Carla stepped closer to him. “Look at me.”

  He stared hard into her face, struggling to maintain eye contact. She knew her skin was grossly bubbled, and she needed strong steroid shots to maintain energy and keep her airways clear as her body was being converted to a mobile egg case.

  “Don’t you think I want this to work more than anyone?”

  “We’ll do tests, I promise,” he said slowly. “But I can only meet you halfway – what I can’t promise is to do full-scale or long-term testing. I’m sorry.”

  She searched his face, and then nodded. She knew that at this stage even a fifty percent success rate would be preferable to a hundred percent failure. “Okay.” She turned back to her screen. “I think we can combine it with PB, piperonyl butoxide, a known inhibitor of key microsomal oxidase enzymes. PB will prevent the mite’s enzymes from flushing the pyrethroid from its body, making the toxin even more lethal.” She made a fist. “These mites are tough, so we need a chemical sledgehammer.”

  Hew nodded. “We can use the high-volume production labs, and send the formulae out to every facility still operational in the country.” He turned away, his eyes focussed inward.

  “But … no one will come out to get it, and we certainly don’t have the resources to go door to door. We need to hit the sarcoptes scabiei primus hard, and all at once. The country will need to bathe in it, shower with it, be flooded by it.” He tapped the heavy polymer suit over his chin. “And that’s just the people. What about the environment? Cattle, horses, dogs, cats, birds – the entire mammalian population … or, what’s left of it.”

  Hew paced. “And we’ll need to get bloomers and potential bloomers to ingest the solution as well.” He looked pained. “A job of colossal magnitude, and little time … time you don’t have, I’m afraid.”

  He walked toward her and took hold of her shoulders. “I promise to implement as much testing as time will allow, but we’ll need to leap to biological trials … today … now.”

  She could hear what he was asking. “Testing, and doing, all at once, huh?”

  He stayed silent. She smiled. “Voluntary clinical trial subjects – guinea pigs?”

  He nodded, returning the smile. “After all, from what you’ve told me, you’ve already bathed in it several times in the crater basin.”

  “Hey, what have I got to lose?” She shrugged. “Ready when you are.”

  “Good … the question is, how the hell do we get the entire population to shower with it?”

  “Easy – you just said it. Shower them with it.” She pointed to the roof. “Powderize it and then cloud-seed the entire continent. It’ll come down in the rain and cover everything, even end up in the drinking water.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “See, this is why we needed you here – that might just work … no, it has to work – globally.”

  “Wait a minute, globally? Shouldn’t we wait and make sure our own environment is unharmed?”

  Hew shook his head. “Can’t chance cleansing one environment only to have another one reinfest it. Besides, if it works, great, we’re dancing in the street. If it doesn’t, so what? All we’ll give them is red snow come winter.” He leaned forward. “Carla, it has to work … it will work.”

  “It will work, yes …” Carla sat down. “And besides, it’s all we’ve got.”

  Hew walked over, bent down, and hugged her, then stepped back to pick up the phone. “Bring me down a hundred ccs of the Nero-1 solution, then distribute the formulae on a priority to the labs.” He paused for a second. “To all of them. I’ll be up to walk the department heads through the logistics of dispersal shortly – we’re gonna seed it.” He hung up.

  “Nero-1 solution?” She raised her eyebrows.

  He grinned. “What else were we going to call it? It should be named after the intrepid explorer who discovered it.” He sat down next to her. “Your drink is on its way – first round is on me.”

  They sat in silence for several seconds before he clicked his fingers and spun in his seat toward her.

  “Hey, I meant to tell you: the genetic analysis boys did some work on the mite genome, and also on the remnants of DNA they could pull from the charred bones of the archaeopteryx specimen. You know, it was weird; the DNA wasn’t what they expected.” Hew pulled a face. “Sure, their overall morphology was what was assumed – the creatures were extremely primitive; real primordial remnants from a biological perspective. But here’s the thing, the DNA … well, it wasn’t a match to the computer extrapolation of what the earliest saurian bird, or sarcoptes scabiei primus design, should have looked like. There were traces of modern nucleic acids in the DNA chains, for both creatures.” He snorted. “Must have been contaminated.”

  Carla frowned, and then repeated the word, slowly. “Contamination … in here … impossible.”

  Hew shrugged. “Who knows? Doesn’t matter now. It was looking like an analytical dead-end anyway.”

  “Hew, this is the CDC – one of the most sterile facilities in the world. Just how does something get contaminated in here? What was their theory?” Carla sat forward.

  “They had one, but it was ridiculous.” He turned to her. “That the bird and the parasite weren’t original old forms, they were atavisms – random reappearances of evolutionary throwbacks.”

  Carla stood and paced. “Atavisms – both of them? A billion to one chance. That bothers me.” She walked with her eyes downcast as her mind worked. “Traits reappearing; traits that had disappeared generations before – that had effectively evolved out of the genetic code.” She continued to pace as Hew watched her.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked.

  “I’m thinking that atavism is unbelievably rare. To say it looked to manifest in two specimens that were, species-wise, about as far apart as you can get – that’s no coincidence. I’ve seen human babies born with a vestigial tail, and even heard of whales being sighted with tiny hind legs. It can occur when primitive genes for previously existing phenotypical features are preserved in DNA code. These become expressed through a mutation that either knocks out the overriding genes for the new traits or makes the old traits so dominant that they override the new ones.”

  She coughed, and waved him away as he approached. “Hew, it’s so rare in one species … for it to spontaneously occur in two is impossible. Something has to trigger it, some damned thing …”

  She spun, staring at him. Mutagen, she thought. She felt a shock running through her. “Joop said it was impossible for the creatures to exist. Not just as fantastic individual animals, but all of them together. He didn’t think they were from a single point in our history, but vastly different points, stretching for tens of millions of years. One type of animal from the Mesozoic, another from the Jurassic, the Triassic, and so on.” She sat down.

  She started to breathe faster, each lungful harder to suck in and push out. “I’m scared. What if the vine …” She went to get to her feet, and then started to gag. Her mouth opened and closed, but nothing came. Her hands flew to her throat, scratching at it.

  “Carla!” Hew caught her as she fell. “Oh no.” Her throat had ballooned shut from the infestation.

  She blinked, unable to speak, and tried to grab at his arm, to make him understand what she feared.

/>   The door hissed open and a suited scientist came in with a beaker of the red fluid. “Get me some adrenalin, now!” Hew shouted. The scientist went to turn, but Hew yelled again. “Wait – give me that first.”

  He took the beaker and held it to her lips. “Carla, please try and swallow this, please … just a sip.”

  Carla blinked at him again, knowing that she’d never get the fluid down. Her throat was now so swollen, not an atom of air could pass down it, let alone a drop of the red tincture.

  She stared at the red beaker. Atavism, mutagen, atavism! her mind screamed, now knowing the secret of the red blooms and the primordial blood jungle. Her vision blurred to blackness.

  EPILOGUE

  12 months later

  The red rains, as they came to be known, proved to be enormously successful. The seeding of clouds continued for several months, and every time it rained, it fell like blood over the land. Lakes, streams, and rivers ran like a biblical curse, and when faucets were turned on, the red would flow out.

  When the scientists stopped the seeding and the rains returned to normal, people once again ventured out onto the streets. Birds were seen in trees, badgers, mice, and squirrels reappeared in the fields, and horses and cattle were allowed out of quarantine. It was as if the rain had washed away more than just the infestation.

  Over the weeks and months, the country started to function again. The bodies disappeared, mountains of rubbish were removed, and armies of public officials checked everywhere, from the deepest sewer system to behind the smallest skirting board, for traces of the primordial mite. It was the same everywhere – they were still there, but not in the same numbers as before, and only as troublesome as the normal variety of scabies mite. The rains had done their job, and changed them into something more … benign.

  Ten months after the red rains, the first changes started appearing. Children had thickened brow ridges and low, vaulted craniums. Animals were born bigger or smaller than previously – slight abnormalities, nothing more.